They stowed Tam Bowie in a big oak barrel. It was the only way to get him inside Aitkenbar Distillery, and he was not at all happy..
Things had happened so fast it all seemed to go in a blur of urgency and motion. Kate had stopped Jack on his way home with the mail from Tim Farmer's house just after Ed peeled away, and his heart was still thudding hard from the adrenaline hit of near miss.
"You should come in with us," she said. "If we stop Sproat, then it can maybe save the dairy, and you'll have a job again."
"I quit," he said. "For good. No more running around for somebody else, working before anybody's awake. It's time for me to move on and up."
"In the hold of a lugger?"
"It's a supply ship. There's big business out on the north sea. It's the last frontier."
"It's the last place you want to boldly go." Her expression couldn't hide the disappointment. "So what about Charter group? Are you not interested in helping the town?"
He laughed out loud and she looked up at him, a little hurt, more annoyed.
"What's so funny?"
"This town just puts its head under its wing and goes to sleep. You said it yourself. That Millennium Wall just shows that this town hasn't got the bottle or the stamina and it just doesn't care. People like Sproat have the council in their pockets and they do what they want. To hell with the rest of us."
"That's why it's important to stop them now!"
"You think you have a chance?" She didn't know about the conversations he'd had with his Uncle Sandy.
"Yes, I do, really I do. And only because some people are getting off their backsides to do something, rather than just accept what's been done to them."
He stopped and leant against a lamp post. She folded her arms and looked up at him, hair glinting like hot metal in the helium glow.
"I'm not doing nothing," he said.
"Sure. You've got a plan."
"I'm working from the other end." He had to tell her something. "These boys from Dunvegan, they're bringing down a bunch of pickets from Skye. They've called the press and I said I'd help them out, them and Donny and Ed Kane."
"I don't know why you spend so much time with that wild bunch," she said, changing tack. "They'll hold you back."
"Elitist," he said, but he kept it light.
"Great phrase for a milkman." She was angering a little, exasperated. "You've got a chance to improve your lot, show them what you're really made of, and you plan to throw it away."
"What's it to you?" He was riling her and she knew it.
"I'd rather see you fly than see you sink. Of all the people I know, you could do it Jack. You really could. You were wasted in that dairy and you'll be ruined on a lugger."
She reached up and knuckled his forehead. "There's a good brain in there. Don't waste it Jack. Honestly, you could be whatever you want."
"And I still will. Anyway, I know all about the Bruce Decree. My uncle and his pals in the boat club did some research at the library. If anybody can stop Sproat, these old boys can."
She pulled back, surprised. "You never told me that."
"You never asked. Anyway, I need a favour. I want to hire your talent."
"What makes you think it's for hire?"
"Art for arts sake, you said. Money for god's sake."
This time she laughed and he knew he had diverted her. He wasn't in the mood for an argument, even though he admired the way she was so quick to burn hot.
"What makes you think you can afford the likes of me, Mr Lorne?"
"I'll make you an offer you can't refuse. I need some artwork."
"What's it for?"
"To have a go at Sproat."
"Well, if you'd said. I'm very reasonable."
"Who ever told you that?" He pushed away from the lamp post. "Come on. I'll walk you home and show you what I need."
He turned around and she slinked a hand round his arm and it made him feel good, even though he hadn't exactly told the truth.
Donny Watson had fixed the hogshead. He might have been half daft, according to Kate Delaney, but he could work wood and he worked it good. It was solid oak and built up from spare staves from old Amontillado sherry casks that had been dismantled and re-cut, bound with new iron hoops and end-panel flats.
The cooperage was the weak link in Aitkenbar Distillery's security. Jack had sat up on the knoll on the day after Andy Kerr had drawn his short straw, watching the proceedings through the old field binoculars, taking zoom shots with the little Minolta camera Neil's brother had sold him. Here, close by the river, busy flocks of goldfinch fluttered and argued in the hazels and a lone wren, tiny and perfect, whirred back and forth on blurred wings to a moss nest woven into the upturned roots of an alder. It had been difficult to concentrate on the job in hand, but he forced himself to it.
The barrel store was closer to the harbour basin than the rest of the distillery, on the flat low ground bordering the inlet that filled up to the slate flagstones at high tide, even through it was almost a mile up from the river mouth. The bottling plant was to the west and Jack could identify the various sections from the shape of the roofs. His notebook lay open on his knee, with the little sketch plan of the bottling hall and the stillroom and the big decant tank, roughed out in pencil, with prison-garb arrows to indicate what was where.
