To Kill Or Be Killed

by Richard Wiseman

  Being compromised he had to get out lie low, get a disguise, and then head for London. He had planned to strip the policeman, but apart from the man being too small, damned tailored uniforms, the disguise was too easy to spot. As he hesitated he heard the rattle of a trolley outside the door. He stepped behind the door, prayed to the god of hit men that the cleaner was a male and the right size and seeing a short, very thin, bald man step in front of him sighed and knocked this man out too.

  As the body slumped forward onto the floor Wheeler thought of a Carry On film. After tying and gagging the bodies, taking keys, radio, tear gas, baton, all cash, the cleaner’s keys and from the cleaner’s belt one of those folding multi-tools in a leather belt case, popped them into a white bin bag from the cleaner’s trolley, he stepped into the corridor, knowing the detective was on the way.

  In the corridor the occasional nurse passed by, he could see to his right the reception for his ward and to his left a corridor with a wall end and a dog leg right turn. On the floor there was a neat red line, indicating a route through the hospital. Wheeler instinctively went down to the dog leg, turned right to see a long corridor with wards off to left and right, indicated by different coloured lines on the floor. The nearest sign was radiology. Wheeler headed straight for it, noting a staircase and lift on the right as he passed them.

  He was on the first floor. He walked into radiology and the reception. Self conscious in his hospital gown he knew he didn’t have long. He confidently walked past reception and seeing a changing room walked straight into that. There was a dressing gown hanging there, he immediately put it on. There were four lockers; three were locked, so clearly full. Wheeler pulled out the cleaner’s multi-tool, selected screw driver, inserted it in each locker and twisted the locks open, each forceful jerk making his head rock.

  The contents of the lockers yielded cotton track suit bottoms and a ‘hoody’, just too small, but bearable, an oversize T- Shirt, jeans the right length, but too narrow at the waist, but thankfully, work boots in tan leather and thick socks which, though loose, would do the job. There was no coat in any, but a fold up umbrella, a clear rain poncho the kind old people wear, a green bobble hat, some cheap jewellery, two watches, one waterproof, a wallet, a purse, two loose credit cards and some cash in notes and change.

  Wheeler added these to the white bin bag. Tugged and squeezed into the clothes and finally put on a pair of glasses, which though female, looked acceptable and changed his face. He added the bobble hat and clear poncho.

  Having done this speedily and with some nervousness he walked rapidly out through the busy reception turned right, through the stair doors and down to the first floor. He followed signs for the casualty exit, where he knew there might be police, but not as many he was sure would be at reception.

  As Wheeler had made the stairs the summoned detective entered the room Wheeler had left behind him and found his constable and the cleaner both still unconscious. Immediately he made a call on his radio putting out an alert, but sadly too late. Wheeler’s luck changed. He passed through casualty, fortunately for him lacking any police presence, and outside he saw a bus stop across from the entrance with a waiting bus.

  He wasn’t an odd sight to the bus driver. Wheeler looked like the standard alcoholic homeless passenger he always saw returning from casualty. Wheeler paid his fare and sat down. There were agonizing moments of waiting for the bus to go and then they were away.

  Police cars with sirens headed into the hospital as the bus came out and Wheeler smiled. Some shopping, a neat change, cheap hotel room and a change of look would put him back on track. He gingerly touched the top of his head and winced. He hoped that his luck would change for the better from there on in.

  He knew, as an experienced assassin that even the best plans went wrong. He mused on the fact, as the bus swung widely around a corner just missing someone chancing a quick run across a junction, that he had no plan on this job at all. It was all chance, in a way, until he got to London and actually got the contract. He didn’t like it. It wasn’t the way he usually worked. Bruised and uncomfortably dressed and unarmed he had a moment of feeling vulnerable. He quickly shrugged it off. The only way, he well knew, was forward.

  Chapter 22

  Euston Tower

  11- 30 a.m.

  April 17th

  After some intense and concentrated research and careful access to restricted sites Beaumont was first with the information on Special Forces activities that day.

  “Well there were only two special forces exercises in the UK this week. The SAS were in Scotland and they were around the Kyle of Lochalsh, but they were dropped by helicopter, not submarine. The other was the marine commandos, but that was a swim in to the Cornwall coast, but they used a corvette class out of Plymouth, so that rules out the submarine drop off being MOD exercises.”

  “Well decrypted MOD navy site reveals HM submarine HMS Vengeance passing Port an-eorna at that time in the morning heading for the polar cap.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but there’s no mention of the stop and surface there.”

