Becca XXX: Dangerous Cargo Ch. 06

"I think it was Grace. She's a right nosey bitch, don't worry about her."

She leaned in and kissed me hard on the lips as a thank you.

"Can you pass me some toilet paper please?" I nodded behind her. "I'm fucking soaked."

She pulled some paper from the roll and handed it to me before pulling some off for herself. We both got busy cleaning up and I shuddered as I wiped over my clit. After throwing the paper in the bowl, I pulled my knickers and jeans back up as Steph also got dressed.

"I think the coast's clear," she whispered. "Stay in here while I go out first."

She opened the cubicle door and peaked out tentatively before giving me the thumbs up.

We both washed our hands, giving each other shy glances in the mirror. We then moved to the hand dryer like we had the day before, but this time the sexual tension had already been released.

"You are such a dirty bitch," I joked.

"My lipstick vibe never fails to please," she winked, throwing it in the air and catching it with one hand.

She slipped it into her pocket and left the wash room.

I took twenty seconds to compose myself and then followed her out as though nothing had happened. I was paranoid that people would know what we'd been up to, especially as Grace had heard strange noises coming from Steph.

If someone looked hard enough, they would realise we both looked a little flushed with that after-sex glow about us. I just hoped no one would smell our juices which were coating our thighs. Despite wiping it off, it would still be there and would emanate from our bodies as we warmed up. I decided to get a drink from the machine to make it look less obvious that we'd been in the toilets together, before I went back to my desk.

"There's rumours going around about you, Stephanie," said Janice as I joined them.

"What sort of rumours and who from?" sighed Steph, as though it was boring her.

"Grace seems to think that you've been playing with yourself in the toilets," she whispered. "Have you?"

I looked over to see a small group of women huddled together staring in our direction. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly these things manifested in a small office environment.

"I can categorically say that I have not been playing with myself," she said holding her hand up in a small salute as though she was swearing an oath.

"She said you were making cum noises in there."

"I WAS HAVING A PISS. YOU NOSEY COW," Steph shouted across the office at Grace. "AT LEAST I WASHED MY FUCKING HANDS."

The mothers' meeting opposite dispersed as they realised Steph knew they were talking about her. They all got back to work and I laughed at Steph's brazen lie. Grace had washed her hands, but no one else would have known that except for us.

"I see what you mean about the bitchiness in the office," I said. "Why would anyone make up a rumour like that?"

Steph smiled at me as we shared our little secret. She'd been truthful when she said she hadn't been playing with herself in the toilets; we'd been playing with each other.

Todd was keeping quiet about the rumour and kept his head down. He probably didn't want his picture posting on the notice board. We may not have helped the situation after what we'd done, but that was our business and no one else's. At least I seemed to be avoiding the rumours of toilet-sex for now.

****

By the time I got back to my flat, I'd received several emails on my iPad from Lexa. My phone had pinged on the way home, but I wasn't in a position to read the emails privately so I waited until I got home. It was easier to see them on a bigger screen anyway. It looked like some intel had finally started to arrive about Brian.

I'd made myself a coffee and I was now sitting at the breakfast bar with my iPad and phone ready to examine the data. I didn't fancy any wine after the previous night's boozing. I needed to keep a clear head anyway.

The intel team had started to build up a pattern of Brian's movements from the tracker I'd fitted to his car. They'd also recorded conversations and text messages from his burner-phone. All of that information was now sitting on the secure server, back at the facility. Lexa had sent me the link for it and I used my encrypted password and thumb print to login to the server remotely.

Security was always tight at the facility, both in person and in cyberspace. I didn't even know where the place was, as I always had to wear a bag on my head whenever I went there. Even Lexa said that she had the same treatment whenever she went there, but I doubted that that was the case.

I opened the first file and saw that it was a summary of the assignment so far. It showed the key actions that had taken place. My name had been redacted from the file and I was referred to as 'Agent B'. I scanned through the bullet points from Friday, up until now and I was surprised how much I'd achieved in such a short space of time.

