To Kill Or Be Killed

by Richard Wiseman

  “They found the Peugeot at the Bewley’s Hotel. A man fitting Cobb’s description checked in last night. He hasn’t checked out. Jaz e-mail the local DIC for that area and ask them to check CCTV for the airport car park, the hotel and roads in and out throughout the night. Armed police are there and waiting for us so we’ve got to move and fast.”

  They quickly packed the last of their equipment and took a taxi to the airport. The helicopter was fuelled and waiting and they were in the air by seven-thirty am.

  Chapter 49

  Manchester

  7-30 a.m.

  April 18th

  The barking of a dog woke Cobb from his uncomfortable sleep in the car at the Daisy Nook Country Park up the motorway from Manchester. He uncurled from his cramped position on the back seat and squinted through the leaves of the branches he had pulled down to cover the car, even then he had parked it off road amongst trees.

  A thin a pinched looking woman was throwing a ball for a Great Dane, but she was a good distance away and passed him by pursuing her dog into the park.

  Sure that she was gone, Cobb got out of the car and removed the branches. The car quickly started and he drove into the car park and pulled up. He put the heaters on and laid out his collection of ‘gathered’ items on the passenger seat. He had cards, cash and ID. He looked again at Wally’s picture.

  It crossed his mind that he was going to need a wig and that would take some organising. He knew that he needed to change his appearance at least a little to get around Manchester so that he could shop the items. He wasn’t going to use Wally’s card to shop, but if the drunk didn’t rise until late he might well get his needs met before that stolen card was cancelled.

  On a whim he checked the boot and found a small bag with a scarf and a rain coat folded in it. There was a hood on it which would cover his close shaved hair until he could get a hat. Too his delight he found a laptop in its case complete with connections to the cell phone.

  Cobb lit a cigarette and fired up the laptop. The user profile was password protected, but a trawl through the phone found a ‘wallet’ file with passwords and to his delight the pin numbers for the two cards in the wallet and the verified by visa password. The phone was contract and the signal was strong enough for internet. Cobb logged on and searched for the Manchester Airport booking website.

  There was a flight at ten-thirty and he bought a ticket in the card holder’s name. That gave him three hours to get ready and get the flight. He felt sure that disguised as Wally he’d pass through check in quickly and he could easily pass off the booking name as his boss buying the ticket last minute.

  He smoked a second cigarette looking for a wig shop and shops with the clothing items he noted Wally had been wearing. Fifteen minutes saw him done and as two cars arrived, spilling dogs onto the tarmac and off into the woods, Cobb decided to make a move. He drove onto the 62 and headed back into Manchester.

  Chapter 50

  Perth

  8 a.m.

  April 18th

  The smell of bacon woke David from his uncomfortable sleep on the sofa. Rising from dark dreams into unfamiliar surroundings he sat up suddenly. Beaumont appeared in the doorway fresh from the bathroom.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s just after eight am.” Beaumont sat down in an armchair April rain spattering the glass behind him.

  McFarlane entered carrying a plate of bacon sandwiches. David frowned at the greasy, smoky smell.

  “Here a good solid breakfast. Set you up for the day. I figure you’ve got a long day ahead.”

  Beaumont’s eyes lit up.

  “Good man.” He took the plate and selected a thick doorstep of a sandwich, taking a sizeable bite.

  “I was up early. I checked the e-mails and this came through from the centre.” McFarlane handed David sheets of paper, one with a passport photo. “That’s Trevor Stanton. He’s ex Foreign Legion and a freelance assassin.”

  David read the file, extracted from MI6 system by DIC after a decryption department foray into their computer system.

  “Nasty piece of work.” He handed the picture to Beaumont. “Do you think he’s in the area still?”

  McFarlane rubbed his chin reflectively. “Well he got as far as Glasgow if he got to the motorway and hitched a lift.”

  “We’re heading for Glasgow after interviews today.”

  “Not Edinburgh?” Beaumont spoke through a mouthful of bacon sandwich.