  “Where did the sub come from?”

  “Well she had been on NATO exercises in the Atlantic, coming up from Southern US base. That was before leaving the naval sub base on the Clyde two months ago. So she must have picked up the passengers in the US.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “So our four were put aboard two weeks ago, stayed on for the Atlantic exercises and were dropped of en route.”

  McKie nodded a slow deliberate and grave nod.

  “That would mean that they’d have to have top secret clearance to be on the submarine. That comes from a high level. Whoever got them on there is MOD or government then.”

  “Or at least has the power and clout to bypass the usual channels.”

  The phone rang cutting in on their thinking. McKie answered it. It was Jack Fulton and he wasn’t happy.

  “Glasgow police lost the Wheeler, he got away, so we can forget sending a team for now. What have you managed to unearth.”

  McKie outlined their research and deductions then asked. "Could all this be down to that Nigel Sternway?”

  “Yes it could. It could be any one of ten different people we’re aware of.”

  “What’s our next move?”

  “We watch those ten. I’ll send duty teams out to our hit list with mobile tracking and listening equipment, gun mikes and other sensitive stuff. “

  Beaumont silently mouthed “What about us?”

  McKie relayed the question.

  “You two keep looking and thinking. See if you can work out possible routes and contact DIC watchers on the routes you work out. I’ll have the Glasgow watchers keep an eye out for Wheeler and make sure they go armed. If he’s dragged back into the net I’ll send a team to interview him, other than that get on with the brain work.”

  “Right okay then.” McKie sounded disappointed and Jack picked up on the tone of his voice, smiling to himself in his office.

  “Don’t be like that David. I’m inclined to send you two when we get a fix on Wheeler or any one of the others, liaising with armed police of course.” Jack hung up and David related Jack’s remarks.

  “Oh great.” Beaumont ran a hand through his grey hair. “First intruder is ours then lucky us!”

  “It’s okay they’ll have armed police on hand we won’t be alone.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “I thought you didn’t want the chance to use that gun.” Beaumont said.

  “I’m feeling more Brie than cheddar right now. Anyway like I said armed police will be there first and in the meantime we’d better work on the possible routes.”

  Beaumont smiled.

  “Okay Mr keen let’s get a cup of tea and bring up some online map software. We can start with the one who got to Inverness by rail. What was his name?”

  “Peter Mason, ex infantry and SAS man.”r />
  “Okay let’s work out his possible routes.”

  Chapter 23

  The Mersey Marina

  11- 45 a.m.

  April 17th

  Charlie Cobb made the mouth of the Mersey, a little before lunch time. The call to Mersey Radio on VHF channel 12 had him waiting for river traffic then crawling past the Liver Buildings; he thought of the legend of the birds keeping watch, one out to sea and one inland. He wondered who else was watching. He passed the Albert Dock and cleared the Brunswick Lock making the Marina with some struggles, especially with banks and tides.

  The berth had been pre-booked in a different name to Jake Howard and Cobb had to make sure that he got out the right set of fake documents. He cleared the paperwork easily when the young watch man came out to the boat to greet him. The young watch man was incurious and keen to be indoors out of the niggling April drizzle.

  Cobb noted the CCTV camera on a pole in the centre of the marina and decided the controls would be in the marina office. He opened his rucksack took out a tube of superglue and popped it into his pocket with the lid off. He wrapped a scarf around his face and pulled his hood up and thanked the weather for the excuse of muffling is face.

  Covering his head with a hood and his face with a scarf he walked quickly to the office, passing through the punch key gate. In the office it was dry and bright. Cobb looked around the room. There was a chart cabinet dead opposite a desk where two screens showed the images of two cameras. He noted that they turned when needed by way of a lever control. One watched the boats and the other watched the approach and office. Cobb didn’t want his presence recorded. Cobb noted that he could see the office behind the desk in the reflection of the window.

  “You haven’t got a lower west coast chart I could have a look at have you?”

  “You haven’t got one?”

  “Unscheduled stop I’m afraid. I wasn’t going to go that far south, but I’m not sure yet”

  “I’ve got one you can look at, but don’t take it away.”

  The young watch man went to a filing cabinet. The moment his back was turned, Cobb moved the approach camera away from the office then moved the marina waters camera away from his boat to the other side of the marina. He took the super glue from his pocket and squeezed it into the ball socket and turned just in time, popping the glue quickly back in his coat pocket.

