Giles Hill Community Centre was situated a mile away from the Port of Fitton Bridge. It was half a mile away from the homes of Katie and Kim. It was a 1970s style single storey building. It had red brick walls and lots of long glass windows with coloured panels below. It was a well-used community facility, and its walls featured an abundance of posters and leaflets of what was on offer. It was
4.25 p.m. as Jago rode passed the centre that appeared closed. The lights were off, and the main door closed with a padlock and chain around the handles. Jago rode around the block twice and then along a path that ran above and behind the centre. He parked his bike on the track under the cover of some shrubbery and secured his helmet to his motorcycle. The position was perfect for observing the centre's access points: the main door and the two fire exits. A silver Mercedes approached, and Tony alighted. He positioned himself in an alleyway opposite the centre's main entrance. The car continued onwards, and Jago watched it make a three-point turn about three hundred metres farther along. It returned and parked in the street a short way from the centre. The chunky figure of Mick headed for the centre. He was carrying a pair of bolt croppers. A few seconds later, Jago heard the snap of the chain being broken on the main door. Tony immediately crossed the road and entered. They were both lying in wait for Kim. A light went on in the entrance passageway and the main hall, making it look inviting.
Jago drew his Sig Sauer from its holster and screwed on the suppressor. He was ready to take them on and keen to stop them at all costs. Jago couldn’t let them continue their horrific spree. Under the cover of trees and shrubs, he descended the incline into the centre’s carpark where three vehicles were parked: two small cars and a high-sided van. The van was closest to the centre. The side of the truck read ‘Giles Amateur Dramatics’. Jago was level with the truck now and decided to tuck his weapon into his waistband under his jacket. He walked calmly into the centre.
“Mr Harding, are you there Mr Harding? We've got a lot of props to bring in for the rehearsal.”
Jago came upon Tony first.
“Oh hello, are you Mr Harding, the caretaker? Only we’ve got lots of props to bring and little time to do it. That’s us, the Giles Amateur Dramatics.” Jago pointed to the van outside the window.
Tony replied, “No, I’m not Harding. He isn't here yet. We’ve hired the hall for a meeting. You can’t come in now. I’m afraid that you’ll have to wait outside.”
Jago went to walk past Tony.
“Oh, okay, but I just need to see how much space we’ll have.” Jago raced past him, scanning the area for the other man. “I won’t be a moment, promise.”
Empty handed, Tony grabbed Jago’s arm, and Jago sprang into action, turning the grab to his advantage by misdirecting the energy of his pace and the grab hold. This action put Tony off balance, forcing him to stumble yet regain control of his feet quickly. He launched himself at Jago who stepped aside and deflected Tony’s attack, thrusting him into a wall and the low pipe that ran along it. This time, Tony came to his feet, pistol in hand. His eyes met Jago’s, and Jago dropped to a bended knee at the same time as drawing his gun from his waistband and shooting a double tap to the head. That was Tony’s last view. Jago watched as blood splattered the cream-coloured wall behind Tony. He rapidly rifled through Tony’s pockets, taking his wallet and mobile phone. Jago paused, took a photo of Tony, and listened, waiting patiently for any sound. And then he heard it. A creak of a door to his right, along a long passageway which housed toilets, offices and various rooms. Jago peered around the corner into the passageway. It was silent. He waited again. He heard another small sound, and it came from an office on the right. The doors to the offices and rooms all had a vertical pane of glass above the door handle and, as Jago angled a view, he could just make out a silhouette created by the exterior centre lighting and the figure of Mick waiting in the unlit office. Jago retreated down the passageway.
Jago started opening and shutting the doors to the offices and rooms under the pretence that he was looking for Mr Harding again. He travelled down the corridor.
Jago repeated this room after room. “Hello, Mr Harding, are you there? It’s Derek from the theatrical group. Can I have a word?”
He uttered the same words as he opened the office in which Mick had waited.
He switched the light on and saw Mick wince at the brightness. He took advantage of this momentary lapse and shot him once in the shoulder. Mick fell against a filing cabinet but managed to lift his pistol which was in his other hand. Jago fired again, and Mick’s gun fell to the ground.
Jago spoke. “So, you’re one of those psychos who killed the girl?”
