1
C aernsbro Ghyll, April 2023
Zayn
“Nico, Zayn. You’re with me. You, too, Rome.”
We look up from our poker game. Jack is silhouetted in the doorway.
He turns to stalk off down the hallway, yelling back over his shoulder, “Outside in ten. Be tooled up.”
We fold our cards, something of a relief to me as I only had a pair of eights. I suspect Rome was doing better. He appears gutted. We sprint down to the gun room in the basement where Nico and I select our favourite assault rifles and Rome goes for a standard Glock. We grab Kevlar vests as well, you never know. I always carry a decent blade tucked in my belt, so I consider myself suitably armed when we head back upstairs and outside onto the forecourt of the Savage family mansion.
The family no longer reside here. Some years ago, Ethan Savage moved his closest family and business headquarters to his stronghold on Caraksay, a private island in the Outer Hebrides. The sprawling family residence, Caernbro Ghyll, now serves as the Savage empire’s primary headquarters on the mainland. It’s a training facility, as well as providing accommodation for those of his crew who want to live here.
It suits me. Comfortable, convenient, close to the city but far enough away to allow me the peace and quiet I need to hone my craft. I’ve been here for almost five years now, and I like to think I’ve fulfilled the promise the boss saw in me. I’ve been useful.
I’m a decent driver, and I don’t shy away from the wet work, though I’m not sorry that there’s a lot less call for it with the Savages than there was with Malik. Violence hovers in the wings, always, but is applied judiciously, only when required. Discipline is essential, examples must be made from time to time. Mostly my role is as an enforcer, providing backup when anyone needs reminding of their ‘obligations’. Late payments or pilfering are not tolerated in Ethan Savage’s establishments, and we make sure no one is less than clear about that.
I assume this latest call will be something along those lines, so I’m surprised to emerge into the afternoon sunlight to find the Caraksay helicopter waiting for us. Jack is already on board, and the three of us scramble in beside him.
“Where are we going, boss?” Rome enquires once we are all belted in.
“Newcastle,” he replies as we soar into the air. “Ethan, Tony, and Aaron will meet us there.”
Jack is Ethan Savage’s second-in-command, and Tony is one step down from him. He is mostly based on Caraksay these days, though he hops between the two sites as his wife and foster son live here at Caernbro Ghyll. Aaron is Ethan’s younger brother, a sort of joint, unofficial underboss alongside Jack, though Jack is much more hands-on and everyone but Ethan defers to him. We don’t see that much of Aaron. He lives in Berwick-Upon-Tweed on the border between Scotland and England because his wife’s business is located there. He mainly deals with what he calls ‘strategy and development’, which seems to boil down to identifying property and business interests we want to acquire and negotiating the terms.
We exchange puzzled glances. As far as I can recall, we don’t have business interests in Newcastle. That turf is run by the Gallagher brothers, not exactly friends of ours, but we maintain an uneasy truce based on mutual distrust and staying out of each other’s way.
“What’s going on, boss?” I ask.
“Debt collecting,” he replies. “Eddie Gallagher agreed to purchase five hundred grands’ worth of product from us, but now only wants to pay half that. He has the goods; we want our money.”
“Fair enough. What’s the plan?”
“Aaron did the original deal, so he and Ethan will confront Eddie and explain the error of his ways. With any luck, he’ll listen and pay up. That meeting is to take place on the roof of a disused multi-storey car park, which is where you two come in.” He swings his gaze from me to Nico and back again. “You provide cover, from a distance. Any sign of a double-cross, you make sure our guys get out okay then all four of you get the fuck out of there.”
“Whatever it takes?”
“Absolutely.”
Just checking. Enough said. We shoot to kill if need be.
“The rest of us will be heading to one of the Gallagher lock-ups, a warehouse at the Port of Tyne about ten miles east. If Ethan and Aaron get what they want without too much of a scrap, we just leave again. If not, we go in and repossess our merchandise, or goods to the equivalent value. After, we rendezvous with you here.” His finger stabs a point on the map lying open on his lap.
“What is that place?” Nico wonders.
“A country park near Wallsend, about halfway between the two sites. Plenty of space for the chopper to land. You’ll be in a fast car which will be waiting for you at the bottom of the car park.”
“How do we get to it if the Gallaghers get nasty and don’t want us to leave?”
“If they get nasty, put a stop to it. As I said, you do what it takes. The building is scheduled for demolition, so all the pedestrian stairways are locked and sealed. Use the car to escape via the ramps, same way you’ll be getting in, or if for any reason you can’t drive out of there, you abseil. The gear’s there.” He nods in the direction of four rucksacks tucked between our seats.
“Oh, fuck. I hate heights,” Nico mutters.
Jack is unsympathetic. “Tough, get over it. Call yourself a hit man?”
