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<h1>14</h1>
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<p>It took ten minutes before anybody realised the tank was empty. </p>
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<p> The shift was just starting and the bottling hall was primed and ready. Billy Butler and the filling-line charge
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hand were over in the glasshouse going through the paperwork when somebody knocked on the door. Billy looked up.</p>
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<p>"You better come and see this." One of the operators stood there, rubbing his jaw.</p>
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<p>"We're just about to start. Give us ten minutes."</p>
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<p>"No, I think you <em>really</em> should come and see this."</p>
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<p>Billy stuck a pen into his top pocket and came walking out, white coat flapping.</p>
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<p>"What's the problem?"</p>
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<p>"Best you see for yourself."</p>
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<p>The man walked along the gantry and stopped at the balcony. From there, the big tank was almost directly underneath,
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its sectional hinged lids thrown wide like stainless steel petals. The inside walls gleamed in the overhead
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light.</p>
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<p>"Oh, holy <em>fuck</em>," Billy's face went slack. </p>
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<p>"That's what I though too."</p>
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<p>It had been simple for Ed to get in quickly, turn the key to close off the bottling line feed and then throw the
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handle that would drain the tank after a sterile wash. It took him eighteen seconds in all and he was back in the
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washroom before anyone even knew he was gone. Jack had insisted on that last move, even though Tam had said it
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wouldn't be needed.</p>
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<p>Good enough, <em>never is</em>, Jack had said. Or conversely: <em>there is absolutely no substitute for a genuine
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lack of preparation. </em>Another of his throwaway lines, but Ed had gone along with it. Jack Lorne had it all
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together. One mistake, he said, and we're all in the shit.</p>
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<p>Out of the corner of his eye Ed saw Billy Butler take two steps back and come to a halt against the banister. His
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face seemed to turn the colour of old putty and he looked as if he was having a heart attack.</p>
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<p>"Are you all right?" Jim McCabe, the charge hand was starting up from the bottom stair.</p>
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<p>Billy Butler was far from all right. He came down the stairs, went straight to the glasshouse and picked up the
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phone.</p>
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<p>"Get me Alistair Sproat."</p>
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<p>"He's tied up at the moment Mr Butler," a woman's voice answered.</p>
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<p>"Fucking untie him and get him down here," he said. "And I mean <em>pronto</em>."</p>
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<p>Alistair Sproat had not seen Billy Butler's shock, but he made a very passable imitation when the manager took him to
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the tank rim. He clutched a hand to his chest and almost doubled up.</p>
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<p>"What's happened?"</p>
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<p>"It's gone."</p>
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<p>"Oh my god. Oh my <em>god</em>!" Sproat held on to the rail. "Where's my Glen Murroch?"</p>
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<p>"Damned if I know," Billy said. "We left it to settle out last night after we emptied the last barrel. It was ready
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for the bottling filter."</p>
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<p>"So where is it, man? You had twenty five thousand gallons."</p>
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<p>"I know that Alistair."</p>
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<p>"So where in the name of god is my whisky?" He couldn't assimilate this yet.</p>
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<p>Billy shrugged helplessly. The tank was completely empty. It had been six feet deep in fine malt twenty four hours
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ago.</p>
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<p>"I'm buggered if I know. The Glen Murroch's gone. Disappeared. Vanished. Vamoosed."</p>
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<p>"That's three million pounds Billy. The bottling line's waiting to go. We've spent a fortune on presentation boxes.
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For heaven's sake, Billy. It's Murroch <em>twenty-five-year-old</em>."</p>
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<p>"I know that Alistair. But it's not there now."</p>
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<p>Sproat was backed against the rail, still holding on, white knuckled.</p>
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<p>"Billy." Sproat sounded as if he was choking. He looked as if he'd been hit with a bung-mallet. "<em>Billy.</em>
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Don't bugger me about now. Just tell me what's happened."</p>
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<p>"We've lost a whole decant."</p>
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<p>"Well, you'd better damn well find it, or we're both in extremely deep manure."</p>
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<p>The whole town knew all about it by mid morning. Sproat was besieged in his office and the customs men were crawling
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all over the place.</p>
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<p> "It was there yesterday", Jim Gilveray, the excise chief said to Angus Baxter. The big inspector had his pipe jammed
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in the corner of his mouth. Powerful blue smoke billowed from his nostrils. "I saw it myself. Here's the
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paperwork."</p>
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<p> Gilveray pushed a thick file across the table. "It's an excise matter anyway. The material has not left customs bond
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yet."</p>
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<p>"So we would hope," Angus said. It wasn't a police matter, not yet, but Alistair Sproat had been in such a panic he'd
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put a call through to headquarters before he sat down to think, so for now, at least, there was police interest.
