To Kill Or Be Killed (16 page)

On a whim he
checked the boot and found a small bag with a scarf and a rain coat
folded in it. There was a hood on it which would cover his close
shaved hair until he could get a hat. Too his delight he found a
laptop in its case complete with connections to the cell phone.

Cobb lit a
cigarette and fired up the laptop. The user profile was password
protected, but a trawl through the phone found a ‘wallet’ file with
passwords and to his delight the pin numbers for the two cards in
the wallet and the verified by visa password. The phone was
contract and the signal was strong enough for internet. Cobb logged
on and searched for the Manchester Airport booking website.

There was a
flight at ten-thirty and he bought a ticket in the card holder’s
name. That gave him three hours to get ready and get the flight. He
felt sure that disguised as Wally he’d pass through check in
quickly and he could easily pass off the booking name as his boss
buying the ticket last minute.

He smoked a
second cigarette looking for a wig shop and shops with the clothing
items he noted Wally had been wearing. Fifteen minutes saw him done
and as two cars arrived, spilling dogs onto the tarmac and off into
the woods, Cobb decided to make a move. He drove onto the 62 and
headed back into Manchester.

Chapter
50

Perth

8 a.m.

April 18th

The smell of
bacon woke David from his uncomfortable sleep on the sofa. Rising
from dark dreams into unfamiliar surroundings he sat up suddenly.
Beaumont appeared in the doorway fresh from the bathroom.

“What time is
it?”

“It’s just
after eight am.” Beaumont sat down in an armchair April rain
spattering the glass behind him.

McFarlane
entered carrying a plate of bacon sandwiches. David frowned at the
greasy, smoky smell.

“Here a good
solid breakfast. Set you up for the day. I figure you’ve got a long
day ahead.”

Beaumont’s eyes
lit up.

“Good man.” He
took the plate and selected a thick doorstep of a sandwich, taking
a sizeable bite.

“I was up
early. I checked the e-mails and this came through from the
centre.” McFarlane handed David sheets of paper, one with a
passport photo. “That’s Trevor Stanton. He’s ex Foreign Legion and
a freelance assassin.”

David read the
file, extracted from MI6 system by DIC after a decryption
department foray into their computer system.

“Nasty piece of
work.” He handed the picture to Beaumont. “Do you think he’s in the
area still?”

McFarlane
rubbed his chin reflectively. “Well he got as far as Glasgow if he
got to the motorway and hitched a lift.”

“We’re heading
for Glasgow after interviews today.”

“Not
Edinburgh?” Beaumont spoke through a mouthful of bacon
sandwich.

“Why
Edinburgh?”

“East coast get
a boat head down and come up the Thames I thought.”

“Wheeler’s not
out of Glasgow. We could tell local DIC to watch Edinburgh marinas
and exits. If we’re in Glasgow it’s only a short trip, but I’m sure
I’d head for Glasgow if I were him. Maybe we should decide after
we’ve interviewed staff and spoken to the police.”

“Listen lads
I’d let me do the interviews and you get to Glasgow. This guy will
be on an early start and if you leave quickly enough you’ll get
ahead. I can e-mail you the results of the interviews.”

Beaumont
nodded. “Get Jack to book us hotel rooms and see if he can get us a
helicopter to Glasgow.”

“I’ll go get
washed and dressed.” David got up wrapping the blanket around his
waist.

“Have a
sandwich first.”

“No thanks.
Could you find me some cereal?”

“I’ve got
porridge.”

“That’d be
grand.”

David left the
room.

“Healthy man
eh?” McFarlane raised an eye brow at Beaumont.

“He is that.
I’ve not known him long, but I can tell you now I do feel safe near
him. He’s big, fast strong, but happily a thoughtful and
intelligent man. He’s not at all Gung Ho and he is a good listener.
I’d like him healthy. I’ve a feeling I’m going to be safer if he’s
on ball.”

“I’ll make that
call to Jack and get the helicopter for you.”

