Chapter 30
Euston Tower
6 p.m.
April 17th
There was an air of intense activity on the watching floors of Euston Tower. Contact with DIC watchers and replies were flying back and forth across the country. Every last scrap of CCTV was being checked. Jack Fulton was prowling the rooms looking at screens.
“What’s that?” Jack stopped in his tracks by a transcript print out of a call to police regarding a stolen hatch back in Inverness.
“Stolen car, White Alfasud Ti, stolen off the Carse Industrial estate in Inverness.”
“Check motorway route cameras for that type of car, get about ten people on it, split the time between reported theft and now between you.”
“Okay Jack.”
Jack went up to the duty team floors. He stopped in on Beaumont and David. They were printing possible routes.
“Is that every possible route?”
“Yup, that includes boats, assuming the target destination is London. I can’t think why though. It can’t be because the quickest way in would be London airports or boat into Thames.”
“If Dewey hadn’t spotted them we’d be none the wiser. No-one knows Dewey is there to watch. Some know we exist, but they don’t know exactly where our watchers are. Whoever did this probably thought the remote location gave them a better chance. They know security services can watch the airports and that they have a daily photo match for every airport, so once every face had been run through their systems and files, which takes three hours a day, the assassins could safely assume security services would know all about them. No this was an attempt to throw off regular security services; of course as that doesn’t include us they made a mistake.”
“If any have taken the sea route we’ll have to watch Marinas and harbours quite closely.”
“Have all the marina visits been done?”
David checked. “Everyone, but a guy called Wally Tyson in Liverpool. He hasn’t e-mailed back yet.”
Jack grinned. “I know Wally, shambling man, lovely outlook, very gentle, utter genius, mathematically, so he’ll need a nudge. I’ll phone personally.”
David and Beaumont looked surprised.
“Relax I know Wally of old. Put those routes into the system and we’ll create a rolling incident map. The computer programme will add sightings and connections to possible routes.”
“Well given the start they should all be south of Glasgow by now.”
“Not Wheeler. According to the police there he’s badly dressed, seriously injured and won’t be able to move until he’s disguised and he’ll need clothes and a place to change. God help anyone who runs across him, though happily he’s disarmed.”
Jack went up to his office. Magda had retired to her apartment on the top floors. She was single, in her late twenties and largely lived in the building. She loved the work and adored Jack. Jack noted her absence and went into his office and closed the door. He didn’t often call DIC watchers at home, but this was important to him. In the back of his mind he was worried. As the phone ‘burred’ its attempt to contact and rang loudly in Wally’s house Fulton stared at the hard face of Cobb sketched in the match light. Ginny answered the phone. It was near seven-thirty and she was worried about where Wally had got to. Jack put the phone down and called Mersey police, mentally saying a prayer for his friend’s safety.
Beaumont and David, having done their maps, ordered take away. Twenty minutes later they were sat comfortably in club chairs drinking coke and munching steadily.
“Anchovies and black olives!” Beaumont declared through a mouth full of pizza.
“Beats that tired and not a little weird ham and pineapple combination.” David replied.
“You say tomayto base etcetera?” Beaumont laughingly replied.
“There’s no accounting for taste.” David said flatly.
An announcement over the speaker system called them from their reverie. It asked for them and two other duty pairs specifically and called them to the offices. It was eight p.m.
Chapter 31
Mersey Marina
8 p.m.
April 17th
On the basis of Jack Fulton’s phone call to Mersey Police two constables had been despatched to the marina with armed back up from one special unit. Two armed police went ahead, the two regular constables followed, shining torches and a last armed policeman followed them, covering the rear. They searched the marina and jetties for any signs of life. There was a black shadow movement which made them all tense and relax as a cat jumped off a sleek white yacht. With no collar, rather dirty and thin looking, it had to be one of Liverpool’s million strays. The marina was all in darkness.
Assuming Jack Fulton was right every boat had to be checked. Whilst one constable radioed this conclusion the other one decided to walk the jetties probing the ground with his torch. To his mind if there had been a murder here there might be one small sign. He moved off walking back over the planks his sweeping torch moved ahead of him. In the background his colleague’s radio crackled management unhappiness, he heard an approximate number of boats mentioned and then his torch lit the cat’s green eyes, jolting him again. The cat was near another boat now, two down from the sleek yacht, a scruffy looking ocean going cruiser, a small one. The constable was about to carry on when he saw the cat licking at a small white fragment close to a mooring post.
It would have taken hours to search every boat, but they didn’t have to. The constable had approached the cat, it had moved away, leaving the licked clean fragment. When he picked it up the constable knew at once it was a curved bone fragment, more than likely part of a skull. He called his colleagues.
Within half an hour the Marina manager was on site. They’d established that the watch man was missing and found Wally’s car. Police divers were standing on the jetty by Cobb’s boat and police were standing on Cobb’s boat having searched it and noted the missing bed linen. The sharp eyed constable was feeding the cat some chocolate. Crime scene investigators were on their way and the place was filling up.