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"Such a shame to think somebody has misplaced all that whisky. It would be criminal negligence, is my view. An
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affront to our Scottish heritage."</p>
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<p>Kerr Thomson shifted from foot to foot. The big detective had given him a weighing look when he'd come in to
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reception and for a moment Thomson thought he was about to say something. He hadn't had a wink of sleep all night,
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thinking of that patrolman and his flashlight. Had he gone straight back to the station and told everybody?</p>
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<p>"I've had to call in the investigation unit," Gilveray said. "Just in case."</p>
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<p>He was looking Sproat straight in the eye. </p>
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<p>"Just in case of what?"</p>
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<p>"Just to protect Her Majesty's interest." All of the brass sat around the boardroom table. "They'll be here by
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lunchtime."</p>
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<p>"I don't think that's going to be necessary," Billy Butler said. He had just arrived up from the decant hall with one
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of the maintenance men.</p>
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<p>"Why is that?"</p>
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<p>"We've found the problem." Billy started to unfold a schematic that was almost an exact replica of the one Jack Lorne
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had spread on Neil Cleary's kitchen table. He bent over it and everybody crowded round. He jabbed a finger at a
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junction where lines converged. "Somebody opened the cleaning cock."</p>
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<p>"What would that do?" Angus Baxter.</p>
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<p>"Very similar to the bottling valve here," Billy said, indicating a small detail. "Except that instead of pumping the
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whisky to the lines, it just vents the tank. We use it after a steam clean."</p>
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<p>"And what would that do?" Baxter insisted.</p>
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<p>"What it <em>did</em> do," Billy corrected. His face was still ghastly pale. "I just don't know how anybody could
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have made that mistake."</p>
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<p>"You <em>vented</em> the decant?" Gilveray demanded. "Twenty five thousand gallons?"</p>
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<p>"I don't know who threw the cleaning cock. But somebody has pulled the wrong lever."</p>
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<p>"How many barrels would that be, now?" Baxter was curious.</p>
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<p>"Four hundred and fifty hogsheads. They're bigger than barrels. Take about fifty five gallons apiece. We emptied them
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over the past two days. It's a big operation."</p>
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<p>"It was the <em>last</em> big operation," Sproat said, voice hollow and weak. "It's priceless."</p>
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<p>"So where does it vent to?" Baxter seemed to take charge now.</p>
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<p>"Here." Billy jabbed a finger at the schematic. They could see his hand was shaking. "It just goes down the drain and
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out."</p>
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<p>"Out where?"</p>
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<p>"Into the river."</p>
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<p>In five minutes they were all at the chain link fence and the smell of whisky was heavy on the wet air. The
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thunderstorm had passed by in the early morning, leaving the ground sodden and soft, and beyond the fence, the golf
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course was punctuated with big puddles in the fairway dips. A light smirr of rain fell out of low clouds.</p>
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<p>They had paused by the little hatches where Billy Butler indicated the different pipes.</p>
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<p>"Two inlets for fire hydrants. The third is a freezer valve." He moved between them. "This here is the vent for the
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tank. He hunkered down close to the wall where a pipe curved down into a drain sump. "From there it discharges into
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the runnel beyond the fence."</p>
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<p>"I think that's confirmation enough," Baxter said, sniffing the air. His face was a picture of disgust. "It seems you
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have a few problems, Mr Sproat."</p>
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<p>Everybody turned to him. </p>
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<p>"That's a lot of whisky to lose. We'll have to see what damage has been done."</p>
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<p>"Damage?"</p>
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<p>"Pollution. That much whisky can't have been good for the environment. The protection agency will have to be
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informed."</p>
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<p>He tapped his pipe out on a concrete stanchion. "And anybody who flushes away twenty five thousand gallons of good
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Scotch whisky." He started filling the bowl again. "It's a personal thing, mind you, but in my opinion, that should
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surely be a hanging offence."</p>
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<p>Sproat looked as if he might faint. His face was drained of all colour and now matched the grey of this suit.