He has a point. Our calling, mine and Nico’s, often requires us to perch up somewhere high and wait for the perfect shot. I know Nico can cope, but he doesn’t have to like it. For myself, I’m easy, and glad of this opportunity to demonstrate my worth in what could be a genuine combat situation.
I’ve trained for this, long and hard. Gruelling, lonely weeks spent in the wilderness of the Cairngorm mountains practicing my sniper skills in all weathers and all terrains. I can confidently take out a rabbit a mile away in a force-nine gale, so a couple of guys on a rooftop at a distance of no more than two hundred metres at best should be a piece of cake.
As well as my skills with a high-powered rifle, I was always handy with a knife, and I have developed a certain finesse with explosives, though I definitely prefer the one-to-one nature of a meticulously planned and executed shooting.
“Touchdown in three minutes. The landing site is a school sports field about half a mile from the car park.” Our pilot passes the information back over her shoulder, and we start to descend.
“You do the rest on foot,” Jack informs us. “Get your packs ready. Shouldn’t be many people about at this time in the evening, but be as unobtrusive as possible. You’ll find an entrance unlocked at the rear of the car park. The roof is six floors up.”
It’s to be hoped he’s right about the area being quiet. ‘Unobtrusive’ doesn’t come easily when you’re toting a pair of M07 Semi-Automatic Long Range Sniper Rifles, or LRSRsto their friends.
It turns out the intel is accurate. We make our way from the school sports field and through the deserted streets to arrive without incident at the car park. Nico phones Ethan as we enter the premises.
“We’re here, boss.” He pauses, then, “Okay. See you in two.”
“Boss is already here, with Aaron and Tony. Our guests are expected in twenty minutes.” He starts up the stairs.
I follow at a brisk sprint. We can use the few minutes’ grace to ensure we get the best vantage points at either end of the roof. Cover all angles as well as making sure we have sight of each other, too.
We emerge onto the roof. Ethan leans on the parapet opposite us, his ankles crossed, studying something on his phone. He glances at us as we approach and raises a hand in greeting.
Tony is on his right, his brother on his left. They both nod at us, cordial greetings are exchanged, then it’s down to business. Deadly, serious business.
Tony issues both of us with an earpiece. We’ll be able to listen to the conversation with the Gallaghers and be ready to respond if things don’t go well
The roof is around four hundred metres in length, well within range for either of us. Ethan chooses a spot for the meeting well away from any structures that might block our view of proceedings, and his hired Mercedes is parked right there. He ambles over to perch on the bonnet and leaves us to set up where we think fit.
I take three of the abseiling packs and amble over to the north end. Nico, along with the other two rucksacks, heads for the south wall. A three-foot-high metallic structure built to house electrical fittings offers a decent spot for anchoring my rifle, and I’m concealed behind it with the rucksacks. Only the barrel is visible, and the Gallaghers may not even spot it in the half-light if their reconnaissance is sloppy.
Nico finds a similar spot to set up, and within less than a minute, we’re all set. Now, we wait.
A few minutes pass before we hear the roar of powerful engines careering up the ramps beneath us. Three dark-coloured vehicles surge onto the roof where, amid much pointless squealing of burning tyres, they treat us to a display of their handbrake turns.
Morons.
I place my eye to the scope, not because I really need it at this distance, but to take in every detail in case I need to recognise any of these jokers again.
They screech to a halt, surrounding Ethan’s Mercedes and effectively hemming him in, or so they imagine. Six men emerge from the cars to saunter around our three, who barely so much as move to acknowledge this ridiculous posturing.
Ethan bows his chin by way of greeting. “Gallagher,” he intones. “You made it, then.”
One of the men, weighing two hundred kilos if he’s an ounce, squares up to him. “You’re in my backyard now, Savage. I do the talking. You listen, then you piss off back to that lump of rock you call home.”
Aaron is the one to respond. “You owe us money, Gallagher. We’ll collect it now and be on our way.”
Gallagher sneers at him. “Ah, the baby Savage. Last time I saw you, you were in short pants.”
“Looks like he’s about to shit his pants now, boss,” one of the other Gallagher crew observes, laughing like a drain at his own supposed wit.
“Two hundred and fifty grand,” Aaron continues. “Cash preferred.”
“You had all the money you’re getting, now turn around like good little boys and fuck off home while you still can.”
Doesn’t sound like they’re in any mood to negotiate. I select my man, the one who mentioned short pants, and train my crosshairs on the back of his head.
Nico and I have an agreement that generally serves us well. We go from left to right, he takes the first, me the second, and so on. We’ll each need to get off three shots, which we can accomplish in less than two seconds. There’s no breeze to speak of. Our accuracy is assured. Those men are already as good as dead.
