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545 lines
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<title>15</title>
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<h1>15</h1>
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<p>Sandy Bruce shook his shoulder and woke him out of a deep sleep. He surfaced from a dream where pale, bloated fish
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swam lazily in an amber stream and he tried desperately to hook them out with his hands, but they slipped easily out
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of his grasp. The more he tried to catch them, the murkier and deeper the water became and he could feel the mud
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sucking at his feet, trying to drag him down.</p>
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<p>"Wake up Jack," Sandy shook him and the dream shattered into fragments, leaving him with nothing but confusing
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afterimages and a deep sense of unease.</p>
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<p>"Have you not been home yet?"</p>
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<p>He shook his head, rubbing sore eyes.</p>
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<p>"Your mother thinks you've been run over by a bus. From the looks of you, she's not far wrong. Better show up
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sometime before she starts to worry."</p>
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<p>He sat up, yawning. "What time is it?"</p>
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<p>"After twelve. The club was late finishing. Did you see the news?"</p>
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<p>"Yeah."</p>
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<p>"So you daft buggers really went and did it."</p>
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<p>"I told you we would."</p>
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<p>"I never really believed it until I saw it for real."</p>
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<p>"You told me to take the bull by the horns, make something of myself."</p>
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<p>Sandy gave him a sidelong look.</p>
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<p>"Don't you go putting the blame on me. There's a fine line between courage and foolishness and it's a damn shame it's
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not a high wall. You want a cup of tea?"</p>
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<p>"Sure. It's been a long day and a night."</p>
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<p>"So what's the next move?"</p>
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<p>"We have to wait until big Lars can get his act in gear. I'm back up town tomorrow, doing a bit of business. A few
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more days and then it's gone."</p>
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<p>"And after that?"</p>
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<p>"Not what people think. I need to speak to the boys up on Skye. Then we'll all have to wait for the heat to die
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down."</p>
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<p>He kept seeing the after-images of the fish in the stream, pale eyed, slipping out of his grasp, and the images
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somehow superimposed themselves on the memory of the camera shot on the news. The feeling of unease stayed with him,
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stale and greasy.</p>
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<p>"They all think it went straight down the drain. That's what it said on the news. The whole town's having a
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laugh."</p>
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<p>"That's the plan. As long as they keep on believing they pulled their own plug, then we're home and dry."</p>
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<p>"Dry, with a zillion gallons of whisky? Sure you are. Where is it now?"</p>
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<p>Jack tapped the side of his nose. "Need to know, Sandy. No offence, okay? I have to see a lawyer and a banker and a
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bunch of would-be tycoons."</p>
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<p>"Just you watch yourself. I told you there's too many people in on this. I said to keep it simple as possible."</p>
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<p>"Smash and grab is simple. I have to make sure they all look the other way."</p>
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<p>"You think it's a game of chess."</p>
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<p>"It <em>is</em> a game of chess. You have to keep four or five moves ahead. With this much moonshine, there's going
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to be a hell of a lot of interest, and that customs man Gilveray, he's not entirely daft."</p>
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<p>"He's a jobsworth, Jake, just a civil serpent. He's well up his own arse. He's not the one I'd be wary around. Yon
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big highlander, Baxter, that's one who doesn't miss anything. I saw him along there at the bonded warehouse. He acts
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like a half daft big hick, but he's pin sharp."</p>
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<p>"There was always a chance they'd call in CID. I hoped it would stay in-house."</p>
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<p>"Now you're beginning to talk like one of the suits."</p>
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<p>"We better get used to that."</p>
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<p>"So what's the next move?"</p>
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<p>Jack knew he was going to be asked that a lot in the next couple of days. His job was to keep a lid on the rest of
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them, make sure they stayed quiet, make sure they stayed tight.</p>
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<p>"Hopefully the diversion worked. We just wait and see how the wind blows."</p>
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<p>The image of the dream came back to him and he shoved it away. In any plan as complex as this, you had to allow for a
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few things going wrong, or some people doing stupid things. He'd a big bone to pick with Donny Watson.</p>
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<p>"You just take care then."</p>
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<p>"I will. Oh, by the way, your popcorn idea worked a treat. That and your beer mash."</p>
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<p>"I'm glad I was some help. I just hope I haven't helped land you in the jail."</p>
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<p>"There's something else I'm hoping you can do for me." Jack knew he should keep this for the cold light of morning.
