To Kill Or Be Killed

by Richard Wiseman

  Chapter 61

  London MI6 Offices

  12 Noon

  April 18th

  “We have very little information at the moment regarding the intentions of the possible terrorists and their intended targets. Needless to say we are very concerned about the number of deaths related to their entry into the country. I cannot at this time say how many of them there are nor obviously give any more information about those we are aware of. We have three that we know about and pictures have been released to the press. We warn member of the public, if they see these men, to keep well clear and contact the police. The men are armed and dangerous. Our sympathy goes out to the families of those who have been so callously murdered and rest assured we will bring these men to justice. That’s all.” Tarquin Robinson, home office minister ended his press statement.

  Sternway switched off the small portable television in his office after watching Robinson and turned to the two men in front of him. He leaned elbows on his desk and put his two neatly manicured hands together in what looked like prayer, resting his nose on the steeple of finger tips, his eyes clearly focused on the gap between the two standing men.

  “You bloody well chose them and they’re committing mass murder out there. There are dead police, dead civilians and one dead DIC operative, not to mention thefts of cars, money and shoplifting; oh and one dead police dog.”

  “We weren’t to know it was going to go this way.” Joe said quietly

  “No. They do seem keen. You don’t think we’ve offered too much?” Sternway asked.

  “No men like these come at a price and when the first or last man so to speak, if it comes to that, hears the details of the job they’ll expect a lot.”

  “I’m going to have a hard time making good this damage if it comes to light.”

  “Only DIC could possibly get any evidence and we’ll make sure they don’t.” Joe said firmly.

  “Good point. No more talk over phones, in fact no more talk within possible range of any kind of radio mike and have a team sweep my house and our office section for bugs.” Sternway looked at each man in turn. “This had better work. As for that maniac Cobb I’d rather he didn’t make it. His capture or death will at least satisfy DIC and the public. He’s near London, so he may get to the contact point first. Have the contact set him up in a hotel and then when that’s done let the police know where he is. That’s all, you can go.” Sternway turned to the window and his men left the room. The extermination or E order had been given on Cobb

  Chapter 62

  London

  Home Office

  1 p.m.

  April 18th

  “Yes Prime Minister. We are making progress. DIC do seem to be a step behind though as far as I can tell. I’ll keep you posted. I’ll prepare to make statement.”

  Robinson put the phone down and reached into the inside pocket of his tailored suit. His permanent secretary often joked that Robinson’s tailor charged overtime rates for the making of the suits.

  Robinson pulled out the Bic ‘disposable’ cell phone and rang the only number in the memory.

  “Hello sir.” Before Robinson could speak the voice said sharply, “No names please.”

  “Hello. I’m extremely unhappy at the way things are turning out.”

  “I was sure you would be hence the item you are at this moment holding and the current conversation. As far as I’m concerned it’s going well.”

  “The publicity is appalling and the… top man has just spoken to me and he’s unhappy.”

  “Is he unhappy with you?”

  “Not any more I pointed out who he ought to be unhappy with.”

  “Good then the purpose is being served.”

  “There are a good too many… Bodies…”

  “Collateral damage as our friends across the Atlantic have so beautifully named it. In my business that’s usual.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stop now?”

  “Such a waste if we do and ultimately it’ll give more power to those who desire it and an end to such an inconvenience.”

  “I’m still unsure.”

  “Think of it as you being the manager of the winning team. We are a team aren’t we sir?”

  Robinson sighed and thought hard. It was an outcome he’d be pleased about, it was the process that was bothering him.

  “Yes.”

  “Hang on to the item, but dispose of it if it becomes necessary. Feel free to chat again, though not too frequently.”

  “I will.”

  The lined went dead.

  At his end Sternway looked at the orange Bic disposable cell phone and his mouth twisted in distaste. They all had a lot to gain with this. He felt sure that his plan would work. The old boy ought to have more guts. Sternway suddenly laughed, one of his rare laughs, very rare, but the unintended pun really tickled him.

  Back in his office Robinson put the orange coloured Bic cell phone back in his inside pocket. He remembered Cole. He suddenly felt like a rabbit that had fallen into a snake pit.

  Chapter 63

  Motherwell Glasgow

  1-30 p.m.

  April 18th

  Stanton had slept well and felt refreshed. His old friend had the good grace to feed him and let him rest. Stanton took himself to the bathroom and had a cold shower. His friend hearing the shower began cooking bacon, eggs, fried bread, Scottish sausage, black pudding and fried tomatoes.

  As he came out the shower Stanton smelt the food and felt good. Clarky was much the same build as him and Stanton dressed in the Khaki camouflage trousers, the thick black leather belt pulled tight, a stretched white T-Shirt over his muscular upper body and that was covered with a chunky beige sweater. He put on thick socks and happy that Clarky had the same size feet laced up the worn brown walking boots. The clothes were comfortable and durable. The boots felt good. He felt like a new man, a better man from yesterday. Clarky called him down to get something to eat.

