To Kill Or Be Killed (9 page)

The girl
laughed.

“Don’t be
cheeky or you’ll not eat.”

He smiled
back.

“I’ll be good
if it means eating.”

She took his
order for tea and he watched her perfect behind wiggle away. It had
been some time he thought, given half a chance he would make a move
on her, but there was the job in hand.

He was annoyed
with the job and his work when the girl delivered his food and tea
and gave him a positive green light, touching his hand as she
handed him the tea and smiling into his eyes, she even looked back
when she walked away. He shook his head at the irony.

He flashed up
the memory of the look back in his mind, ‘lovely lashes’ he
thought, then ‘focus Mason focus.’

It wasn’t the
best cooked food, plastic texture eggs, over cooked smoky bacon,
bendy toast, dry sausage and an unhappy tomato half, all over
cooked. He washed it down with raw tannic tea. It sat heavily in
his gut.

Brunch done
Mason paid the bill and left a good tip so as not to be noticed.
The blonde watched him pay. He was tall, broad shouldered, fit
looking, tanned and his black hair was in the kind of untidy mop
she found alluring. The café was getting busy and as he didn’t
respond to the ‘green light’ the girl, though disappointed, got on
with her busy day.

In the café
toilet he filled his flask with water and locked himself in a
cubicle. There were three so he might have some time, but he nearly
laughed out loud when he thought it might turn out to be a busy
toilet if the food was anything to go by.

He worked
quickly. He first wet and dyed his hair. Black to blonde just
wasn’t possible in the time so he had bought a light brown. It was
a fifteen minute wait for the dye to take and in his case the
longer the lighter. About four people visited the toilet, but none
bothered him in his cubicle. He listened well and came out to rinse
and dry his hair under the hand dryer, it was a risk, but he had
to. No-one came in and the hair dried quickly.

Back in the
cubicle he cut his fringe and hair to create a thinning effect and
a high fore head, saving short pieces of lighter brown hair
cuttings. He used his glue to carefully put the cuttings on the
backed surgical tape, creating a matching moustache. The door was
rattled a couple of times as he worked at his disguise, but he
groaned and blew a realistic raspberry.

“What did you
eat mate?” The voice outside laughingly asked.

"The all day
breakfast pal." Mason called back and added a groan.

Silence again
and he finished the disguise with the clothes. He pulled a bin bag
from his rucksack, put his old clothes in, along with the rucksack,
transferring his pistol, ammunition and other essential items into
the sports hold all and finally putting on the tinted glasses he
left the toilet, pushing his head down and forwards, slouching and
walking with a less direct, less upright bearing than he usually
managed.

He certainly
wasn’t the same man that walked into the toilet. He passed within
feet of his waitress and she looked at him directly, but didn’t
even register him in her eyes. Job done he walked into the city
centre, dumping the old clothes and disguise residue wrapped in the
bin bag by a litter bin. He headed for Glasgow rail station.

DIC watchers in
Glasgow didn’t recognise him even though he had to wait an hour and
forty-five minutes for the London train and sat on the station
concourse watching people go by, secure that anyone watching him or
watching for him wouldn’t have a clue who he was or what he was up
to.

Chapter
26

Euston Tower

4-30 p.m.

17th April

David and
Beaumont worked solidly for some hours, looking at on line charts
and using software to calculate all possible routes south and
across the country. They highlighted possible terrorist targets on
the digital maps and sent out the completed routes, when done, to
the scanner teams on the other floors. This made it easier for
those teams to make more finite searches and communicate with DIC
watchers on those routes only.

Finally David
completed the last digital map and pressed send. The compressed
file zipped around the building and was then zipped across the
country at high speed.

“What time is
it?”

“It’s just gone
three”

“Let’s go and
take a break.”

“Sound
idea.”

The two men sat
in the canteen drinking coffee and eating biscuits.

“It’s been an
interesting first day.” David smiled looking around.

“Let’s hope it
doesn’t get any more interesting. Remember that curse? May you live
in interesting times.”

