Nick Stone 1 - Remote Control.

by Andy McNab

  I went out into the hallway again. As I moved, I had my pistol pointing up the stairs, which were now opposite me.

  The last room uncleared downstairs was Kev's study. I put my ear to the door and listened. I couldn't hear anything. I did the same drill and entered.

  It was a small room, just enough space for some filing cabinets, a desk, and a chair. Shelves on the wall facing the desk were full of books and photographs of Kev shooting, Kev running, that sort of stuff. Everything was now on the floor; the filing cabinets were open and paper strewn everywhere.

  The only thing not ripped apart was Kev's PC. That was lying on its side on the desk, the screen still showing the British army screensaver I'd sent him for a laugh. The printer and scanner were on the floor beside the desk, but that was where they had always been.

  I went back out and looked at the stairs. They were going to be a problem. They went up one flight, then turned back on themselves just before hitting the landing. That meant that I'd have to be a bit ofaHoudini to cover my ass getting up there.

  I wouldn't use the laser now; I didn't want to announce my movements.

  I put my foot on the bottom step and started to move up.

  Fortunately, Kev's stair carpet was a thick shag pile, which helped keep the noise down, but still it was like treading on ice, testing each step gently for creaks, always placing my feet to the inside edge, slowly and precisely.

  Once I got level with the landing, I pointed my pistol up above my head and, using the wall as support, moved up the stairs backward, step by step.

  A couple of steps; wait, listen. A couple more steps; wait, and listen.

  There was only one of me, and I had only thirteen rounds to play with, maybe fourteen, if the round in the chamber was on top of a full

  magazine. These guys might have semi 5 automatic weapons for all I knew, or even fully automatic. If they did and were there, it would not be a good day out.

  The washing machine was on its final thundering spin. Still soft rock on the radio. Nothing else.

  Adrenaline takes over. Despite the air-conditioning, I was drenched with sweat. It was starting to get in my eyes; I had to wipe it with my left hand, one eye at a time.

  The girls' room was facing me. From memory there were bunk beds and the world's biggest shrine to Pocahontas-T-shirts and posters, sheets and bedspreads, and even a doll whose back you pressed and she sang something about colors.

  I stopped and prepared for the worst.

  I reached for the handle and started to clear the room.

  Nothing. No one.

  For once the room was even clean and tidy. There were piles of teddy bears and toys on the beds. The theme was still Pocahontas, but Toy Story was obviously a close second.

  I gradually came out into the hallway, treating it as if it were a new room because I didn't know what might have gone on in the half-minute since I'd left it.

  I slowly moved to the next bedroom with my back nearly touching the wall, pistol forward, eyes watching forward and rear, thinking: What if--what do I do if they appear from that doorway? What if... what if?

  As I got nearer to Kev and Marsha's room, I could see that the door was slightly ajar. I couldn't actually see anything inside yet, but as I moved nearer I started to smell something. A faint, metallic tang, and I could smell shit as well. I felt sick. I knew that I'd have to go in.

  As I inched around the doorframe I got my first glimpse of Marsha She was kneeling by the bed, her top half spreadeagled on the mattress. The bedspread was covered with blood.

  I sank to my knees in the hallway. I felt myself going into shock. I couldn't believe this was true. This was not happening to this family. Why kill Marsha? It should have been Kev they were after. All I wanted to do was throw my hand in and sit down and cry. But I knew the kids had been in the house. They might still be here.

  I got a grip of myself and started to move. I went in, forcing myself to ignore Marsha. The room was clear.

  The next job was the master bathroom. I went in, and what I saw made me lose it, totally fucking lose it. Bang, I went back against the wall and slumped onto the floor.

  Blood was everywhere. I got it all over my shirt and hands;

  I sat in a pool of it, soaking the seat of my pants.

  Aida was lying on the floor between the bath and the toilet.

  Her five-year-old head had been nearly severed from her shoulders. There was just three inches of flesh left intact; I could see the vertebrae still holding on.

  Turning my head away and looking out of the bathroom, I could now see more of Marsha. I had to hold back my scream. Her dress was hanging normally, but her tights had been torn, her panties were pulled down, and she had soiled herself, probably at the point of death. All I saw at this distance of about fifteen feet was somebody that I really cared for, even loved maybe, on her knees, her blood splattered all over the bed. And she'd had the same done to her as Aida.

  I was taking deep breaths and wiping my eyes. I knew I still had another two rooms to clear another bathroom and the large storeroom above the garage. I couldn't give up now because I might wind up getting dropped myself.

  I cleared the other rooms and half-collapsed, half-sat on the landing. I could see my bloody footprints all over the carpet. Stop, calm down, and think.

  What next? Kelly. Where the fuck was Kelly?