When McFarlane
had left the room Beaumont looked over at McKie’s Sig220 lying
heavily on the sofa arm. He stopped mid bite of a sandwich and
stared a moment. Either David was taking the threat very seriously
or he was highly strung. Beaumont continued chewing and decided the
former fitted the bill. He thought he himself had better try and do
the same; with that in mind he picked up Stanton’s photo. Sure
enough this man had killed a police dog handler without hesitating.
On an impulse he put down the sandwich and the photo and wiped his
hand. He drew out his own Sig 220 pistol and started checking it
over.

Chapter
51

Glasgow

8-30 a.m.

April 18th

The sound of
traffic on the Cowcaddens Road woke Wheeler from a heavy sleep. He
checked his watch. It was eight- thirty. He was as stiff as a
board, a little more wet than damp and his head ached. Camouflage
leaves and sticks tumbled off him as he sat up. He quickly checked
to see if he was visible to the building or the road and was sure
that he wasn’t. Which given the nature of the occupations of the
building’s residents was something of a shame.

He gathered up
the white bin liner and brushing himself off he jumped down from
the wall and grass bank and made his way to the bus station just up
the road. He was overtly aware of the CCTV, but on finding that the
first National Express coach had left for London at eight-fifteen
and the next was at eleven am he decided to get into the city and
get a disguise.

He stopped for
a cup of tea in café, drawing no more attention than any other down
and out at that time in the morning. A visit to the ticket office
yielded the knowledge that the ticket to London was fifteen pounds
and being happy with the cash he had to get to get a ticket, better
clothes and items for changing his appearance, he bought it and
with near enough two hours to be ready he left for the Sauchiehall
Centre on the 88 bus, having asked where the nearest shopping
centre was and had been told in detail with many sorry looks at his
state of dress and appearance.

On the bus he
thought about the fact that he was badly dressed and that he’d have
to use cash to get clothes as use of a card would almost certainly
arouse suspicion. Deadbeats didn’t have bill addresses.

Chapter
52

M1 near Hemel
Hempstead

8-30 a.m.

April 18th

Mason was just
outside Hemel Hempstead when the police Volvo S70 T5 ‘lit up’
behind him and he heard the siren’s quick blast. He knew he wasn’t
speeding so it had to be either fact that it was stolen or the
bungee cords on the back doors. Either way things were about to get
nasty.

Mason took the
exit off the M1 onto Breakespear Way and seeing signs for the Hemel
Hempstead Industrial Estate turned right onto its main route in.
Whilst pulling over he pulled out his PSS, tucked the pistol in his
back trouser pocket, it was an easy fit as the especially silent
Russian made pistol was designed for easy concealment. As he slowed
down the police Volvo pulled past him, about six metres in front
and he braked and stopped.

He watched a
very large traffic cop in standard uniform, knife vest, baton, tear
gas and cuffs, squeeze out of the driver’s side. Mason quickly
popped the door open and stepped out.

“I’m sorry
officer it’s the bungee cords I’ve meant to get that back door
fixed” Mason called out walking towards the big man.

“Can you get
back to the van and get your license and registration documents
please?”

Mason closed
the gap a little too quickly and the officer began a process of
sudden awareness, starting in his eyes and spreading to his face,
and Mason knew he had to act before the awareness spread to the
rest of the man’s body. He reached for his back pocket.

“I’ve got my
license here in my wallet.” Mason’s hand reached back. The danger
sign movement put the officer on guard, he reached for his
baton.

“Stand still
hands where I can see them.” The policeman’s last words echoed on
the morning empty road as the PSS, presented at chest level, spat
out a 7.62 round with a whisper of sound.

The big man
creased and folded, weakening as the hole in his heart haemorrhaged
blood.

Mason pushed
passed the falling corpse stepped up to the Volvo and shot the
woman police officer in the heart through the window just as she
pressed the transmit button on the car radio.

Unsure as to
whether the bullet had done enough damage, being slowed down by
having to shatter the car window first, Mason aimed again. The
woman writhed, her face an image of agony as Mason shot her through
the eye. She slumped against the passenger seat.