  “Why Edinburgh?”

  “East coast get a boat head down and come up the Thames I thought.”

  “Wheeler’s not out of Glasgow. We could tell local DIC to watch Edinburgh marinas and exits. If we’re in Glasgow it’s only a short trip, but I’m sure I’d head for Glasgow if I were him. Maybe we should decide after we’ve interviewed staff and spoken to the police.”

  “Listen lads I’d let me do the interviews and you get to Glasgow. This guy will be on an early start and if you leave quickly enough you’ll get ahead. I can e-mail you the results of the interviews.”

  Beaumont nodded. “Get Jack to book us hotel rooms and see if he can get us a helicopter to Glasgow.”

  “I’ll go get washed and dressed.” David got up wrapping the blanket around his waist.

  “Have a sandwich first.”

  “No thanks. Could you find me some cereal?”

  “I’ve got porridge.”

  “That’d be grand.”

  David left the room.

  “Healthy man eh?” McFarlane raised an eye brow at Beaumont.

  “He is that. I’ve not known him long, but I can tell you now I do feel safe near him. He’s big, fast strong, but happily a thoughtful and intelligent man. He’s not at all Gung Ho and he is a good listener. I’d like him healthy. I’ve a feeling I’m going to be safer if he’s on ball.”

  “I’ll make that call to Jack and get the helicopter for you.”

  When McFarlane had left the room Beaumont looked over at McKie’s Sig220 lying heavily on the sofa arm. He stopped mid bite of a sandwich and stared a moment. Either David was taking the threat very seriously or he was highly strung. Beaumont continued chewing and decided the former fitted the bill. He thought he himself had better try and do the same; with that in mind he picked up Stanton’s photo. Sure enough this man had killed a police dog handler without hesitating. On an impulse he put down the sandwich and the photo and wiped his hand. He drew out his own Sig 220 pistol and started checking it over.

  Chapter 51

  Glasgow

  8-30 a.m.

  April 18th

  The sound of traffic on the Cowcaddens Road woke Wheeler from a heavy sleep. He checked his watch. It was eight- thirty. He was as stiff as a board, a little more wet than damp and his head ached. Camouflage leaves and sticks tumbled off him as he sat up. He quickly checked to see if he was visible to the building or the road and was sure that he wasn’t. Which given the nature of the occupations of the building’s residents was something of a shame.

  He gathered up the white bin liner and brushing himself off he jumped down from the wall and grass bank and made his way to the bus station just up the road. He was overtly aware of the CCTV, but on finding that the first National Express coach had left for London at eight-fifteen and the next was at eleven am he decided to get into the city and get a disguise.

  He stopped for a cup of tea in cafe, drawing no more attention than any other down and out at that time in the morning. A visit to the ticket office yielded the knowledge that the ticket to London was fifteen pounds and being happy with the cash he had to get to get a ticket, better clothes and items for changing his appearance, he bought it and with near enough two hours to be ready he left for the Sauchiehall Centre on the 88 bus, having asked where the nearest shopping centre was and had been told in detail with many sorry looks at his state of dress and appearance.

  On the bus he thought about the fact that he was badly dressed and that he’d have to use cash to get clothes as use of a card wo
uld almost certainly arouse suspicion. Deadbeats didn’t have bill addresses.

  Chapter 52

  M1 near Hemel Hempstead

  8-30 a.m.

  April 18th

  Mason was just outside Hemel Hempstead when the police Volvo S70 T5 ‘lit up’ behind him and he heard the siren’s quick blast. He knew he wasn’t speeding so it had to be either fact that it was stolen or the bungee cords on the back doors. Either way things were about to get nasty.

  Mason took the exit off the M1 onto Breakespear Way and seeing signs for the Hemel Hempstead Industrial Estate turned right onto its main route in. Whilst pulling over he pulled out his PSS, tucked the pistol in his back trouser pocket, it was an easy fit as the especially silent Russian made pistol was designed for easy concealment. As he slowed down the police Volvo pulled past him, about six metres in front and he braked and stopped.