“I see you’re
eating Jaffa cakes. Now that’s an interesting conundrum. Is it a
cake or is it a biscuit?”

“It’s whatever
the majority of people decide it is I guess." Beaumont said and
gave him a twinkly smile.

“What about the
tyranny of the majority concept?”

“True enough. I
see you’ve read your JS Mill.”

“Also if you
start thinking of Pol Pot and the ‘Year Zero’ concept isn’t
anything exactly what a powerful tyrant says it is?”

“Hmmm. I tell
you what though a cake by any other name would taste as sweet.” To
emphasise the point Beaumont popped the rest in his mouth.

“Well that’s
philosophy, politics and literature covered what’s next?”

Beaumont looked
at his watch.

“It’s
information technology next my friend. Let’s go.”

Both men
chatted amiably on their way to the lift. In a short space of time
the pair had formed a bond.

Chapter
27

Mersey Marina

4 – 30 p.m.

April 17th

Inefficiently
Cobb had not set the volume on the small digital alarm and though
it flashed into action it made no sound. Cobb slept on in the warm
bunk, lulled by the gentle action of the marina water.

It was too late
that Cobb woke and seeing the time cursed his inefficiency. He lit
a lucky, and put the kettle on. He noticed there were just two
cigarettes in the pack and that the bag of groceries he’d ordered
for the boat obviously didn’t include dinner of any kind. There
were four eggs, two rashers and eight slices of bread from the
small loaf left.

Coffee made,
though instant, the kind Charlie hated, he went on deck to a river
view close to sunset. He knew he’d have to stay put or leave the
boat as it was. Charlie was essentially a comfort man. He didn’t
fancy travelling at night and changing scene. The day was gone, why
move on? The others wouldn’t have made London yet, he knew that. He
flicked the cigarette butt into the Marina waters and mind made up
decided to eat better. Some take away, a beer, one at least, a pack
of cigarettes and he’d see if he could get a signal on the little
TV.

Getting his
coat and rucksack, with his weapon in it, identities and all useful
tools of his trade included, he climbed off the boat, walked the
boards, punched the numbers into the locked gate and headed into
the city on foot.

The harbour
watch man saw Charlie leave; he noted Charlie had his rucksack on
him and figured him headed for a hotel. The Americans always did
that. He knew the American hadn’t been off the boat all day and
thought he’d be off for a night out.

As Cobb got on
to the Nelson Street he found a convenience store, noting, further
down the same road, a Chinese Restaurant doing take away. Ten
minutes walk from the Marina, Charlie stocked up on useful and
tasty supplies.

Chapter
28

Liverpool

5 p.m.

April 17th

Three miles
away in a house on Croxteth Road, Sefton Park Walter, Wally to his
friends, Tyson held the hands of his only child as they swung back
the green, iron garden gate and arrived home, damp and
laughing.

She was a sweet
freckle faced seven year old girl. He held her book bag and sports
bag in his other hand. She had been at after school club playing
football and Wally had been watching her play. In spite of being
small she was incredibly tenacious as a player. Wally wondered
whether his love of football and lack of a son had begun to turn
her into a tomboy.

They laughingly
sang their way through the front door, dripping onto the hall
carpet. He loved being able to collect her from school and the DIC
work allowed him that most of the year and this year, at forty-five
it was his last year for active rota.

He was feeling
a little guilty as he’d been alacritous about his work today. His
partner, Ginny, was down with the flu. Though he’d logged on, in
his loft, in the morning and caught the traffic about the four
intruders through day, including the call to check the marina, when
he printed the four pictures, he’d been shopping since and every
time he’d meant to check again Ginny had called for some TLC.

With Tara home
he decided to quickly nip down and check the marina.

He settled Tara
with a snack and TV, fussed around Ginny and told her he had a
‘visual check’ to do. He kissed her hot forehead and grabbing
diplomatic pass, intruder photos and his coat, no gun, he got into
his little blue Fiesta and drove towards the Liverpool Marina and
the Mersey. It was five o’ clock when he set out and it didn’t take
him long to get there.

