A Servant of the Company (14 page)

Switching on the engine, he checked his mirrors and saw that the street was now deserted. ‘Time to go Ben, you jump in the back and I’ll drive the van to that spot over there.’ He pointed to the side wall of the pub where their target was drinking. ‘Once I stop I’ll join you and we’ll get rid of the kegs. O.K.?’ He turned to look at Ben and make sure that he understood. Ben had. He repeated Bill’s instructions word for word. Once he heard the back door close, Bill moved towards the space at the side of the pub. Leaving the engine running, he joined Ben, and together they lifted the kegs and placed them side by side hard up against the pub wall. In seconds they were driving carefully down the street. It was not until he was turning the first corner that he pressed the handset. He heard the explosion, but was out of view when it happened. He felt the whole of Manchester must have heard it as he continued on the allotted route. No one took any notice of the white van driving normally towards the main road and away from the devastated pub.

He had driven thirty miles before he stopped on a deserted country road to fit the logos. Two boards, four wing nuts and it was done. Now for the motorway and home. Time for Ben to go to the Parlour. The money was good and would more than pay for Lily for some time to come. He left the motorway to make the call, and then headed home a happy man. ‘Mission accomplished old son,’ he said. ‘Mission bloody accomplished. Over and out.’

‘During the war Ben, the R.A.F. used to go on missions, just like we‘ve just done, only they were dropping bombs over Germany. I bet they got briefings just like ours and felt good once they were on their way home. Just like us.’ He liked to give Ben the benefit of his knowledge but suspected that a lot of the things he told him would be deposited on rather stony ground.

Ben sat up straight in the front seat of the van, Bill had got through to him. ‘I bet they weren’t going back to somewhere like the Parlour.’ His head shook from side to side thinking of the fun the airmen had missed. He sat back in the seat thinking of the pleasures yet to come with Lily.

Glancing at his brother, Bill enjoyed seeing him relaxed and by the faraway look in his eyes, he knew he was thinking of the Parlour.

As Mr. P talked to his wife about the day’s events at the factory they were shaken by the loud explosion. He lived some miles away from the city, but the sound had travelled and he immediately thought it might be a terrorist attack. Some years ago he had heard something similar when the I.R.A. had placed bombs in the Arndale Centre. The sound had been the same and the damage horrendous. The thought of the good that could have been done if the amount of money spent to put right the terrorist atrocity had been available for hospitals or schools often crossed his mind. Terrorists of any type were anathema to him and when one met his due desserts he was a happy man. When a terrorist had a bomb go off before he planted it, the Army called it ‘an own goal.’ He just loved own goals. When the Ten o’clock news started, the first item was the explosion in Manchester. The cameras had scanned the scene of devastation and he could hardly breathe when he saw his factory on the screen. He couldn’t take it in. Things like this didn’t happen so close, they always happened elsewhere, wherever that was. Then the announcer mentioned ‘The Green Man’ public house and a number of deaths. It was all going over his head. He was up from his chair, standing close to the television set. Did this mean that some action had been taken against Grimshaw, and was he involved? He couldn’t be, he knew that but it was all too close to home. Was Grimshaw one of those killed in the explosion? Had any innocent people been hurt? The questions were coming into his mind thick and fast. Worry was quickly overcome by a surge of excitement, could this be a result of his phone calls? ‘I must go and see if the factory is alright. Some of the people hurt could work for us, I must check and see if there is anything I can do.’ Frantically searching for his car keys, he suddenly realised he always put them in the same place. He must calm down and wait and see for himself just what had happened and how it might affect their lives in the future. ‘I’ll ring you from the factory and let you know what’s going on’ he shouted. Before his wife could answer, he was out of the door and running to his car in the drive. He couldn’t get near to the factory as the Police diverted traffic away from the area. Smoke was rising above a block of flats, spreading a long trail across the night sky. Explosion and fire, it must be bad he thought.

Parking his car as near to the site as possible, he walked the rest of the way. The smell of burning was getting stronger as he hurried along the streets now filling with people, some showing fear, others eager to speculate on the cause of the explosion. Once he was within a short distance of the factory he was stopped by a Policeman guarding a tape fastened across the street. Mr. P was thinking hard, he had to get to the scene, he had to know. His future depended upon it.