The tank filling hall was furthest from the river, built on higher ground where the land rose close to the railway line that once delivered the grain directly along the spur, crossing the dip in the road that swooped under the iron bridge. From there the whole plant was cut off from the rest of the world, not like the cooperage which was bounded on two sides by a chain link fence, but by a solid iron affair with triple top-spikes to discourage the reckless. The geese marched up and down the grass behind the fence, honking at anything that moved within vision, or pausing to feed on the scattered grain. Jack took a picture of the fence around the cooperage where the dark barrels were stacked in rows five high. A couple of men shunted around on fork-lifts. At lunch-time, a group came out for a kick-about and two men ambled over to the fence where it was shaded by the trees, surreptitiously drew dark bottles from their overalls and pushed them through a hole into the undergrowth beyond.
They got Tam in at the lunch break, through the same hole a week later. Jed widened it with a big pair of bolt cutters, snipping the links right down at the bramble level, just enough for Tam and his toolbox to slither through. It was overcast now, threatening a summer downpour and Tam's face was as grey as the sky.
"I'm losing a day's wages," he complained, but that wasn't what bothered him. This was the first big risk. This was the start.
"You have to speculate to accumulate," Jack told him. "Check the phone."
Paddy Cleary had come up with the goods just the night before and they had to move fast because they had to get in and get things sorted before the decant. If they missed that, they missed everything. Jack heard it first from Margery Burns and he hoped nobody else found out about that or he'd be dead in the water in so many ways.
She'd been at the bar in the Castle Bowling Club and the beer had gone down a treat. The boatmen had stagged the function room and then once the drink had started flowing, they'd opened it up to women members, using Sandy's cream liqueur as an enticement and some of the old duffers were three sheets to the wind by half past nine. Jack had helped load Willie McIver's van with the crates of Irish stout and lager in bottles of every shape and size and when they were uncorked, the place really did smell like a brewery. Sandy insisted he had a beer and he took a stout that had sat in Willie's cooler in the garage for the weekend and Jack couldn't believe how much it had improved with age.
He had promised to go down and see Neil and the girls in the Starlight show where they were trying an ambitious version of Shop of Horrors, but it was only Wednesday and he'd some things to work out and needed the time to himself. If he turned up there, Kate would nab him and take him backstage where she had designed and painted all the flats and then she'd give him more earache about going to sea with big Lars Hanssen.
As it turned out, Margery Burns was worth her weight in gold and he didn't even have to push it. She had short, shiny-blonde hair that looked as if it had only minor assistance from a bottle and very good legs that she took no precautions to hide. She must have been going on forty five, but could have traded at a good handful less than that. Jack had pulled away from the boat club gang when the speakers had started belting out the fifties rock and jive and the old biddies started to believe they could still throw themselves about the way they used to.
He moved up to the bar and Harry Conroy who had the license for the place gave him the nod.
"Bad news at the dairy."
"Bad news all round," Jack said. "This'll be like the saloon in Deadwood."
Harry laughed. The club didn't take passing trade, so business would go on.
"Better that than competing against your Uncle," Harry said. "That devil's brew could wipe us all out."
The woman at the end of the bar spoke up.
"You work in the dairy?"
"Until Friday," Jack said. He hadn't seen her, but as soon as he looked up he recognised her. She'd been married to councillor Ronnie Burns, still was, despite the fact that he'd moved in with one of the council secretaries. Jack wondered how Jed Cooper had managed to pull her.
"So you'll be another victim of the great A.J. Sproat master plan."
"One of many," Jack said. Harry turned away and began pouring for somebody else and Jack moved along a little.
"And you work in the distillery, right?"
"For the next six weeks," she said. "Then we're all expendable, even his PA."
"I thought you office staff had a chance of new work."
"So you'd have thought. That's not part of the plan."
She was about to go on when a mobile phone rang inside her bag and she fished it out. Jack pretended not to listen. She spoke quickly, short sentences and then disappointment registered clearly on her face.
"Damn," she said. "I've just been stood up. And by a woman." Jack had guessed that already.
"It's happened to me millions of times," he said, making light, and gave Harry a signal to give him another beer and a gin and tonic for the lady. They segued into a conversation about what a bastard Sproat was and how he had let down the whole town and how it would be nice to get a come-uppance. He offered her another drink and she told him she was driving and was about to lift her handbag when she paused.