The chief constable rang Jack Fulton. Fulton upset as he was asked the name of the constable who had seen the cat licking the bone fragment. PC Jamie Ford he was told and he noted the name down on his desk pad.
Chapter 32
Inverness
8- 30 p.m.
April 17th
Stanton had made his phone reservation for the night sleeper to London via a call box using the Mastercard happy in the knowledge that it worked. It was a simple matter of check in and board. He walked into the station at eight-thirty. The train left at eight-thirty eight giving him just enough time to catch it. He knew he’d show up on CCTV and given the odd method of entry into the country and the cash limitations he felt that someone somewhere would be watching. He strode in quickly, head down and made every subtle move to make any camera image unclear.
“Ticket in the name of Sam Kirk please?”
“Yes Mr Kirk. I have it here.”
She handed over the ticket and asked, “You have a restaurant reservation…” Stanton tuned out. To his left, exactly the next ticket station along, he heard a voice he recognised. Slightly stressed sounding Spencer was there.
“No sleeper births at all?”
“No I’m sorry sir. You should have booked earlier.”
“Okay, Okay I’ll take any seat.”
“That’ll be seventy eight pounds.”
“Mr Kirk, you’ll have to hurry the train will be leaving very shortly”
“I’m sorry, I was distracted.” Stanton said politely then added “Do you know if Mr Townshend, he’s a friend of mine has booked in?” Stanton said this loudly. Spencer suddenly tuned in.
“I can’t check for you and you really should get moving sir.”
“Oh well he was booked for a sleeper on this train. I’ll try and catch him in the restaurant, I know he has a booking there.”
“Well each carriage has the name booked on a reserve ticket
on the sleeper door so if you’re willing to walk the train I’m sure you’ll find him.”
“That’s really sweet, you’re so kind.”
He was handed his ticket and passed by Spencer, who gave him a grateful look. Spencer recognised Mason’s entry cover name, Townshend and realised that if Mason had taken another route the sleeper would be empty. Spencer counted out the cash he’d taken from the taxi driver. He was grateful that Stanton had helped him with the information as on the submarine he had not been one to talk, keeping himself to himself. The coded ‘I’m sure I’ll meet him in the restaurant’ didn’t pass him by unnoticed either.
They both made their way to the train, though separately. They boarded, both feeling safer, ironic as the nearest DIC watcher was keenly scanning for them and immediately sent a message to DIC centre.
Chapter 33
Euston Tower
8 – 45 p.m.
April 17th
Fulton was leaning against the table in the duty rota common area. There were three team pairs around him.
“Wally Tyson is missing. He was checking the Liverpool marina, Brunswick Lock, on the Mersey. He went out before my ‘go armed’ call around five.” Jack paused. “He’s almost certainly dead, if he ran into Cobb, which I’m sure he did. I’ve called the police and they’re checking the Marina. They’re due to call me. The thing is if Wally turns up dead it’s a murder investigation.” He paused again, struggling. “He’s one of us. I’ll be sending teams to that area, but I’ll be sending teams chasing Cobb. You’re those teams. I’ll want Cobb alive, but make no mistake I want him brought in. The police can’t move across counties and don’t have anything near our resources…”
In his peripheral vision he caught a waiting messenger.
“One at Inverness station, he boarded the sleeper.”
“Which one?”
The messenger spoke excitedly, almost breathless.
“Marco Spencer. We called the police, but the train leaves in two minutes. Armed police are their way…”
“Call them back. I’ve a plan. Get me the train times for the London sleeper out of Inverness and a map of the various stops.” Fulton turned back to the gathered duty team pairs. “Magda’s organised a helicopter transport to take all of you to Stansted, then you can fly to Liverpool. The jet can take one pair to the planned stop for the sleeper train.”
They went down in the lift to a viewing room. Up on a screen was CCTV footage of Spencer at the ticket desk and showed him walking away. McKie noted that the man at the next window seemed difficult to see clearly, in spite of being right in view of a camera; it jarred slightly with him and he was about to mention it when the view on the screen was replaced with the map of the route and a timetable.
“Right, I’ve called the police off for now, they agree. Surrounding the train station and disembarking all the passengers makes sure that no innocent people get killed. Looking at the map the best stop will be Perth. The train gets there around eleven o’clock tonight, which gives us two hours. I’ll call the Scottish police and get the trap in place.” He turned to the three pairs. “ Shadz and Terry I want you to go to Wally’s house and see his wife Ginny. Jaz and Tony I want you to meet the police at the Liverpool marina, a place called Brunswick Lock. Beaumont and David I’m sending you on to Perth. You’d all better go and pack overnight bags. Get your rucksacks, weapons and surveillance equipment. Wear your hand guns in shoulder holsters and have your diplomatic passes ready. Off you go.”
Ten minutes later three pairs met on the roof, just outside the shelter of the doorway. Behind them the receiving equipment, phone masts, array of five large dishes and complex analogue and digital signal aerials, sat in silhouette like one vast alien robot. In front of them the helicopter landing pad, lit up, created a sense of impending adventure, a stark step into the dark sky.