‘Officer, my factory is opposite the Green Man pub, I heard on the news that’s where it happened. I really must check and see if any of my people are hurt. I’m a key holder for the building and I’m sure the Fire Brigade will want to check it if there’s fire around. We have some very flammable substances there, it could be quite dangerous. I really must let them in to check.’ There were no highly flammable substances, but he had to convince this young man that he had to pass the barrier.

‘Just a second Sir, I’ll just check it out. ‘Oscar one this is Bravo 23, I have the key holder for the factory opposite the pub, is it O.K. to let him through?’ There was a pause, and then a voice delivered the verdict.

‘23, affirmative you can let the key holder through. He should report to the Chief Fire Officer at the scene.’

‘Thanks Oscar 1.’

‘O.K. Sir, did you hear that?’ But Mr. P was on his way, calling thanks over his shoulder to the young Policeman as he ducked under the tape watched by the growing crowds of sightseers. Apart from broken windows, his factory looked intact. They were covered with metal grills to keep out thieves, so the damage could be repaired tomorrow. He looked over to where the ‘Green Man’ had been, it was difficult to recognise. One side had gone and the roof had collapsed onto the remains of the ground floor. Hoses from the fire hydrants littered the street, while firemen continued to douse the still smouldering remains. There were fire engines and police cars everywhere he looked, while ambulances queued up to take victims away to hospitals or to the morgue. He wondered how anyone could survive the tangle of concrete and brick. Smouldering timbers and the effect of water from the fire hoses kept the air filled with smoke and fumes. There must be someone he could ask, he didn’t want to interfere with the men trying their best to perform miracles getting survivors out, but he did need to know about Grimshaw. He spotted a Fireman talking to a Senior Police Officer and approached them.

‘Excuse me gentlemen, I am the owner of the building opposite and I was asked to report to someone senior here.’ He waited expectantly for a response, but did not have any idea how he could get information about Grimshaw. Only locals could help there.

‘I am the Chief Fire Officer Sir, one of your people has keys and let us in to check the building. Everything is O.K. there, I’m sure he’s still inside. You could check.’

‘Thank you, you have been very helpful. Is there anything I can do to help? You have a terrible job here tonight.’ Mr. P waited, he knew the answer. These people were professionals, they would have their plans for disasters such as this. But he had to offer.

‘Kind of you Sir, but we just about have things under control. The fire’s out and we are now concentrating on finding survivors.’ Leaving them to continue with their plans, he set off to find one of his key staff in the factory. It did not take long, once he hammered on the door his production Manager appeared covered in dust and sweating profusely.

‘Am I glad to see you Mr. P.? I rang your house and your wife told me you were on your way. There’s a lot of smoke and dust damage I’m afraid, but no water thank God. I’ve started to board up where I can, but we haven’t much material available. I rang the emergency joiner, but he’s out boarding up windows in the city following a mini riot.’

‘Well done Ali, you’re a good man. What would I do without you?’ Mr. P’s words came from the heart, he had carefully picked his staff and treated them well, and in return they were very loyal to him.

‘I only live two streets away and news travels fast around here. I got here before the barricades went up. The Fire Brigade has checked us out and we’re O.K.’

‘Have you heard of any casualties Ali?’ He could hardly wait for a reply, his pulse was racing, please let it be Grimshaw.

‘No there’s been nothing yet on who was killed or injured but by the sound of the explosion there is sure to be bad news for some families.’

It would take another twelve hours before he got the answer. Sleep did not come easily. It finally overcame him just minutes before his alarm had gone off at six a.m. Time had never dragged so much. Not waiting to shower, he dressed quickly and dashed from the house and headed for his factory. Many of his staff were already there when he arrived but he was unable to get the news he hoped for. When it eventually came, it had never been so sweet. It was difficult not to scream with joy, but he had to wear a sad expression to avoid standing out in the crowd. The lunch time newspaper listed the names of the dead. He recognized some as Grimshaw’s cronies, but the one which shone like a beacon was ‘Grimshaw’ himself. Mr. P looked to the heavens and quietly thanked God for his deliverance. On this occasion he was pleased an own goal hadn’t been scored. His main problem was over, he just hoped that there weren’t more to come from another direction. There was a difference he told himself, while Grimshaw was the scum of the earth, he had been dealing with a gentleman who represented the Organisation. He was a totally different type and was sure he could be trusted. Later he would ring and tell him about the explosion and of Grimshaw’s death. The Organisation would want to know. He didn’t have to worry, when checking his mobile as instructed, he found they had tried to contact him at 9.00 a.m. He immediately returned the call. The educated voice was soft and reassuring.