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Waves of tiredness were washing over him in a tide.</p>
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<p>"What's that?"</p>
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<p>"I want you to become chairman."</p>
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<p>"Chairman of what?"</p>
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<p>"I'll tell you in the morning. And it will be legit. One thing though, how's your Italian?"</p>
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<p>"A bit rusty. I haven't needed it since my Nato days when we were running bootleg wine up to Germany, but I watch all
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the gangster movies. They're my refresher course. Why do you ask?"</p>
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<p>"I'll get you a tape. And I think we'll have to spruce you up in a good suit. Any preference?"</p>
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<p>"Remember what old Thoreau said." Sandy had eclectic reading tastes. "Distrust any enterprise that requires new
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clothes. So what's all this about?" </p>
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<p>"Our Mr Sproat wants to meet the client. I need somebody respectable."</p>
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<p>"Thanks very much." Sandy shot his grandson a questioning look.</p>
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<p>"But I suppose I'll just have to settle for you."</p>
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<p>Kate called him in the morning and woke him out of a dreamless sleep. The sun was high, but hidden by low cloud and
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the air, eddying through the open window, had a fresh, cleansed scent of blossom and dug earth.</p>
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<p>"What time is it?"</p>
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<p>"That depends on where you are."</p>
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<p>"Oh, it's you. Hi. What's happening?"</p>
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<p>"That's what I phoned you to ask. That was a bit of a brush-off the other night."</p>
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<p>"Yeah. Listen I'm sorry about that." He was coming awake now, grasping at reality. "I was kind of in the middle of
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things, you know?"</p>
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<p>"Middle of what, the North Sea?"</p>
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<p>"No," he fumbled for an answer. "There's been a hold up on that. The boat's not ready."</p>
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<p>"So I still have some time to talk you into seeing sense."</p>
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<p>He didn't have much time for anything. Everything was moving at light speed and he when he finally located his watch,
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he realised he had already wasted too many good hours of daylight. He stretched with one arm, getting the blood back
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into his muscles. At least he was rested.</p>
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<p>"When's the big demonstration. I want to be there. A gesture of solidarity."</p>
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<p>"What demonstration?"</p>
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<p>A hollow silence developed on the line. Finally she came back.</p>
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<p>"What do you mean <em>what demo</em>?"</p>
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<p>Damn! He could hear him talking himself into a corner. And who had given her the number?</p>
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<p>She over-rode the thought. "The one you wanted the posters for. I presume you still have some sort of social
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conscience, or did I just waste my time?"</p>
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<p>"No, not at all. The posters are brilliant. Absolutely perfect. I'll be talking to the Dunvegan boys later today."