  Chapter 64

  Glasgow, Motherwell

  1-30 p.m.

  April 18th

  David sat in an armchair leaning back. His father sat opposite holding the Sig 220 rail, turning it over in his hands. They’d sat and had lunch, small talk had passed between them, but the ‘elephant in the room’ had remained un-remarked upon until they had sat down together in the lounge after lunch and David’s father had asked after the weapon he was carrying.

  “It’s a neat enough weapon so it is.”

  “It did the job.”

  “Some job for a history graduate son of mine.”

  “Oh come on father…” David sighed.

  “I didn’t work those years under fire and in danger to watch you do the same. I had hoped you’d find a nice, clean safe job.” His father said aggrieved.

  “Well it looked like it up to a point… But…” David tried to think of something to say, but his father’s sadness took his words away.

  “I never told you about the things I saw, but I told your mother, god rest her and she told me she worried every day I was in Ireland. Mary’s pregnant and there’s your son. You can’t put her through that.” His father handed the weapon back and looked him in the eye.

  “I know… I know… but I can’t run away…you taught me that you know.” David smiled and his father softened.

  “Well I might have been wrong. What have you to do now?”

  “I’ve been sent home and I’m to get counselling.”

  “Good. Firstly you don’t play the hero. You let someone else chase these men. Second you take the counselling. We got none of that and I can tell you I still see things that’d turn any man’s stomach.” His father said rising from his chair.

  David rose from his seat. His father had moved after his mother had died; too many memories in the old house his father had said. Around him though were pictures, familiar items, pictures of their family life such as it had been. David’s gaze was caught and trapped by the image of himself, at his own son Conor’s age, on his
father’s shoulders, a photo taken by his mother, in woods in Devon.

  “David. Don’t get yourself killed.”

  For the first time in his life David saw tears in his father’s eyes. “I can’t stand to lose anyone else, not after your mother and where would Mary and the children go?” His father’s voice was cracking slightly.

  David closed on his father and for the first time since he was a child the big man embraced him in a tight strong hug. They stood for a moment and broke away from each other his father patting his back.

  “Now look what you’ve brought me to, blubbing like a woman, away with you.”

  David picked up his bag and holstered the Sig.

  “I’ll call you. Maybe you should come down sometime.”

  “Aye take good care son.”

  David left the house, pausing before he closed the door behind him. A prayer to get home safely passed through his mind and he began the short walk around the corner to Monty’s house.

  Stanton stood at the window of Clarky’s house a mug of tea in his hand staring through the net curtains at the white satellite dish on the house opposite.

  “My god Trev you’re right in it pal and no mistake. Jesus the dog too.”

  “Well you remember that time…” Stanton began.

  “Yes but that was war my friend.” Clarky said.

  “I need a way out, one that doesn’t show me up on CCTV.” Stanton said suddenly

  “You do right enough. Listen I’ve an idea, I’ll just get a map.” Clarky left the room.

  Clarky had been glad to see his friend, but he wanted him out of the house. He’d seen the news and asked about the lorry at the race course. Part of him was praying that Stanton had enough regard for him not to kill him.

  At the window Stanton started suddenly as David walked up the street and onto the path of the house he was looking at. He instantly recognised the big Scotsman from the railway station at Perth. He stepped back into the shadow of the curtains.

  “What is it?” Clarky was back in the room.

  Stanton turned to face him eyes blazing.

  “Did you grass me up?” Stanton hissed.

  “Good God no Trev why do you think that?”

  Stanton grabbed him by the arm and thrust him to the window.

  “You see the big man going in? Well he was at Perth station last night. Why would security be here?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s not come here, to my door has he and there’s no armed police out there.”

  Stanton let go his arm and let out a laugh. It was true enough. They were looking for him and he knew it must be the DIC people.

  “DIC the white satellite dish! So that’s how they do it. I’m sorry my friend I’m a little nervous.”

  He watched from the window as Clarky laid out the map on the coffee table. McKie came out with Monty and they got into the car.

  “I’ll be seeing you again some day no doubt.” Stanton said to the vehicle as it passed fixing McKie’s form and face in his memory.

  “Come away. I’ve a good plan to get you out. It’ll even give you a choice as to whether to continue with this job or disappear.”

  They went to the map.

  “The other side of Glasgow is the Clyde Marina with boats of all kinds. I’ll drive you up. There’ll be at least one boat leaving at some point this afternoon and if there isn’t I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  “Good idea, keep going.”

  “You can travel down the coast and pick any point to stop and go inland or as I said just keep going.”

  “Good. Let’s get ready then. How long will it take to get there?”

  “An hour or so.” Clarky said

  “You’re a good comrade.” Stanton patted his shoulder.

  “We’ve been through too much for me to let you down.” Clarky said warmly.

  Stanton looked him in the eyes. “… but you’ll be glad when I’m gone.” He said bringing the truth he saw in Clarky’s eyes into the open.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth of it. Look… when you’ve done this job… if there’s trouble make your way back here… if you have to.” Clarky trailed off speaking.