‘Now you can relax at last Mr. P. All we ask for is the regular supply from the east, you understand that don’t you.’ He waited. He didn’t want anything to happen to his new recruit, but if he reneged on the agreement, the necessary action would be taken to reduce Mr. P’s life span.

‘I understand, it will be done just let me know when and where. You know how grateful I am over last night’s results. I can’t thank you enough.’ Mr. P was almost in tears. The stress he had suffered since Grimshaw first contacted him had turned him into a nervous wreck. His old confidence was now returning.

‘Just keep on packaging it as usual and we will give you instructions on delivery. This may take some time, but don’t worry, we’ll be back.’ He put just a hint of menace into his last sentence, he didn’t want Mr. P to think he was getting off too lightly.

The hint was not lost. While he had been involved with Grimshaw he had started to bite his nails. When he switched off his mobile, his fingers went straight into his mouth. I must be careful he told himself. He was in between the devil and the deep blue sea. Work for the Organisation or suffer the penalties. He owed them, so he had to comply. The other problem was the Police, he could not have the drugs traced back to him or everything he had worked for would be lost. The result would be a life in prison, and who knows what would happen to his family. Once again he was a worried man.

He had collected the mail from the Wimbledon flat and found the application forms which had arrived from the recruitment consultants, together with their recommendations. These he ignored. It was the Henderson form he was interested in. He had attached a note to the recommended list suggesting they add Henderson’s name to those to be interviewed. They sensibly did not argue the point. The date, times and venue had been arranged for the interviews and all those invited had responded positively. Arriving early at the hotel, he sat in the lobby area which gave him a view of anyone entering. He wanted to see the people from the agency when they arrived at the reception desk, from there he could sum them up, preferring to keep any contact to the minimum. They were immediately obvious to him, three men in their thirties, one obviously in charge. After pinning an interview list on the large notice board available for companies using the hotel facilities for this purpose, they headed for the lift which would take them to the allotted room. As the lift doors closed on the trio, he got up and examined the list. Interviews were being held on the sixth floor in the Cumberland Suite of the hotel starting at 10.00 a.m. Henderson’s interview was timed for 11.00 a.m. This was the last recruit. He had reached the limit of his ability to control any more enterprises. Manipulating his time, people, businesses and money profitably, without the intrusion of the law had been an enjoyable challenge and he loved it, but the time had come to concentrate on what he’d got. Any more and it might get out of hand and prove to be dangerous for the Organisation.

The notice board showed details of other companies on the recruitment trail. They too had been selective in their choice of venue. He was about to return to his seat in the foyer for a further ten minutes when his attention was drawn to a tall young blonde female dashing into the reception area looking flushed and in a great hurry. The receptionist directed her to a notice board which she checked quickly before running to the elevator. He smiled as he saw her remove her shoes and run up an adjacent staircase. A few minutes later he watched as she returned in the lift.

‘Excuse me, do you have an A4 sheet of paper and a felt pen I could borrow.’ She smiled sweetly at the receptionist.

The smile was returned and the receptionist checked under her desk before handing the items to Carol.

‘Thank you very much,’ she said as she turned and seated herself near to the notice board. After some thought, she began writing. A minute or so later she had pinned her note on the board. Walking towards the exit she paused by litter bin where she tore up the papers she was carrying and thrust them into the bin. Although still flushed, she had suddenly acquired an aura of serenity. Or was it self satisfaction?

Under the R.L.G. logo on the board, the note read, ‘Regret Vacancy Now Filled. Applicants will be advised by post as soon as possible.’