Gallagher himself will fall to me, and I know not to deliver a kill shot there. He needs to go down, though, and not get up. Taking out his men is one thing, par for the course, but assassinating the head of another family would start a war, and Ethan doesn’t want that if we can help it. Not for a mere quarter of a million quid.
“You’re a thief, Gallagher.” Ethan regards him with contempt. “Worse, you’re a fucking stupid thief. Do you really want to be a dead one, too?”
Gallagher turns to grin at his men, his face contorted into a vicious snarl. “Fighting talk, from the fuckwit who let the goods go without being paid in full. Shall we teach him a bit about how the grown-ups do business?”
“We should, boss. It’d be a service, really.”
Another of the men produces what appears to be a sock from his jacket. He swings it to demonstrate the heavy weight suspended within. A lump of rock, maybe, perhaps a cricket ball. Whatever, it will make an effective club, and he has the demeanour of a man spoiling for a chance to demonstrate his prowess.
“Look around you, Savage. Can you fucking count? Three of you, six of us. Guess what that adds up to?”
“It adds up to six less streaks of shite stinking this place out,” Ethan replies calmly.
“Spud, the car.” Gallagher tips his chin at one of his men, who crouches beside Ethan’s motor and proceeds to slash the tyres.
“Oh dear, I get the impression you’ll be walking home. Oh, sorry, no you won’t. There’ll be no walking for a while, a few months, probably. Such a tragedy.” Gallagher lets out a roar and lurches forward as fast as his lumbering frame will allow.
Ethan drops to the ground to give me a clear shot. He knows our routine as well as we do. A rapid hail of gunfire erupts, and the Gallaghers topple like skittles all around him. Six shots, almost simultaneous, all on target. Head shots, no coming back from that.
But no instant death for Gallagher. He’s writhing on the ground, blood pouring from his shoulder. He screams in agony, fighting to get out from beneath club man who has landed on top of him.
Aaron drags the body off and drops to his haunches beside the fallen hero. “You’d do well to stay still, not bleed out so fast. It could be a while before anyone comes to help you.” He reaches into Gallagher’s jacket and retrieves his phone. “You won’t be needing this.” He drops it onto the concrete in front of Tony, who grinds his heel into it. He straightens with a tight smile. “You take care, now.”
Gallagher sees this as an opportunity to go for his gun. He reaches into his jacket, then screams in further agony when his hand pretty much explodes. My fourth bullet has found its target, there’ll be no more trouble from Eddie Gallagher.
Ethan and Tony jog over to me, Aaron is with Nico. I dismantle my rifle and tripod in seconds and stow it in the rucksack while Tony throws the abseiling rope over the low perimeter wall and secures it with a grappling hook.
Ethan is making a call to the other team at the warehouse. “It’s a go,” he growls and hangs up.
Tony drags a canvas strap harness around his hips, and without a moment’s hesitation, he leads the way over the edge, one rucksack on his back.
Ethan pockets his phone, checks that I’m ready, then follows him. I’m the last one over but I reach the ground just a fraction after the other two. We leave the ropes behind, but everything else goes with us.
We jog around the outside of the old building. “Car will be at the main entrance,” Ethan tells me. “Nice work there. Especially that final shot.”
“Cheers, boss. Happy to help,” I respond.
We round the final corner. The car is waiting, engine running. It’s a Volvo seven-seater SUV, big enough for all of us. Nico and Aaron arrive at the same time as us, from the opposite direction. We all throw our kit in the boot then pile in. Within seconds, the driver is weaving through the narrow backstreets of Newcastle, heading for the rendezvous point.
I lean back in my seat in the third row.
Aaron is next to me. He grins and offers me his hand. “Have we met?”
“Zayn,” I reply, accepting the handshake. “I’m new.”
“Not that new.” Ethan turns to regard us. “He’s been with us for four years. Or is it five? I see you’ve been busy, lad.”
“Training, sir,” I agree.
“Time well spent,” Aaron observes. “What’s your maximum range?”
I shrug. “I do okay. Up to a mile, I guess.”
Nico snorts. “And the rest. Ninety-nine percent accuracy up to two and a half thousand metres.” He grins. “I taught him well.”
Ethan’s eyes narrow. “You did, but shall we save the mutual adoration for the debriefing? How long until we meet up with the rest?”
“Twenty minutes, boss,” the driver replies. “Settle in and chill.”
Forty minutes later, we’re all assembled and on board the chopper. The other team liberated an estimated four hundred grand in cocaine and counterfeit currency which is quickly stowed in our Volvo for onward transit to Glasgow. We soar into the air, and the vehicle heads north.
“Nice work, everyone.” Ethan looks highly satisfied with the outcome of our excursion into England. “Full debriefing in my office at…” he consults his watch, “eight a.m. tomorrow morning. Enjoy your evening, my friends.”