The Scottish Play: The Murder

Banks had scanned the classified ads and selected a run down 1975 Datsun for sale in Leith. He made sure it was a runner and had enough petrol for the job. His instincts told him something wasn't right about the deal. The seller was just too keen to get him inside the house and he could smell a rat. As he counted out the cash in the living room, two heavies burst in wielding weapons. They were fast and loud but hadn't counted on a man who did this for a living. He drove out of Leith with the car and the cash.

As far as Roddy was concerned Vivian was on one of her regular shopping trips to Edinburgh. This time she was with Banks. He had new plates ready and parked up the Datsun in the car park an abandoned shopping precinct to retrieve them and swop them over. Then drove into the centre of Edinburgh, parking in George Street. The hotel as close by but far enough away to make sure he wasn't being followed.

The hotel had been Vivians choice, posh and glitzy. She had given him cash to pay for the room in his name but he'd used Colin's AmEx card instead and assumed Colin's identity. In part he didn't want her getting any ideas about being 'Mrs Banks' into her head. As instructed, he gave her a call from the lobby. She told him to give her five minutes before coming up. Time for a quick whiskey in the bar. A double.

..............

With inside information on the layout of Duncan King's home, the job was a doddle. Colin drove the backup car and parked a couple of streets away. Banks and Sandy simply forced their way into the house in Rubislaw Den and shot both Duncan and his wife with an untraceable Luger. A scattering of leaflets proclaiming the Scottish National Freedom Party, a roughly sprayed Anarchy Circle-A symbol and SNFP initials on the living room walls were left behind for the police to find.

A simple typed statement proclaiming the actions of the SNFP was received by BBC Scotland. In the coming fortnight, SNFP leaflets were distributed in the most deprived areas of Glasgow, Edinburgh, Stirling, Perth, Dundee and Aberdeen. Followed by small but noisy litter bin and postbox bombs going off from Glasgow to Peterhead. A car bomb exploded in Dundee and a Panasonic Shop was firebombed. The last one was personal and happened on the day of the King's funeral. Each incident was preceded by a coded message being given to the editorial desk of The Scotsman.

Vivian of course looked her best for the funeral, which took place surrounded by a melee of international media. Whilst there was very genuine sorrow for the deaths of the Kings amongst the mourners, she could feel the undercurrent of fear, the unspoken concern about who could be next. And she was, if truth be told, excited.

 ..............

Derek: "You wanted to see me sir?"

Roy: "Thanks for coming in Derek. Take a seat. Would you like some tea?"

Derek: Nodding to Tom, "Err, no thank you sir. Just had one" He was keen to get out of the Jackal's den.

Roy: "Looks like we have some new players within your remit?"

Derek: "I don't think so sir"

Tom:  "Really?"

Derek: "Look, the SNFP are a pair of middle aged guys working out of a garage in Dunkeld. Jacobite fantasists, no more than that. And the arrests made simply don't fit the profile."

Tom: "You mean the tip-off?"

Roy: "Yes, what's your verdict on that?"

Derek: "Local bobbies in Leith acting on a tip-off about a stolen Datsun, enter a house to find two cases of SNFP leaflets, personal effects and a Luger used in the King murder in the garage. Well, it's straight off the Telly isn't it."

Roy: "Thank you Derek. You can leave now." Derek leaves, grateful that it wasn't the grilling he was expecting.

Roy to Tom: "Well what do you think?"

Tom: "Glagow is still a goer in my opinion. At worst, a couple of extra bodies to lift and maybe a few extra 'soldiers' on the ground. I've got eyes in place. We're just waiting for it to happen. Tim and the 'SO' team have built a model and rehearsing their role. Think they're actually looking forward to it".

"One thing though......this SNFP?.... Smacks of some counter-gang stuff, pure Kitson if you ask me. Are we sure another door in this building aren't involved?"

Roy: "You're right Tom. Something doesn't fit. I'll ask June to dig.  The secretarial pool probably know more about what's bloody well going on than we do."

Roy lit a cigarette. It doesn't add up. If they lifted the principal players in a single operation would that simply leave a power vacuum? Would unknowns fill the void creating even greater chaos?

Absentmindedly he thumbed the latest reports and operations orders coming from Wales..... and something about Norway - that's all we need, he thought, the bloody "Prince of Denmark" to invade.....



 

The Scottish Play: The Runner

'Mac', Major Iain Frasier MacDuff, Royal Marine Commandos was running. It was what he did to help him think. He always wore his boots to run - out of principle - but tonight he'd picked up his "special" Bergen and was pounding around the periphery of the airstrip in the rain with a pack filled with taped up 2 pound sand 'bricks'. "Daft sod" muttered a bootie on patrol as Mac hammered past splattering puddles.