According to the file, Agent B had been interviewed by Abacus Accountancy on Friday and had been offered the job. Brian York (Yorkie) was the target in question and he was to be her new boss. Also on Friday, Agent B had hospitalised four known gang members of The Lees, after an attempted rape attack at the Cedars Estate.

Saturday and Sunday showed no significant progress on the case.

On Monday, Agent B had fitted a tracker to the target's vehicle and the intel team had started to monitor his movements. Monday night also saw the murder of John Patterson -- a rival gang member of The Mancs. The incident had occurred not far away from the Cedars Estate and had involved a drive-by shooting using an MP7 sub-machine gun. The target's vehicle was stationary at the time and was one-and-a-half miles away from the scene of the crime.

Agent B had hacked the target's burner-phone on Tuesday afternoon and his calls and messages had been recorded from that point onwards.

They were the key events so far and that was the end of the summary. I wasn't too interested in the finer details at that point.

I opened another file which showed the data that the vehicle tracker had recorded since I'd fitted it. The map consisted of a mass of different sized circles, at various locations around the city. The size of each circle denoted how much time the vehicle had spent at each location. The bigger the circle, the longer the car had been there. This gave me an easy-to-read picture of his movements and his known haunts without me having to wade through a list of dates and times.

The two biggest circles on the map were his home address and his place of work, where he had obviously spent most of his time. I clicked on some icons to remove those circles from the map so that I could concentrate on the other places he'd visited.

There were a lot of small circles which showed that Brian had stopped at a petrol station and a supermarket for a short space of time. It didn't look suspicious as even a drug dealer needed the basic necessities in life.

There were two circles left on the map which were much larger than the rest, so I zoomed in on them to get a closer look. The first was a pub called The Slaughtered Lamb and as I clicked on the circle, an information balloon opened, displaying dates and times. Brian had been there on both Monday and Tuesday nights.

Monday was the night that John Patterson had been gunned down in the street and the map showed that Brian had been in the pub from six o'clock until eleven o'clock. He had then driven to within a mile and a half of the crime scene and his vehicle had remained static until two in the morning. It had then been driven home.

I tried to imagine what had happened during that time. There was only one reason I could come up with, as to why he would park his car there for three hours. He must have been picked up by another vehicle to carry out the shooting. Maybe he'd also been around the city talking to his foot soldiers and dealers before the shooting took place. The intel team had been able to track his work phone, but that had remained with the vehicle. Brian wasn't stupid when it came to things like that.

That is why it was so important that we tracked his burner. The phone was with him almost all of the time, but we only had data from that from the last twenty-four hours. We had however managed to track his messages and calls since the phone was purchased. It looked like his burner phone had been replaced quite recently as there wasn't a lot of call history.

Criminals usually changed their SIM cards or phones every few days, a week at the most, to ensure they stayed under the radar. Brian's phone appeared to have been renewed on Monday so we couldn't check back any further than that. He'd made and received a lot of calls and messages relating to drug activity. All the calls were to and from other burner phones which couldn't be traced. The data wasn't much use to us and didn't tell us anything we didn't already know.

However, there was one call that Brian had made on Tuesday night and the conversation had been recorded.

I opened the audio file and hit play.

Brian: It's me. I may have a new recruit.

Unknown: Can they be trusted?

Brian: I think so. She's an ex-criminal with some unusual skills. She seems ideal.

Unknown: They always do until it comes to doing the work.

Brian: This one seems different. I don't think we'll have a problem with her. Are we set for Saturday?

Unknown: Yes mate. Same set up as before. You know where to meet.

Brian: Ok. I'll let her know. See you Saturday.

Unknown: Yes mate. See you Saturday.

That was the end of the audio file. It sounded as though I'd been accepted into his group, but also that I may have to prove myself. I assumed that Brian must have been talking about my martial arts and criminal activities when he referred to my special skills. That was why he'd asked me all those questions after he and Simon had ass-fucked me in his office. There was no data as to who the other person was on the recording, but it had to be someone higher up in the organisation than Brian. Maybe he was the source, or maybe he knew who the source was.