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That much was true, if nothing else was, and nothing else <em>was</em>. He would have to get used to the deceit, but
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this was not the same game as chess. Lies were different from bluff. He didn't like lying to Kate, and if she ever
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found out about Margery Burns, well he'd be dead in the water with her, that was for sure.</p>
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<p>"Good. Maybe you can do me a favour."</p>
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<p>"Sure I will."</p>
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<p>"You haven't heard it yet."</p>
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<p>"You wouldn't ask if I couldn't do it."</p>
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<p>"That's very sweet of you to say. Okay, I need some money."</p>
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<p>His heart sank. He had been spending it like tomorrow was wiped off the calendar, and there was more spending, big
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spending to come. He knew he would have to drain the kitty dry over the next couple of days and squeeze the boys for
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more.</p>
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<p>"How much?"</p>
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<p>"About five grand to start with."</p>
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<p>He hesitated and she heard it. She laughed.</p>
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<p>"Oh don't worry, I'm not after your redundancy. I'm just collecting, and you can pass the hat round as well. We
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finally got the Charter group moving, and we got some free advice. The next stage won't be free."</p>
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<p>"What next stage?"</p>
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<p>"We have to raise a lot of money to slap an interdict on Sproat. Him <em>and</em> the council. We got a rough legal
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opinion at the citizen's advice office. They think we've got a case to interdict the distillery, which prevents them
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filling in Bruce's harbour. After that, we would have to argue it in court, and that will take plenty."</p>
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<p>This time Jack smiled. His uncle and the boatmen had all the free time in the world, when he wasn't making beer and
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hooch and racing his pigeons. They had trawled through all the old records in the library and Jack had seen what
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they had turned up even before Charter 1315 had been anywhere near it. It had convinced him.</p>
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<p>"So if we raise the cash, we can get the buildings listed and stop Sproat. We prevent the council from giving him
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permission to demolish and dump. Just as long as we can fund it before they send the bulldozers in. It takes time,
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but an interdict could hold everything up long enough. If the developers think they're going to have a fight on
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their hands, it could make them back away."</p>
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<p>She was sharp. He'd already realised that. If Trading Estates realised there was any smell at all, they would pull
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out. Any whiff of fish about the deal, the money would dry up. Jack came fully awake. Another plan took root in his
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mind.</p>
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<p>"How can I help?"</p>
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<p>"We're having a fund-raiser. The Starlight Company are putting on a show. You can come and help backstage, move the
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flats."</p>
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<p>That was one promise he couldn't make. </p>
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<p>"Maybe," he extemporised. "When is it?"</p>
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<p>"Two weeks."</p>
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<p>It was well out of the question. "I'll see what I can do."</p>
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<p>She sensed his hesitation. "Sound enthusiastic, won't you? If we stop the demolition, we keep the distillery. Maybe
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we can find a buyer. And the dairy might be able to keep its lease. Jack, we're trying to do some good for the
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town."</p>
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<p>"Yeah." He closed his eyes. This was a no win, not with Kate. </p>
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<p>"Where are you?" She took him by surprise.</p>
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<p>"Out of town." He lied.</p>
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<p>"Can't say, or won't say? You're being evasive, Jack Lorne, and you're not very good at it."</p>
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<p>"No. I'm not really. I'm just kind of tied up at the moment."</p>
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<p>"Are you avoiding me?"</p>
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<p>"No, not at all."</p>
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<p>"Doesn't sound like it. Doesn't matter anyway, does it? It's not like we're joined at the hip. I just thought we were
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friends, that's all. You know, thick and thin?"</p>
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<p>"Of course we are." She was better at this than he was. He wondered how much of that she really meant, or if she was
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just pressing the right buttons. She was <em>good.</em></p>
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<p>"Doesn't sound as if you really mean that, but suit yourself. So, are you hooked up with Captain Lars and the <em>sveedish</em>
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bimbettes?"</p>
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<p>"He's agreed to take me on," Jack said, and that was true enough in its fashion.</p>
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<p>"So you're going through with this?" The disappointment took the strength out of her voice.</p>
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<p>"It's the only way."</p>
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<p>"When?"</p>
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<p>"Soon." He could tell her nothing. He couldn't speak to her, not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't
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trust himself to stop once he got started, and there were so many things he needed to get done.</p>
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<hr />
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<p>Angus Baxter stood back from the rest. The environmental experts were taking samples of the water from the runnel,
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using plastic bottles as scoops. A couple of golfers had stopped by to watch the proceedings, sniffing the air as
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they slowed. Here the smell of malt whisky was thick on it. Jim Gilveray had already been down with his own scoop
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and ascertained that a substantial quantity of Her Majesty's excisable liquor had indeed disappeared down the
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drain.</p>
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<p>Two small boys paused in their treasure hunt in the marsh, legs black with mud. The big policeman lit up his pipe and
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blew out a plume of strong fumes. The health men finished their work, capped off the jars and stowed them in the
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boxes.</p>
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<p>"What about the fish?" Baxter asked.</p>
