To Kill Or Be Killed (25 page)

“Have you got
anything stronger?”

“I’d have
thought you’d had enough.” She caught his eye in the mirror.

“Well I was
planning on a night out and a drink before hand always goes down
well.”

“Where are you
going?”

“I don’t know
really. Is there anywhere good around here?” Mason asked catching
her eye in the mirror.

“I usually go
to the Underworld. That’s good if you like to dance and there’s a
friendly atmosphere.”

“What’s the
action like there?”

“Oh you are a
naughty boy aren’t you?” She looked at her watch. “Time to rinse,
back to the basin.”

He sat down and
tipped back his head her hands gently caressed his scalp.

“Not too hot?”
She asked.

“No fine. So
what’s the action like?”

She leaned over
close to his face. “It depends on what you’re looking for?”

Back in the
chair she clipped away at his hair. He kept his gaze steadily on
her face. She caught his eye from time to time and in her look he
saw the decision making process building its way to a conclusion.
When she was done they went to the reception desk. He paid and told
her to put on a big tip.

“It’s nearly
half five. I’ve kept you.”

“Couldn’t send
you out looking like that, you’d definitely miss out on the
action.” She looked at the card before she handed it back. “Mr
Townshend. M is for?”

“Marc, with a
C.”

He took the
card.

“Thanks.
Where’s that club?”

“It’s on the
high street in Camden”

“I’ll give it a
try.”

She handed him
the receipt and he felt her fingers brush his hand. He looked in
her eyes and she gently bit her lip, putting her head to one
side.

“I would if I
were you. I’ve a feeling you’re going to find that action you’re
looking for.”

“Bye Aliesha.
Thanks for the lovely hair cut.”

He said no
more. He picked up his plastic bag with the kitchen clothes and
without a look back walked to Baker Street. He felt good. It was
going to be a good night and the girl looked like a sure thing.
Even if she wasn’t a sure thing he knew the club he was going to
start the night out at.

Chapter
70

London Euston
Towers

5-30 p.m.

April 18th

The CCTV
cameras on Baker Street picked up Mason’s image as he walked back
to the hotel, but it was rush hour. The large number of Central
London CCTV cameras was being watched by an unusually extensive
team at Euston Towers and the recordings were being racked up and
watched in detail by an extra team dedicated to the task.

It was half an
hour after Mason had passed a camera looking at him fully that the
DIC watcher at the tower matched him, looking now more like the
picture of the morning before, to the image inset on his screen. He
sent out a message and other watchers combed the areas CCTV
cameras, whilst the roving team were alerted and the police
called.

Along with two
quickly assembled extra duty teams were Shadz and Jaz, Tony and
Ellie, a thirty year old woman put with the team to replace Terry
who was greeting Jack Fulton in Liverpool that night. When Mason’s
location had come in they had readied themselves and were given
lists of hotels in the Baker Street area.

Jack’s Deputy
Diane Peters came down to brief the teams. Diane didn’t waste
words.

“Be careful,
tread softly and carry guns. Find him and get him alive, but if you
have to shoot, shoot to kill. Remember how Spencer died, Wally’s
murder, Jack Beaumont and what David McKie had to do.” She went to
leave the room and suddenly turned. “Everyone to check their
weapons.”

They all
un-holstered their Sig 220’s, checked the magazines, pumped a round
out, pulling back the casing and releasing, twice in succession,
reloaded the magazines, pumped the action again and put them on
safety. Tony was first to finish.

“Good off you
go.” She turned on her heel and took the lift to Jack’s office. In
the lift a shiver ran down her spine. To her mind it was all
getting out of hand.

They left
Euston tower in a three car convoy, each car with four DIC and each
DIC pair with a list of hotels and the latest still image of Mason
taken from the CCTV footage.

Chapter
71

Baker Street

5-45 p.m.

April 18th

Mason walked
confidently into the lobby of the Sherlock Holmes Hotel and looked
around. A guest passed him on the way to the stairs with a swipe
card. He took a detailed, but surreptitious look at reception. One
girl was manning it. He noted her having looked at the clock once
or twice. It might be time for her break. The swipe card key given
to each guest for their room was the one item which defined his
plan. Seeing the guest toilets to one side he went in, closed
himself in a cubicle and changed into the kitchen uniform.

