To Kill Or Be Killed (37 page)

Up in the loft
Stanton went over to the laptop, which had not been locked by
password, and began looking at the DIC network. He wasn’t shocked
by the news bulletins on Cobb and Mason. He knew Mason had nearly
made it and he knew himself to be the last man of the five. He
quickly read the details of the shooting and began searching
elsewhere on the DIC network. He didn’t have long and he wanted
information. He found the file with the full list of DIC agents in
the UK and their locations. He found files with the location of DIC
headquarters and details about the duty rotas. It was very useful
information. He checked the list of building CCTV cameras and chose
the lobby, where there were two. He saw the revolving door, two
guards and the lifts behind the desk. He had a quick scan around
Euston Tower, the armoury and data gathering rooms. He was
impressed by the size and scale of the operation of what was an
organisation that the British public knew nothing about.

On the desk
were writeable DVD’s and he popped one into the drive and began
copying the file. In the meantime he looked for a quick way into
London on the internet. He decided on a National Express Coach and
saw that there was a coach leaving at eleven am and got into London
at one forty-five p.m. He noted the price of five pounds, he could
easily cover that. It was ten thirty so he knew he had time to get
to the National Express stop at Pencester Road, a ten minute run
from where he was, according to the online map. He covered his
tracks by deleting the history tool bar and all cookies. The file
copying continued. He looked around the loft and saw the gun
cabinet. He then looked around for a key and found it hanging high
up from a roof beam. He retrieved the key and unlocked the cabinet.
He took out the shiny Sig 220 ‘Rail’, added the silencer, put a
clip in, pumped a round into the breach and clicked it to safe.
Looking in the cabinet he saw the laser sight and fixed it to the
‘rail’ on the pistol. He twisted around looking at the laser dot.
He turned to the computer and seeing the file downloaded, took out
the disc, popped it in a jewel case and slid it inside his jacket.
He covered his tracks on the file copying as best he could, but
didn’t know that the DIC access work was logged and monitored. The
fact that the files had been copied registered on McKie’s ICT usage
log at Euston Tower. Stanton was just making for the window when he
heard the hatch being opened.

Cartoons over
David went back to work. He pulled the ladder down and climbed up
into the loft. Too late the personal danger signal hairs on his
neck told him someone was there. He felt the cold muzzle of the
pistol against the back of his neck.

“Climb in
slowly, knowing that I’m taking a step back and this weapon has the
laser dot sighting so I can fire accurately in this half
light.”

David climbed
into the loft, stood up slowly with his hands on his head. He
turned around to face his assailant and stared straight into the
eyes of Stanton. Stanton the killer from Perth, murderer of
Griffiths and others and now was it his turn to be killed by him?
How had he got there? How had he got in? Why was he there?

“What’s your
name?” Stanton hissed.

“McKie, David
McKie, you’d be Trevor Stanton right?”

“That’s
correct.”

“I saw you at
Perth. You had a goatee then.”

“I saw you in
Glasgow too my friend.” Stanton’s bared teeth were as close to a
smile as McKie imagined the man got.

“Glasgow?”

“Yes, after
you’d killed Wheeler.”

“Motherwell?
Were you following me?” David was astounded and a little
unnerved.

“No. Our paths
have crossed accidentally, which is unfortunate for you.”

“You came into
Dover by boat, but you saw me and came here… you want revenge for
Wheeler, that’s not very professional!”

David, palms
sweating and heart thudding, remembered his training. He probed the
man a little, a little needling, a small wind up might make the man
react less rationally and, as he’d been taught, that might give him
the ‘chance’ he needed. David felt as if the red dot from the laser
sight would burn through his chest if it stayed there any
longer.

“Believe me
it’s purely professional and I’m not here for revenge. Now I need
you to sit in your chair. Move carefully, hands where I can see
them.” David hadn’t unsettled the assassin, Stanton remained
calm.