"Listen. I was having dinner with my sister and she'd had to cancel. I've still got a table booked. You want to have a bite and have a moan about the bastards of this world?"
It was as easy as that. He paused just enough then shrugged and then they were gone before his uncle came out. It was just a small restaurant at Barloan Harbour where the old canal tipped itself through the lock and into the Clyde, nothing fancy and not expensive. They had pasta.
"You're Sandy Bruce's nephew," she said. "You're like him."
"But younger."
"That's a plus. He had a thing for my mother, so I'm told, or vice versa."
"She wouldn't have been the only one, so I'm told. Does that make us related?"
"God, I hope not," she said and she laughed out loud and it took another five years off her in a split second.
Jack had steered the conversation round to the Charter group and the plan to stymie Sproat's pull-out and she said she'd contribute to the cause any time.
"Men. They think they own the world." It came out in a bitter snap.
"Some of them do," he said. "Glad I'm just a boy."
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look.
"I'm just waiting for the third thing to happen. Life can be shit when you get dumped twice in the one year."
"Twice?" he tried to look innocent. She saw through it.
"You know what I mean. But I need that job and that little chinless shit couldn't give a damn. Once the big bottling's done on the sixth, the place will be closed in eight weeks."
"The sixth?" Jack's brain did a very fast calculation. His forkful of pasta was poised half-way and stayed there.
"You look surprised."
"I thought it was earlier."
"They have to get the last shipment from Dunvegan and they're gone. We're gone. After fifteen years that's a real slap in the face."
"I know a few guys who want to have a go at Sproat."
She raised her eyes. "How are they going to do that?"
"They're working on something. To do with the old charter. They're well pissed off at what he's doing."
"They're not the only ones. Fifteen years I worked for him. Where am I going to get a job?"
"There could be a job in it at the end of the day. . . " Jack just let that dangle.
"What would I have to do?"
"Nothing much. Just keep an eye on a couple of things. It would be very worth while."
She looked at him straight in the eye and then slowly reached a hand across the table and placed it gently on his.
"And you think you could make it worth my while?"
She squeezed his fingers, still holding his eyes level with hers. Her touch was smooth and warm. Jack gulped. His throat was suddenly dry.
"I can be very helpful," she said, letting a lazy smile spread. It spelled mischief. "When I want to be. Why don't you get us another gin and see if we can work something out?"
The phone chirruped a high warbling note. A starling in a high elm mimicked a passable repetition before Jack answered.
"Hello?" He was only ten feet from Tam but despite the closeness the phone crackled in his ear. Neil had only managed to get the mobiles that morning and swore blind he'd had them on charge since breakfast.
"These things better work," Jack said. "Hello?"
"I can hear you," Tam said. He was wearing a set of green overalls that made him look just like any of the other warehousemen at Aitkenbar. All of his tools were wrapped in an old blanket - to deaden the sound - and stuffed into a huge hold-all.
"Okay, smartarse. Speak through the damn phone." Jack squeezed down on the tension. This was the only chance they would get at this and if they blew it today, they might as well all troop down and sign on the dole.
Tam laughed, high and girlish, and they all knew he was nervous as hell. Ed gave them a quick hand-signal from the far side of the fence, way over at the corner of the bottling block. Donny was out of sight, but well primed.
"Hello, hello, who's your lady friend?" He sang it.
"Jesus, keep it down!" Jack could hear him in the earpiece, but the static was like sand shifting on a flat shore. "Okay, it's not great, but you're on. You got the number?"
"I pasted it on the back," Neil said.
"Okay." He clasped his hands together, cupping them into a hollow and blew into the space between his thumbs. It made a summer sound of woodpigeons in the trees. Right away a woodpigeon above them called back and Tam laughed again, tight with apprehension. Ed lifted a hand and came away from the corner, tapping a plastic football with his toe. A hundred yards away, a group of workers were kicking another ball about, interested only in running themselves ragged for the scant hour. Jed got the bolt cutters and worked them fast, scissoring through the wire links, unzipping them from the ground up. Neil bent to it and forced the edges apart.
"Right. Showtime." Jack clapped Tam on the back. "You up for this?"
"Can I back down?"
"Can you hell. Stay cool and this will go like clockwork."
Ed kicked the ball. He was halfway from the corner, dribbling it as he walked, and when he got to the grass verge, he swung hard and lofted it into the air. They all watched it sail up. Ed's face was a picture. He was supposed to tap the ball in at the corner of the fence, where the elm hung over the triple barbed line, but the miss-kick sent it right over the fence and into the trees.