  Then I remembered the hiding place. Because of the threats to Kev, both kids knew where they had to go and hide in the event of a crisis.

  The thought brought me to my senses. If that was where Kelly was hiding, she was safe for the time being. Better to leave her there while I did the other stuff I had to do.

  I got up and started to move down the stairs, making sure that, as I moved, I had my pistol pointed. As I descended I could see the blood I had left on the wall and carpet where I'd sat. I was almost willing the attackers to appear. I wanted to see the fuckers.

  I got a cloth and a trash bag from the kitchen-and started to run around the house wiping door handles and any surfaces where I might have left fingerprints. Then I went over to the patio sliding doors and closed the curtains. I didn't want any body to discover this mess before I was well out of it, hope fully on a plane back to London.

  I took a quick look at Kev and knew I was back in control.

  He was now just a dead body.

  I went back upstairs, washed the blood off my hands and face, and got a clean shirt and a pair of jeans and running shoes from Kev's closet. His clothes didn't fit me, but they would do for now. I bundled my own bloodstained stuff into the trash bag that I'd take with me.

  Kev had shown me the "hidey-hole," as he called it, built under an open staircase that led up to a little makeshift loft stacked with ladders. The kids knew they had to hide there if ever Kev or Marsha shouted the word "Disneyland!" and they were never ever to come out until Daddy or Mommy came and got them.

  I headed to the garage. Pushing the door slightly, I could see the rear of the large metal doors to the right. The garage could easily have taken three extra vehicles besides Kev's company car.

  "Fucking thing," I remembered Kev saying, "all the luxury and mod cons of the late nineties, in a car that looks like a nineteen-sixties fridge."

  The kids' bikes were hanging from frames on the wall, together with all the other clutter that families accumulate in garages. I could see the red laser dot on the far wall.

  I moved in and cleared through. There was no one here.

  I went back to the area of the staircase. Chances were she wasn't going to come out unless her mom and dad came for her, but as I moved I started to call out very gently, "Kelly! It's Nick! Hello, Kelly, where are you?"

  All the time the pistol was pointing forward, ready to take on any threat.

  Moving slowly toward the boxes, I said, "Oh well, since you're not here I'll go. But I think I'll have one more look, and I bet you might be hiding underneath the staircase in those boxes. I'll just have a look... I bet you're in the
re ..."

  There was a pile of large boxes. One had contained a freezer, another a washing machine. Kev had made a sort of cave with them under the staircase and kept a few toys there.

  I eased the pistol down my waistband. I didn't want her to see a gun. She'd probably seen and heard enough already.

  I put my mouth against a little gap between the boxes.

  "Kelly, it's me. Nick. Don't be scared, I'm going to crawl toward you. You'll see my head in a minute, and I want to see a big smile..."

  I got down on my hands and knees and kept talking gently as I moved boxes and squeezed through the gap, inching toward the back wall. I wanted to do it nice and slowly. I didn't know how she was going to react.

  "I'm going to put my head around the corner now, Kelly."

  I took a deep breath and moved my head around the back of the box, smiling away but ready for the worst.

  She was there, facing me, eyes wide with terror, sitting curled up in a fetal position, rocking her body backward and forward, holding her hands over her ears.

  "Hello, Kelly," I said very softly.

  She must have recognized me, but didn't reply. She just kept on rocking, staring at me with wide, scared eyes.

  "Mommy and Daddy can't come and get you out at the moment, but you can come with me. Daddy told me it would be OK. Are you going to come with me, Kelly?"

  Still no reply. I crawled right into the cave until I was curled up beside her. She'd been crying; strands of light brown hair were stuck to her face. I tried to move them away from her mouth. Her eyes were red and swollen.

  "You're in a bit of a mess there," I said.

  "Do you want me to clean you up? Come on, let's go and get you sorted out, shall we?" I got hold of her rigid hand and gently guided her out into the garage.

  She was dressed in jeans, a denim shirt, running shoes, and a blue nylon fleece. Her hair was straight and just above her shoulders, a bit shorter than I remembered it; she was quite lanky for a seven-year-old, with long, skinny legs. I picked her up in my arms and held her tight as I carried her into the kitchen. I knew the other doors were closed; she wouldn't see her dad.

  I sat her down on a chair at the table.

  "Mommy and Daddy b said they had to go away for a while but asked me to look after you until they come back, OK?"

  She was trembling so much I couldn't tell if her head was nodding or shaking.

  I went to the fridge and opened it, hoping to find some comfort food. I found the world's largest Easter egg.

  "Mmm, yum do you want some chocolate?"

  I'd had a good relationship with Kelly. She was a great kid, and that wasn't just because she was my pal's daughter. I smiled warmly, but she just stared at the table.

  I broke off a few pieces and put them on one of the side plates that she'd probably been setting earlier with Aida. I found the Off switch on the radio; I'd had enough relaxing soft rock for one day.