Mick’s pained rely came. “I suppose you’re the boyfriend, are you?”
“No, not the boyfriend.”
“Then it’s got nothing to do with you. It’s none of your business. But I can tell you this though. I enjoyed every minute of it.”
Jago shot him again. This time in the thigh. Mick cried out in agony as the wound poured with blood. He reached for it with his hands which, in turn, multiplied his pain.
“Enjoy that, did you? You see, without a tourniquet you’ll slowly bleed to death. You might be able to grin and bear the pain of applying one, but with a wound in one shoulder and another in a bicep, that might not happen. Anyway, I’m asking the questions. Who are you working for?”
“Go to hell!” spat Mick.
Jago closed in and stood on his leg wound, resulting in Mick screaming. He went to grab Jago’s leg, and Jago pushed his pistol’s suppressor into his shoulder wound, Mick recoiling in agony.
“I asked you a question.”
Mick managed to splutter out angrily, “And I said, go to hell!”
Jago turned to leave, paused and turned back, aiming at Mick’s other leg. “Have it your way.” He fired another round and saw Mick’s trouser leg turn an instant crimson.
Mick was fumbling in his pocket, and Jago saw him produce a grenade. He ran at Mick, easily tearing the grenade from Mick’s grip which was weak due to his wounds. Jago swung to one side of Mick, who was still against the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. He gave Mick a hefty boot on the side of his torso, forcing him to double over on one side. As he did, Jago pulled the pin and shoved the grenade down the back of Mick’s tucked-in shirt.
Realising what had happened, Mick desperately tried to untuck his shirt, however, his arms pained and restricted him in doing so. Jago calmly and swiftly left the room commenting, “You won’t be hurting anyone ever again.”
Closing the door behind him, Jago picked up the pace and ran down the passageway, just reaching the main entrance as the explosion rang out.
***
“Abi, what have we got so far?”
“Well, I’m in the process of running the guy’s photo that you sent over. By the way, did you have to use a headshot? It doesn’t make facial recognition easy, you know.”
“Needs must, Abi, needs must.”
“Anyway, you might be interested to know that Henry L. Greenslade is in town. He’s not far away. I’ve spoken to him about Kim, and he’s happy to meet you. He’s given me his direct line which is on its way to you now along with his location. Bernie and I have also done some digging, and it appears that Greenslade is at the mercy of the unions and the people who run the union, namely gangsters. And would you believe the one name that keeps appearing again is Van Dooren, who incidentally has been telling potential investors huge falsehoods about his Chinese connections and a twenty-year operator’s licence that doesn’t exist. I’ve put details on the secure drive for you along with the covert recording that Dom made.”
“Thanks, Abi, good work. I’d like to keep tabs on Van Dooren. I want to know his whereabouts at all times. Can you keep me posted hourly?”
“Will do, Boss. Where are you off to next? By the way, Dom’s on his way to you in the Aston. I tasked him just in case you were in need of support, but I see from the phone messages, pictures and the police report in the area you’re in that you don’t need that.”
“That was a good idea, it could have gone either way. You never know. Can you get Dom to go over to Mark’s and babysit the pair? I don’t want them to be on the receiving end of anything like Katie had to put up with. I’ll make my way over to Greenslade and see what information I can get there. Does he appear legit?”
“Dom is on his way to Mark’s, and yes, Greenslade does appear legitimate. He’s diversified in recent years. His main business is still shipping, but he has a couple of factories in Asia, three restaurants and a hotel near Heathrow which is where he’ll be staying. I also have some intel on the photos that young Ian sent. Evidently, he planted information in the photos that, when enlarged, provided coordinates of dumping, details of cargo manifests, and personalities involved. There may be more intel on its way. Joe and I are in the middle of checking the details now. Also, the Ocean Beautiful Organisation has been compiling a report, naming and shaming governments and companies who have been flouting the laws and international treaties. Some of those named were from the fleet of Henry L. Greenslade.”
“Oh really! That’s worth knowing. Carry on and let me know how it develops. I’m off now.”
“Okay, Boss. Oh, before you go, how is the new Stealth Hawk performing?”
“It rides like a dream. I’m very impressed, and you can go ahead and order the other two now.”
“Brilliant, I’ll get them ordered.”