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Everybody could see the mental calculations going on.</p>
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<p>"This can't get out," he said.</p>
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<p>"It already did," Gilveray said. "We'll have to find out how. And who is responsible."</p>
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<p>"No. This has to remain confidential. Completely confidential, That's imperative, is that clear?" Sproat was
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frantically thinking of how he would make up the shortfall. The three million was crucial for his development plan.
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Without it he could be in serious trouble.</p>
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<p>What he <em>thought</em> was, that without it he was totally fucked.</p>
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<p>"I'm swearing you all to secrecy."</p>
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<p>The big policeman took a step back, hunched over his pipe, straining to get it lit again. His eyes twinkled with arid
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humour.</p>
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<p>"Oh yes, I'm sure I remember the very mention of the secrecy clause in the police operational handbook."</p>
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<p>Sproat looked at him, anger chasing shock.</p>
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<p>"Just how secret do you think this can be?" Baxter asked him. "You've twenty workers in there who saw your empty
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tank. It's going to be all over the town in ten minutes."</p>
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<p>In less than an hour, the phone calls were coming in.</p>
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<p>They had hid the tankers in plain sight, right at the back stretch of the container park on the east end of the town.
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It was enough out of the way, and the fake tarpaulins on the makeshift brackets were sufficient camouflage amongst
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the scatter of other trucks and trailers. They unhitched the drive units and left the big tanks up on their
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brace-legs and parked the cabins on the other side. Anybody hunting for Andy Kerr's vehicles would be looking for
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complete tankers. </p>
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<p>"Nobody else is to know where they are," Jack said after he and Jed eased them into position. "Just let them think
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they're back up on the plantation."</p>
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<p>"You mean don't tell the lads?"</p>
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<p>"I mean that exactly." Rain had been pouring down Jack's face and he slicked it away with the back of his hand.</p>
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<p>"I thought we were <em>all</em> in this," Jed protested.</p>
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<p>"Sure we are. But from now on it's going to get hairy. The customs men will be all over the place like flies on a
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cowshit. The less people know, the less they can tell, even accidentally."</p>
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<p>"You mean Donny?"</p>
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<p>"I mean we just play it safe. Just you and me know where it is. That's enough for now."</p>
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<p>They met at Gillespie's boat late in the afternoon after Donny and Ed clocked out. The pair of them looked as if they
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could use some sleep.</p>
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<p>"They bought it," Ed said. "The shit really hit. Every one of us got hauled in. You should have seen Sproat's face.
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He looked like he'd swallowed a dead rat."</p>
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<p>"They brought in the council and a whole team of big shots from the Customs and Excise." Donny was animated. "They
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could get done for polluting the river."</p>
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<p>"Did you leave the red herrings?"</p>
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<p>Donny gave him a blank look.</p>
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<p>"The fish, Donzo. Are the fish in the stream?"</p>
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<p>"Sure they are. They can't miss them."</p>
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<p>He had got up before dawn, unable to sleep, and taken the river towpath shortcut while the rain was still pounding
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down. By the time he got to the little runnel, the smell of whisky was thick and powerful. He followed the streamlet
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up to the bushes, counting off the pale bodies of the fish in the shallow water and then he plunged into the sodden
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undergrowth until he reached the drainpipe. The big plastic container was full to the brim. He hauled it out,
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grunting with exertion as he managed it onto his shoulder, and then bulled back out onto the path. In half an hour
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he was back home again, and the five gallons of whisky hidden behind the old outhouse at the bottom of the
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garden.</p>
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<p>"What now?" Tam wanted to know.</p>
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<p>"Now we sit and wait for the heat to die down."</p>
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<p>"How long will that be?"</p>
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<p>"We have to be careful," Jack said. Jed caught his eye, but said nothing. "As long as they think that stuff's gone
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into the river, they won't come looking. But we have to make sure."</p>
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<p>"How are we going to get rid of it?" Donny asked.</p>
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<p>"Good question," Jack said, grinning. Some of the grey had washed out of his hair in the thunderstorm, leaving it
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dark and metallic. He'd need more work. "Next question."</p>
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<p>"No, really," Donny said. "It's a hell of a lot to start hawking." Neil backed him up.</p>
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<p>"You all said you'd trust me, didn't you?" Jack was amazed that Donny hadn't asked the obvious question before.</p>
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<p>Donny nodded.</p>
