To Kill Or Be Killed (21 page)

Once back at
the hotel David showered and drank a cup of sweet tea. When he was
dressed he stood behind Monty Lawton as he sought evidence of
Stanton’s whereabouts.

David stood
uneasily behind the chair at the desk in the Thistle Hotel. Lawton
was logged on to Beaumont’s laptop and was checking the latest
communiqués. For David it was hard to focus on the screen as the
uneaten slice of cake sat accusingly next to Beaumont’s laptop.

“Stanton has
gone to ground, there’s no trace after the rail station. He’s
either in a house nearby or has stolen a car. I’ve checked reported
car thefts, but there’s nothing in my area. Stanton’s good. It
makes you wonder just how good DIC are if we can’t track them fast
enough to be there waiting for them.”

“Maybe it’s
because they’re more used to this intensity and pace.” David
said.

“It’s possible.
The one that scares me is Mason. He completely disappeared shortly
after entry, there’s only that footage at the industrial park and
the stolen Alfa found in Glasgow, after that nothing. He must have
disguised himself well.”

“That’s true
enough, but we did pick them up at point of entry which is better
than not at all.”

“True, true,”
Lawton logged off. “You’d better call Jack and see what his
instructions are. I’ll go and wait in the lobby, I’ll pay the
bill.”

“I’d like to go
to see my father. He lives in Motherwell, Sunflower Gardens.”

“Some
coincidence that’s round the corner from me, I’ll drop you there
and you can pop back round after your visit and we’ll sort out what
Jack wants you to do.”

“Okay. Thanks
Monty. It’s been quite a day and it’s not over.”

“Like I said
killing someone isn’t easy.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. I was in
the parachute regiment. I’m rare for DIC. I was recruited in the
eighties after I came back from the Falklands. I don’t have a
degree, but for some reason they head hunted me and here I am. Yes
I’ve seen death. If action doesn’t leave an outer scar like the one
Beaumont will have it leaves one on the inside. I’ll be in the
lobby.”

David nodded.
The door closed behind Monty and David sat heavily on the bed and
held his phone.”

“David, are you
well?” Jack asked.

“Yes, but I’m a
little shaken and a bit overawed by events. I’m okay though.”

“Good. You did
well…”

David
interrupted.

“I made
mistakes and I got Beaumont hurt.”

“You did well
David. Firstly these men are trained killers, no mercy. You are not
a trained killer. Secondly whatever you didn’t do right didn’t get
you or Beaumont killed. Wally went casually and unarmed. His
mistake got him killed. Thirdly these men are extremely dangerous
especially as they don’t seem to want to be taken alive. I can’t
imagine the price being paid for their services, but it must be
high. No you did fine, but perhaps you had better come back to
London, report in and go home. You’ve done enough. Consider your
two week duty done.”

“Thanks Jack.
I’m going to visit my father, he lives near Monty.”

“That’s a good
idea, then home to that family of yours and just home monitoring
for you. I’ll arrange counselling services to visit you at home for
next week.”

“Thanks
Jack.”

“There’ll be a
Lear Jet at Glasgow Airport in one and a half hours. We’ll fly you
in to Stansted.

“Thanks again
Jack.”

“Good job
David. I’ll see you for lunch in fact can I order you a
sandwich?”

“Yes cheese and
piccalilli.”

“Okay. See you
then.”

David hung up.
There’d been no hint from Jack that he thought McKie had failed,
but David didn’t like the fact that he was being sent home before
his two weeks were up. There was a crisis on and Jack had called in
extra teams. He was sure that Jack had felt that he had failed. He
packed up the gear, took both rucksacks and went down to the lobby
where Monty was waiting. They climbed into the green Mondeo
silently, Monty noting David’s sullen face. He was diplomatically
silent for the first half of the journey.

They drove out
of Glasgow and onto the M74. It wasn’t until the car cruised along
the roads adjacent to the Clyde where bright green trees and
flashes of light lancing off the water made for so peaceful and
calm a scene that Monty felt disposed to break into David’s deep
thoughts.