  The young watch man put the chart on a nearby pin board as he did so Cobb glanced back at the control to see if the glue was visible or if he had left a trace from squeezing it into the gap. There was a bare trace, but nothing significant or noticeable. He made a show of looking at the map and noted some features. He liked the idea of Bristol as an entry to land if he went further by boat.

  He thanked the watch man and walked back to his boat sure in the knowledge that the cameras wouldn’t record his presence there. He didn’t know how vital for his continued journey it was. He had sought to prevent a record of his presence, not knowing that the cameras were being watched by people close by.

  Deciding not to go out Charlie settled exhausted into a bunk after cooking a well earned and heartily greasy fry up. He lay on his bunk smoking a lucky. The trip hadn’t been easy, but to his mind it had kept him away from people. He wasn’t sure whether to take the little boat further down the coast. If he did do that he’d have to be out of the Marina by five latest and there was a narrow window on the tide directions. He decided to get some sleep first and look at the charts and tides on waking. He dug in his bag and set a small digital alarm for three-thirty pm. It was warm and humid in the cabin from the cooking and Charlie slumped into a deep sleep, the memory of the cold Atlantic water and the dark land looming in his dreams.

  Chapter 24

  Inverness

  12 – 30 p.m.

  April 17th

  Stanton threaded the van through busy Inverness streets and into a pay and display car park on Strothers Lane, near the railway station. He checked for cameras as he drove in and before getting out of the van he searched the van for change. In the glove box there was two pounds forty-three in change. He strolled casually across to the machine put enough in for an hour and a half and went to find himself a place to eat. It was getting on for lunch and he had a yearning for pasta, besides, he had to see if the card worked and no better place or time than a restaurant.

  When he got to Bridge Street he found Bella Pasta. It was pleasant and the waitress was friendly. He sat by the window, as was his habit, people watching, keeping an eye out. He ordered spaghetti, tomato based sauce and a bottle of sparkling mineral water. When it came he ate it slowly and deliberately. He’d done his homework and the night train didn’t leave until gone eight. He wasn’t going to go in until the last minute, though he’d book the ticket after lunch. He knew Mason was booked on it, but he didn’t care about the rule on any of them travelling together. He was sure it would be fine.

  With thoughts of his travel arrangements cleared from his mind, eating his spaghetti, he wondered if the wife of the frozen truck driver was somewhere in the crowds that passed by. He wondered if he was being watched. He wondered why they’d not come in through Dover or even Heathrow? Why Scotland? What also bothered him was the fact that whoever was behind this could get them on a British submarine, but had only given them thirty pounds in cash. The fake credit card looked good enough though. In the back of his mind he sensed that something didn’t add up. Still, he thought, he was in it now and there was a million at the end. He called the waitress and handed over a Mastercard. He was pleased when it worked. That meant no ‘fishing’ for money or cash, which always meant death and the added risk of capture.

  Chapter 25

  Glasgow

  1 p.m.

  April 17th

  Mason had arrived in Glasgow around lunch time. He’d been doing his thinking on the way. In spite of the changed plates the white Alfa would have been reported stolen by now and any white Alfa on the bridge cameras would have been picked up. The car, he knew would be getting hotter by the minute. Add the possible CCTV images anywhere on the industrial estate and he might not get through.

  He opted to get a disguise, change clothes and get on rail as soon as possible. He wanted out of Scotland.

  He parked the Alfa on a rough looking residential road on the Govan estate. He wiped it clean of his prints and left it unlocked and ready to be stolen by any nearby ‘Neds’. They would easily cover his tracks.

  He headed out of the estate and caught the clockwork orange underground at Ibrox into central Glasgow. He avoided the shopping centre and bought second hand clothes on the outskirts of the town. A visit to an Oxfam shop yielded beige trousers, a thick sweater, checked shirt and worn grey overcoat. He bought hair dye, scissors, reading glasses with a slight blue tint, the kind used for dyslexia, flesh coloured medical tape and a mirror from a pharmacist. He put all of these in an old fashioned sports hold all he’d bought in a luggage shop.

  There was a decent sized greasy spoon cafe on Buchanan Street. The waitress was an out of place blonde and breezy eighteen year old. Sharp green eyes, blond pony tail, petite build she caught every man in the room’s attention. Mason fell in with the crowd and flirted, it would have been odd not to.

  “What will you have?”

  “Apart from you what’s tastiest?”

  “Not much I’m afraid and I’m not on the menu.”

  “Well I’ll have the all day breakfast.”

  “Okay”

  “Is it called that because it takes all day to digest?”

  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 p
ositive 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 cafe 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 cafe 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.