David moved to
the chair and sat down. He looked at the screen. There was no way
to send a message about what was going to happen. They’d find him
in the loft, killed by his own pistol. Mary wasn’t due home yet. He
prayed that Stanton would leave before they got home. The thought
of Mary and Conor at the mercy of Stanton made the anger rise
McKie. He felt Stanton move behind him.

“You’re no
killer McKie. I can see it in your eyes. Saddened about the
sanctioned murder of Wheeler you sat at this desk and committed
suicide. Put your hands on the keyboard McKie.”

David put his
hands on the keyboard, but he put his feet between the ‘spoke’ like
floor supports of his office swivel chair and tensed his leg
muscles. Stanton was right behind him and placed the barrel of the
pistol to McKie’s right temple.

McKie pushed
both his feet against the edges of the supports, sending the chair
in a clockwise spin, turning his head and body through ninety
degrees. It was the micro second turning of body and head that made
the bullet pass within an inch of his face. Even with the silencer
the discharged weapon deafened his right ear. McKie’s hands cross
cut Stanton’s weapon hand sending the Sig clattering to the floor
near the desk. Stanton lashed out with his left hand sending David
falling backwards, the chair tipping back, but David hooked his
left leg under the desk, stopping his backwards fall. He lifted his
right leg in a swift vertical movement and slammed his shin into
the side of Stanton’s head. Stanton stumbled backwards and fell
over near the loft hatch, heavily stunned.

David’s chair
tipped forwards again and he dived for the floor, grabbed the Sig
and stood up in a twisting turn. Upright he was facing Stanton, now
standing just in front of the hatch. The red dot of the laser sight
sat between Stanton’s eyes.

“You going to
kill me McKie? An unarmed man killed in cold blood.”

“No. Turn
around and kneel down. I’m taking you in.”

“I’d rather die
and you’re going to have to kill me, which you won’t, you’re not
the type. What now?”

The door bell
rang down stairs and through the Velux they heard “Mr McKie it’s
the police.”

McKie smiled,
but was unnerved by Stanton smiling too.

Stanton took a
step back and dropped through the hatch feet first, landing on a
rung half way down the vertical ladder and in a twisting turn dived
head first down the stair well. McKie ran to the hatch, looked down
and saw nothing. He heard bumping down the stairs.

Stanton
executed a single roll down the stairs, landed on his feet and
opened the front door. He kicked the policeman in the stomach and
knocked him out with his rising knee meeting the constable’s head.
The second policeman pulled his baton, but Stanton parried it and
flipped the man on his back, kicking him across the jaw, rendering
him unconscious.

Stanton ran
from the house and sprinted up the road. David came down the stairs
and hurdled the unconscious policemen. Tom the neighbour watched
horrified from his front garden as McKie gave chase, unarmed,
knowing Stanton to be unarmed and wanting him alive.

David was
faster than Stanton and Stanton felt the closing foot fall of the
athletic Scotsman as they got to the Folkestone Road.

A huge
container lorry, late for the ferry, mistakenly having taken the
B2011 exit, near Hougham, off the A20, came thundering down the
Folkestone Road. Stanton felt it coming, turned, looked and saw
McKie three metres behind Stanton veered into the wake of the
passing lorry and jumped. His hands gripped the upright metal bar
of the container lock and he clung on. His feet hung in the air for
a moment and then he got his feet on the light and registration
plate bar of the trailer.

David
desperately chased the lorry down the Folkestone Road, but the
driver was running late and at forty miles an hour over a half mile
the truck outpaced the running man. McKie kept chasing, but the
lorry had disappeared down York Road towards the terminal, when he
got to the roundabout. McKie stood panting for breath, hands on
knees. He needed to get back to the house and contact DIC and the
police. He wrongly assumed Stanton was headed for the marina. He
turned and ran back as fast as he could towards Elm’s Vale.

Stanton headed
straight for Pencester Road, after dropping off the back of the
lorry on York Road and doing a circuit of Pencester Gardens.
Stanton waited outside the bus station, aware of the CCTV. It was
ten fifty, ten minutes before the coach left. Stanton wondered what
to do, how to get on the coach without being seen by CCTV.