"Shit!" They all heard it from the shadows of the undergrowth. Above them two woodpigeons exploded into flight and went clattering away.
"Where it is?" They were all craning their necks.
"What a duffer," Tam said. Jack groaned a string of curses. The ball was wedged in a fork ten feet above their heads.
"What do I do now?" Tam looked as if he'd won a reprieve. The plan was for him to come out from the shadow, kicking the ball, looking nonchalant. Jed didn't wait. He dropped the cutters, started shinning up the tree and managed to get along to the fork. The ball looked like a big white egg. Jed knuckled it out of its wedge and it came tumbling through the thin branches. Tam grabbed it. His hands were shaking.
"Stay cool," Jack told him, clapped a hand to his shoulder, turned him round, and shoved him towards the gap. As soon as he was through, Neil and Jed started stitching the hole up with thin wire so that the cut ends wouldn't show, and then pushed some thick bramble runners around it to discourage closer inspection.
Tam crawled through, got to his feet, slung the green bag over his shoulder on the opposite side from the playing men, then tapped the ball out.
"Sorry about that," Ed said.
"You'll never get off the subs bench." He kicked the ball to Ed and they went across to the corner, just as Donny came rolling the hogshead round from the cooperage. That part worked just like clockwork. Jack breathed out a long slow breath. It had all started now and the clockwork was ticking. There was nothing for it but to wait and watch.
Jed Cooper got in through the back toilet window at the dairy. It was filled with echoes and shadows and very different from the bustle of the early morning when the vans were loaded, or the afternoon when the bottling operation made the place shake, rattle and roll. It was still and hollow and somehow haunted. He shivered. He thought he could walk this place blindfold, but in the dark of night it was all different.
He closed the window behind him, just in case, and wished Jack had come with him instead of sitting in the little tent on the far side of the knoll. It was all in Jack's head, the whole plan, or most of it anyway, so everybody had things to do. Jed was the only one skinny enough to get through the little vent window and that was fair enough. He still wished Jack or one of the others had come with him, instead of just handing him a copy of the key that he'd picked up from christ knew where. Jack was playing it pretty close to his chest. Jed knew he'd been wasted on the milk round, but Jack always did it his way. Now they were all doing it Jack's way, and Jack still played it close to his chest.
The washroom door squealed in protest when he eased it open and the high sudden sound made his heart kick like a scared rabbit.
"Fuck this," he muttered aloud and his echo hissed back at him. It was creepy, somehow damp and the smell of chlorine from the floor wash hung in the air. Strange that out on the stock track Jed was scared of nothing at all, doing eighty in a souped-up Skoda shell, ramping around the dirt with tons of old rolling stock trying to mow him down, while here, on his own in the dark, the unfamiliarity of the daytime familiar made him nervous as a cat.
Andy Kerr's office was at the other side of the bottling hall and Jed made his way past the gantry that shuttled the bottles down to the filler. In the night it was like the inside of the Nostromo in Alien, all angles and points of faint brightness where the metal edges picked up moonbeams through the skylight. Jed cut across, going more by memory than sight, alert for any sound.
The office door was locked and when he tried it, the key protested and stuck and it took him a deal of manoeuvring and jiggling to get it to turn. Inside it smelt of Andy's thick plug tobacco. A coat hung from a hook behind the desk and for a moment it looked like a floating entity. Jed pulled back before his eyes adjusted to this dark and realised what it was. He cursed again and made his way to the big filing cabinet, using Jack's tiny maglight to search for what he wanted.
Ten minutes later he was on his way out again, creeping past the lines towards the far door. He was halfway through the loading bay when a faint noise stopped him in mid stride and he turned, holding his breath, eyes wide for any movement, wondering if he'd been seen climbing in the half-light. He held still until a pulse started pounding in his temples and he realised his breath was still backed up and he had to let it all out. He turned quickly in the dark, too quickly and crashed straight into a pile of crates stacked at the doorway. Little stars swirled and a balloon of pain swelled where his nose had hit the corner of the crate. For a second the column swayed back and forth and his breath backed up again. He stumbled forward, eyes watering, and his shoulder hit the stack just on the out-sway. Jed stumbled to the left and the column of crates continued to the right. He grabbed for it and snatched only air and the top crate flipped off, throwing the empty bottles outwards.
They hit the floor in a crash of exploding glass that rose to a sudden crescendo in the hollow of the loading bay. .