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<p>"First things first," the lead man said. He shouldered the bag and started off with his colleague.</p>
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<p>Baxter stood for a while, looking down into the runnel.</p>
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<p>"Funny that," he said.</p>
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<p>"What's that?" Gilveray saw his presence as an intrusion on his patch. Baxter didn't give a damn what he thought. He
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knew Gilveray was just a turnkey in a warehouse.</p>
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<p>"The fish," the policeman said, no elaboration.</p>
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<p>"Alcoholic poisoning probably."</p>
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<p>"No. I don't think that was it."</p>
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<p>Blair Bryden from the Gazette had a photographer with him. He and Baxter knew each other well. "How do you mean?"</p>
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<p>"In fact I know for certain it wasn't alcohol poisoning."</p>
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<p>"Ethyl contamination," Gilveray said. "We're wasting our time here. My samples show high levels of ethyl compounds
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here. We're satisfied that it was a spill. I'm only interested in explaining the loss of revenue. I don't know about
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the environmental damage."</p>
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<p>"So what's the next move?"</p>
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<p>"A customs tribunal will decide if there is any duty payable and by whom. I imagine Sproat's insurance will cover his
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loss."</p>
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<p>"You would hope so," Baxter said, agreeably. "Such an awful waste, though."</p>
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<p>He turned away and called to the boys in the bog. "You there. Is that a fishing net?"</p>
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<p>One boy held up a small net on a pole.</p>
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<p>"Aye."</p>
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<p>"Bring it here then."</p>
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<p>"Get lost."</p>
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<p>Baxter walked across the narrow fairway and stood at the brink. "If I have to come in and get that net, the pair of
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you will spend the weekend in the jail for trespassing and stealing golf club property." He reached in his pocket
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and drew out a shiny pair of handcuffs and held them up. He grinned widely.</p>
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<p>"I never knew you were the polis, mister."</p>
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<p>"Just bring the net and we'll say no more about it."</p>
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<p>He wiped the muddy cane with a tissue and went back to the runnel. Gilveray and Blair Bryden watched him get as close
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as possible, lean forward, and dig the net under the clear surface. A trail of muddy brown swirled down with the
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current.</p>
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<p>"I was an expert at this as a boy. You never forget." He jerked his arm, scooped and brought it out of the water.
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Gilveray expected him to bring up one of the bigger fish that were caught where the streamlet narrowed. Instead,
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when the policeman turned, they saw he had two tiny silver fish wriggling slowly in the net.</p>
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<p>He beamed. "Still got the knack, eh? Once a fisherman, always a fisherman."</p>
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<p>"And what's the point of that?"</p>
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<p>"You'll observe that these fish are very much alive. Lethargic, maybe, but still going."</p>
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<p>Gilveray raised his eyebrows. "So what?"</p>
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<p>"So there's a noticeable discrepancy between these and the deceased down there."</p>
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<p>He winked at Bryden. "Maybe your man will want a picture of this?"</p>
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<p>The newspaper man nodded the go-ahead and Brian Deacon shot a couple of frames.</p>
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<p>"Maybe they're a bit wobbly. Might even have an awful hangover, who can say? But they're definitely not dead." He
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pointed down with the net. "Now why do you think that is?"</p>
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<p>"Maybe whisky affects some fish more than others," Bryden ventured.</p>
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<p>"Not at all. They all breathe in through their gills, all sorts of stour in that water." Baxter flicked his wrist and
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the two little fish shimmered through the air to make tiny splashes in the pool. He scooped up one of the dead
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floaters and brought it round for them all to see.</p>
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<p>"The big difference is that these fish were deceased before they got into the water."</p>
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<p>"That's amazing." Bryden was well impressed. "How can you tell?"</p>
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<p>"Elementary." Baxter's blue eyes twinkled mischievously. The sun was poking out through the evaporating clouds and
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the fish were going off as the temperature rose. "These fish are the wrong species." He turned to Gilveray. "You
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should take up the fishing. It's good for the mind and calms the soul."</p>
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<p> Bryden could tell he was relishing this, spinning it pout.</p>
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<p>"It gives you time to reflect on the perfection of nature and the folly of jumping to conclusions. Now," he brought
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the net down and emptied it onto the short grass, "speaking of reflections, you'll notice how this fish throws back
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the sunlight. I'd call that iridescence, hm? All the colours of the rainbow."</p>
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<p>"Okay," Gilveray conceded. "You've got a bright shiny fish."</p>
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<p>"All those colours tell you that this fish is not native to these waters. It's not a brown trout, which is the best
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you could expect. In fact, there's only three places that you'll see a fish like this."</p>
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<p>"That really is amazing," the photographer whispered to Bryden. "He's like Cracker. He must really know his
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stuff."</p>
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<p>"So where would you find them?" Gilveray suckered himself.</p>
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<p>"The lakes of Canada for one. Marvellous fighters they are, rainbow trout. I went there fishing the lakes with a
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cousin of mine, and they were simply jumping out of the water and into the boat, there was that many of them."</p>
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<p>He turned and winked at Bryden again.</p>
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<p>"And the other places?"</p>
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<p>"You get them in fish farms these days. And then again you might look on the slab in Gallagher's fish shop window.