Major MacDuff was miles away back in the green, back in 'Indo'. Back when Roddy McBeath was another wet behind the ears candidate at Lympstone and MacDuff a sgt about to get selected for officer training. They found themselves in the same 'batch' and surprisingly became bloody good mates. 'Indo' cemented that friendship; then Roddy had got hitched, basically to a bottle of gin - a pretty one though. Eventually Roddy left the Royals for civvie street and gradually they had drifted.

The MacDuff's, there was Mikki now, still sent an Xmas card and sometimes him and Mikki called in on the McBeath's when they were on a rare foray to Aberdeen but as Mikki said - "it's like sitting in a fridge. With an acid tongued cow who still thinks I'm just a WO2's daughter."

Then this....

He'd been in the duty room, talking bikes with the scaleys and winding up Adjutant Rory when the phone rang. "Major MacDuff? Your wife, for you sir" the orderly was still cautious about him.  

MacDuff: "Mikki? What's so urgent?"

Mikki: "There's been a terrible shooting. It's on the News. The head of The Cawdor Group and his wife have been murdered. It's not Roddy is it?"

MacDuff: "No. No, I don't think so. I know he's on the board now, but.....? Have they said who or where?"

Mikki: "They were having dinner..." There was genuine concern in her voice. But he knew it was more a concern for him through his friendship than for Roddy and 'Viv'.

MacDuff: "Look, keep me posted of any developments and we'll talk when I get off duty."  He put down the phone pensively. There was a moment's silence. Quizzical faces were looking at him. "Rory. Tell Tom to put his boys on alert. One hour standby. Warm up the alert flight too. There's been an oil related incident in Aberdeen. Possibly nothing but just in case it's part of something bigger we don't want to be caught with our arses hanging out."

The Scottish Play: The Dinner

Vivian McBeath looked her most stunning. She flirted with Banks from the moment he appeared at the door. Over dinner every movement was calculated. Every toss of the head, every coy glance. Good old Vivian he thought. Using everything in your armoury to get your way.

Roddy laid out the full proposal. He began with "Just suppose..." What followed was a long term plan aimed at gaining power within Cawdor and with that, a powerful political hand to play in the formation and running of a newly independent Scotland. 

Vivian sent Roddy to the kitchen to take food and a hot drink out to Bank's man in the car. "John", she took him by the hand and placed the other hand on his thigh. "You are a man of action. I know I can rely on you. I have important friends waiting to help. Together we can make this happen. But Duncan must go."

By the time Roddy had returned. Vivian and Banks were composed and smoking in the lounge. Banks downed his whiskey and began "Well, just supposing of course....." then laid out his operation plan of who, what and when.

Vivian: "And your men?"

Banks: "We've been through a lot together and they are loyal to me. If I'm with you, they will be too. The key to this is Frasier. With the Royals behind us, we have a military power base and even some legitimacy. I'll broker a meeting but you need to win him over, as I'm sure you will" Looking directly at Vivian. "Plus you two have history" motioning towards Roddy. "Given the shit the country's in right now, bringing stability is right up Mac's street."

.........

As they leave, Colin thanked Banks for the scran and got the response "Don't thank me. Thank Viv."

Colin replied: "She's a classy bit of stuff. Real lady..... So, did you get yer knee trembler then boss?"

Banks didn't answer. The unspoken part of the plan was coming together in his head.
 

The Scottish Play: The Car

Banks opened the passenger door to be hit by a strong smell of Indian cooking "Smells worse than an Indian whorehouse!" Two flimsy bags with takeaway meal containers sprawled against the back seat. An empty foil container already sat crumpled on the dashboard.

Banks "Where's mine?" At that moment both rear doors opened. Sandy and Bruce got in simultaneously. The doors were barely shut before Colin gunned the engine and roared off down Crown Street heading out of the city.

Colin: "How was your old pal then? Everything on the up?" The others were divvying the food as he spoke.

Banks: "Yep. Had a job offer for us. How would you gentlemen like to moonlight as security consultants and make some money from this oil bonanza?"

Bruce: "What! Every part-time secretary is driving a convertible in this town?  I want some of that!"

Banks over his shoulder, "How were things at the house?"

Sandy "Quiet. She's a looker apparently. Spent most of the evening on the phone with a drink in her hand." Banks amused himself with the thought 'no change there then'.

Iain had watched the house. To his neighbours and current workmates he was a roughneck. He'd been on the Thane exploration rig when the discovery was made. He was on rotation, this was his leave, and tonight of all nights, he had sat in his Astra with a pair of high powered binoculars, a flask and a cheese and pickle sandwhich, watching some posh bird when he could have been out hitting the town with Kim. 

The Cortina kept just within the speed limit as it sped down the A92 towards Stonehaven, then Montrose and finally Arbroath. The men inside were wolfing down their Indian scran using the Nan to scoop from each others foil containers.