“What did Jack
say?”

“He said
there’ll be a jet for me in an hour and a half. I’ve to go home, to
Dover, duty over.”

“That’s good.
Have they arranged someone to talk to you?”

“It’s being
done. Is that usual?”

“For DIC yes,
they take any trauma seriously. Other firms or services might
not.”

“I didn’t
know.”

“You thought he
was sending you home with a flea in your ear to be nannied by some
psychotherapist?”

“It seemed like
it.”

Monty
laughed.

“What’s so
funny?” David asked.

“Well…” Monty
paused thinking “…everyone thinks it’s like the films. Blazing away
with a gun, watching people die, all that blood and death and then
at the end you kiss the girl and it’s alright. You’re not James
Bond you know. In fact the man you killed today is more like James
Bond. He was a hired killer. People like that are desensitized to
death as all the bodies turning up demonstrate. When the army
trains it’s to do three things. The first is follow orders, the
second is work together and be loyal and the third is that they
brutalise you so that being able to kill people is easier than it
naturally feels. Thing is that afterwards it can eat into the
brain; the mind gets fractured by trauma. I should know. I got help
from DIC I wouldn’t have got it from the MoD.”

“I suppose
that’s true. My father was in the Black Watch.”

“Was he now?
How has he coped?”

“He’s not bad.
He had a drink thing for a while after he was invalided out, but it
cleared up when my mother died and he had to look after me.”

“You see his
therapy was throwing himself into care. That would have brought out
the human again. Jack is sending you home for your safety. You’ve
done something that we’re taught is bad, you’ve killed. So you go
home… got a family?”

The car crossed
the rail bridge onto Merry Street. David knew where he was.

“Yes a wife,
pregnant, and a son.”

“So you see
your dad, I drive you to the plane and you go home to Dover, hug
your wife play with your son and sit the rest of this one out. We
work as a team. You’ve done a tough bit of this job for us and it’s
time to be substituted.”

“You’re right.
Thanks Monty.”

Finally on
Parneuk Street Monty turned into Sunflower gardens. He pulled up,
but didn’t turn the engine off.

“I’m up the
road from here, round the corner past Thyme Square. Walk round in
about twenty minutes and I’ll take you to the airport.”

David got out
and knocked on the door. His father opened it, leaning on his
stick, his tall figure mildly stooped by the limp.

“Hello son.
You’d better come in.”

The door closed
behind David and Monty pulled up at his house around the corner
completely unaware that Trevor Stanton, the man that he and the
whole DIC organisation were searching for, was asleep in the house
opposite him.

Chapter
59

Manchester to London
Gatwick Flight Approaching London

11-30 a.m.

April 18th

Cobb wasn’t
aware that the plane’s pilot had been informed of the presence of
an armed criminal on the plane, but he guessed that as much would
be said and that the cabin crew would also be informed and be told
to act naturally.

Down at Gatwick
armed police were gathering and a plan to evacuate the plane
quickly had been formed.

Cobb sat on the
plane for a full ten minutes contemplating the ticking clock and
what he knew would be an armed reception at Gatwick and for this
reason it should have been a nerve racking flight, full of
anticipation and fear, but the nature of his work had instilled in
him the ability to make the most of quiet moments; he could switch
off from the surrounding or impending dangers, just as he could
skirt around the moral issues of the deaths incurred or occurring
as a result of his work. He dealt with dangers and fears when the
moment came and not before.

It was twenty
minutes into the flight that he had a plan. It was simple enough.
He would wait until the plane had landed and go to the back
emergency exit of the plane and whilst it was taxiing drop the
emergency ‘slide’.

The Airbus A320
had the emergency exit at the back and he hadn’t too far to go to
get to it. He made a short reconnaissance trip and looked over the
door, after making sure that the cabin crew were busy elsewhere,
and felt sure of his being able to do it. He thought carefully
about his quite literally hitting the ground whilst the plane was
still moving and he knew he must relax and parachute roll off the
slide. He didn’t relish the thought, but escape across the airport,
even in a state of high alert would be easier then than being
trapped by entering the terminal.