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They're six pounds a kilo. One thing's for sure."</p>
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<p>He held them all while he fished out his pipe again and got it stoked up.</p>
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<p>"Somebody planted these fish in the steam so they'd be found. They left them here to make folk think there had been a
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leak."</p>
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<p>"But there <em>was</em> a leak," Gilveray said. "The air's full of it, man."</p>
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<p>"I smell something. I'd even concede that it was whisky an' all."</p>
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<p>He blew out a long breath. </p>
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<p>"But if there had been twenty five thousand gallons down that trickle of water, then I'm sure even the wee fish would
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have died happy. So now, I'm afraid, this is a police investigation. Either somebody has taken off with a lot of the
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amber nectar, or some poor soul has the mother of all hangovers today."</p>
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<p>Baxter beamed, and the photographer caught it for the news.</p>
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<hr />
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<p>Sproat took his call right away. Margery Burns transferred him through and Jack could hear the strain in the other
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man's voice.</p>
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<p>"I hear you had a bit of a setback," he said.</p>
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<p>"Just an accident," Sproat said, trying to make it light. "It's a damned nuisance."</p>
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<p> "Four hundred barrels is more than a nuisance." He tempted Sproat out.</p>
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<p>"How did you know how much it was?"</p>
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<p>"You have to keep your ear to the ground," Jack said. "I hope you're well covered. I hear that the presentation packs
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would have brought you in three million. That's good cash flow."</p>
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<p>"We're in talks today."</p>
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<p>"And my principals hope you've some stocks left."</p>
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<p>"Don't worry about that," Sproat said, too anxious. "We're sorting that out now."</p>
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<p>"Good. We can refine figures and times, if you're still on."</p>
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<p>"Of course we are."</p>
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<p>"Okay, my principal is keen to do a deal."</p>
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<p>"Sooner the better," Sproat tried to keep his voice flat. </p>
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<p>"Oh, and we'll probably need to borrow transport." Jack threw it in casually.</p>
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<p>"That's not a problem."</p>
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<p>Sproat put the phone down and let out a sight of relief. A quick deal with Michael Gabriel's group could turn this
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around while the insurers argued over who was to blame for what and how much they would pay out. He'd have that
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jumped-up clerk Gilveray breathing down his neck, but that was always an occupational hazard.</p>
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<p>Jack sat back and cupped his chin in his hands. It was all chess now. Sproat was about to expose his queen. On the
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other board, big Lars was drawn right in to a corner. So far, so good, apart from that daft prick Donny. Margery
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Burns was proving worth the cost. Just a few more days and they'd be home and clear.</p>
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<p>He'd been up at the crack of dawn and in to the city. The marine assessor had been and gone and given Lars the
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re-insurance documents which went straight into the bin. Jack called a cab and took them up to Bath Street and into
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the lawyer's office. It was a straightforward deal. Lars needed more talking to, but when he was totally convinced
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he'd never get his hands on the whisky without a signature on the bottom of the agreement, his good business sense
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finally won out.</p>
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<p>They shook hands on the steps on a brightening morning. Jack winced and rescued his fingers.</p>
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<p>"So now you got half a Valkyrie," Lars said. "But only for a loan. I want my baby back."</p>
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<p>"You can have her," Jack said. "She's got the looks only a mother could love."</p>
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<p>The big man slapped him on the shoulder.</p>
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<p>"Anybody else says that and they finish up in the water, tied to the anchor."</p>
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<p>He left Lars to make his own way down to the dock and checked his pocket for cash. The kitty was running low now, but
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he had the top copy of the document in his pocket and enough company plastic to make a couple of big buys. He
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whistled up another taxi and in five minutes he was down in the Italian Centre looking at the racks, before picking
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up a little android phone and a fine brushed-silver fountain pen.</p>
