Nick Stone 1 - Remote Control.

by Andy McNab

  Kelly moaned, "I want to get down now!"

  "No, let's just get out of here."

  I took a look behind and could see two men coming across the parking lot. In their suits they looked very much like plainclothes police, and they were running purposefully toward the store; they'd be heading to block off the exits. I had to put in some angles, had to get that confusion going.

  I ran down a couple of aisles crammed with CD ROM games, turned right, and ran along the exterior wall, looking for an exit. Fuck it, there wasn't one. The warehouse seemed to be one big sealed unit. I couldn't go back out the way I'd come in, but if I didn't find another exit, I was going to spend the rest of the day running around the shop in circles.

  One of the young assistants looked at me, turned away, and went trotting down the aisle, obviously looking for the manager or a security guard. Seconds later two men in shirtsleeves with name badges started to approach us.

  "Yes, excuse me? Can we help you?" all very polite, but in fact meaning " What the fuck are you doing in our store? " There was no time to answer. I ran toward the rear of the store, looking for loading bays, emergency doors, open windows, anything. At last I saw the sign I was hoping to see:

  fire exit. I ran at it, pushed it open, and the alarm went off.

  We were outside. We were on a platform, obviously used for deliveries, where trucks could back in and unload.

  I ran down the four or five metal stairs and hit the ground.

  As I started to run to the left I shouted at Kelly to hold tight.

  The rear of the shopping mall was deserted, just a long stretch of administration areas, with Dumpsters, bins, and even a trailer detached from its truck and being used as a storeroom. There were piles of cardboard boxes and bulging trash bags everywhere, a day's worth of garbage. Beyond the blacktop was a chain-link fence surrounding the whole area, and probably about fifteen feet high. Then vacant ground with trees and bushes. On the other side of that, I guessed, would be more parking and more stores.

  I felt like a trapped rat. I had only two exits now, the access roads at either end of the long line of stores.

  I couldn't get over the fence with Kelly on my back; if I tried to throw her over, she'd break her legs. I started to run to the left, along the rear of the stores, heading toward one of the access roads. It was no good they'd had too much time to react; the road would be sealed.

  I had to make a decision quickly. I moved toward one of the collection areas of Dumpsters bagged-up garbage, and card board boxes.

  I lifted her from my back and positioned her in among it all, throwing boxes over the top of her and moving others to fill in the gaps on each side.

  She looked at me and started to cry.

  I said, "Disneyland, Kelly! Disneyland!"

  She stared at me, tears rolling down her cheeks, and I threw a couple of boxes over the top.

  "I'll be back, I promise."

  As I ran I looked at the trailer that was right up against the fence. It was a huge thing, the height of a truck. Without fifty pounds of young girl on my back, running toward it was like floating on air. At last I was in control. I felt as if I'd lost a ball and chain.

  I sprinted like a maniac, using the cover of the bins and Dumpsters. I suddenly spotted the trunk of a car jutting out from one of the loading bays. It was a mid-1980s model, not one of the cars that had been chasing me. I'd check the ignition for keys, and if I was out of luck, I'd cross the open ground to the container.

  A truck was parked up near another loading bay. I started to run past it. A guy was running full tilt the other way, and we smashed our heads together. We both went down.

  "Shit!" I looked at him through blurred eyes. He had a suit on. There was no way I was going to take a chance. I staggered to my feet and charged at him, banging him up against the car. He tried to wrap himself around me.

  As I was pushing into him I could feel with the side of my face that his body was solid. This fucker had covert body armor on.

  I pinned him up against the car, moved back a step, and pulled my weapon, flicking on the laser sight with my thumb.

  Then, dazed, I sank back to my knees. I was seeing stars and my head was spinning; he was probably in exactly the same state. He looked

  down at me, confused, trying to make a decision. I aimed the sight onto his face.

  "Don't do it," I said.

  "Don't waste your life on this, it's not worth it. Get your hands up now!"

  As his hands moved I could see he was wearing a wedding ring.

  "Think about your family. It's not worth dying over this.

  Number one, you're wrong, it wasn't me. Number two, I'll kill you. Put your hands on your head."

  My head was clearing. What the fuck was I going to do now? Their cars would be here soon.

  "Stay on your knees," I said.

  "Turn right. Move to the back of the vehicle."

  I got up off the ground and stumbled behind him. My eyes were still smarting as if I'd been hit with CS gas.

  We were between the loading bay and the car. He knew the score and hopefully was thinking of his wife and kids. I switched my pistol into my left hand, moved into him, and quickly jabbed the pistol muzzle into his armpit, twisting it into the material of his jacket. I felt his body tense and heard a little grunt.

  "I'll explain the facts of life to you," I said.

