To Kill Or Be Killed (12 page)

Finally less
self conscious with only Beaumont there David called his wife. In
spite of being in a plane and travelling fast the satellite phone
was clear. It rang for a short while and his wife answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi sweetheart
it’s Davy, did I wake you?”

“No I’ve been
waiting for your call. Conor was waiting too, but he’s long since
asleep.”

David felt the
good father’s guilt pang flush through him and all of a sudden the
distance from his home and family swamped him with the sense of a
world all too big and unknown.

“I’m sorry.
It’s been that kind of a day.”

“What’s the
room like?”

“Nice enough…
but… I’m on a small passenger jet heading for Perth.”

“What?”

“There’s a
situation, I can’t tell you about it, but we’re on the way to
Perth.”

“Dear god! No
wonder you haven’t called.”

“I’ll call you
tomorrow. They might need this line to contact us.”

“Okay. Hey if
you get the chance drop in on your father, Glasgow’s not that
far.”

“Good idea. I
love you.”

“I love you
too, especially now you’re a member of the jet set.”

“Kiss Conor and
pat the bump for me.”

“Okay. I miss
you.”

“I miss you
too. I’d better go.”

“By love.”

“Goodnight
sweetie.”

McKie held the
unconnected phone to his face a moment a huge sigh building in his
chest.

“Mind if I call
my wife.”

“No Beaumont,
sorry, that’s the worst I’ve ever felt in my life.”

“So far
eh?”

Beaumont
dialled his number. David turned away and went to the small toilet.
How did a man become so tied to his little tribe? He looked in the
mirror, feeling the sting of tears begin their gathering in his
eyes; he splashed water on his face and scrunched his face into the
soft white towel. What was he doing here? A DIC man was missing
presumed dead. One of the men they were hunting had probably killed
him. What if he, McKie, were killed? What if his family never saw
him again? He gritted his teeth, pushed air out his nose and
lowered the towel staring straight into his own eyes in the mirror.
No it wasn’t going to happen. He’d make sure. He had a choice here.
His father once told him that the coward dies a thousand times, but
the brave man only dies once. He nodded to himself, focus, clear
your head, forget fear and do the job. You’ll be home.

When he got
back to his seat Beaumont was on the phone still except that David
could tell it was Fulton on the other end. Beaumont was being
briefed. He ended the call with an ‘okay Jack.’

“What’s the
plan?”

Beaumont began
briefing him on the instructions that Jack had given him.

Chapter
36

Mersey Marina

9 - 45 p.m.

April 17th

A detective
inspector from Liverpool police greeted Jaz and Tony. They showed
him their diplomatic passes. The marina was lit up starkly by
temporary lights and the generator feeding them was making a steady
hum, creating a busy feeling at the scene.

On the jetty
two bodies were laid out, lying on the cloths they’d been wrapped
in. The detective led Jaz and Tony to the bodies. Face up the watch
man could not be recognised, the bullet having exited by his nose
taking a lot of flesh and bone with it. A gaping, red raw,
butcher’s block nightmare greeted Jaz, who on seeing the ripped and
jagged remains turned away, held her fist to her mouth and bit on
her knuckles, sensations of nausea and shock flooding her body with
adrenalin.

Tony had more
experience. He took the photograph of Wally out. Taller than the
watch man, Wally’s fatal bullet had exited his forehead, leaving
his features in tact and enabling Tony to match the picture. Tony
stared at the still white face, dead fish eyes dripping with Mersey
water. Shot in the back of the head. Unarmed and shot in the back
of the head. An unarmed family man shot in the back of the head.
Tony’s face hardened and he tore his eyes away from Wally’s
corpse.

“That your
man?” The detective asked.

“Yes.”

“Can I ask what
he was doing here?”

“He was here to
check on recent boat arrivals. Seems he found the one we were
looking for.”

“Was he
armed?”

“We don’t know,
but we don’t think so. He wasn’t the kind to go anywhere armed and
we think he missed our warning.”

