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boxes were being loaded into vans at one end, and taken off at another. Nobody stopped or slowed, it was like watching a hive of ants hard at work.
    Thomas had said something was going down today and from what Paul saw, he wasn’t wrong. Reaching the end of the catwalk he discreetly crouched down in a corner behind some wooden boxes and the outside wall of one of the upstairs offices.
    The large room he was in took up most of the building. Besides another handful of office rooms, the upper floor was just a long walkway. Beneath that was a loading bay where most of the activity was happening but beyond that Paul could see a series of doors. The same layout was present in the clean storehouse although the ground floor had been transformed into a production line rather than a parking dock.
    Paul’s eyes moved to the weapons hanging from the men’s shoulders and necks. AK-47s weren’t uncommon these days and even in Cardiff it was easy enough to get strapped up if you knew where to go. But just like the production line, there was something wrong here. It was all too much. Too big. These weren’t some doped-up wannabes with an Uzi in one hand and a spliff in the other. This was more like an army, preparing for battle.
    Paul ran his fingers through his hair. He wished he knew what to do. He never had that problem when he was in the army. He knew who his enemy was and he knew what he had to do. At least he used to. Things had become so clouded. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore, even his own memories.
    Drifting again, Paul cursed, willing himself to snap out of it. Focus! Why can’t you just focus?
    The door at the front of the warehouse suddenly began crawling up the wall again. Paul shifted his weight from one foot to the other so that he could see more clearly what was going on.
    Another van drove into the warehouse, swung round and backed up near to where the other vehicles were being loaded. It was white and the same model as the one Paul and his brother had been in earlier that morning. As the driver hopped out and strolled round to the back to open the double doors, Paul realised it was the same man that had driven them too.
    Paul started to move further out from his hiding place but suddenly Dean’s snarly voice shouted out, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, prick!?”
    Looking up instantly, Paul initially thought that Dean was talking to him. As he walked towards him along the metal catwalk Dean was too busy looking over the railings at the driver below. Paul quickly, but softly edged back behind the boxes. Dean passed him, oblivious and made his way down the stairs to the ground level, still yelling.
    “Oi! Are you fucking deaf or have you just turned mute, dickhead!?”
    “I hear you, boss. I’m here already,” the apparently nameless driver finally answered.
    With Dean safely past him, Paul edged out again so he could watch as well as listen.
    Dean was now marching across the open space between the stairs and the driver. “Already? You were supposed to be here half hour ago!”
    “I thought I had a tail. It took me a while to lose them.”
    Dean’s eyes narrowed, “A tail? Are you sure?”
    “No. But like you said, boss, better safe than sorry.”
    Dean remained silent for a minute. He carried Paul’s Beretta in his left hand and for a moment Paul thought he was going to use it on this driver for being so cheeky.
    “What kind of car was it?” he asked, eventually.
    “Silver,” the driver said.
    “Make? Number?”
    The driver shook his head, “No sorry, boss. I was too busy losing them.”
    Dean went quiet again. From Paul’s limited experience of him he knew he was a loud and brash man. These moments of silence were unsettling. Even from where he was perched high above the two men, Paul thought he could see the driver’s skin crawling.
    After a moment Dean waved his free hand, shooing the driver away. “Get back to work.”
    Paul watched Dean leave. It was easy to feel disdain