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<p>"Right. Trust me some more. We just sit still until the time is right, and we'll know very soon. Be patient and don't
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get greedy."</p>
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<p> "Greedy? We're in this for the money," Neil said. He flipped his accent into Michael Douglas<em>: </em>"Greed is
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good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary
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spirit."</p>
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<p> He held both hands theatrically wide. "Greed, in <em>all </em>of its forms."</p>
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<p>"Greed just gets you caught," Ed said quietly.</p>
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<p>"But are we going to have to fill up lemonade bottles or what?" Donny wanted to know. "That would take forever."</p>
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<p>Jack laughed. "You fancy selling this door to door?"</p>
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<p>This time Ed caught his eye and held it. He was cool.</p>
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<p>"You've sold it already, haven't you? You've done a deal."</p>
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<p>Jack winked, but he said nothing. Since first thing in the morning he'd been up and all over Glasgow, working on the
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next leg of the plan. He hadn't had any sleep and he was now so tired he could drop.</p>
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<hr />
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<p>Big Lars Hanssen crushed his hand in a big double-handed grip. "<em>Yack!</em>" He boomed like a foghorn, hauled Jack
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up the Valkyrie's gangplank and guided him past the wide open hold.</p>
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<p>He'd been standing up at the boat prow, leaning in a proud pose over the dry dock. A radio somewhere was playing the
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theme from Titanic. Jack hoped it wasn't an omen.</p>
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<p>"Nearly ready to roll and rock," Lars said. "You do good business?"</p>
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<p>"Good enough," Jack said. Lars closed the door on the foredeck and sat on the swivel seat.</p>
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<p>"You want a vodka?"</p>
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<p>"No. Here, try this." He pulled a bottle from the backpack and held it up.</p>
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<p>"Is this it? Lagavullin?"</p>
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<p>"That's just the bottle. What's inside is much better."</p>
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<p>"We'll see." Lars unshipped the top and took a big swig. He held it in his mouth then swirled it around like a real
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wine-taster. But instead of spitting it out, he closed his eyes and let it drain down his throat. He breathed out
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through his nose and Jack got a whiff of strong whisky.</p>
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<p>"<em>Holigan-goligan</em>. This is the business, no?"</p>
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<p>"I think so."</p>
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<p>"How much you got now?"</p>
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<p>"Twenty thousand gallons plus. Double proof. Lets say forty thou at forty percent. Let's say a quarter of a million
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standard bottles."</p>
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<p>"That's one big hell of a lot of whisky, you know." It came out <em>viskie.</em></p>
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<p>"What would that cost in Norway?"</p>
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<p>"A king's ransom, Yack. In Sweden, even more than that, and Finland, you must go see the bank manager for a big loan.
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With tax, at least sixty a bottle, your money. Some more maybe."</p>
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<p>Jack had done his research. That came out about right. </p>
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<p>"And a premium for prime twenty five year old."</p>
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<p>"Not as much as you would think, ya? With the tax so high, those Swedes, they drink any old cows piss out of a rusty
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bucket and like it, true? But still, maybe half the same again.</p>
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<p>"So even at a big drop, taking it down to five apiece, we're still on for one and a quarter."</p>
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<p>"Easy. In the winter when it gets dark, there is nothing else to do. Drink and women, this is all. The whole of
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Scandinavia, it needs to cheer up and stay warm in the cold weather."</p>
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<p>"Good. It'll have to be a quick turnaround. Now we have to talk business. I've fixed up for a marine assessor to come
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round today. Some time in the afternoon. Is that okay with you?"</p>
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<p>"Why would you want to do something like that?"</p>
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<p>"To find out what your boat is worth."</p>
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<p>Lars took his massive arms off the table. </p>
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<p>"I know what my boat is worth." His voice had a sudden hard edge.</p>
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<p>"Sure you do," Jack said. He had to handle this fast and steady. "But I don't know the first thing about boats."</p>
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<p>"But why do you want to send someone to my boat to find that out?" Lars' brow was creased into a heavy frown. His
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blue eyes glared across the table.</p>
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<p>Jack sat back. It was always going to be a game of chess, but he'd already drawn Lars out.</p>
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<p>"Simple. I need a guarantee, and the best way to get that is for you to give me a carried interest in the Valkyrie's
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operation."</p>
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<p>"I think you better explain this. I thought we did a deal."</p>
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<p>"So we did, and it's a good deal."</p>
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<p>"We shook hands on it."</p>
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<p>"That's true. We did. You nearly broke my knuckles. And now we move to the next stage. I've got the whisky, twenty