“The man he was
looking for who is he?”

Tony pulled out
a picture and some brief typed details.

“Doesn’t look
like the usual terrorist.”

“He’s not a
terrorist. He’s worse than that.” The detective went to hand it
back. “No you can keep that.” Tony said.

“We’ll put out
an alert. The owner of the marina says that the watch man’s blue
Peugeot 107 is missing. We’ll chase it up.”

“So will we,
thank you.” Tony turned to Jaz who was looking out over the Mersey
“You okay now Jaz?”

Jaz quietly
nodded.

“Was it Wally
Tyson?”

“The one
without a face, we’re assuming is the marina watch man. He was only
twenty-one. The man with a face is Wally. Call Shadz and Terry,
they’ll have got to Wally’s house by now. They’re waiting outside.”
Jaz nodded and took out her phone. Tony took out his and called
Fulton.

People in the
watching room with Jack as he took Tony’s call confirming Wally’s
death could have sworn he had tears in his eyes, some even heard a
quiet sniff.

Jack gathered
his choking voice, but Tony heard the strain when Jack’s voice came
through.

“It’s half ten.
Go over and see Wally’s wife with the others, sort out his loft
equipment and look after her. David and Beaumont will have landed
in a minute or two. I’ll call them and warn them. If they can get
Spencer alive we can find out what they’re up to and who’s
responsible.” Jack closed the phone and looked around the room full
of people, computers and screens.

“Jack I’ve been
looking at the routes David and Beaumont projected and…”

“Not now Amber.
I’m going to get a drink.” He put a hand on the shoulder of the
girl speaking. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back in ten minutes. I just need
a drink.”

Jack headed for
his office; he held back the moisture building in his eyes until
safely in the lift he let it go and thought of Wally Tyson, a man
he had known many years, a good friend, a man without whose help
Jack would not have lived longer than nineteen eighty seven. When
Magda saw his face, she moved towards him, but he waved her away.
Shutting his office door and going to the cupboard he drew out a
bottle of whisky and two glasses; he poured two measures, one in
each glass.

Chapter
37

Inverness to London
Sleeper Train

10 - 30 p.m.

April 17th

Spencer had
eaten hungrily. Scottish salmon, new potatoes and green beans went
down well and quickly. Like Stanton he drank mineral water. Wiping
his face he decided to answer the question Stanton had asked just
as the food arrived and Stanton, seeing his hunger, had decided to
let him eat first.

“I was MI6. I
worked for dirty tricks, which isn’t an official title, just an
accurate description. The thing is there’s this branch of the civil
service that practically no-one knows about. They’re called the
Department for Internal Concerns or DIC for short. They aren’t
military. In fact they aren’t beholden to anyone but the British
tax payers, who have no idea that they exist. The thing is that
they’re armed and have the right to kill, under certain
circumstances, to which end they have diplomatic immunity in the
UK.” Stanton’s face was intense with listening and Spencer
continued. “They have people in every town and city in the UK.
These people monitor all digital and analogue traffic, they have
the equipment to do it too, and they have access to CCTV. This is
fed into a centre, somewhere in London, but no-one knows where the
centre is.”

“How have they
kept so secret?”

“Well for one
they don’t advertise their presence in any way whatsoever and two
though MI6 know they exist, they don’t know who the members of this
huge network are so it’s hard to prove they exist. If you suggested
there was such a network people would laugh. Big brother scares and
all that. Top civil servants, the old ones are aware as is the
queen. They’re funded from MOD money. They have spies literally
everywhere. They watch everything and everyone.”

“Can they watch
any CCTV?”

“Seemingly so,
hence our drop off in Scotland.”

“So we could
have been spotted already?”

“Yes, but odds
are we haven’t or the police would have arrested us. Anyway our
arrival point was too remote, which I think was the idea.”

“Right, who do
you think is behind this hit?”

“I don’t know,
but you must have sussed that it’s either military or government,
the sub tells you that.” Spencer suspected his old boss Sternway,
but didn’t say.