Mason took a
moment to look around him. There was no traffic, but some people
might be working in the units. Mason quickly grabbed the sports
hold all from the van. He opened the back seat passenger door of
the Volvo and dragged the heavy man from the road and stuffed him
onto the back seat. Mason dropped into the driver’s seat and
adjusted it for his thinner frame then he tightened the seat belt
on the woman police officer in the passenger seat and pulled her
hat over her eyes.

He put on a
green high visibility vest and the dead officers cap. It was a
tight fit, but from the waist up he’d look the part. He started the
2.5 litre turbo charged Police pursuit Volvo and turned a tight U
turn, back onto Breakespear Way and he accelerated onto the M1 and
with four wheel drive and 225Bhp the car quickly put fresh air
between him and the scene of his crime.

As an added
measure he put the siren on. The vehicle’s call sign was repeatedly
requested by the radio centre and Mason knew it was a matter of ten
or fifteen minutes before all hell broke loose.

He flipped on
the Satnav and punched up the St Alban’s rail station. He froze it
on map and zoomed out to get a route over view. With one eye on the
fast scrolling road, morning traffic around him slowed his
progress, most of the traffic moved for the siren though.

Looking at the
Satnav he could see that up the rail tracks from the station was
the wooded Beech Bottom Dyke. Mason took the car off the M1 and
turned the siren off. The traffic was building up and he winced
each time traffic nearly stopped him thinking of drivers seeing the
dead police woman, but he kept his eyes front acting normally.

Within ten
minutes he was past the Hemel Hempstead Road and heading along
Bluehouse Hill. Within fifteen he was on Batchwood Drive and at
fifty he made Beech Road quickly. There was a track opening just
along Beech Road and he pulled into it. The heavy green trees,
thick trunks, leafy branches dripping with the night’s rain
swallowed him up as he drove through a gap in the trees along the
edge. He got out and looked down into the ancient earth works. It
had to be thirty feet deep here. The ancient earthworks were built
for defence purposes but now they were covered in places with moss
and rough grass. There was an earthy morning fresh smell and at the
bottom a layer of sticks and fallen leaves gave off a damp mouldy
woodland odour.

The harsh
luminous colours and the stark angles of the car were at odds with
setting. Mason was suddenly aware of the contrast and was thankful
that the dyke was so deep. Hiding a police car at short notice was
no easy matter. He reached into the car and removed the hand brake.
It was a heavy car and a hard push, but once the front wheels were
on the down slope the car rolled away from him into the deep
earthworks, crunching into the mud at the bottom, glass shattering
and the front folding and crumpling. He saw the bodies thrown
forward and away from his view blood spilled across the unbroken
areas of glass. The car lay at the bottom, hind end up, nose
buried, like a coffin slipped from a ship in a sea burial just
before the waves took it down.

Mason wasn’t
happy, but at least content that it would take them some time to
find it, not long, but it would be enough time to get away.

He left the
woods and jogged through the grass and weeded areas along the rail
track, staying safely on the other side of the fence to the tracks.
Ten minutes after dumping the car he had skirted the roads around
the station, entered it, bought a ticket for King’s Cross and was
sitting on the platform waiting quietly.

The London
train was five minutes away. Mason allowed himself a smile. In half
an hour he’d be in central London and no-one watching CCTV knew
what he looked like. Commuters gathered in numbers creating a crowd
causing Mason to risk a silly smile in front of strangers; hidden
by the crowd he felt a lot safer.

Chapter
53

Manchester

8-30 a.m.

April 18th

The good news
for the team landing at Manchester airport was that the Bewley
Hotel was close by. As the Helicopter landed Jaz, Shadz and Tony
were met by a chief inspector and the head of armed police in
Manchester.

Once out from
under the turbulence of the Bell 206 Jetranger helicopter’s landing
Jaz, Shadz and Tony were greeted by serious faces. Tony took the
lead showing his government pass.

The chief
inspector gave serious attention to the leather covered passes and
took his visitor’s all the more seriously knowing that diplomatic
immunity and the right to bear arms in the UK were not rights given
lightly to anyone. The quick clearance for the landing of the
chartered helicopter near the Manchester Airport freight terminal
told him equally as much about the importance of the DIC team.