  "This weapon is screwed into your clothes. I've got my finger on the trigger and the safety catch is off. If you fuck around, you'll kill yourself. Understand?"

  He didn't react.

  I said, "Come on, this isn't difficult. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes" "Place your hands on your head."

  With my right hand I took his weapon. Mine had only one magazine. He was carrying a Sig .45 in a pancake holster over his right kidney, and three magazines on his belt. The Sig is an approved weapon of the

  FBI.

  He was in his mid-thirties, straight off the set ofBaywatch:

  blond, tanned, fit, good-looking, square-jawed. I could smell soap and baby lotion. This guy wanted to keep his skin soft. Or maybe he had a baby. Who cared? If he moved he'd be dead.

  There was a white wire behind his ear, linked to an earpiece.

  "Who are you?" I said. Not that it made any difference whether he was FBI or D.C. police.

  No reply.

  "Listen, whatever you think, I did not kill that family. I did not kill them--do you understand?"

  Nothing. I knew I wouldn't get Baywatch man to talk. In any event, there wasn't any time to waste trying.

  I took the radio, and the cash from his wallet. Then, with the pistol still in his armpit, I whispered loudly over my shoulder, "Stay where you are, Kelly! Don't worry, I'm coming!" I gripped him harder.

  "Kelly, I said we're going to go in a minute!" If they thought Kelly was still with me when I legged it, maybe they'd move on and search a fresh area.

  I turned back to him and said, "I'm going to untwist this now. Don't fuck with me--it's not worth it." I gradually released my pistol, making sure I could fire at any moment. I was behind him, with the weapon now pointing at his head.

  He knew that.

  I said, "You know what I've got to do next, don't you?"

  There was a slight nod of acceptance.

  I picked up an iron support from a pile of discarded shelving and gave him the good news where his neck met his shoulder. That sent him right down. For good measure I gave him a few kicks to the head and balls. At the end of the day, he wasn't going to be more pissed off with me because of this kicking; he probably already wanted to kill me. But I had to keep him from raising the alarm. A professional like this would be expecting it anyway; if the roles were reversed, it would be him doing the honors. It would certainly fuck him up for about ten minutes, and that was all I needed.

  I came out from behind the car, had a quick look around.

  Nobody in sight. I ran toward the trailer; there was a large trash can beside it that
I could use as a springboard. I jumped, threw myself upward, and got my arms onto the roof. I scrambled up. From there it was just a fifteen-foot drop to freedom.

  A sign pointed the way to Maylords Boardwalk. I turned left and ran along the grass embankment, past the trash cans, and into another parking area. I went straight toward the boardwalk because it promised cover. I was looking for a rest room, and with luck there would also be an exit to the other side of the mall.

  The boardwalk seemed to be a minimall with mainly shoe and greeting card boutiques. I found the block of conveniences by the coffee shop about a third of the way down the arcade. Looking farther down, I could see there was another exit to the boardwalk. I went into the men's room.

  Two guys had just finished pissing and were now washing their hands. I went straight into one of the stalls and sat there while I waited to calm down.

  I put the earpiece in my ear and switched the radio on. I didn't get much at all, it was broken up, but that meant nothing. I was probably in a dead spot.

  I used toilet paper to wipe the blood and mud off my shoes and pants, and cleaned myself up as much as possible. When I was sure the other two had gone, I went out to the sinks, pressed the faucet, and washed my hands and face. I still wasn't getting anything but fuzz on the earpiece.

  I headed for the coffee shop, bought a cappuccino, and sat down about three tables back. From there I could watch both exits to the boardwalk. I didn't look out of place with the wire in my ear because so many store detectives and security guards wore them.

  They sparked up on the net. They were talking freely as if the radio were secure, not using codes. There was a jack on the radio for the key gun--the device that sends the chosen encryption codes to the radio. Once this has been done to two or more sets, they can talk together securely. Everybody else would just hear fuzz.

  I listened to some of them checking around the back, where the boy had been dropped, and others in places that I couldn't identify. What I couldn't hear was a base station, a central control. I started to wonder about that. Then I thought, Why was it these guys and not uniformed police had turned up at the hotel? I was supposed to be a kidnapping murderer;

  in situations like this I'd expect to see heavily armed SWAT teams leaping from Chevy vans. I realized it was this that had made me run back for Kelly without even knowing it. I should have checked the boy I'd dropped for any ID. Never mind, it was too late now.

  How did they find me so quickly at the Best Western? Had my call to London been traced to our room? Impossible: too quick. Was it my credit card when I checked in? Unlikelier still. Only the Firm would have known the details of my cover documents, and they wouldn't have turned me in because they'd be too worried about the Americans finding out about their deniable ops. So it must have been the receptionist--she must have watched the news and recognized Kelly's photograph.