"Fuck!" The expletive was drowned out by a deafening crash that reverberated from wall to wall. Glass shattered and scattered all across the floor. A thick shard flipped through the air and caught his ankle and he felt a strange cold trickle into his shoe.
The wave of sudden sound flared and then faded into a musical tinkling. By this time Jed's hands were shaking so badly he wasn't sure he'd be able to climb out of the window. He got to the washroom and hauled himself up onto the line of washbasins and forced the half-light open again, listening out for any hint that the crashing of broken glass had been heard, fully expecting the wail of a siren approaching from across town. He was half-way out when he remembered what he'd forgotten and cursed non stop for a minute with hardly a repetition, before easing himself down again and back through the whole route to Andy's office. He unshipped two keys from the dozen on the hook board, replaced them with a pair he had in the pocket of his jeans and then had to make his way back through one more time. They needed those keys just in case.
By the time he got out into the fresh air again, a faint summer rain had begun to fall and dawn was slicking the low east sky.
Tam Bowie never even got to see the dawn.
He kicked the ball to Ed and tried to look casual as they walked across the grass towards the corner of the decant hall. Jack watched them go, knowing it all depended on Tam now. And Donny and Ed. Damn, it depended on every one of them and if Jed found out he'd come sneaking out of Margery Burns' house at the time he'd normally be getting up to deliver milk, it could get down to some serious hooking and dodging, even if nothing had happened. And if Kate found out, then that would be the and of any ambition in that direction, and he really needed Kate Delaney as much as he needed Margery Burns in the big plan. He shucked those thoughts away, knowing Jed had to get in and get what he needed from the creamery because since Saturday and his final pay-packet, the doors and the high sliding gates were closed to himself.
They sat still while the men played football and Tam and Ed reached the corner and the timing came together perfectly. It just couldn't have been better. Donny came up from the cooperage, rolling the big hogshead on its convex curve, one-handed with ease of practise, and flipped it through a gap between the stacks of barrels, close to where one of the red fork-lifts stood idle. Jack watched through the binoculars, thinking of all the things that could have gone wrong, like Ed kicking the ball out of sight, or one of the other men lofting their ball into the same patch of scrub and them all having to scramble for cover. That hadn't happened and Tam and his tools were across there and now they were out of sight. He breathed out and opened his little notebook.
"Okay, so far so good. I just hope he's half the plumber he cracks himself up to be."
He jammed the mobile into his pocket and they all pulled back from the fence once the edges had been zipped together and waited under the trees, not far from the inlet on the river that would soon be filled up and sold, if Alistair Sproat had his way.
Donny left the big hogshead on its side until the pair of them came round to the lee of the wall, and into the little hollow passage between stacks.
"Is this it?" Tam looked at the barrel with a measuring eye.
"No, it's one I just found a minute ago."
"Don't get sarcastic."
"Don't get stupid. It's taken me three days to get this right."
"Right guys," Ed said. "We can stand here and argue or we can get on with this before the whistle blows."
Donny pulled out a small monkey wrench and stuck the shaft end into a shallow depression in the end panel. Ed kept watch, but at this time of the day, there was nobody around, and all the security cameras were up at the front of the building. Donny pushed anti-clockwise and the whole panel turned quite easily before it gave a little pop and sprung upwards. He pulled it clear and they all looked inside."
"Neat," Ed said. Donny had worked a screw thread right round the edge of the barrel. The inside plate had a two-handed bar that could be used to twist the plate open or closed.
"There's two holes for air, and that's plenty," Donny said. "They look just like knots in the wood. And look, I built you a bench seat. All home comforts. "
"There's not much room in there," Tam said.
"Think yourself lucky they're using hogsheads. Barrels would be a real tight fit. Come on, we've not got much time. Get in."
Tam got a leg over the rim while Ed put his hands together to form a stirrup to help him up and in two seconds Tam was standing inside.
"Still not much room," he complained. Ed handed him the bag of tools and pushed down on his shoulders, making him sit on the little shelf bench. It left very little room to manoeuvre.
"Check the time," Ed said and Tam did, making sure the face lit up when he pressed the button. "It's okay." Donny lifted the lid and Ed forced Tam's head down and then the end panel was screwing down. In another two minutes, it just looked like a normal sixty-gallon keg.
"Check the handle," Donny said.
"Jesus. I can't move." Tam's voice was muffled and indistinct, but too still far too loud.
"Shoosh man. What's the problem?"
"It's too tight. I can't breathe."