Cobb settled
down, ordered drinks from the well informed cabin crew, knowing
that they would have been warned of his potential danger and he
would be treated with kid gloves. The bourbon and ice in the
plastic cup burned a warming passage through him and he felt
anguished that he wouldn’t have the chance for a cigarette before
the moment of potential danger came; the word terminal came to mind
in both its meanings. He resolved to make sure that Gatwick wasn’t
the termination of his journey in any respect. Paying was the way
to get anything on the Easyjet flight and he handed over the
exorbitant amount for yet another measure of Bourbon, purely
medicinal purposes he felt; painkillers were going to be a
must.

The plane began
its descent into London Gatwick and Cobb readied himself for the
fight of a lifetime. Aside from the fear of injury on his jump he
knew that he would be up against a fair number of armed men. He
recalled nights in foreign countries; the knot in the stomach going
in; the killing sometimes up close, knife or silenced machine
pistol and sometimes from a distance watching the target drop
through a night scope. He recalled the mission extraction, tense
faces, sometimes barking dogs in the distance, every sound making
fingers twitch near triggers and the hunted look in every team
member’s eyes. As a Navy Seal he’d had respect and admiration, now
killing for his own services he was a criminal and every government
force was unfriendly.

The Airbus
‘plumped’ onto the runway and began decelerating rapidly. Cobb
swirled his head from left to right window across the plane
orientating as fast as he could. He noted the control tower as he
had passed and picked it as a good spot to head for.

As the plane
began its taxiing the passengers, in spite of instructions, began
getting out of seats to ready themselves to deplane. Cobb rose from
his seat and made his way to the back of the plane. He knew there
would be mild depressurisation on opening the door, but not as
extreme as if he had done it in the air. There were enough people
in the gangways to cover his movements and once at the door he
straight away pulled the emergency handles and opened it.

The air blast
sucked people in the gangways over and Cobb held onto a nearby grip
waiting for the slide to deploy which it did. The engine sounds
forced their way through the cabin.

In the cockpit
the pilot noted the open door alarm and radioed the terminal. It
was with a great relief, after a flight locked in his cabin,
fearing hijack and knowing that the end of the journey might see a
hostage situation, with the added thought that Cobb might break his
own neck jumping out, that the pilot settled back to taxi into
Gatwick. In the cabin behind him there was mild mayhem, oxygen
masks had dropped and cabin crew went into emergency procedures,
but also with a sense of relief that the killer and his gun were
elsewhere.

It had been
noted that using the emergency exit had been one of their possible
scenarios for Cobb’s attempted escape and considered a likely
action, but not as likely, to their orthodox thinking, as hostage
taking. Cobb had dismissed such an idea as likely to lead to
entrapment and death.

In the
arrivals, which had been cleared, the chief inspector radioed his
colleagues below the arrival gate on the plane parking concourse.
Three deployed cars were quickly despatched.

Cobb jumped
onto the escape slide the moment it had opened and as he got to its
centre the mild jet wash twisted it like washing on a line, folding
him inside, then with a twist back it unfolded and he rolled
heavily to the tarmac in a complete somersault and to his momentary
amazement landed on his feet. It took less than half a second to
spot the tower, two hundred metres back and he began running,
holding the shoulder bag to his chest and reaching for the silenced
pistol.

The passing of
the plane making its way to the terminal halted the three cars with
a breathtaking moment of fear for the pilot who saw them ahead of
him, as he turned left, the heavy plane edging round, and the
police in their cars too not having thought of the plane, but of
the chase turned dramatically left and right from its path.

Cobb, in spite
of the effects of cigarettes, arrived at the control tower twenty
eight seconds after landing on the runway. He was sure he had seen
cars there and that meant a speedier exit. At times during his
sprint he had felt exposed and almost felt the sniper’s cross hairs
on his head, but having reached the safety of the surrounding
hedges and no shot hitting home he felt some relief.