...............

Whitehall. The lights are burning late in D Wing.

SigInt: "Sorry to bother you sir. Message from Cauldron regarding Banquet."  He hands over a transcript.

Nigel: "At last. Let's see. Good. Good! Tony, arrange breakfast with the Minister. The witches are in play"

The Scottish Play: The Flat

Banks made a show of leaving. McBeath was in no doubt that everyone in The Grill was aware that they were "going for a curry".

A crowd was assembling outside the Music Hall.  They joined the pedestrian traffic on their side of the street as if heading for the crossing to go and see whatever was on. McBeath remembered one of his secretaries getting excited at seeing Phil Lizzy? or someone similar appearing at the venue earlier in the year.

Banks took his arm and made a show of gesturing in the direction of the Indian restaurant. Banks kept up the chatter as they walked along Union Street. McBeath went to look over his shoulder.

Banks softly said "Colin is with me." At Bridge Street they stopped outside the entrance to the Indian. Banks scoured the menu and pointed at a couple of dishes. "Fancy a kebab instead?" McBeath did his best to keep up with the charade and let Banks lead. Half way down Bridge Street, Banks said "You've got a flat in town. Let's go there. Im sure you'll have a good drinks cabinet."

They cut back on themselves by the 'Pally'. At the bottom of Windmill Brae Banks stopped to light a cigarette. He patted his pockets "What ya know, no matches" and stopped Colin, to all intents and purposes a passerby, with good natured gestures and as Colin lit his cigarette, Banks reeled off a list of Indian dishes....."and don't forget the Nan!"

McBeath's flat was in Crown Terrace. It was everything Banks expected. High ceilings, tasteful decoration. Vivian's hand no doubt. He had hoped there would be a mini bar with optics on the wall and high stools, but was to be disappointed. The contents of the drinks trolley however, did not disappoint.

Banks settled back in one of the plush armchairs "So, what's it to be Roddy?"

McBeath looked at John Banks. Captain John Banks, Boat Troop, 22 Special Air Service Regiment, formerly Royal Marines; then at the floor, before drawing a long breath, "These are troubled times. Men who know each other need to stick together. Make the most of whatever opportunities come their way....."

Captain Banks listened. McBeath was offering a job. A very well paid job as private security consultant to the Cawdor Group. He could name his own terms, hire his own team. His men. Known men. He could stay in the military, for now. But there was more, couched in veiled terms and he started to build a picture of what McBeath was saying. Banks was not slow to pick up. He could spot an opportunity and he was always ready to jump on an opportunity.

McBeath came to an end, "Think it over carefully and then come out to the house for dinner."  Banks smiled internally. Ah, Vivian's behind this he thought and he wondered if she was still as big a flirt after a drink or two.....

The Scottish Play: The Meeting

The Grill was busy as usual. The long, dark mahogany bar accommodated dozens of jostling elbows amid a forest of pint glasses and the occasional whiskey chaser. Cigarette smoke hung in clouds adding to the unmistakable air of masculinity.

The patrons were a mixed crowd. Printers, shunters and posties at the end of their shift. A couple of solicitors from Golden Square were having a quick one before heading home. Roughnecks wetting their neck before going on the piss in Union Street and a few, mostly older men, who were ensconced for the night.

McBeath had invited a couple of his key employees at Cawdor for a quick dram. He had a taste for Malt and this was the place in Aberdeen to come for a real drink. Being a traditional galley bar, you could see everyone and conversation was lost amidst the dense concentration of voices. Whilst they drank, talked and laughed in self congratulation at their big oil find, McBeath was able to quietly monitor the comings and goings in the pub.  When they made to leave, McBeath made an excuse to stay "last one for the road before I have to face the wife's cooking", and took a vacant seat with an eye on the door, one of the few seats in the pub. He kept the chair next to him free with a double malt left tactically on that edge of the table that was little bigger than a dinner plate.

He took a pint and drank it slowly, in part to keep his wits, in part to steady his nerves. Banks was late. Ten minutes had gone by and McBeath started to feel on edge. The place would start to fill shortly with people trying to get a drink before going to the Music Hall across the street.

Suddenly Banks sweeps in, his open trenchcoat following him. "Roddy!"  He appears like a genie out of a lamp. A larger than life character and downs the double waiting for him in a single gesture of satisfaction. "Another one?" Not waiting for an answer he efficiently parted the bodies at the bar and returned with two glasses. McBeath had missed the man who slipped in unnoticed in Bank's wake and positioned himself at the bar.

Banks, emphasising his Glasgae patter kept up the loud and ebullient long lost friends meeting up routine till any listeners got bored, and then suddenly switched to a lower, more serious tone, "So, what does the hero of the hour want with an old warhorse like me.....?"