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thousand gallons of it, and you've got the boat. Now I've got something you want, and vice versa."</p>
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<p>"I don't think I like this way of doing business," Lars said.</p>
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<p>"It's the only way, Lars." Jack put his hands down on the surface, palms up, showing he was hiding nothing. "Cards on
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the table, okay?"</p>
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<p>Lars shrugged, as if it didn't matter what Jack could say. </p>
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<p>"Right. You can get in and out of Norway and Sweden. You've got a thousand miles of fjords and a customs set up
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that's full of holes. You can get the stuff in."</p>
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<p>"Sure I can. Nobody searches the Valkyrie, especially on the waste disposal."</p>
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<p>"And you've got a market for the stuff?"</p>
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<p>"For sure I have."</p>
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<p>"So all you have to do is load up, pull out, and make a million plus, no tax."</p>
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<p>Lars shrugged again. "Easy."</p>
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<p>Jack knew he'd make a lot more than that.</p>
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<p>"So we've done all the work, taken all the risk, and now you have to take a little risk for me."</p>
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<p>He leant over the table, holding Lars with his eyes.</p>
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<p>"Listen, big man. You <em>know</em> I don't want your boat. I don't know the first thing about sailing. I'd ram it
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into the other side of the dock if you put me up at the wheel. What I do need is for you to give me half the boat,
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half the operation, as a loan. That's what a carried interest is. Equity. And this way none of us can lose. You sign
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half the boat to my company, all above board and legal. We get a paper drawn up so you're still the operator and
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senior partner. But I have a share."</p>
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<p>"So why do you need to do this?"</p>
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<p>"Simple. I need an asset, and it's only temporary, like an advance. A deposit against future profits. Carried
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interest gives us a share that we give back to you when we divvy up."</p>
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<p>"Divvy up?"</p>
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<p>"Redistribute the spoils."</p>
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<p>Lars still held that frown and Jack knew he's have to work on this a bit more, or the deal would go down the pan. His
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big weapon was the fact that Lars Hanssen had a whiff of big money. He'd just have to be convinced to take another
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risk for it.</p>
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<p>"Look at it this way. Your boat's been on the stocks for what, four?"</p>
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<p>"About that."</p>
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<p>"A month of good summer weather. I did my homework and I know the North Sea has never had it so good. Must be
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something to do with global warming. Anyway, four weeks laid up with no money coming in. A big boat like this? That
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should have been working every day, so your profits are down the swannee. And the repairs, okay, that's probably
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insurance, assuming you have some."</p>
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<p>"I have insurance."</p>
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<p>"But you're off hire. You're not trading, so you're in a loss situation that's getting deeper every day, and that
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means you're spending your own hard-earned cash or spending the bank's money. If that's the case, you're on
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short-money interest, and that's making your eyes water."</p>
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<p>"How do you know all this."</p>
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<p>"Trust me, I'm a smartarse. I'm doing a course. Anyway, now you have a chance to make a million, maybe one and a
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half. Higher than that if I know you. That'll give you a chance to buy another boat and start your own fleet, double
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your profits, or just retire to some tropical island. I don't know."</p>
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<p>Lars watched him, truculent, like a bear in a corner, but didn't answer.</p>
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<p>"It's a big chance for both of us. So we each have to take some of the risk. For you, it's not that much, and you
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have to speculate to accumulate. Anyway, you could take the stuff in legit, pay the tax, and still make a fortune,
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except that it's stolen and you'd have to find a supplier to back you up. You give us the carried interest for,
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let's say, two months, three at the outside, at which time you have the option to buy it back at a fixed price
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agreed between us. I've got a good contract lawyer set up to draw up the deal, but you can pick one of your own if
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you want. Anyway, that gives me the security I need, and you keep your option."</p>
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<p>"You want to hold my Valkyrie hostage?"</p>
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<p>"You're the Viking, Lars. I just see it as a good deal. It's security."</p>
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<p>He wasn't being exactly honest in this, but he told no lies. Lars didn't have to know everything he had up his
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sleeve. Nobody did.</p>
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<p>The big man scraped his nails across his beard. It sounded like wire wool. Jack kept talking.</p>
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<p>"And as soon as you do your deal across the water and weigh in with the cash, I have to sign it back to you."</p>
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<p>"What if something goes wrong?"</p>
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<p>"You make sure it doesn't. Something goes wrong between now and delivery, I'm facing five years. If it goes wrong at