On the roof McKie suddenly felt afraid, it all seemed so dramatic and intense. Customs had its unnerving moments, especially at Dover, but the news of Wally’s possible death, of which Fulton seemed so sure now, made the helicopter ride ahead seem like being fired like a flare into a tomb. McKie’s grim thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shocking remembrance.
“I haven’t called my wife.” Beaumont turned from watching the sky, from which, through the wind and drizzle, there was the distance chatter of a helicopter.
“Me either.
“I said I would.”
Beaumont touched his arm. “Don’t worry. Call her with the satellite phone on the jet.” David nodded.
The three pairs, relative strangers, had joined each other the roof with bags. McKie, having seen them around took them in for the first time. He noted that Jazmin, or Jaz as she preferred to be called, reminded him of a Gladiators competitor, blonde, strong physique and intelligent focussed eyes. Shadz was a cool Indian man in his mid twenties. He was dressed immaculately, down to polished brogues, the slight purple tint in the grey suit matched by lilac shirt and deep purple silk tie. He had neat hair and a warm smile. His mathematical background made him sharp minded and he kept in good shape playing squash. Terry was a short stocky Liverpudlian. He had the build of an Olympic weight lifter and was an engineering graduate. Tony Deany was the joker in the pack. A tall man with the trace of an American accent, New York no less, he looked more like the kind of men they were chasing.
This formidable team were hailed by Jack Fulton as he joined them on the roof.
“Good to see you all ready. Every now and again there’s a serious threat to deal with amongst the everyday problems of cheating, stealing and murder committed by government ministers, their support staff, police and other government paid services. This is one of them. There are assassins loose in the country. We have to stop them. Take care. Call in regularly and stay in contact. Every place you go to will have one of us there to support you. This isn’t a job for a lone ranger. Work with the team and know we’re behind you.” He gave each a firm handshake. “I’m going in to liaise with the police in Liverpool and Perth.”
“You nervous?” Tony asked David, knowing him to be new.
“Yes some first day at work. I can’t believe we’re going armed to chase and catch hired assassins.”
“Armed police will go ahead of us and there’s nothing says we have to take these men on. They’ll be outnumbered.”
“You seem confident Tony. Have you experienced this before?”
“I was New York police.”
“What brings you here?”
“Dual nationality, my mother’s English. When my father died my mother wanted to come back to the UK. I came back to look after mom and joined the Met. DIC recruited me and here I am.”
“Have you faced someone with a gun before?”
“Sure and I’ve killed. It happens quite fast, you get upset, if you’re normal, and then when you know they’d have killed you you’re relieved.”
“It makes the stomach ache thinking about it.”
“That’s natural. If you don’t get that then you’re not normal. When the moment comes, if it comes, the training kicks in and you just do it.”
“I hope so, but right now I hope I don’t need to use the training.”
Beaumont, who had been listening, said “Oh now you’re less keen to use that weapon!”
“I’m feeling less brie like right now.”
Tony raised a quizzical eyebrow. “A metaphor we were discussing.” Tony nodded and laughed.
“Are you nervous?” Beaumont asked his partner.
“Yes. Chasing assassins is a first for me. Have you been in a helicopter before?”
“Yes. Security and bodyguard work so it’s not the thought of the flight that’s making me nervous.”
“Well I’ve never been in a helicopter before and it is making me nervous along with everything else.”
They all watched the approaching lights and stopped talking as the noise of the machine grew louder.
The Eurocopter EC135 flew in, slowly descended, and when th
e blades unwound to a clicking stop Beaumont, McKie and the others hunched their way to the open door and climbed in. Seatbelts and headphones on they felt the machine wind itself up and lift into the London sky.
They sat in their pairs. Beaumont was not inclined to look out the window, but McKie couldn’t tear his eyes away from the night lit cityscape below. The yellow and red dots, the lit up roadways, car lights and a million windows, behind which dinners were being eaten, love was being made, hate was being brewed and the infinite combinations of tragedy and comedy were being played out into the blank unwritten pages of so many small personal histories. McKie sat enthralled, lost in speculation, until he registered their descent and the sight of airport lights brought him back to the matter in hand.
They left the helicopter behind, the DIC machine, slick and organised had them there on time and the white Lear jet60 XR was fuelled and waiting with a quickly booked emergency government slot in the air traffic flow out of Stansted. Within minutes the small, but powerful and iconic jet had slammed them back in their seats and was manoeuvring into the skyway traffic system above the UK mainland.
Chapter 34
Inverness to London Sleeper Train
9 p.m.
April 17th
Once on the train Spencer had held himself back from going for Mason’s booked sleeper straight away. He went and found Stanton in his sleeper. The two were friendly towards each other, yet, as men in their business were, slightly wary too. Together they had used a spare fake passport of Spencer’s and altered it using their combined skills and the resources that each carried. These items included a small roll of plastic laminate, an adjustable circular date stamp, razor blade and miniature stamp style three word printer and ink pad. Within ten minutes, working in silence, Spencer had ID good enough to fool a carriage guard in a gloomy rolling corridor.
To Kill Or Be Killed Page 8