Stanton nodded
and said “We’ll find out when we are told who the mark is. It’s got
to be big for a million.”

“Listen thanks
for the help and the meal. I appreciate it.”

“That’s
alright. I’ve learnt something.” He got out his card. “Is yours not
working?”

“No it’s bloody
annoying.”

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll split up
when we get to London, but if we get to the rendezvous point
together or close we could collaborate, two heads and all
that.”

Stanton was
cautious “I’ll think about it. We might make a good team. I’ll see
if we get to the rendezvous together.”

Stanton watched
Spencer head for his sleeper. He stared at the door a long time and
then mind made up to get off at Perth he went to his sleeper and
began packing. If Spencer was telling the truth about these DIC
they were probably already compromised. In his sleeper he ditched
the passports and all the paraphernalia of an assassin, keeping his
weapon, ammunition and a small plastic box with a hypodermic
syringe and a variety of drug ampoules though. He picked an ID from
the pack which had a change of face and look and with his complete
change of face paraphernalia from his rucksack he went to the
toilet and locked himself in. It was ten fifty p.m.

Chapter
38

Perth

10 – 55 p.m.

April 17th

Informed by the
pilot that the Lear jet needed eight hundred and seventy-five
metres to land and the runway was closer to eight sixty the two men
held their straps tighter as the plane screamed in and juddered to
a halt. Being a small airport the steps went down and grabbing
their bags the two man DIC roving team ran towards a waiting police
car.

“Evening gents
I’ll brief you on the way.” A senior police officer greeted them at
the waiting car.

They sidled
into the back seat and the police car light flashing and siren
blaring rushed them to Perth, down the 94 from Pitroddie, the Perth
Road, into the city centre across South Street Bridge, round
Marshall Place and finally through a police cordon into Leonard
Street.

In the car they
had been told that there were armed police surrounding the station,
staff at the station had been evacuated and the signals were red
from Perth on so that the train’s automatic systems wouldn’t let it
move. The police were going to take over the engines, staff would
be asked to leave first and the speaker system would explain that
there was a fault with the engine and people had to get off. There
were police in Scot rail uniforms, some in boiler suits with
luminous vests, on the platform ready for each door to open, but
they were going to empty the train a carriage at time in single
file. There were snipers on roofs and a dog handler ready to sweep
the train when the passengers were off if they didn’t find their
man and in case of booby traps.

It was all in
hand.

David nervously
checked his weapon, but he needn’t have worried, he wasn’t allowed
to the front and in the open. He and Beaumont were standing at the
gate ready to spring and call if Spencer got past the police.

The station was
lit up clearly and everyone tensed, radios crackled and went quiet
as the train slowly cruised gleaming into the station’s stark
lights, it was eleven fifteen. In well timed movements the
disguised police manned the doors, the men allotted to the engines
swung into action and the drivers were the first to leave. At the
barrier they passed McKie and Beaumont.

On the train
there was a stunned silence, followed by a babble of complaints and
annoyed groans when the instructions to detrain were given
including instructions to have a ticket ready to be examined at the
gate. The staff came out of every door of the train and passed the
DIC men, the first in what was to be a long line.

In the toilet
Stanton finished his disguise with a frown. He felt sure that the
engines were fine. He walked into the corridor and looked out of a
window. On the platform there were a lot of staff, too many. He
looked at the boots and knew they were police. Hasty disguises
didn’t always include the foot wear and men of action liked their
sturdy comfortable boots. He didn’t know that they weren’t looking
for him, but now with a disguise and identity that didn’t match the
name on his ticket he didn’t fancy his chances. He went back to his
sleeper and sat down.

Spencer had
been asleep. He was muzzy headed. He too looked out the window. He
was sure it was a trap. He decided to get out the train on the
track side, using the emergency opening. He’d alert them, but it
was a chance he’d take. He knew he’d get caught for the taxi driver
once they took his prints and there were other kills besides. He
didn’t fancy thirty years in prison.