  Stanton slapped him on the shoulder again. He was grateful, but he knew that Clarky was just making himself useful enough not to be killed. It was a bad business when a man’s friend feared him as much as his enemies.

  Chapter 65

  Lear Jet to London

  2-10 p.m.

  April 18th

  Monty had seen David to the plane. It was a mild spring day with a light cold breeze and yet David felt chilled walking to the steps of the white Lear jet. There were no other passengers and he sat alone with his thoughts as the jet pushed him back into his seat and rose into the sky.

  He looked from the window to the map like view below. England lay below him like a child’s table full of tiny toys. It was no game though and he knew it. He thought of the flight to Scotland, he thought of Beaumont and with a sudden start he thought of his wife. He went to the back of the plane and picked up the phone.

  In the Dover semi the phone rang for a good few rings. Mary was slow on her feet and waddled down the stairs to the hall. David was about to hang up when she answered.

  “Hello love it’s David.”

  “Oh thank god! I’ve just had a call from your father. Are you coming home?”

  “Aye I’ve to go to London and collect my things. I’m on a plane.”

  “My god when I saw the news today I was worried half to death. Are you okay?”

  “Careworn love I miss you.”

  “I miss you too. Come on home Davey.”

  “I’m on my way. Early evening is when I’ll get there.”

  “Okay love. You can tell me all about it.”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “Are you on a plane?”

  “Aye.”

  “Call me when you land and then call when you get on the train.”

  “Okay love.”

  “Bye.”

  David put the phone down. He thought about the fact that on the way out he’d had tears in his eyes when he thought of being killed and taken from his family and had then thought he would make sure he didn’t get hurt. How close had it been though? He didn’t feel like crying now. He was changed. He felt a sudden flow of strength. He’d made mistakes sure enough, but he’d shot Wheeler dead and much as it had pained him to think of having killed a man it felt suddenly good to be the one talking to his wife, sitting on the plane, going home. He felt bad about Beaumont, but at least he’d shot the man who’d wounded his partner. It could have been a lot worse. He found strength and solace in his survival and the scar across his psyche hardened, healing like the hands of manual workers, creating a first layer of tougher skin across the novice softness and making it easier for him to work at his own labour. David had his first taste of hardening from experience as far as mortal combat was concerned.

  Chapter 66

  London Vauxhall

  2-30 p.m.

  April 18th

  The Priory Arms in Vauxhall on Landsdowne Way seemed innocuous enough to Charley Cobb. He’d made himself presentable, ditched the pseudo police look and walked miles around the M25 and finally when he got far enough into London he’d taken a taxi to Vauxhall. It had been no mean feat. Most of the day was gone and he needed to make contact. Only the buyer could offer safety of that he was sure. It would go badly if he wasn’t the first there, but he might be able to get a ticket out as a consolation prize, either that or do for the competition. He was getting desperate.

  The contact, Peter Brook, was sitting at a window table. Brook was a solidly built, stocky man in his early thirties. He had light brown hair, side parted in a neat college boy style. He was wearing a brown pin stripe suit, Next, Machine washable. The cut was good on Next off the peg suits, he could get trousers to fit, jackets a bit bigger on the chest and body, with shorter sleeves for his muscular stocky arms. He wore black framed
spectacles for reading. He took them off and displayed light hazel eyes which took on a hard pebble like quality when he saw Cobb approach the pub through the window looking over the small front of house ‘beer garden’. He watched him walk past, then return and enter.

  Cobb had no idea how they would make contact. He was tired and dusty. He didn’t have to push his way to the bar, the pub wasn’t busy yet.

  Brook had been there every day for the last two. He’d sat at the window table, spending money on drinks, to keep the landlord happy, buying lunch there and for his cover reading a racing post and pretending to make bets on a cell phone. He’d got know every face and knew the faces of the five men he was expecting, but knowing that even disguised he’d know anyone who wasn’t a regular.

  Cobb, pint in hand, turned to face the room. Brook looked him directly in the eyes. He knew Cobb. He’d been surprised at how good the sketch in the papers had been. He nodded, putting a knowing look in his eyes. Cobb made his way over.

  “I’m supposed to meet an employer here today.”

  “That’d be me. You’re Cobb right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Brook, you’ve been busy.”

  “Am I first here?”

  “Yes. You still want the job?”

  “Yes, but I need to get out of sight.”

  “I’ll arrange it. I get you to a hotel tonight and drop the details of the job in tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  “My car’s around the corner. Let’s go.”

  “You lead.” Cobb relieved nearly lost his edge of survival.

  Brook rose and they got to the door. Cobb put his hand into the shoulder bag, gripped his pistol and pushed the bag against the Brook’s back.

  “It’s for sure that after it’s passed through the bag it’ll have enough energy to rip a path into you and lodge itself somewhere nasty and as this is a Russian made PSS no-one is going to hear a thing when if I pull the trigger. Walk steadily and don’t move too far ahead of me.”