Nick Stone 1 - Remote Control.

by Andy McNab

  When I got up level, the driveway was finally exposed.

  Parked outside the front door was a cop car. No problem; just look ahead, act normal.

  I drove on, checking in the rearview mirror. The car's sidelights were on and there were two cops inside. The house hadn't been boarded up yet, but it was cordoned off with yellow tape.

  I drove straight on; I couldn't tell if they were looking at me. Even if they did a plate check as I drove past, it wouldn't matter. They'd come up with only Big Al. If I was compromised, I'd run for it and leave Kelly here. Maybe the police would be good guys and look after her. At least that would be the logical thing to do, but there was a conflict. I'd promised that I wouldn't leave her; that promise shouldn't mean much, but it did.

  I went down to the bottom of the road and turned right to get out of sight as quickly as possible, then drove a big square to get back in behind them. I reached the small parade of shops. The parking lot was about a quarter full, so we could pull in without attracting attention.

  Kelly shrieked, "We're at the stores!"

  "That's right, but we can't buy anything because I haven't much money left. But we can go to the house."

  "Yesss! Can I get my Pollypockets and Yak-backs from my bedroom, too?"

  "Of course you can." I didn't have any idea what she was going on about.

  I went around to the back, opened up the trunk and got out the bag, then opened her door. I threw the bag beside her and leaned in.

  "Are we going to my house now?"

  I started to sort out the kit I'd be needing.

  "Yes. I want you to help me because I want you to show me Daddy's hidey-hole. Can you do that? It's important; he wanted me to check something. We've got to sneak in because the cops are outside. Are you going to do everything that I say?"

  "Yeah, I'll do that! Can I get Pocahontas, too?"

  "Yep."

  I didn't give a fuck; I'd have nodded and agreed to anything as long as she showed me the cache.

  "You ready? Let's put your hood up." It was dark and cloudy, and thankfully the road wasn't exactly built for pedestrians. We shouldn't encounter any Melissas enroute.

  With the bag slung over my shoulder, I held her hand and we set off toward the house. It was nearly seven o'clock, and the street lights were on. My plan was to work our way to the back of the house so I could have a look at it and prepare to go in.

  We started to walk over the vacant lot to the rear of the house, past trailers and stockpiles of girders and building materials. The mud was so treacherous in places I thought we'd lose our shoes.

  Kelly was almost beside herself with excitement but fighting it hard.

  "That's where my friend Candice lives!" She pointed to a house.

  "I helped her with their yard sale. We got twenty whole dollars!"

  "Shhh!" Smiling, I said slowly, "We've got to be very, very quiet or the policemen will get us."

  There was a look of confusion on her face.

  "Nick?"

  What now?

  "Yes, Kelly." "Why are we hiding from the police? Aren't they good guys?"

  I suppose I should have anticipated that one. What could I say? She wouldn't have understood any of the 101 reasons why we'd be up to our necks in shit if the police caught us.

  Even if I did have a spare couple of hours to explain them to her. Nor did I want to undermine forever her confidence in the authorities at this early stage in her life. So I lied.

  "I don't think they're real cops; I think they're just dressed up like cops. They might be friends of the men who came to see Daddy." It didn't take long for that to register.

  Finally we were standing in the shadow of the neighbor's garage. I put the bag down and watched and listened. The engine of the cruiser was idling. They were less than twenty yards away on the other side of the target. I could hear a little of their radio traffic, but I couldn't make out what was being said. Now and again a car drove past, braked for the speed bumps, rattled over them, and accelerated away.

  Lights were on in some of the houses, so I could see into the rooms. It had always given me a strange sort of kick doing this, like my own private viewing of a nature documentary:

  human beings in their natural habitat. As young soldiers in the late seventies in Northern Ireland, part of our job was to "lurk" hang around in the shadows, watching and listening, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone with a weapon. It was amazing what you'd see people doing in their cars or living rooms, and slightly less amazing what they'd be up to in their bedrooms. Sometimes we'd watch for hours on end, all in the line of duty. I really enjoyed it. Here, people were just doing dishes or watching TV, probably worrying about the effect of multiple murders on real estate prices.

  There were no motion-detector lights at the back of the house, just standard ones with an on/ off switch by the patio doors. I remembered switching them on for a barbecue.

  I stroked Kelly's hair and looked down and smiled. Then, really slowly, I started to unzip the bag and get out what I needed. I put my mouth right to her ear and whispered, "I want you to stay here. It's really important that you look after this kit. You'll see me over there, OK?"

  She nodded. Off I went.

  I reached the patio doors. First things first: make sure they're locked. They were. I got my Maglite and checked to see if there were any bolts at the top and bottom of the frame.

