Visit to Glasgow

Source

"You should have seen it two days ago," MacDonald had trouble keeping his anger down. The rioters had trashed the square around the Cenotaph, Glasgow's memorial to her war dead. Protest signs, trash, why was the so-called Left, so allegedly concerned about the environment, such pigs when they gathered in crowds?

Wolf looked the scene over, the rain continued to fall, as if the very heavens wept for the times they were facing. Then he spoke in a low tone to the man paying the bills.

"Pro-immigration? Open borders?"

MacDonald turned and looked at Wolf, "Yes, I'm sure you've seen this before."

"Yes, people who mean well but with little common sense. Manipulated by those who seek power by any means necessary. I suppose it's always been this way."

"Yes, I suppose it has." MacDonald hesitated for a moment, then asked a question that had been on his mind for some time.

"Where are your people from? Originally, I mean."

Wolf grinned, "Originally? Well, one school of thought suggests we all started in Africa, but I'm assuming you want to know my family's more recent origins."

MacDonald looked uncomfortable for a moment, "I don't mean to pry Mr. Wolf, it's just that you don't look ..."

"White, Mr. MacDonald? Is that what you're driving at?"

"Well ..." MacDonald was starting to regret asking the question.

"I suppose you could say that some of my ancestors came from the Mediterranean, we're not really sure where, perhaps north Africa, maybe Italy, which might explain my dark eyes and complexion. Eventually they wound up in North America, somewhat south of the Rio Grande. The beauty of that is that I can blend in almost anywhere. Except sub-Saharan Africa and much of East Asia. But at a distance? Put a keffiyeh on me and I can pass for the average Arab, grow my beard out and slap a pakol¹ on my head and I can pass as an Afghan."

"I suppose that must be useful in your line of work." MacDonald started walking, they needed to get out of the rain and back to the safehouse.

"Oh indeed, it is."

Wolf had spent the day with MacDonald down in Glasgow, now he was back with the rest of his team on a farm outside Falkirk. It was big enough for them to be comfortable and was isolated enough for them not to draw any unwanted attention to themselves. It also provided easy access to both Glasgow and Edinburgh.

"Have you got our comms established yet, Charlie?" Wolf asked.

The man called Charlie, which wasn't his name, he'd picked up the nickname due to his uncanny resemblance to the late Charles Bronson, answered. "Up and running, boss. I made contact with the sub about an hour ago. They'll be raising their mast every two hours on the hour if we wish to talk to them. If they want to talk to us, they can do that anytime, we'll be monitoring the comms around the clock."

"Good, we all squared away?"

One of the men, they called him Fuji, again not his real name, asked, "So what's the job, boss? Are we here to provide security for someone or are we here to make trouble?"

"From the briefing I got before we left the States, our mission is kind of open ended. The man who gave us the contract said, 'Do whatever they ask, as long as it's in reason and won't drag the United States into war.' So yeah, that's a pretty broad tasking."

"And pretty f**king vague as well," the man who spoke stood up, he had to stoop over as the ceilings in this old house were very low. Not really designed for someone well over six and a half feet tall.

Wolf turned to look at Max, "It is. We might wind up doing nothing, we might wind up going after the people in country who are behind all this recent rioting. The guy paying us doesn't want the UK to go under, but some of it may slide into chaos, much like France and Greece and to some extent, Poland. But he wants to keep Scotland in the game."

Max pointed out that he'd seen news reports that a lot of immigrants, legal and otherwise, were heading south, into England proper. "I guess the Scots would rather they were elsewhere," he said.

Wolf added, "Yup, their benefits are drying up, seems the Scots are tired of paying for their uninvited guests. As one of their MPs said the other day, if London wants them, London can pay for them."

Fuji spoke up again, "You didn't answer my question, boss. What's our role here?"

"MacDonald and the President are old friends apparently. The big bossman told me that MacDonald could be trusted. If he asks us to do something, then it's something that absolutely needs doing."

Max nodded, "Got that Fuji? Sounds like a 'blow shit up and kill people' sort of mission."

Charlie looked up from his comm gear, "My favorite kind."

Gordon was looking over MacDonald's shoulder, "Are we absolutely sure about this?"

MacDonald stepped back from the maps on the table, "Yes, my source in Whitehall say that these bastards are paying for all of this unrest. And they're in this house in Glasgow, sitting pretty and feeling rather untouchable. They can see the Chinese Consulate from their bedroom windows!"

"And?" Gordon looked worried.

"I think we should ask Mr. Wolf and his lads to pay those chaps a visit."

"Won't that raise a stink?"

"Rather what we want, isn't it? Let the other side know that we're not playing."

Gordon nodded, he almost felt sorry for the people MacDonald was going to target.

Almost.

¹ A soft, round woolen hat with a rolled brim that can be pulled down over the ears in cold weather. Originally from the Hindu Kush region, it is widely worn by Tajiks, Pashtuns, and Nuristanis.