  He watched a very large traffic cop in standard uniform, knife vest, baton, tear gas and cuffs, squeeze out of the driver’s side. Mason quickly popped the door open and stepped out.

  “I’m sorry officer it’s the bungee cords I’ve meant to get that back door fixed” Mason called out walking towards the big man.

  “Can you get back to the van and get your license and registration documents please?”

  Mason closed the gap a little too quickly and the officer began a process of sudden awareness, starting in his eyes and spreading to his face, and Mason knew he had to act before the awareness spread to the rest of the man’s body. He reached for his back pocket.

  “I’ve got my license here in my wallet.” Mason’s hand reached back. The danger sign movement put the officer on guard, he reached for his baton.

  “Stand still hands where I can see them.” The policeman’s last words echoed on the morning empty road as the PSS, presented at chest level, spat out a 7.62 round with a whisper of sound.

  The big man creased and folded, weakening as the hole in his heart haemorrhaged blood.

  Mason pushed passed the falling corpse stepped up to the Volvo and shot the woman police officer in the heart through the window just as she pressed the transmit button on the car radio.

  Unsure as to whether the bullet had done enough damage, being slowed down by having to shatter the car window first, Mason aimed again. The woman writhed, her face an image of agony as Mason shot her through the eye. She slumped against the passenger seat.

  Mason took a moment to look around him. There was no traffic, but some people might be working in the units. Mason quickly grabbed the sports hold all from the van. He opened the back seat passenger door of the Volvo and dragged the heavy man from the road and stuffed him onto the back seat. Mason dropped into the driver’s seat and adjusted it for his thinner frame then he tightened the seat belt on the woman police officer in the passenger seat and pulled her hat over her eyes.

  He put on a green high visibility vest and the dead officers cap. It was a tight fit, but from the waist up he’d look the part. He started the 2.5 litre turbo charged Police pursuit Volvo and turned a tight U turn, back onto Breakespear Way and he accelerated onto the M1 and with four wheel drive and 225Bhp the car quickly put fresh air between him and the scene of his crime.

  As an added measure he put the siren on. The vehicle’s call sign was repeatedly requested by the radio centre and Mason knew it was a matter of ten or fifteen minutes before all hell broke loose.

  He flipped on the Satnav and punched up the St Alban’s rail station. He froze it on map and zoomed out to get a route over view. With one eye on the fast scrolling road, morning traffic around him slowed his progress, most of the traffic moved for the siren though.

  Looking at the Satnav he could see that up the rail tracks from the station was the wooded Beech Bottom Dyke. Mason took the car off the M1 and turned the siren off. The traffic was building up and he winced each time traffic nearly stopped him thinking of drivers seeing the dead police woman, but he kept his eyes front acting normally.

  Within ten minutes he was past the Hemel Hempstead Road and heading along Bluehouse Hill. Within fifteen he was on Batchwood Drive and at fifty he made Beech Road quickly. There was a track opening just along Beech Road and he pulled into it. The heavy green trees, thick trunks, leafy branches dripping with the night’s rain swallowed him up as he drove through a gap in the trees along the edge. He got out and looked down into the ancient earth works. It had to be thirty feet deep here. The ancient earthworks were built for defence purposes but now they were covered in places with moss and rough grass. There was an earthy morning fresh smell and at the bottom a layer of sticks and fallen leaves gave off a damp mouldy woodland odour.

  The harsh luminous colours and the stark angles of the car were at odds with setting. Mason was suddenly aware of the contrast and was thankful that the dyke was so deep. Hiding a police car at short notice was no easy matter. He reached into the car and removed the hand brake. It was a heavy car and a hard push, but once the front wheels were on the down slope the car rolled away from him into the deep earthworks, crunching into the mud at the bottom, glass shattering and the front folding and crumpling. He saw the bodies thrown forward and away from his view blood spilled across the unbroken areas of glass. The car lay at the bottom, hind end up, nose buried, like a coffin slipped from a ship in a sea burial just before the waves took it down.