  It's no good defeating a lock if there are also bolts across;

  that's one of the reasons why you try to attack a building at the point of last exit, because you know they can't be bolted again from the outside.

  Normally the next thing to do would be to look for the spare key why spend an hour with the lock-picking kit if there's one hidden only a few feet away? Some people still leave theirs dangling on a string on the other side of the mailbox, or on the inside of a pet door. Others leave it under a trash can or just behind a little pile of rocks by the door. If a key is going to be left, it will nearly always be somewhere on the normal approach to the door. But this was Kev's house: I wouldn't find spare keys lying around. I put the photographer's blanket over my head and shoulders and, with the Maglite in my mouth, got to work with the lock-pick gun.

  I opened the doors gently, moved the curtain aside, and looked inside the living room. The first thing I noticed was that all the curtains and shutters were closed, which was good for me because, once inside, we'd have cover. The second thing that hit me was an overpowering smell of chemicals.

  I tiptoed back to Kelly and whispered, "Come on, then!"

  Our shoes were caked with mud, so we took them off on the concrete step and put them in the bag. Then we went inside and I pulled the doors closed.

  I held the Maglite with my middle finger and forefinger over the lens to block most of the light and kept it close to the floor so we could see our way through the living room. The carpet and underlay had been taken up, and all the furniture was pushed to one side. All that was left were the particle board sheets that the builders had used instead of floorboards.

  Someone had done a good job of scrubbing the brown stains under where Kev had been lying, which explained the chemical smell. The Murder Mop people had been in; once forensics finished, it was up to the commercial companies to clear away the mess.

  We reached the door that led into the front hall. Kelly stood still, an old hand at all this stuff now. I got on my knees, eased the door ajar, and looked through. The front door was closed but light from the streetlamps shone through the stained-glass flower set into the window above it. I switched off the flashlight and stationed Kelly by the bag in the hallway.

  I stopped and listened, and generally tuned in. The engine was still idling.

  I felt Kelly pulling my jacket.

  "Nick?"

  "Shhh!"

  "What happened to the rug--and what's that horrible smell?"

  I turned around and half-crouched down. I put my finger to her lips and said, "We'll talk about it later."

&nbs
p; There was a beep beep beep from the police car's radio.

  The guys inside were probably drinking coffee, pissed off to be on duty all night. Some radio traffic came on the net. Who ever was Control sounded like Hitler with a dress on.

  Indicating that Kelly should stay where she was, I moved across to the study and gently opened the door. I went back, picked up the bag, and guided Kelly into the room, propping the door open with the bag to let the light come through from the hall.

  Everything looked very much the same as before except that the things that had been strewn all over the place had now been arranged in a neat line along one wall. The PC was still on its side on the desk, the printer and scanner in position on the floor. They had all been dusted for prints.

  I took the photographer's material and a box of tacks from the bag and lifted the chair near to the window. Taking my time, I climbed up and pinned the fabric along the top and down the sides of the entire wooden window frame. I could now close the door and put the flashlight on.

  I went over to Kelly. Even above the reek of solvents and cleaners I got a waft of greasy hair, Coca-Cola, bubblegum, and chocolate. I whispered into her ear, "Where is it? Just point."

  I shone the flashlight all around the walls, and she pointed at the baseboard behind the door. This was good; nothing there seemed to have been disturbed.

  I immediately started prying the wooden strip away from the wall with a screwdriver. A vehicle passed the house, and I heard laughter from the police car probably at Control's expense. They'd be there solely to deter people from coming around and being nosy. Chances were, the place would be knocked down soon; who'd want to buy a house in which a family had been murdered? Maybe it would be turned into a memorial park or something.

  I kept Kelly right next to me; I wanted to keep her reassured. She was interested in what was happening, so I smiled at her now and again to show that everything was fine.

  With a small creak the section of board started to give way.

  I pulled it right off and put it to one side. Then I bent down again and shone the flashlight inside. The beam glinted on metal. What looked like a gun safety box, about eighteen inches square, was recessed into the wall. It was going to need decoding. It could take hours.

  I got out the black wallet and set to work, trying to re member to grin at Kelly and let her know it wouldn't be long, but I could see she was getting restless. Ten minutes went by.

  Fifteen. Twenty. Finally it was all too much for her. In a loud whisper she said crossly, "What about my teddies?"

  "Shhh!" I put my finger to her lips again. What I meant was Fuck the teddies we'll get them later on. I continued decoding.

  There was a pause; then, no longer a whisper: "But you said!"

  It had to be stopped right there and then. Obviously, being Mr. Smiley wasn't working. I turned to Kelly and hissed, "We'll do it in a minute. Now shut up!"

  She was taken aback, but it worked.

  I was luckier than I might have been with the decoding. I'd just finished, had put the tools away, and was opening the box when I heard a low moan from her.