"What's wrong with him?" Ed asked.
"I'm claustrophobic!" The word came clear enough through the little breathing hole. They could hear Tam sucking hard for air.
"Why the hell didn't you tell us?"
"I never bloody knew. Jees man. I got a cramp in my leg. I'm going to suffocate in here."
"No you won't. Just take deep breaths."
"Deep breaths of what?"
"What a panic merchant!" Donny looked around. Tam was still sucking air through the hole. Donny grinned, turned to Ed and then learned back against the barrel and let out a watery fart right on the level with the airhole. Ed doubled up in silent laughter.
"You ginger prick." Tam's claustrophobia seemed to vanish. "When I get out of this I'm going to wring your neck."
The pair of them erupted while Tam banged on the inside and Donny kept the monkey wrench in the slot to make sure he didn't try an early exit. Finally the noise subsided.
"Are you going to behave, or do you want more of the same?"
"Okay, okay. Just keep that arse's arse away."
Ed went for the fork-lift and Donny tipped the keg up. The tines went underneath and Ed backed out of the bay. He swivelled, winked at Donny and then hustled for the big blue shutter door. Donny followed round, keeping the truck between him and the footballers and Ed paused it just beside the three little hatches on the wall. Donny took the spare cutters and snipped the padlocks one by one and replaced them with new matching brass ones, before peeling away and back round to the cooperage.
It was now up to Tam and Ed.
The whine of the engine in the forklift truck sent a sympathetic vibration through the keg, enough to rattle Tam's teeth together and the shiver made the tight wad of tools jangle, despite the deadening insulation.
It was pitch black and only seconds after the lid screwed down, the air got hot and thick. Tam jammed his face up against the little hole and sucked. It was so tight in here that he couldn't move his hands, and the big bag of tools clamped into his lap prevented any movement at all. It gave him the trapped sensation he always felt when he woke up after a good drink, lacquered with sweat and knotted in damp clinging sheets.
"What am I doing here?" The question popped into the front of his mind and stayed there.
Just what the hell was he doing here?
It was okay for Donny Watson and Ed. They worked in the place. But if he was caught inside Aitkenbar, that was breaking and entering. Conspiracy. Worse even. And he had a job to lose.
The air thickened and got clammier and Tam braced himself against the sides of the barrel while he slipped a hand inside the toolkit and rummaged for a piece of plastic piping. He drew out a two foot length and felt in the dark for the air-hole and forced the end into it. Cool air flowed in.
The fork-lift trundled round the corner, straightened and rolled on over the old cobbles, vibrating hard enough to make his molars clash.
"Slow it up, Ed," he called out, but the trundling rumble drowned him out.
Finally the motion stopped. Tam took two breaths, listening for the motor to start up again.
"Where are you going with that?" It came faintly, but he heard it clear enough through the other air-hole.
"They sent it round from the cooperage," Ed explained to the unseen voice. "They said they needed another hoggie."
"Get it later Ed. Take the truck round and pick up half a dozen pallets for the bottling hall. "
Tam held his breath and listened intently. Suddenly the was a fierce bump and the whole barrel rocked violently.
"Shit!"
"Keep quiet," Ed grated from close in. "I'll be back in a minute."
"What's happening?"
"Shut up and stay still."
The barrel rocked again and the lower lip cracked against the ground, but it was still upright.
"What's going on? Ed?. . . . ED?"
There was no reply.
From over by the scrub behind the fence, they could see the carefully prepared plan was all going catastrophically wrong.
"Who's that?" Jed craned to see through the brambles.
"Billy Butler," Jack said, almost a whisper. "The plant manager. What the hell does he want?"
They watched as Ed clambered off and tilted the barrel on the tines of the lifter and then eased it, still upright, onto the ground. Jack clenched his teeth and discovered his nails were pressing into the palms of his hands.
Stay cool. That's what he'd told Tam. He had to do the same himself. Stay cool and hope for the best and pray that it's not all over before it's even begun.
Ed reversed the lifter and then trundled away towards the corner leaving the barrel on its end just at the big blue shutter door. Billy Butler made a pantomime of checking his watch and then gave a whistle to the men on the sloping grass.
"You men want to play football for the rest of the day?"
One of them shrugged and even at this distance you could read plenty in the body language. They had six weeks left to work and they were all on protective redundancy notice. A couple of minutes here and there would make no difference at all. You could even see in Billy's posture that he was going through the motions. He wasn't bad as gaffers went.
