Kingdom: The Complete Series (47 page)

She nods her
understanding.

“
Ok,
now tell me this: what are you doing in Glasgow?”

“
We
were invited,” she whispers. “By him.”

“
Him?”

“
You
know who I'm talking about.”

Jamie leans closer, and
Cathy and Gary give each other a wide eyed look of fear.

“
Say
his name, then.”

She leans forward,
hissing it.

“
The
King.”

Episode
2

Hangover

Cathy is crouched
beside an injured man, hand wrapped around a bullet wound on his forearm that
is seeping blood into the couch he lies on. He scowls at her.

“
Keep
pressure on it,” she says, her face poker straight.

In the corner, Jamie
holds a small silver revolver against a woman's shoulder; her mascara is
starting to run with angry, pained weeping, and every breath that she takes is
strained by her five broken fingers.

“
Tell
me everything that you know about the King,” says Jamie. “Everything.”

“
I'll
tell you anything,” she says in her broad Birmingham accent, “but not that,
mate. Don't make me tell you that.”

A single gunshot cracks
the silence, and Cathy stifles a scream, clamping her hands to her ears as the
screaming starts. Jamie has fired a single round through the woman's shoulder,
and she writhes and screams as he leans over her, snarling.

“
Talk.”

She can't talk through
her clenched teeth – there's just screaming.

“
Jesus
Jamie,” shouts Gary, “is that really necessary -”

He turns with his eyes
ablaze. “Gary if you can't handle this, go and stand in the hallway.”

Gary says nothing, and
Jamie turns back to the woman as her screams break into heavy breaths.

“
Ok,”
he lowers his voice. “Now talk.”

Tears are flowing
freely now. “I – I can't, you don't know what he'll do.”

Jamie rests the barrel
against her kneecap, and raises an eyebrow.

“
Leave
her alone,” growls one of the injured men, trying to get up on a shattered
kneecap.

Jamie flickers, and the
man collapses with his cheekbone caved in, unconscious and drooling blood. Gary
flinches; then Jamie is back, crouched over the woman, a lead pipe in one hand
and the revolver back against her knee.

“
You're
afraid of the King, I get it,” he says. “But he's not here. I am.”

He cocks the revolver.

Jamie jumps and nearly
fires when he feels Cathy's hand on his shoulder. He looks up, angered and
impatient.

“
Christ,
Cathy, don't do that -”

“
Put
the gun down, son,” she says, squeezing his shoulder.

Jamie narrows his eyes.
“What?”

“
Put
it down. The girl's scared.”

Jamie leans back in
confusion as Cathy sits beside the injured woman, and takes her hand.

“
What
did the King threaten you with?” she asks. “Kids? Family?”

“
Listen,”
she whispers. “What I can tell you is where he'll be tonight, at midnight.”

“
Go
on.”

“
Give
me a map. We're helping him bring guns in.”

“
Guns?”

“
Yeah.
My family knows a lot of arms dealers – it's why he came to us.”

“
Sounds
like he's building an army.”

“
Maybe
he is.”

Jamie stares at her;
she's fighting to keep the pain from her face.

“
Ok,”
he says, finding a little respect for his enemy. He lifts his phone from his
pocket and pulls up a map of Glasgow. “Point us there.”

He checks his watch as
she scrolls with her good hand through streets strung together like a dream catcher,
oranges and reds and blues.

“
We've
got two hours,” he says, taking the phone back as she marks the location. He
checks it. “Right, I know the place, it's straight up from Charing Cross. We
can walk it in about ninety minutes.” He turns to the woman again. “He's
definitely going to be there? The King?”

“
Aye”
she says. “And he'll be expecting me, too -”

“
Nice
try; you're going to prison sugar.” Jamie lifts the phone to his ear. “Chloe,
you there?”

“
As
always.”

“
We've
got a possible location for the King, it's on my map. Let the team know, get
them to meet us there if possible. We'll need everyone for this. Are the police
on their way to my current location?”

“
Police
and ambulance, yeah.”

“
Ok,
we'll wait till we hear sirens then leave, don't want this lot alerting the
King.”

“
Good
idea.”

“
Gary,”
he turns to his team. “You and Cath, gather up all of the guns, phones,
wallets, everything. Get a bag and take what's in their fridge too.”

“
What?”
sneers the injured woman on the floor. “Are you lot living in a garage or
something?”

“
Something
like that, yeah,” says Jamie, smiling.

They leave to the sound
of distant sirens, huddled in their jackets as the cold settles in for the
night. Street-lights flicker in the distance, and the stars sprawl out above them,
getting comfortable for the night. Halfway down a street, Jamie ducks into a
line of hedges and dumps the plastic bag, making a note on his phone's map.

Someone will pick it up
tomorrow.

Leaving as emergency
vehicles round the corner, the team disappear into the twilight mist like bad
memories.

Across town, Mark and
Stacy enter the safe-house like tourists, eyes wide and taking in the sights.
Trespasser One ushers them in, a bellboy in combat armour, and gives them a
brief tour.

The safe-house resembles
a bunker, like a basement with rickety stairs leading up to a hatch above them.
Moss and damp huddle like old friends in the corner, whilst buzzing florescent
lights brighten the room like a cold winter sun.