  

Behind Every Successful Man...

Shares in North Sea Oil leapt today following the announcement that The Cawdor Group, the largest oil and gas company based in Scotland have discovered new oil reserves estimated at 200 million barrels in the Thane Field, located in deep waters to the east of the Shetland Islands.

Roddy McBeath, head of the exploration arm of The Cawdor Group, was appointed to the board upon the announcement of the fresh oil discoveries. Despite setback after setback, Mcbeath maintained faith in the Thane field and despite criticism from within the higher echelons of the Group continued with exploration.....

"Duncan this, Duncan that, that's all I bloody hear from you. You should be Vice Chairman. Hell! You should be Chairman of Cawdor by now! But no, always playing by the bloody rules. Is that what they taught you in the Marines?"

"It's about time you were promoted to the board. Don't you see....Duncan has deliberately kept you down. Look....darling. You are a name now in all the right circles. Duncan is going to ensure you don't upstage him but you know, Scotland is crying out for a leader. Cawdor oil gives Scotland a future, an independent future and someone has to take the helm".

"You still have connections. Friends in the Marines. And you will have many more friends and connections in high places now. The RIGHT kind of friends. People listen to you. Thane has shown you to be a man with guts, prepared to do the right thing and see it through..... Plus, you were decorated in Indonesia. That's got to be worth something". 

"You have to think higher now. Think in political terms, not be content to remain a pawn in petty board room shenanigans...... oh, I know you think I'm a grouch..... I need another drink. Are there any more spirits in the house?"

Returning, glass in hand.....

"Frasier is still in the Marines isn't he? Banks is too, and he's in Arbroath. They're not playing by the rules these days and they are bound to support you. I'll support you. The man I married. The man who was prepared to take risks for what was right. And this darling is right. Right for you, right for US, right for this nation. You are that man......aren't you?"
 

The Scottish Powerplay; Prologue

Minister: "Nigel, spot of Cabernet?" 

Nigel: "Thank you Minister. Half a glass if you please. On duty. Derek here (standing off camera) is from the Policy Coordination Unit with your Scots briefing"

Minister: "Well, lead on Macduff"
 
Derek: Unsure at last remark "yessir. Minister...The position in Scotland is somewhat fluid. The vast majority want independance in some form and yet there is no clear sign of a common force emerging - unlike in Wales. The Scot players, frankly, seem to be more concerned with the who gets what regarding the oil revenues than how they actually get it. There are significant forces available but as yet they have not really taken a grip. Excuse me for saying, but with the collapse of legitimate centralised government eminating from Whitehall, there is a power vacuum - it's just a question of  who takes over".
 
Minister: Motioning around "Does this look like a collapse to you.... err, Derek?"

Nigel: "Yeees, thank you Derek - you have another briefing perhaps?"
 
Derek: Straightens. "Yes sir. But I should mention Irish Republican involvement on the Clyde and increasing Norwegian government uncertainty about the security of the oilfields...."
 
Minister: "Yes, yes, thank you..."

Derek leaves.

Minister: "Rather nice 'Cab'. I think I'll have a bottle sent to my office".

Nigel: "Minister, we need to get one step ahead of the Scots Nats, create the environment up there and build the battlefield to fight it how we want to fight it".
 
Minister: "None of that nonsense they ran into in the Welsh Office I hope Nigel? Perhaps something the Army Council will appreciate...?"

Nigel: "Yes Minister".

 

McAK47

Conversion-fest last night. Got carried away and as a result, produced this nice little Scottish cameo piece from a bald-headed Chechen fighter. I'm really proud of how the Tam turned out and even added a tourrie and ribbons for added Gaelic flair!

Update: Unfortunately, he is one of a large number of figures sent to Mark Hickman in Dorset to be painted which were never returned.

And, just pulled this photo off the mobile. I wanted to mash up the figures that I had available, mixing pistols and rifles, gasmasks and scarves, helmets, berets and bareheads to create that truly desperate Popular Front or militia look.

Cheers
Mark
  

Something Wicked This Way Comes

OK, I admit.... I took out the Elheim Patrolling Infantry Section with every intention of lopping their heads off.  Only, I find myself quite absent mindedly placing them into arrowhead formation on the dining table. And in that moment an image is conjured up of a modern production of Shakespeare, set in 1979. Well if they can do it to Coriolanus...

Result, I decided to re-role my remaining CP Models (TQD Castings) 1/72 British Army Falklands War SAS into Shakespearean military rebels with new heads taken from various Liberation Miniatures.

And then to Platoon 20. Here's 'Big Man', a serious Glaswegian player for the coming 'Scottish Play'. Which reminds me to order the figs tonight. His original head, wearing glasses, is now on the advancing SLR armed civvie in the background.

Back to the production line.....

Cheers
Mark