"Come on men, we might as well just get on with it. Shift that hoggie for me. Put it in the stack with the rest of them."
Two of the men in green overalls got their hands to the keg just as Ed came round the corner with a stack of wooden pallets balanced on the forks. He came round doing thirty, just about the top speed the little truck could make, and a whole lot faster than anybody ever travelled here at Aitkenbar. The pile of pallets swayed alarmingly as Ed tried to get back to Tam before the rest of them started to pull and haul.
He tried his best, but in his haste to reach the hogshead first, the speed was just a little too much and as he turned in at the shutter, the angle was so tight that Billy Butler had to jump back or lose his toes. Over at the fence they heard him bawl.
"Slow that thing down. You think you're Michael bloody Schumacher?"
Ed jammed on the brake right on the turn and if the pallets had been secured, everything would have been fine, but they weren't and when he stopped, they kept on travelling.
"Fuck sake Ed!" Billy bawled, and then the rest of them were scattering as the pile slipped forward in a slow avalanche and clattered to the cobbles.
The phone rang just as Jack clapped a hand to his brow, unable to believe the farce that was unravelling his plan only forty yards away. For a couple of seconds, the mobile chirruped its little bird-like call and it took that time for them to realise it was actually ringing. Jack finally connected and snatched the thing out of his pocket.
"Who the hell. . . . hello?"
"What's going on? Is that you Jack?"
"Who is this?"
"It's Tam, you bam. What in the name of Christ is happening, man?"
"Jesus Tam, would you just sit still? I said we had to have radio silence."
"He's gone and dumped me."
"Well they're coming back right now. Over and out."
Jack switched off. Jed looked at him, chuckling. "Over and out? What is this, Memphis Belle? Roger wilco Ginger! What's your vector Victor?"
"Piss off." Jack was back up at the fence, peering through.
Tam heard the clatter of pallets and some shouting and then the silence as the phone went dead. He took another breath through the tube and then the whole world just flipped over and his head hit hard against the hard oak staves and a sharp pain flared in the dark.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
He was on his back and the big bag of tools thudded right down onto his stomach, knocking all the wind out.
"Just get that inside and a stack it. Ed, what are you playing at?"
"Sorry Billy. Something was in my eye. Here, I'll get that."
"Never mind. It's just an empty. Get them stacked up and over to the loading bay."
Tam listened, gasping for breath. His head was jammed up against the end panel, twisting his neck to the right. A cramp pain was starting in the muscle at his shoulder. For a moment everything was dead still and then without warning he was spinning and rattling as the big keg rolled over the uneven cobbles.
Jack watched in dismay as the two workers put their backs into it and wheeled the hogshead out of sight.
"He'll be sick as a parrot," Jed observed.
The nightmare seemed to last forever, even if it was only for fifty yards and Jed almost had it right. The barrel was rolling and Tam was rolling with it, face down and then face up and every motion cracked the back of his head against hard oak or thudded the heavy bag down onto his belly and for a second or two it was touch and go. He gulped against the reflex and kept his breakfast inside, screwing his face against the hot acid heartburn.
"Where do you want it?"
"With the rest. Just dump it and get back to the bottling hall."
Tam was rolling again and the nausea came rolling with it, looping up in his throat and then the world flipped violently and he was heels over head and crumpled in the bottom of the barrel.
"What the fu. . . . ?" His neck was stretched as his whole weight pressed down on his cheek and a grind of pain knuckled in on his temple. He shifted, succeeded only in jarring his ear against something grainy and hard and then the phone rang, right in his ear.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"I heard something again."
The phone bleeped insistently and Tam couldn't get his hand to it. He tried to twist and found himself jammed under the weight of the tools.
"You hear that?"
"It's a phone. Have you got a phone?"
"What would I be doing with a phone?"
Tam twisted again and his neck squealed a protest. The mobile was loud in the tight confines and he knew it would give everything away and there was not a chance that he'd come anywhere near to thinking up a plausible excuse for being inside an empty hogshead in Aitkenbar distillery.
"It's over there."
Footsteps came closer. Somebody bumped into the barrel. Tam grunted. The phone cheeped a cheery tune.
"It's somewhere here."
"No that's just an echo." The voice faded then came back stronger. "Hey Billy, did you leave a mobile somewhere?"
Tam found it jammed inside his shirt and he forced his thumb down on the face, hitting as many buttons as he could to silence the thing. It took five hits before the ringing stopped and he shoved it up against his ear.