  As I looked at Kelly again I suddenly realized I'd fucked up. What was I going to do with her? I couldn't just leave her here: her family was lying dead all over the house. But more important, she knew me. When the police arrived she'd be able to say, "Nick Stone was here." They'd soon find out that Nick Stone was one of Daddy's friends; the house was littered with photographs with me in them. And if they did arrest the grinning drunk in the barbecue shots, they'd find that for some strange reason he wasn't Nick Stone at all he was Mrs. Stamford's little boy.

  Kev's jacket was hanging over one of the chairs. I said, "Let's wrap you up in your dad's coat; that'll keep you nice and warm." At least she'd have something other dad's; with luck it would cheer her up.

  There was just a little bit of whimpering in reply. She was almost in rigor mortis with shock, though at least she had turned her head to look at me now. This was where normally I would have let Marsha take over, because a child's mind was far too complicated for me to work out. But I couldn't do that today.

  I wrapped the coat around her and said, "Here you are; get this around you. Look, it's your dad's! Don't tell him, eh, ha ha ha!" I felt something solid in one of the pockets and checked.

  "Oh good, look, we can phone him up later."

  I looked out the window no movement. I picked up the trash bag, grabbed Kelly's hand, then realized that to reach the front door I'd have to come out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

  "Just sit there a second," I said.

  "I've got to do something."

  I had a quick look to make sure the doors were closed. I thought again about fingerprints, but if I'd missed a set, there was nothing I could do about it now. My only thought was to get out of the area and keep Kelly away from the cops until I'd sorted things out.

  I went back and got her and checked the front of the house again for movement. She seemed to be finding it hard to walk.

  I had to grip Kev's coat by the collar, half-dragging her toward the car.

  I put her in the front passenger seat and smiled.

  "There you go; that's nice and warm. Better look after your dad's coat for him. Keep it nice for when you see him."

  Then I threw the trash bag in the back, settled into the driver's seat, put my seat belt on, and turned on the ignition.

  We drove off at a really sensible pace, nothing outrageous, nothing likely to be noticed.

  We'd gone only a few hundred yards when I thought of something; I looked across at her and said, "Kelly, put your seat belt on. Do you know how to do that?"

  She didn't move, didn't even look at me. I had to do it for her.

  I tried to make small talk.

  "It's a nice day today, isn't it? Yep, you'll stay with me a while; we'll get everything sorted out."

  Silence.

  My mind switched back to the matter in hand. What was I going to do? Whatever I decided, I knew it was no good where we were at the moment. We needed to lose ourselves in a crowd. I headed for Tyson's Corner.

  I turned to Kelly and smiled, trying to be the happy-go-lucky Uncle Nick, but it just wasn't happening. She was staring anxiously out the window as if she was being wrenched away from all her familiar landmarks and seeing them for the last time.

  "It's OK, Kelly." I tried to stroke her hair.

  She jerked her head away.

  Fuck it, just let her get on with it; with luck I'd be able to drop her off somewhere before too long.

  I turned my thoughts to Kev. He'd said he had a bit of a problem with my "friends over the water." Could it have been PIRA that'd killed him? What the hell for? It was highly unlikely that PIRA would start messing about like that, not in America. It was too professional to bite the hand that was feeding it.

  Other things weren't adding up. Why wasn't there a struggle? Both Marsha and Kev knew where the weapons were. Why weren't they used? Why was the front door ajar?

  There was no way that would have happened. People didn't just wander in off the street into Kev's house; they had to be invited in.

  I felt a rush of anger. If the family had been killed in a car crash, that would have been one thing. If the killers had come in and maybe shot them, I'd be upset, but, at the end of the day, if you live by the sword, you must be prepared to die by the sword. But not like this. They'd been hacked up for no reason that I could see.

  I forced myself to think rationally. There was no way I could phone the police and explain my version. Although I'd been lifted off, I was still operating in another country without its consent. Getting caught would be a big no-no. The operation here would be seen as a sign of betrayal and would create distrust between the two security

  communities. There was no way the Firm would back me up; that would defeat the whole purpose of deniable ops. I was on my own.

  Looking at my passenger, I knew I had a problem. As we drove toward Tyson's Corner I realized what I had to do. I saw a Best Western hotel on the left and an open-plan mall on the right. I had to dump the car, because that was one of the connections between me and the house. I needed somewhere to leave it
that wasn't isolated, somewhere without video cameras.

  As well as the shopping mall and its massive parking lots, on the outskirts was a drive-thru Burger King with its own parking.

  It was all very well abandoning a vehicle in the middle of hundreds of others in a parking lot during shopping hours.

  But at night, it might be the only car left there and was going to stick out, and it would be checked out by police patrols.