Either way, it looked like things were progressing. If Brian trusted me, I was half way there.

I opened another file which showed an image taken from Brian's Facebook account. At first, I couldn't see the significance of the photo and I wondered why it was in the file. The picture was of Brian with his arms draped around two sexy looking girls. I'd seen the photo before when I'd been briefed on the assignment. The girls weren't wearing much in the way of clothing and looked as slutty as I was. There were a few lines written under the picture to explain where it was from and why it had been included in the report.

The picture was from Brian's separate Facebook account -- the one which showed his criminal side, rather than his family friendly persona. It wasn't known who the girls were or where the picture had been taken, but the interesting thing was what was in the background of the shot. There were other people who were unaware that the picture had been taken. They appeared to be chatting and drinking in what looked like someone's front room.

One of the people in the background was Simon.

"I fucking knew it," I said out loud.

I'd always had a feeling that they'd met up outside of work and this photo proved it. Tristan had found it when he'd compiled the social media data on Brian and had then forwarded it to Lexa. My summation was that this must be a house party for Brian and his happy band of drug dealers, but what was Simon doing there? He certainly didn't have the demeanour of a criminal and especially not a drug dealer or a murderer.

They seemed friendly at work and they had shared me between them. It was like a little secret arrangement they had, but I doubted it would go any further than that. Maybe the girls were prostitutes and they were sharing them like they had me. Brian didn't strike me as the sort of guy who paid for sex, but Simon did.

I went back to the map showing Brian's movements and I zoomed in on the last big circle. His vehicle had been there for a few hours on Tuesday morning and then again on Tuesday night. That explained why Brian had been late for work that day.

I looked at the satellite imagery to see if there was anything obvious in the vicinity. The Slaughtered Lamb was a known stronghold for The Lees, but they wouldn't be storing sub-machine guns there. They would need somewhere else within the city so that they could get to them in a hurry if they needed them.

The large circle on the map showed that Brian had parked on the road outside of what looked like a warehouse. I used Google street-view to get a better look.

The warehouse was a large old building which looked very rundown and it covered a large area. There were similar buildings on the same estate, all in a state of disrepair. Across the road from the estate there was a small row of shops and takeaway restaurants like you'd get in any city district. Next door to them was a care home for elderly people and then a small park with football pitches and a running track. The whole area seemed to be a mish-mash of industrial, food, leisure and residential buildings all thrown together.

My question was, what was Brian doing there? Was it related to his accountancy work or was it something more sinister? He could have had a legitimate reason for being there, but then again, he had supposedly killed a rival gang member in the early hours of that morning, so anything was possible.

One explanation could be that he had a stronghold in one of the industrial buildings and that he could be storing the weapons there. In my mind that sort of building fitted the bill perfectly

It was easily accessible and not far from the pub.

If there were guns there, there was only one way that I was going to find out.

I needed to go and take a look.

I looked out of the window to check the weather. It was cloudy and dark, but it wasn't raining. The time was just after six, so I decided I'd go for a run and check it out. Rebecca Sloan's wardrobe was full of all sorts of clothes, not just bedroom and work attire, so I picked out something suitable.

I needed to blend in with my environment so wearing running gear seemed like the best idea. I stripped off and changed my knickers for a pair of boy shorts. I then found a black sports bra and a pair of black yoga pants. I finished the look with a pair of black running shoes and a black hoody.

Wearing dark clothing would help me to stay out of sight once I started snooping around the industrial estate. I even had a pair of thin black gloves to keep my hands warm on a cold winter's night.

Next, I collected my phone and retrieved the Makarov from the toilet cistern. I slipped the magazine out of the pistol and racked the top slide to eject the round from the chamber. I then pushed the round into the top of the magazine and pushed it back into the hand grip. I racked the slide again to chamber the round and made sure the safety was on. Making the weapon ready was like a ritual to me and I loved the sound it made. It also told me that the weapon was in working order and that it would fire as soon as I pulled the trigger.