"Jake, for Christ's sake," his voice was suddenly hoarse. "I'm upside fucking down."
"Can I have a taxi for Castlebank?"
"What?"
"Twenty Four Bruce Street, Castlebank. The name's McMenamin."
"Jake, what the hell are you playing at?"
"What?"
A sizzle of static fuzzed out the word and then another woman's voice came on.
"Taxi for Castlebank." She sounded unbelievably bored. "Taxi for Castlebank. Any takers?"
"Hello?"
"Jake, quit screwing about!"
"Where are you going dear?"
"Just down to the town centre."
"Taxi for Castlebank. Red six, come in Jimmy. Town centre drop."
Outside the barrel the voices came again.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"There's people over there."
"Don't be daft."
"I'm telling you. I can hear people talking."
"You better lay off the sauce, man. You're hearing things."
Tam hissed into the phone, frantically trying to find the off button. "Get off this line."
"I want a taxi to the town centre."
"We don't have any bloody taxis."
"There's no call for that language, you. I'm a paying customer."
Outside, a man's voice came from close in.
"There. I heard it again. There's people in here. I can hear them talking."
"You've definitely loony-tunes, you are."
"Shhhhh. . . . can't you hear it? In amongst the barrels. There's people in there."
"You better go see a doctor. You've scooped too many free samples. Maybe you should go and lie down for a minute."
Billy Butler called from much further away. "What's the matter with him?"
"Nothing much. He just thinks this place is haunted. Isn't that right Wullie? He says he can hear voices."
"He'll hear my voice in a minute if he doesn't get moving. Come on you lot, we haven't got all day to hang around."
"I'm telling you," the first man insisted, audible through the breathing holes. "There was people talking right over there. Swear to God."
The voice faded away, leaving Tam still upside down, with a dreadful crick in his neck and an even worse sensation that the walls were closing in on him. His hand finally found the off button and the angry voice in his ear died.
Jack called Margery Burns because there was nothing else for it and the whole radio silence routine went straight out the window.
Ed managed to get to the payphone on the far side of the bottling hall.
"He's stuck in the loading bay."
"Can he get out?"
"God knows. I don't even know where they put him."
Jack scratched his head.
"You'll have to go in and find out."
Ed came back round the corner, this time on foot, and he looked right and left before ducking into the bay and out of sight. They waited in silence until he came back out again five minutes later, did the right and left again and his eyes found the old ball at the corner. He reached for it and booted it hard in their direction. This time his aim was much improved. He came across to the shadows under the overhanging tree.
"Jake, all this plan's gone to pot."
"What's up?"
"He's stuck in a pile of barrels. I can't get near them just now."
"You'll have to try later."
"Aye, but there's a problem. He'll never get out of there on his own. They've turned him upside down. He's stuck."
"Holy mother." Jack slapped his own forehead. "This should have gone like the cat-sat-on-the- mat, no bother at all." He paused and chewed on his knuckle. The whole plan in his head was complex enough without it turning into the keystone cops. "Right. There's nothing for it, but you'll have to stick with him."
"Until when?"
"Until you can get him out. There's none of us can get in there and do it."
"I could be there all night."
"If that's what it takes, Eduardo. Donny and Jed have a job to do themselves tonight."
"And what are you going to do?"
"I got plans. You stick with him."
"Okay, but I'll need clocked out at five. Otherwise the customs will come looking for me."
Jack leaned back against a tree, thinking fast. He looked at Jed, already feeling guilty.
"Okay. Leave it with me. I'll get that fixed. You stay with Tam and make sure he gets out. We have to get this sorted by tonight."
Ed looked dubious about the whole thing, but they were all in, for good or bad, and Jack had told them they might lose their shirts. He'd do what he could to save his, even if it meant taking more of a risk. Finally he nodded.
"If they catch me in there, it's all blown to hell."
"We're sunk if we don't," Jack said. "Just tell them you fell and cracked your head." Ed walked back towards the big blue door and Jack turned away.
"Give me a minute, Jed. I have to make a private phone call."
He wandered to the edge of the scrub and it took three attempts before he got through to Margery Burns.
"Hello stranger," she said. "I never expected you back so soon."
"I need a favour," he said. "Can you clock somebody out?"
"What for?"
"It's a 'need to know' kind of thing," he said. "But it's important."
"Oh, we're Mr Mysterious today. All I need to know is, what's it worth? I do you a favour, you do me one."
"Right."
Jack thumbed the off button. Yet another fix he'd have to get out of.