Heart of Darkness

We sailed for hours without surfacing until finally under the cover of darkness the Nautilus rose from the icy waters of the Clyde and the Sikhs wheeled us again to the airlock, across the gang plank and onto dry land where they dumped us on Clyde Street near the Jamaica Street bridge then with an iron groan, the Nautilus dipped into the river and was gone leaving behind only bubbles to show that it had ever been there. And of course me and the Traynor tied to a pair of beds.

It took the Traynor just a few minutes to gnaw through the straps now that he was fully lucid, well as fully lucid as the Traynor could ever be; and he stood up, flexing his muscles and looking at me in a damned odd way.
'Something happened to us in there Spiers,' he growled. 'I don't know what or how but I do know that Walter Smith doesn't keep us tied to beds and unconscious for days for no reason.'
'What do you think he's done? Brainwashed us?' I chirruped.
'No, everyone knows there is no decontaminating a brain where Lawwell has got his claws into it so the old fox would never attempt that. No, it must be something else...'
And just as he said this a great fleet of cars drove past, Irish tricolours flying from the windows, horns tooting, sectarian abuse being hurled at passers by.
'What day is it?' I asked.
'Sunday,' said the Traynor. 'Celtic must have beaten Rangers otherwise these guys in their cars would be at home beating up their wives. Come on Spiers, we must get out of here and lay low while we figure out what's happened to us.'
So the Traynor stopped a passing taxi by grabbing its rear bumper until it slowed down enough to toss me in and he got in after me and roared at the driver to take us to his safe house in Dowanhill which was handy as I'd been wondering how on earth I was going to get back to the west end from here.