  "I don't like it here, Nick.

  It's all changed."

  I turned around, grabbed her, and covered her mouth with my hand.

  "For Christ's sake shut up!" It wasn't what she expected but I didn't have time to explain.

  With my hand still clamped hard over her mouth, I picked her up and slowly walked to the window. I listened, waited, but there was nothing. Just a bit of banter and laughing, and the crackle of the radio.

  As I turned back, however, I heard a short, sharp metallic dragging sound.

  Then, for a split second, nothing.

  Then, as Kev's pewter tankard of pens and pencils fell from the desk and hit the bare floor, there was a resounding crash.

  The noise went on as bits and pieces scattered in all directions. As I'd turned, Kelly's coat must have caught on the sharp points of the pencils and dragged the tankard off the table.

  I knew the noise was magnified twenty times in my head, but I also knew they would have heard it.

  Kelly chose that moment to start to lose it, but there was no time to worry about that. I just left her where she was, went to the doorway, and listened to the sound of car doors opening.

  Pulling the pistol from my jeans and checking chamber, I moved out of the study. Three strides got me across the hall and into the kitchen. I closed the door behind me, took a couple of deep breaths, and waited.

  The front door opened; I could hear both of them in the hallway. There

  was a click, and light spilled under the kitchen door.

  Then footsteps, and I could hear nervous breathing on the other side, and the jangle of keys on a belt.

  I heard the study door opening. Then a half-shouted, half-whispered, "Melvin, Melvin--in here!"

  "Yo!"

  I knew it was my time. I brought the pistol up into the fire position, put my hand on the doorknob and gently twisted. I moved into the hallway.

  Melvin was in the study doorway, his back toward me. He was young and of medium build. I took a couple of big strides, grabbed him across the forehead with my left hand, yanked his head back, and rammed the pistol muzzle into his neck. In a very controlled voice that had nothing to do with the way I was feeling, I said, "Drop your weapon, Melvin.

  Don't fuck around with me. Drop it now."

  Melvin's arm came down to his side and he let the gun fall to the floor.

  I couldn't see if the other one had his pistol out or not. It was still dark in the study. Their flashlight was no help.

  Melvin and I blocked out most of the hallway light. I was hoping that he'd already reholstered, because part of their training would be not to scare kids. As far as he was concerned, Kelly had been just a kid there on her own.

  Melvin and I were in the doorway. I shouted, "Put the lights on, Kelly--do it now!"

  Nothing happened.

  "Kelly, turn the lights on." I heard small footsteps coming toward us.

  There was a click, and the lights came on.

  "Now wait there." I could see her eyes were swollen and red.

  Inside the room stood Michelin Man. He must have weighed around 250 pounds, and by the looks of him, he had only a couple of years to go before retirement. He was holstered, but his hand was down by his pistol.

  I said, "Don't do it! Tell him, Melvin." I prodded his neck.

  Melvin went, "I'm fucked, Ron."

  "Ron, don't start messing around. This is not the one to do it for. It's not worth it, not just for this."

  I could see that Ron was on top of it. He was thinking about his wife, his mortgage, and the chances of ever seeing another bag of doughnuts.

  Melvin's radio sparked up. Control snapped, "Unit Sixty-two, Unit Sixty-two. Do you copy?" It sounded like a demand, not a request. It must have been great to be married to her.

  "That's you, isn't it, Melvin?" I said.

  "Yes, sir, that's us."

  "Melvin, tell them you're OK." I jabbed the pistol a little harder into his neck to underline the point.

  "The safety catch is off, Melvin. I've got my finger on the trigger. Just tell them everything's OK.. It ain't worth it, mate."

  Ron blurted, "I'll do it." Another demand: "Unit Sixty-two, respond."

  I said, "Put your right hand up and answer with your left.

  Kelly, be very quiet, OK?"

  She nodded. Ron pressed his radio.

  "Hello, Control. We've checked. Everything's fine."

  "Roger, Unit Sixty-two, your report timed at twenty-two thirteen."

  Ron clicked off.

  Kelly immediately went back into crying mode and sank to the floor. I was stuck in the doorway with a pistol to Melvin's neck, and Ron, who still had a weapon in his holster, was facing me from the middle of the room.

  "When all's said and done, Ron, if you don't play the game, Melvin's going to die--and then you're going to die.

  Do you underst
and me?"

  Ron nodded.

  "OK, Ron, let's see you turn around."

  He did.

  "Get on your knees."

  He did. He was about four feet from Kelly, but as long as she stayed still she wasn't in the line of fire.

  Melvin was sweating big-time. My hand was slipping on his forehead. There were even droplets running down the top-slide. His shirt was so wet I could make out the shape of his body armor underneath.