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<p> Rule number three from the ten steps to success. <em>You never get a second chance to make a good first
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impression.</em> Jack really had to put on the dog.</p>
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<p>In an hour he was just two minutes late for an appointment down on St Vincent Street where all the banks huddled
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cheek by jowl. </p>
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<p>The young banker took in the Armani and raised his eyebrows appreciatively. Jack accepted a weak tea and presented
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the company's credentials. He laid out his new passport on the walnut desktop, the incorporation papers, and details
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of planned trading, along with the heads of agreement Sproat had signed.</p>
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<p>"So what you want, Mr Gabriel, is a rolling letter of credit."</p>
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<p>"My company hopes to expand. We may have to make moves very quickly and credit will give us the flexibility." He was
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talking straight out of the manual now.</p>
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<p>"And how much credit would you require?"</p>
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<p>Jack held his breath for a moment. This might still be chess, but it was a big league game.</p>
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<p>"Half a million for now," he said, and bit down on the dainty little chocolate biscuit.</p>
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<p>"You'll need security, of course." He delved into the shiny new case that smelled of well-worked leather, and brought
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out the documents.</p>
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<p>"We have a carried interest in a successful North Sea supply operation. Here's the assessor's valuation as of
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yesterday. As you'll see, my company has forty nine percent of both the operation and the vessel. We plan to make
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more acquisitions and establish trading connections in this country and on the continent."</p>
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<p>By one in the afternoon, Jack Lorne had his letter of credit and a cash transfer into the company account, express
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clearance. The interest might have been fierce, but in all the lessons he'd learned on his course, one thing always
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held true. Money begets money. Even a promise of money was enough. That's how it worked, and he wished he'd known
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that years ago.</p>
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<p>Now he had what he needed for the next step, and as long as everybody held their nerve, as long as Margery Burns
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could do her job, and old Sandy Bruce could pull off a fast act, they'd all be on the final straight.</p>
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<p>And just as long as big Lars Hanson didn't ever find out his old whaling father's pride and joy had been hocked to
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the bank.</p>
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<p>Jack stood for a minute in the sun, almost paralysed with the enormity of it all. He caught sight of himself in a big
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dark plate glass window and for a moment he was completely taken aback.</p>
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<p>Three weeks ago he had been studying in the afternoons after driving round Levenford in a rattling milk-van, scraping
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to get his brother into university.</p>
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<p>The tall man who faced him, eyes hidden behind the designer dark glass was somebody else entirely. The brief-case
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caught the high rays of the sun as it burned off the thin clouds and the burnished reflection gleamed back at
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him.</p>
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<p>He held all the strings, and while he knew that any one of them could slip from his grasp and fray at the end, he
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knew he'd come this far and had to take it to its conclusion, come what may.</p>
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<p>Take your future in your own hands, old Sandy had said. Now it was there, in his own hands and everybody else's
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future besides. A shiver of excitement and anticipation juddered down his back, and a trickle of sweat eased its way
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down his temple. He took the monogrammed handkerchief from his top pocket, looked at the embroidered letter
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<em>G</em> on the silk, and wiped the bead away.</p>
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<p>Across the road, a Starbucks coffee house was open and all of a sudden he needed either a strong coffee or a strong
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drink. He opted for an espresso. He'd have to be very sober from here on in. He paid the girl and couldn't miss the
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appreciative look as she took in the Armani gear. He gave her a big tip and a wide smile.</p>
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<p>Ten minutes later, armed with a letter of credit for half a million pounds, he was in the plush office of one of
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Glasgow's most successful corporate law firms.</p>
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<p>"I'd like to fund a legal action," he told Kerrigan Deane.</p>
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