Back at Elm’s
Vale Tom the neighbour had called an ambulance and David was
greeted by Police, Ambulance men and a lot of questions. David
walked straight past all the people on his door step, went to his
coat and got out his DIC pass. He turned on the police man in his
door way.

“Check this
badge please.”

The policeman
read it.

“I see sir. I
still need to know what happened here.”

“Come on in and
close the door and we can talk in private.” David nodded towards
the gathering group of neighbours.

“Yes sir, can
we bring the injured men in here?”

“Of
course.”

They all
decamped into the lounge and David excused himself for a moment,
went to the loft and fired off an alert on Stanton. DIC Euston
scanned the CCTV for Dover town centre. Back in his lounge David
explained the situation and the policeman sent out an alert. Police
in the area began combing the streets and some were despatched to
the harbour, where they found the stolen boat and Stanton’s
weapon.

Back at
Pencester Road bus station Stanton’s idea was good. There were no
cameras at the exit to the bus station so he waited there. He was
blessed with good fortune as foot patrols were sent into the bus
station first, to check for Stanton. They boarded and checked the
London National Express coach, but found no-one and after they got
off the doors closed and the coach swung in a wide arc to exit the
station. The driver pulled up and braked sharply as a man suddenly
appeared in front of the coach. The coach driver noted the man’s
waving arms and gave a smile. No-one took any notice of the coach
stopped in the exit and the police had already turned their
attention to the ticket office to ask if anyone of Stanton’s
description had bought a ticket.

Yards away the
man they wanted stood in front of the stopped coach holding up a
five pound note.

“Silly sod
risking his life to catch a coach,” the driver said and he opened
the door. Stanton ran around and stepped aboard.

“Sorry and
thanks for opening the door. I was running late.”

“You want to be
careful mate, you could get yourself killed, better late than
never, they say.”

“Sorry. Thanks
again.” Stanton looked humbled and grateful.” Ticket for London
please?” He proffered the fiver.

He bought the
ticket and settled into a seat by the window at the front. The
coach pulled out of the station at last and Stanton had made his
escape, unseen and heading into London.

Back in Elm’s
Vale the police made heavy weather of the situation. David evaded
all questions fired at him. He gave the rehearsed excuse of DIC
that he was ‘Civil Service’ and that he had obviously been
compromised by one of the ‘terrorists’ that everyone was on the
alert for. When everything had been cleared and Jack Fulton had
made phone calls and pulled rank, to fend off too many questions
being asked of David, the police left and David alone in his lounge
made for the drinks cabinet and poured out some Glenmorangie single
malt in a good stiff measure.

Sat in his
armchair he looked at the time. Mary was due home in fifteen
minutes and he knew he’d have to tell her. He downed the scotch,
felt the warmth of the ‘burn’ and the Valium like power of the
drink to sooth nerves. He picked up the phone.

The first call
to his father was easy. He told the story briefly and clearly as
his father had demanded he did of all incidents from childhood to
university. He asked for his father’s help and the old soldier said
he’d be there in a few hours, stating that he’d catch a plane.
David put the phone down glowing with warmth at the manly
camaraderie he shared with his father, a man to rely on in a
crisis. David’s father readied himself and prepared to ‘move out’
with the military discipline he kept as a ramrod for such
occasions. His son’s family needed him.

The second call
was less easy.

“No David.”
Fulton’s voice was firm and clear, if not a little icy.

“I’m not
waiting here to be a target, my family to be a target. I’m still
supposed to be on duty rota and I want in on the chase.”

“You can’t make
this personal.”

“I didn’t. He
did and I’m going after him, now you can either back me or be
prepared to sack me, but either way I’m going to help bring him
in.”

There was a
pause on the end of the line as Jack considered the situation. His
knowledge of the rules told him to keep McKie away, but his forward
thinking mind veered towards the fact that David McKie was a
formidable team member and fully capable of dealing with the tough
situations that were at the time being demanded of his duty
teams.

“Okay David.
Get here to Euston Tower. If anyone can get Stanton and has the
edge to find him before he gets to the target I know you can.”