Chloe looks over from
behind a bank of computer screens and speakers, headphones pressing her short
blonde curls down. Standing up, she smiles and takes her headphones off,
jogging across the room to them.

She throws her arms
around Mark, grinning.

“
You're
here,” she says, and moves from Mark to Stacy, who returns the embrace. “How
the hell have you two been?”

“
Surprisingly
sober,” says Mark, laughing.

She looks at the
Trespasser, and back to them. Trespasser One is looking around with a raised
eyebrow.

“
Where
is everyone?” he asks.

“
I
sent them down to Finnieston; the raid was a success. We've got news.”

“
What
raid?” asks Mark. “What news?”

Chloe looks around at
the trio, taking a breath.

“
You
were right,” she looks at the Trespasser. “The King is back, and he's going to
an arms deal tonight. We intercepted the dealers, the team are heading there as
we speak. It goes down at midnight.”

“
Shit.”

Mark steps between
them, confused.

“
The
King? You're absolutely sure?”

The Trespasser brushes
past them, heading for one of the camp-beds. He kneels beside it and pulls a
red toolbox out from beneath it. As he clicks it open and searches through it,
he talks.

“
We
knew this might happen. He doesn't know we're coming though – the advantage is
ours.”

Stacy grabs his hand
out of reflex, and Mark squeezes it, swallowing hard.

Finally, the Trespasser
has assembled a modular assault rifle with a grenade launcher slung under the
barrel. He stands up, checks the load, and slings it over his shoulder.

“
Right,
Chloe, you got comms and everything up?”

“
Yeah,
as always, just phone the number when you get there,” she says, returning to
her post at the computers.

“
Ok,
good, give me a map of the place if you can. You two,” he turns to Mark and
Stacy, “I'll understand if you want to sit this out.”

“
Yeah,”
says Stacy, “I'm a little rusty on the whole combat thing these days. Don't
know how much use I'd be anyway.”

“
Mark?”
he asks. “”We've got a bottle of whiskey here just in case, you want to down it
and follow? We could use a heavy hitter.”

Mark looks at Stacy,
uncertainty in his eyes.

“
I,
uh,” he murmurs, “I don't -”

“
Don't
want to,” the Trespasser jumps in. “It's ok, I understand. I'll see you both
when I get back. Chloe?”

“
Yeah?”

“
Bring
these two up to speed on what they've missed.”

She nods, and the
Trespasser pats them both on the shoulder as he passes by, running up the
stairs and leaving with a slam of the hatch.

Jamie is sitting in the
overgrown hedges, his clothes catching the moisture in the damp air like towels
and soaking him to the bone. Everything smells like damp woodland and forestry,
despite the road ten feet away.

He feels his inner coat
pocket trembling, and curses: phone call. Answering it without taking it out of
his pocket, he puts the earphone in under his hood, and lifts the coat pocket
to his mouth.

“
Chloe,”
he mutters. “What's up?”

“
I've
got a conference call going on here, you should all be able to hear each
other.”

A bunch of voices
clamour in confusion over one another, stopping and starting until Chloe blows
a hiss of static through their earphones.

“
One
at a time,”
she scolds them,
“and call your
bloody names before speaking.”

“
Ok,
listen,” says Jamie - another hiss of static stabs in his ear. “Chloe, damn it,
what the -”

“
Call
your name!”

“
Ok,
ok.” he sighs. “This is Jamie, I'm at the location. Gary and Cath are hidden
nearby. We're waiting on backup.”

“
Ten
minutes till the deal,”
says Chloe.
“Help is inbound,
hold your position.”

Jamie rolls his eyes,
trying to distance himself from the feeling that this is a military operation.

Another voice comes
through his earpiece, breaking through the garbled ambience of the quiet city;
if one car passes, it echoes through their earpieces as it passes each
team-member.

This voice is familiar:

“
This
is Trespasser One. I have Donald with me. I'm above the location, up on the
overpass. I can provide cover, but if you'd rather I breach with you guys then
-”

“
We'll
be fine,” says Jamie. “Keep an eye out in case anybody tries to make an
escape.”

He looks out from his
jungle-esque hideout, scanning his eyes over the shadowed road running above
them, over a tunnel to his right.

“
Trespasser,
I don't see you,” he says.

“
That's
the point, son.”

“
Ah.”

“
Five
minutes,”
comes Chloe's voice.

“
This
is Trespasser One: what's your plan, Jamie?”

“
Walk
in,” he says, “and incapacitate anybody that tries to stop me.”

“
And
if you find the King?”

Jamie reaches into his
coat pocket and thumbs the small, silver revolver, warm from his body heat,
beating with a pulse of its own as he rotates the cylinder over and over.

“
Jamie?”
he asks again, his voice crackling as a van passes by his position. Jamie sees
the van's lights flicker overhead.

“
I'll
bring him in; alive if possible.”

“
Good
lad. I think that van was one of our marks, by the way.”

“
What
makes you say that?”

“
Plates
are fake.”

Jamie knows better than
to ask how the Trespasser can tell. He settles into his hideout, squatting
amongst the brambles.

“
This
is Jamie. Are we all ready to move in?”

The replies come back
like echoes.

“
It's
Cathy, I'm, uh, ready -”

“
Donald.
I'm here -”