  But even then, it didn't add up somehow. I started to feel very uneasy.

  These boys weren't a Mickey Mouse group. When I bumped into Baywatch man, he'd been wearing a double-breasted jacket and it was open. But it was only now, thinking about it, that I realized that in fact it hadn't been open at first.

  There had been a Velcro fastening.

  I heard more radio traffic. They'd found him. Baywatch man's name was Luther, but whoever the boss was on the ground, he didn't really care too much about Luther's condition.

  He just wanted to know if he was able to talk.

  "Yeah, he's OK."

  "Is he alone?"

  "Yeah, he's alone."

  "Did he see the target?"

  "No, he says he didn't see the target but they're still together."

  "Does he know what direction they went?"

  There was a pause.

  "No."

  I imagined Luther sitting on the ground with his head against the car, getting patched up and feeling pretty pissed off at me. In the background I could hear him mumbling in formation. He sounded almost drunk.

  The sender said, "No idea of the direction. And one more thing he's armed. He had a sidearm with him and he's also taken Luther's ... Wait..."

  I heard a click, then whoever was with Luther came back on the net; his voice was very agitated.

  "We've got a problem he's got the radio! He's got the radio!"

  The boss came back on: "Fuck! Everybody, all stations, cut com ms Close down now! Out."

  The earpiece went dead. They were going to turn the radios off and refill with a new code. Luther's radio was obsolete. What I wouldn't have given now for a key gun.

  Luther said he hadn't seen the target, so it was Kelly they were after, not me. My face burned with anger. These were the people who'd killed Kev, they had to be. This chase was nothing to do with law enforcement; this was about people who wanted to finish the job. Maybe they thought Kelly had seen them.

  By now I had finished my coffee and the waitress had whisked the cup away. I was starting to be a pain in the ass here; other people were waiting for my table. I went back into the rest rooms. The TV remote control was still in my pocket.

  That went into the trash can, along with the useless radio.

  What about Kelly? What did I have to gain by going back?

  What if they'd found her, disposed other, and were waiting for me to pick her up? That was what I would have done. I could think of lots of reasons why I shouldn't go back.

  Shit.

  I walked back toward the mall exit. Looking left across the dead ground, I could just about see the roofofCompUSA.

  The parking lot was still full, and it was raining harder now. I turned up the collar of Kev's jacket and looked toward the main drag. I could see a Wendy's like a desert island in the middle of the parking lot. It was coffee time again. I checked the route ahead for any sign of my new friends and again used tall vehicles as cover.

  I took my burger and coffee over to a window seat. I couldn't see the rear of the buildings, but I could see the nearer of the two access roads, the one I'd been running toward when I met Luther. Better than nothing. The Wendy's had a play station, which was great cover; kids screamed around in a tub of multicolored tennis balls while their parents sat it out, just like me. I tried not to think of Kelly hiding among the Dumpsters, scared, wet, cold, and hungry.

  I sat and stared out the window at the rain. I remembered the times I'd been bad as a child and got a spanking from my stepfather and been put in the shed for the night. I'd been terrified of the rain beating down on the clear plastic roof; I'd sat there curled up, thinking that if the rain could get me, then so could the bogeymen. As a soldier and as a K I had been shot at, beaten up, imprisoned; I'd always been scared, but nothing like those times as a child. I thought of Kelly abandoned in her makeshift hiding place, rain beating down on the cardboard. Then I cut it from my mind. She'd get over it. I shouldn't let it concern me; I'd done worse things.

  Still looking out the window, I saw the white Taurus come out from

  behind the mall onto the access road, stop at the intersection and turn with the flow of traffic. It was four up by the looks of things, all suits, though in the rain it was hard to be certain. Four up was a good indication that they were lifting off: if they were taking Luther to the hospital, there'd be three at most inside, one driving, one looking after the casualty The others would have stayed behind. I was beginning to feel a decision coming on.

  I'd have to change my appearance, and I'd have to do it on the cheap I had about five hundred dollars in total, and would be needing every cent.

  I finished my coffee and went back to the boardwalk. I found a clothing store and bought a thin cotton raincoat that folded up to about the size of a handkerchief. I also bought a Kangol hat, the sort it was fashionable to wear the wrong way so the brim was hanging down the back of your neck and the logo was in front.

  I then went to an Hour Eyes and bought a pair of display glasses with thick rims. Glasses really change the shape of your face. Whenever I'd needed an appearance change on a job, a hai
rcut and glasses had always done the trick. Wearing a different color and giving yourself a different shape was the minimum required.

  I went back to the rest rooms to sort myself out. I ripped out the inside of the raincoat pocket with my teeth. My newly acquired Sig .45 was down the front of my jeans, with the mags in my pockets. If the shit hit the fan, I could draw the weapon and fire through the coat.