He walked
through the dining room, catching dark looks from the waiting staff
who didn’t like to see kitchen staff in the guest areas. He walked
straight into the busy kitchen. Once in he stopped and orientated
himself. He saw what he needed to his left, two plates of
sandwiches nearly ready to be delivered somewhere.

“Who the hell
are you?” A big red faced man with sweat gathering on his forehead
and his apron tied under a round gut came to a stop on his left and
turned around barking at him.

“I’m Marc a
temp agency sent me.”

“I don’t need
anyone tonight.”

“Are you
sure?”

“Of course I’m
bloody sure!”

“Alright take
it easy. Obviously it’s a mistake.”

The chef calmed
a little. “I tell you what just wait here and I’ll go and
check.”

“Cheers mate.”
Mason replied cockily.

The chef walked
off and passed into a door marked office. Mason made his way to the
plates of sandwich snacks, walking around as if just taking an
interest. He watched the kitchen underling garnish the sandwich
plates with salad.

“Not busy right
now mate.” The kitchen underling noted his presence, assumed him to
be a temp worker and found a job for him.

“No.” Mason
said putting a helpful look on his face.

“Good then run
these over to the duty manager’s office would you, it’s late
arriving already.”

He handed Mason
the plates and Mason unable to believe his luck took the two plates
of sandwiches, walked out the kitchen door and over to reception.
He braced himself.

Back in kitchen
the underling took the wrath of the Chef, who called the duty
manager’s office and asked him to send the man ‘with the
sandwiches’ back to the agency. He then turned with full gusto to
his evening’s work.

At reception
Mason was his cheery best.

“Hi there,
sandwiches for you apparently.” Mason said armed with his warmest
smile.

“For me?” The
girl asked warily.

“Yeah., you are
due a break aren’t you?”

“Well yes, but
I can’t eat it here and I don’t usually get them.”

Mason put on
his very best smile and came round to the staff side of reception.
He knew he didn’t have long, but so far all he looked like was an
incompetent yet keen kitchen temp.

“Well I think
it’s a treat for not being relieved for a while. I think they want
you to eat it here.” He looked around for a staff access pass card
and saw it on the desk to her right.

“Oh well it’s
the usual disorganisation with staffing. Are you new?” The girl
asked a little charmed by his smile and friendly demeanour.

“I’m a
temp.”

Putting down
the sandwiches in his right hand he stood behind her, placed her
sandwiches on the desk with his left hand to her left and whilst
her eyes watched it being placed and knowing her to be distracted
he took the staff access pass card with its fob from the desk on
her right and slipped it into his pocket.

“I’d better go.
Enjoy.” Mason picked up the second plate and walked away.

“Could you get
me a drink, some mineral water will do?”

“Sure.” Mason
said and winked.

Mason made for
the restaurant, looked back saw her head dip below the level of the
desk to take a bite of the sandwich and he doubled back swiftly to
the guest staircase and made his way to the rooms. Once upstairs he
started to look for a suitable room. He knew he’d have to be
quick.

Chapter
72

Dover

6 p.m.

April 18th

David McKie’s
train had taken nearly two hours to get to Dover, nearly half an
hour longer than it usually took. There had been a security alert
at Charing Cross station and the police, all of them armed, had
been checking tickets and faces, making the boarding of the train a
slow affair.

It had been a
long, start stop journey from there and the train became less and
less crowded as it got further south until only David and an old
couple with suitcases, obviously headed for the ferry, were left in
his carriage. The final run through the cliff tunnels had infused
him with memories of home so strong that when the train emerged
into the setting sunlight at Dover Priory Station he felt the
satisfied journey’s end feeling all travellers encounter when so
close to home. It grew uncomfortably stronger when the taxi pulled
up outside his house in Markland Road. Having paid the taxi he saw
Mary at the window and waved and when hr got to the door it opened
in welcome.

“Oh I’ve been
so scared. It’s good to have you home.” She said as she embraced
him tightly.