  Mason wasn’t happy, but at least content that it would take them some time to find it, not long, but it would be enough time to get away.

  He left the woods and jogged through the grass and weeded areas along the rail track, staying safely on the other side of the fence to the tracks. Ten minutes after dumping the car he had skirted the roads around the station, entered it, bought a ticket for King’s Cross and was sitting on the platform waiting quietly.

  The London train was five minutes away. Mason allowed himself a smile. In half an hour he’d be in central London and no-one watching CCTV knew what he looked like. Commuters gathered in numbers creating a crowd causing Mason to risk a silly smile in front of strangers; hidden by the crowd he felt a lot safer.

  Chapter 53

  Manchester

  8-30 a.m.

  April 18th

  The good news for the team landing at Manchester airport was that the Bewley Hotel was close by. As the Helicopter landed Jaz, Shadz and Tony were met by a chief inspector and the head of armed police in Manchester.

  Once out from under the turbulence of the Bell 206 Jetranger helicopter’s landing Jaz, Shadz and Tony were greeted by serious faces. Tony took the lead showing his government pass.

  The chief inspector gave serious attention to the leather covered passes and took his visitor’s all the more seriously knowing that diplomatic immunity and the right to bear arms in the UK were not rights given lightly to anyone. The quick clearance for the landing of the chartered helicopter near the Manchester Airport freight terminal told him equally as much about the importance of the DIC team.

  As he walked them to a waiting car the Inspector chattered quickly.

  “We’ve got the place surrounded, marksmen on every vantage point and personnel covering every exit.”

  “I take it you haven’t cleared staff or guests from the hotel?”

  “No we didn’t want to alert your man and we were waiting for you.”

  “Good. When we get there you can clear staff from danger points and into a safe area of the hotel. Have someone outside the window and I’ll go in.”

  “Are you sure about this?” The head of armed police, a solid and heavy set man with a day’s stubble and marble hard eyes, exclaimed loudly and looked from face to face.

  “Yes I want to go in first and these two will back me up. I don’t want a repeat of Perth. I want this man alive.”

  “If you say so Mr Deany.” The chief inspector said, but he gave a meaningful sideways glance to the head of the armed police units.

  The unmarked police Vectra swirled its way through the airplane parking and taxi areas and passed for a mo
ment along near the runway, where the thunder of a taxiing passenger jet drowned the out conversation in the car. They passed through a gateway into the car park, from Ringway Road and within five minutes the team found themselves walking to the Hotel along Parade Road, the chief inspector readying his staff by radio.

  The chief Inspector and the head of armed police stopped at the edge of the car park near an unmarked van being used as a control centre. Tony led Shadz and Jaz up to the reception of the hotel.

  “Tony are you serious?”

  “Listen Jaz we have to do this ourselves. Beaumont and David allowed the armed police in first and look what happened. No we’ll handle this. Alright Shadz?”

  “Sure if you say so but this is a bit of a first and it’s been a while since the training.”

  “You’ll be okay. We’ll do a run through in reception. I’ll lead the way.”

  “Tony I don’t want to be rude, but is this some kind of macho crusade?” Jaz asked somewhat sarcastically.

  As they entered the hotel and the door closed behind them they saw reception staff being replaced by armed police and being shepherded to the kitchen areas of the hotel.

  “Look Jaz I was New York police. I know how to deal with this. You’ll be more effective DIC agents if you use your brilliant minds, some guts and the rights the badge gives you to see this job to its ultimate end. I want him alive and I don’t want to go back to Jack having stood back and let armed police fill him full of holes. Okay.”

  Jaz nodded.

  “Let’s find a door and empty room to have a quick run through then let’s get on with it.” Tony said with finality.

  Using the empty manager’s office Tony showed Jaz and Shadz how to stand either side of the door and with the door open he pushed it, as if kicking, open and stepped into the room; Jaz and Shadz followed his instruction to follow in to left and right.