In the movies, people were always portrayed as racking the slide just before they had a fire-fight. Real operators always had the weapon in a ready state just in case. When I drew the weapon, I didn't want to waste vital seconds loading the thing before I could shoot someone with it. All I had to do was click the safety off with my thumb, take aim and squeeze the trigger.

I took a small runner's backpack from the wardrobe and put my phone and a spare magazine into it. I then went to the kitchen and filled a Camelback bladder with water for my run. It fitted into my bag in a special compartment and there was a straw running down the righthand shoulder strap so that I could drink while on the move. I was still dehydrated from squirting all over Steph the night before and from too much alcohol. Besides, I wouldn't look out of place running around in the dark dressed like a marathon runner.

Finally, I took the backpack and unzipped the small compartment at the base of the bag. It usually contained a pull-out waterproof cover which could be used to cover the bag in case it rained. I had removed the waterproof cover to leave room for my pistol. I stuffed the Makarov inside and closed the zipper. It would keep my weapon secure while I ran, but also made it easy to get at if I needed it.

I slung the bag over both shoulders and clipped the chest strap into place. I then practiced the movements I would need if I had to draw down the weapon. I reached my left hand behind me and undid the zip at the bottom of the bag. At the same time, my right hand wrapped around the pistol grip and I pulled the Makarov out as I dropped down onto one knee. I brought the pistol up into the aim and supported it with my other hand.

It was a slick, fluid movement and one which I had practised over and over until I got it right. Now I could do it in the blink of an eye. I put the weapon away and took a last look at the map on my iPad.

The pub was two-miles away and the industrial estate was another two-miles further on. I was going to have to run an eight-mile round trip to cover the ground -- four-miles there and four-miles back. I planned the route in my head and worked out how long it would take me. At a pace of a ten-minute-mile I'd be at the pub in twenty minutes. I'd do a run-by to check the lay of the land and then keep going for another twenty minutes until I got to the industrial estate. I'd have to play it by ear once I got there.

I made sure everything was securely in place, by jumping up and down a couple of times and then I locked up, placed the paper tell back in the door and pulled my hood up.

It was time to go to work.

****

It always took me at least a mile to get into my stride and rhythm and tonight was no exception. As I ran through the quiet city, my breathing was starting to become steady and easier. The streets were busy with traffic, but not with pedestrians. It was cold and the damp winter air made my chest and nose burn with every breath. At least it wasn't raining or frosty. The few people that I did see didn't pay me any attention. They had their heads down concentrating on whatever it was they were doing.

I made it to the Slaughtered Lamb by six-thirty and I slowed down and I became more cautious. Pubs which were frequented by gangs and criminals usually had a couple of sentries keeping a watchful eye out for the police or rival gangs. This one was no exception. I spotted two men leaning against the wall of the pub before I was even within fifty metres of the place. They were smoking and chatting, but also looked very switched on and aware. To the untrained eye they would just look like doormen, but not many pubs needed doormen on a Wednesday night, especially not at an out-of-the-way pub like this one.

I gave them a wide birth and didn't even look at them as I passed on the opposite side of the road. I could feel their eyes on me as I ran past, but I figured they'd be staring at my ass, rather than seeing me as a threat. I heard one of them let out a low whistle of appreciation and some mumbled words between the two of them. A sexy girl in yoga pants didn't leave much to the imagination and I was sure they were commenting on what they'd like to do to me.

I ran around the corner and made sure there were no other sentries lurking around, before stopping and ducking into the shadows. I was breathing hard and took a long suck on my drinking straw to quench my thirst. I peeked around the corner and saw that the two men had gone back to their business. The pub had an old-style Tudor exterior with sash windows and a couple of lanterns outside. I don't know why, but the place didn't look very welcoming. This was a local pub and anyone setting foot inside would do so at their own risk. I looked for Brian's car, but didn't see it anywhere. There wasn't anything interesting going on so, after a few minutes of watching, I decided to move on to the second area. I could always check this place out again on the way home.