He said nothing
and let the smells of the house and its warm familiarity of embrace
him as passionately as he embraced her. He drank in her familiar
smell, Obsession perfume mingled with fabric conditioner and her
herbal shampoo. He buried his nose in her blonde, untidy hair. He
felt the bump against him and deliberately touched the safely
covered womb protecting his unborn child.

“Where’s
Conor?” He very suddenly said.

“He’s asleep.
He knew you were coming home and he was so excited all day he fell
asleep.”

“Something
smells good.” David said to allay guilty thoughts of his son’s
disappointment.

“It’s steak and
kidney pudding. I made it myself.”

“Lovely. You’d
better sit down. I’ll sort everything else out. I’ll just pop up
and see Conor.”

David took his
bag upstairs and put it in their room. He felt as if it had been an
age from home. He went into the next room and saw his son curled up
on a small bed with a small, light blue fluffy blanket covering
him. The floor was strewn with toys; a fluffy Pooh Bear lay across
a bright blue Thomas the Tank Engine toy and everywhere brightly
coloured bricks lay at odd angles in strange piles and shapes.

He leant over
and kissed his son’s warm forehead. The boy didn’t stir. David
wiped a lone tear from his cheek. The sheer relief of his return
washed over him. He thought of the families of the murdered men and
he flushed with shame at his joy at being home. When he got to the
door he looked back, sighed and for a moment was taken over by the
strength of a resolution, a strong desire to be a protector. He
knew it to be his job to be one of the people who protected
families from men like Wheeler, Spencer and Stanton, though as he
descended the stairs he wondered for how long.

Down stairs
Mary was sitting back on pillows on the only chair she found
comfortable. He went over and kneeling put his head in her lap. She
stroked his head.

“I had to kill
a man Mary.”

There was a
pause and her hand stopped moving for a second or two then
resumed.

“Better him
than you Davey.”

He raised his
head and she saw his eyes were awash with tears.

“I don’t know
if it’s the job for me you know.”

“Oh sure it is.
You weren’t just lucky. You’re a strong, fast and determined man,
just like your father.”

“I could have
been killed.” He said and she looked him in the eyes.

“You weren’t
though. You’re tired and you’ve had a hard time and you’d not be a
good man if you didn’t have feelings like that and I married a good
man.” He went to speak, but she put her finger to his lips.

“Go have a wash
and we’ll get the tea on. We can talk when you’ve had a rest. Jack
Fulton phoned and said you’d need time and TLC for a day or two. He
said you’d not be going back on duty rota until November. Now go
wash. You’re home now.” She took her finger away kissed it and put
it back to his lips.”

He stood up and
left the room, stopping to turn and blow her a kiss. When he had
gone she crossed herself looked to the ceiling mouthed a ‘thank
you’ and wiped the gathering tears from her eyes.

Chapter
73

Glasgow

6 p.m.

April 18th

It was a
pleasant drive across to Ardrossan on the Atlantic coast. Clarky
owned an ex army nineteen eighty- four Land Rover series three,
used in Northern Ireland, but with the ‘mesh’ protection removed.
It still had the ‘high velocity’ HV protection of the armoured wind
shield. Clarky was very proud of it, though to make it less
obtrusive he had re-sprayed it dark blue.

They had left
Motherwell at four thirty in the afternoon. The A72 took them out
of red brick and house crowded Motherwell onto the A71 and they
traversed Scotland westwards into the pretty green fields of
Ayrshire. The Ayrshire dairy cows scattered amongst the greenery
flashed a camouflage pattern across Stanton’s eyes as a steady
fifty miles an hour took the two men in mutual silence into
Kilmarnock.

Cold as it was
getting in the pre night cooling Stanton felt the warmth and
comfort of the Landy’s heaters and felt cocooned behind the strong
metal and the bullet proof glass. Ahead of him were some unknown
dangers, the usual companions in his otherwise single existence,
and several times he looked at Clarky thinking of their Legion
days, the brutal punishments and harsh training which had hardened
their bodies and the bloody deeds that had hardened their minds.
For a moment warm and calm he reflected that it might be time to
quit, but at just over an hour they entered the outskirts of
Ardrossan and Stanton felt his destiny inexorable draw him back
into the ‘game’.