The marina
watch man, a keen sailor in his mid twenties, was just finishing up
in the office when he noted the red Fiesta enter the car park. He
sighed as the tall, blonde curly haired figure in the beige duffle
coat headed straight for him. He had a sinking feeling as the man
drew out what looked like some sort of badge from his pocket, in
readiness.

Glancing at his
watch he set his face to helpful as the man entered the office.

“Evening I’m a
civil service employee doing a Marina check for new arrivals.”
Wally handed over the credentials. It took the watch man a moment
to read it.

“Civil
service?”

Wally raised an
eye brow in a conspiratorial way.

“Oh I see.” The
watch man handed the credentials back.

Wally drew out
the pictures.

“Have you seen
any of these men?”

Each picture
drew a blank until they got to the sketch of Cobb.

“That looks a
bit like a guy who got here after lunch. He’s American. He’s just
gone out.”

“Just?”

“Yeah about ten
minutes ago. He had a bag with him. He’ll probably be out tonight,
stay in a hotel.”

“Can you show
me his boat?”

It was Wally’s
turn to sigh. Given the DIC e-mail traffic he’d read he knew these
men were on the move and was annoyed at having missed him. He was
sure that Charlie was moving on. Still he’d check the boat and when
he called in he’d not mention why he hadn’t checked earlier.

The watch man
and Wally passed through the punch key locked gate, down the jetty
and towards Charlie’s boat. The lights were off. The little boat
sat bobbing in the early evening dusky gloom.

“Are you sure
he went out.”

Wally
hesitated, no weapon on him, but in Wally’s case he only ever got
it out to clean it.

“Wait here.” He
said sternly and climbed onto the boat. Charlie hadn’t locked
it.

Wally gingerly
entered the cabin. He saw the unwashed utensils and plates. The
cabin reeked of greasy food. The bunk had been slept in. He called
the watch man in.

“Hey you come
in here.”

The watch man
clambered onto the boat and stepped down head bowed into the
cabin.

“What?”

“Watch me as I
search.”

“Why?”

“In case I find
something incriminating and the man I’m looking for, if caught,
says I planted it.”

“I’m not sure
about this. I might need to call someone.”

Wally was
withering in his reply.

“Just do as I
say.”

“Is the man in
trouble?”

“Not yet, but
you could say that as a person he is trouble.”

Wally began
searching,

He found the
stubbed ‘Lucky’ on a saucer, recalling Michael Dewey’s e-mail
sketch from the match flare that morning. The man was a smoker.
There were no bags, no passports and no gun. There were no personal
effects, which struck a discordant note with Wally. If this was a
regular American tourist where was the camera, the set of personal
items and the paraphernalia of someone away from home? It was much
too suspicious. Wally had made up his mind to get home, e-mail DIC
centre and call the police to the boat.

Cobb, white
plastic bag with prawn fried rice, duck, pancakes, vegetables,
Ho-Sin sauce and a six pack of Budweiser in one hand and his
backpack in the other noted the lights on in the marina office past
the hours of business listed on the door. He tried the door handle
and found the office open. Charlie smelt trouble. He double checked
his handiwork on the CCTV camera control, still in place. The young
man probably never checked it. He left the office his senses alert
and made his way to the punch key locked gate. He looked along the
jetties and seeing where his boat was, with the lights on he
narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils making a face that would
have made a snake flinch.

He squatted
down in the shadows by the gate, putting aside the take away and
beer. In the last light of day the dull metal of his Russian PSS
pistol swallowed the low lances of the setting sun. He punched in
the access number, eased through and closed the gate with deadly
silence. Treading the boards towards the edges with soft silent
steps he honed in on the yellow beacon of his boat lights. There
were no lights visible on other boats, he noted. He saw the shadows
behind the boat’s thin curtains.

He could have
climbed onto the boat, but knew better. They’d be coming out and
he’d save himself some cleaning up. He lay down on the drizzle wet
boards, hidden by the prow of the boat. They’d exit via the stern
of the boat and move to his right back towards the gate.