‘Scottish Water, here to check your pressure.’
‘Naebody telt me anything aboot that.’
‘We’ve had complaints of low water pressure from tenants on the top three floors.’
‘They said bugger all tae me.’
‘Do you want it checked or not?’
‘Shit. Gimme a minute. I’ll be doon.’
An elderly man appeared a few minutes later, grossly overweight, wearing green corduroy trousers and carpet slippers, and carrying a large bunch of keys. He scratched at the grey stubble on his chin. ‘This way.’
Khan and Patel followed him into the pump room, where the main water tank for the building was situated. From here water was pumped electrically up to three further storage tanks located on the upper floors.
‘Great. No need for you to hang around, mate,’ said Khan. ‘It’s a Yale. We’ll see it’s closed before we go.’
‘Fair enough. Want me tae sign anythin’?’
‘No, it’s just a routine test. If there’s a problem they’ll send another team out.’
The caretaker shuffled off and Patel closed the door gently behind him. He stood for a moment with his back against it. ‘He’s seen us,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Khan. ‘We all look the same. Besides, we’ll be on a plane to Pakistan before anyone comes calling.’
He and Patel donned the plastic coveralls they extracted from their tool bags and put on gloves and masks before gingerly removing two of the flasks and putting them down on the floor beside the big water tank. They worked on undoing the lid clasps before sliding the cover back to expose the surface of the water. Patel jumped as one of the pumps started up in order to replenish water being used on an upper floor. It stopped again after about ten seconds.
‘Ready?’
Patel nodded.
The men picked up the flasks and undid the caps. Then, holding the rims very close to the surface of the water to avoid splashing, they tipped the cloudy straw-coloured liquid contents slowly into the tank.
‘Done,’ said Khan, replacing the cap on his flask and putting it down on the floor. ‘I’ll get the bag.’ He brought over a heavy-gauge plastic sack — of the type used for garden refuse — and both flasks were put into it, followed by their gloves, masks and coveralls. Khan sealed the end with a series of knots, and the men slid the lid of the tank back into place.
They put the sack in the back of the van and drove the two hundred metres or so to the next tower block to begin the same ritual. It took them just under an hour and a half to do all four buildings in their schedule. At a little after eight in the evening they started heading east along the shore of the Firth of Forth on the first leg of their journey south.
Rather than join the A1 they stuck to the minor coast road and, after a few miles, stopped in one of the sprawling beach car parks which at that time was empty, the day trippers having gone home and the lovers not yet arrived. Khan dumped the sacks in the refuse bins outside the closed public toilets while Patel scrubbed off the Scottish Water transfers from the van. Using satnav directions, they continued heading for Northumberland.
At four in the morning a police patrol car stopped on the road outside the four tower blocks in Edinburgh. ‘Notice anything strange?’ the driver asked his colleague.
The officer, looking for signs of activity, said not.
‘Lights in the windows,’ said the driver.
‘Jesus, you’re right. It’s like Hogmanay.’
‘What d’you suppose they’re up to?’
‘Could be planning a revolution.’
The driver opened his window and listened. ‘If they are, it’s a quiet, orderly one.’
‘Which suits us fine. Think I should call it in?’
‘Nothing illegal about switching on lights during the hours of darkness… Mind you, if the Greens have their way…’
The patrol car drove on.
‘God, I feel ill,’ complained Neil MacBride as he returned to the bedroom in the flat he shared with his wife Morag and their two children on the fourteenth floor of Inchmarin Court. He’d just made his third trip to the lavatory in the past half-hour.
‘Serves you right. How much did you have down the Doocot?’
‘Just my usual. God’s honest truth. Mind you, I had a pie…’
‘God, how often have I heard that? Ten pints then you have a bad pie…’
‘I tell you, I had three pints tops.’
‘Come to think of it, I’m not feeling that brilliant myself.’
‘Jesus!’ exclaimed Neil, doubling up with stomach cramps. ‘Christ, I’ll have to go again.’
‘Maybe it was that chicken we had at tea time,’ Morag called after him.
‘Mummy, I’m not feeling well. I’ve got a sore tummy,’ said a small figure appearing at the door in pyjamas, clutching a teddy bear.
‘Me too,’ said another small voice from the bedroom next door.
It was a scene that was being played out in flats all over the four tower blocks. It was also being played out in five blocks of flats in Manchester, six in London and two in Liverpool.
At six a.m. Morag called the emergency out-of-hours service NHS 24. She couldn’t get through. Neither could callers in Manchester, London and Liverpool. The system was overwhelmed.
‘In point two miles, turn left,’ said the satnav voice. Khan slowed the vehicle, not that they were going very fast on the winding country road.
‘Turn left,’ said the voice.
‘Where?’ exclaimed Khan, straining to see through the darkness. The headlight beams were being diffused by drifting mist.
‘Recalculating.’
‘We must have missed it,’ said Patel. ‘I think there was a track
…’
Khan reversed the vehicle slowly
‘Turn left… Turn left.’
‘There,’ said Patel. ‘It’s a bit overgrown.’
Khan saw the opening and turned into it, shrubbery and branches scraping against the sides of the van. After a bone-jarring journey of a quarter of a mile over potholes that threatened to destroy the van’s suspension, they saw the shape of a farmhouse appear against the sky. It was in darkness.
‘Destination is on your left,’ the voice confirmed.
‘I thought someone would to be here to meet us,’ said Patel.
‘Looks like we’re first.’
They found a key under one of the curling stones that flanked the front door. The house was cold and dark but the sound of a fridge compressor turning on in the kitchen assured them there was power: they turned on the lights. When they opened the fridge door, they found there was food too.
They were joined an hour later by the two who’d carried out the Manchester operation and two hours after that by the two from Liverpool. The young men who’d driven up from London joined them at first light, and they all congratulated each other on a successful mission.
Khan and Patel, who’d managed to grab a few hours’ sleep, said they’d keep watch while the others got some rest.
‘We’re a good bit off the road here,’ said one of the London pair. ‘Mind you, I thought someone would be here to tell us what happens next.
‘Me too,’ said Patel.