‘Fascinating. Now what could be in the bin?’ He waited until the receptionist was engaged with a visitor before retrieving the papers and putting them into his briefcase. ‘These can wait until later, now for the bloody interviews.’

The Agency team were busy arranging chairs around the table when he entered the room. His intention was to remain as low profile as possible so he adopted a timid manner. Introducing himself quietly, he asked where he should sit, and then announced that he would not interfere with the proceedings, he was just an observer. He certainly did not want Henderson to hear his voice and with luck all three would dismiss him as a nonentity. The team leader said he would sit one end of the table with his number two, facing the interviewees. He was asked to sit opposite number three. The applicant would take the vacant fourth side.

Interviews started promptly at ten o’clock and it was soon apparent that the three interviewers had a well practiced routine. He was impressed at the amount of information they elicited from the applicants. At the end of the first interview he was getting a feel of the pharmaceutical industry. The young applicant had been impressive and had he been really interested in filling a vacancy in that area, he would have had no compunction whatsoever in offering him a job. But he had no intention of any of today’s applicants being offered a job, not even Henderson.

He had formed a picture in his mind about Henderson’s appearance, and when he entered the room said to himself, ‘Ten out of ten.’ He was tall, slim and had a military bearing about him which was more obvious now he was faced with three civilians.

When the questions started, he answered positively and with confidence, it was obvious he had no experience of pharmaceuticals, but had done some homework and was able to ask some pertinent questions. There were no questions about his decision to leave the Army until he slid a piece of paper to number two.

‘Why did you decide to leave the Army when you were progressing so well?’

Steve’s face turned pink as he fielded the question. ‘There really wasn’t any money in it?’ he bluffed, hoping that the question would not be pursued. Fortunately it wasn’t, although it would have made no difference if it had.

Each time Henderson had given a good answer, he had nodded to himself as though in agreement. This was the only applicant he was interested in, the rest of the day would be time wasting. At the end of the interview, Henderson had thanked the team, acknowledging each in turn with a glance and confident smile. He nodded in return.

He was still, his hands on his knees beneath the table and out of view. The three interviewers could talk among themselves until the next applicant arrived.

As the last applicant left the room in the late afternoon, he rose from the table and picked up his briefcase. Quietly, he thanked the team for their professionalism in carrying out the interviews and asked them to forward the forms to head office together with their comments and recommendations. A final decision would then be reached. He left the room as quietly as he had entered it. The team would soon forget the quiet man.

When he returned home, he settled down to consider the day’s events. Henderson had coped adequately with the barrage of questions but he was not in the same Pharmaceutical league as some of the others. To him it mattered not one iota. He had seen his quarry, made a positive judgement and was now ready for the final phase in preparing Mr. Henderson for his future role. Four days later the forms and comments were returned via Arif Rahman’s depository. On day six they were in his hands. One he kept, the remainder he sent regret letters which he had asked the recruitment consultants to prepare on their headed paper in readiness once a decision had been reached. After ten days, he sent the final letter to Mr. S. Henderson regretting that he had been unsuccessful in his application. Posting the letter, he said. ‘That should unsettle you a little more my young friend.’ If he could reduce Henderson to the lowest point he would ever reach in his life, he would be malleable, trainable and very useful. The job was ready and waiting. The location, Manchester.

There was one more thing he had to do. The papers discarded by the young woman in the hotel lobby had been pieced together, and temptation beckoned to try another recruitment plan, but he was wavering, ‘Should he, shouldn’t he?’ He knew he shouldn’t, but she was a cracker, and certainly had some spirit.

An Economics Graduate from Bristol University, fallen on hard times. It was too good an opportunity to miss. A plan was already forming in his mind.

On many of his flights with the major airlines, reading the in flight magazines he had noticed escort agencies advertising their services for businessmen who might be visiting this or that city. He had no doubt that the escorts supplied a number of services, including work as translators, PR assistants and in some cases just company for a specified, prepaid period of time. There were hundreds of beautiful multilingual foreign girls who would be eager to join such companies. And more were arriving each week. It could be extremely lucrative. There might be times when an escort would provide services not on the menu. A real success could be made of this, with the help of Miss Carol Barcroft ex- Bristol University.