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your end, then we're both sunk. Customs and Excise is just the same here as it is there. I checked. They'll impound
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your boat and we both lose everything. They call this a pendulum deal. It's win or lose, no in-between. But when we
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win, we win big. Lose and we drown together."</p>
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<p>Lars bent forward, looming right up to Jack. "My father, he was a whaleboat captain. He bought the Valkyrie when they
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stopped the whaling. He's one tough ol' man, you know. If I lose his boat, he'll put a harpoon in me."</p>
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<p>"Families," Jack said. "You just can't pick them, can you?"</p>
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<p>He raised his eyebrows, and smiled at the big boatman.</p>
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<p>"What do you say?"</p>
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<p>"I keep the option to buy back?"</p>
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<p>"Of course you do, what do I want with an old rust bucket like this."</p>
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<p>Lars pulled back. His eyebrows shot up and then he suddenly burst into a gale of laughter.</p>
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<p>"You got the nerve Jack, I say this much for you."</p>
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<p>He reached and clapped a vast hand on Jack's shoulder. It almost cracked with the impact.</p>
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<p>"Okay, we sink or we swim together. That's fair enough."</p>
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<p>Jack opened the bottle and poured Lars another shot. "But try to stay afloat, okay?"</p>
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<p>"What you think I been doing all this time? Okay, we got a deal again. I can tell you what the Valkyrie is
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worth."</p>
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<p>"Sure you can, but I need it official."</p>
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<p>"You don't take my word another time?"</p>
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<p>"Let's not go down that road again. The man's coming at three and he'll do a rush job. He thinks we're going to
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change the insurance policy. We'll get the paperwork tomorrow and then we get the agreement drawn up. Couple of
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months down the line, you get to tear it up and sail into the sunset, or the northern lights or <em>Val</em>-bloody-<em>halla</em>.
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Wherever."</p>
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<p>"And you, Jack? What will you do?"</p>
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<p>"I'm sure I'll think of something," Jack said. "Oh, and there's one more thing."</p>
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<p>"Another thing, he says now."</p>
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<p>"This one's easy. I don't want paid in notes. A simple cash transfer will do. I'll give you a number when the time is
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right."</p>
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<hr />
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<p>Jack spent the rest of the day criss-crossing the city, making a round of calls and he got back just in time to meet
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the boys on the boat. By the time they got finished it was after eight and they were all hungry and tired and just a
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little deflated after the excitement of the night. Jack arrived at his uncle's house just in time to catch the nine
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o clock news.</p>
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<p>The disappearing whisky made the headlines.</p>
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<p>Blair Bryden at the Levenford Gazette had been onto the story like a bloodhound and by two in the afternoon he had
|
|
syndicated it to every tabloid in the country, TV and radio as well. It was a silly-season certainty. The cameras
|
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panned across the front of Aitkenbar Distillery and then flicked to an ashen-faced Sproat who stammered his way
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though an interview. </p>
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<p>Jack listened to the reporter who could hardly keep from laughing.</p>
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<p>"Apparently somebody turned the wrong tap, and enough prime Scotch whisky to fill a swimming pool simply flushed down
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the drain."</p>
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<p>The scene shifted to the end of the fence where the geese were up and honking at the intrusion.</p>
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<p>"The famous geese guards may be upset, and they're not the only ones. The thousands of gallons of famous Glen Murroch
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had been maturing for a quarter of a century and was about to be bottled in special souvenir packs. It was the final
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operation in the two hundred year old distillery which is being sold to make way for a new retail centre and leisure
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complex."</p>
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<p>The camera zoomed through the chain-link fence and got a good close up of an angry, mean-eyed goose, then panned
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again, round towards the golf course.</p>
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<p>"It is believed that the missing whisky ended up in the River. And the evidence?"</p>
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<p>The reporter gave a lop-sided grin, turned his head, and the lens followed his downward gaze.</p>
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<p>"A stream full of dead fish. Some might even say, <em>dead drunk.</em>"</p>
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<p>Jack had been only half awake on the couch, eyelids too heavy to keep open.</p>
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<p>He snapped completely awake as the camera brought the scene in the little runnel right into sharp focus.</p>
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<p>The pale bodies of the dead fish floated in a small pool, all belly-up.</p>
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<p>Jack covered his eyes with his hands, unable to believe what the television showed him.</p>
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<p>"Oh brilliant," he breathed. "Donny, you stupid, stupid <em>bastard.</em>"</p>
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