Stanton was delighted at the heaviness of the London April rain. As the coach pulled under the giant glass portico sheltering the bus passengers in the giant parking bay at the back Stanton put on his woolly hat and pulled his hood up. He had no luggage, but he had cash and the card, which he was not sure he’d be able to use.
It was a short walk to Victoria Station. Umbrellas and hooded figures abounded in the intense rain. Stanton felt secure. He could not be recognised on CCTV in the rain lashed ‘muzziness’ and amongst the well covered people he was invisible to his pursuers.
He felt the disk in his pocket and knew that he needed to find the nearest hotel to the Priory Arms. He stopped a passing man and asked him where the nearest Internet Cafe was. The man was helpful and pointed to Victoria Street gave him directions and told him about the Net Lounge.
Stanton made his way in and paid for a half hour and got himself a coffee. He managed to find the Belgrave Hotel using Yell. com and got himself directions, knowing he’d go through Stockwell Tube station. There was no drive to put the disk in. He went and spoke to the young woman behind the counter.
“Hi. I’m logged on over there. I’ve got this disk and I want to send some pictures to a friend. Can I do that?”
“No. We have USB connectors for accessing pictures to put on profiles, but no drives.”
“Right thanks very much.”
Stanton walked away knowing that he needed a laptop. He could steal one or he could ask his contacts to get him one. He made his way to Victoria station and descended into the tube. It was three stops south bound on the Victoria line and straight walk up the Clapham Road. He kept his hood up, even on the underground.
It was a modern reception, light wood, fish tank in the wall. As soon as Stanton walked in he saw Brook sitting at the table, on soft grey, high backed chairs across from the reception desk. Stanton had his hood down, but his woolly hat on and the waterproof coat was done up to the chin.
Brook instinctively knew it was Stanton, the eyes below the hat were hard edged and hunted looking. He rose and greeted him warmly, putting on a show for the receptionist.
“Anton thank god for that we thought you’d remember what we said.”
“Yes. I haf been walking lots since we separate and I remember Belgrave Hotel.” Stanton affected a foreign accent.
He was sure the man was the contact. He had the ‘smell’ of secrecy and double dealing about him that Stanton had learnt to see in his years in the ‘trade’. The girl simply thought them daft older men, her mind unable to see through the layers of deceit both men wore as a matter of habit.
Stanton was shepherded him out of reception, before the girl had a chance to get a good view of his face.
“Thank you so much.” Brook said to the girl. “I knew he’d remember eventually and it was good of you to let us shelter from the rain.”
“Goodbye.” The girl watched them leave. The hotel wasn’t much of a landmark for tourists to use as a meeting point if they got lost, but it took all sorts.
Telford was parked across the road watching the entrance. He’d seen the figure go in and watched Brook emerge with him. They rushed across to the car and Brook got in the back with Stanton.
Brook was careful. He didn’t know Stanton was unarmed. Stanton wasn’t shocked to have a snub nose thirty eight revolver pointed at him from Telford turning round in the driver seat.
“Frisk him.” Brook ran his hands through Stanton’s pockets. He found no weapon. He did find the disk and held it up.
“What’s this?”
“Research, it’ll help me get the job done, possibly. I need a laptop to access the information.
“Let’s go, just drive away from the hotel and park up further up the road.”
Telford drove up the Clapham Road and parked near the junction with Ellias Place.
Brook got out and went to the boot of the car. He brought out two cases, one with a laptop and one with the ‘materials’ for the job. Brook got back into the car.
“Let’s start with the fact that this job is near enough compromised.” Brook began. “I’ve got to warn you that there are people watching.”
“DIC, I know all about them. They have no idea of what the job entails or where I’m going, mind you neither do I for that matter.”
Brook handed him the case. Stanton opened it and saw the bomb, a lime green Bic disposable cell phone and an envelope. Stanton opened the envelope read the details and whistled.
“Wow. That’s got to be worth a million when I pull that one off. I hope you guys have a good exit plan for me.”
“We have. You do the job and phone the single number in this cell phone. You get picked up by us and taken to a place to lie low. Then you get paid and you’re sneaked out of the country.”
Stanton nodded.
“Do you know about a civil service agency call the DIC.” Stanton asked.
Brook’s eyes met Telford’s in the rear view mirror.
“We’ve heard of them yeah, what about them?” Brook asked.
“Have you got that laptop?” Stanton put all the materials back in the case, except the envelope. “Oh and could you give me a pistol of some sort?”
This time he saw the look the men gave each other in the rear view mirror.
“I’ll hand you the case and you can put the weapon in and leave it on the front seat until you drop me off.”
Brook nodded. Telford unlocked and opened the glove compartment, pulled out a nine millimetre browning, a silencer and a single clip. Stanton passed him the case and sat back.
“You want me to use the bomb?”
“Yes. It’ll make it look like terrorism.”
“It isn’t terrorism?”
“No. He needs removing. He’s inconvenient and we’re behind the man who wants to replace him.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Now about DIC, what’s on the disk?” Brook asked.
David was very late. He’d got stuck in traffic around Vauxhall Bridge and his bad driving skills hadn’t helped extricate him from that. The Satnav wasn’t helping. He got to the Priory Arms long after he could have and picked up Liam. Relieved that Liam could drive he let him, but it was just a short drive around the corner. They got to the Belgrave Hotel at two thirty.
“We’re government security officers, we’re looking for this man. He held up the photo. “Have you seen him?”
“No. I haven’t.” The girl at reception hadn’t seen enough of Stanton to match him to the photo.
“Has anyone been here and left a message or sat waiting?”
The girl paused thinking. It hadn’t been a busy morning and she was none too bright and very bored, day dreaming most of the empty time away, but she remembered the men.
“Yes, about twenty minutes ago there was a man here said he’d arranged with a friend to meet outside here if one them got lost. It was raining so he asked to wait inside. This man turned up all wet. They left. He called him Anton. The wet man had a German accent.”
McKie looked at Liam.
“Could be them.”
“Might not be.”
“We’d better wait.”
In the car on the Clapham Road Brook and Telford were hiding their wide eyed amazement well. Stanton had told them about how he got the disk. He told them his plan and how to get into the target’s heavily guarded residence. Brook and Telford were delighted. As far as Stanton was concerned they were civilian middle men for a buyer willing to pay a million for a very tricky kill. The visit to McKie’s house had supplied him with what he needed and all he’d wanted from that situation was to know who and where the DIC operatives were, but now he found that the information on the disk would also help him get the job done.
Stanton told them his plan, which again took much acting skill from both MI6 men not to reveal their pleasure. He took directions to a target address, from the internet on the laptop, attached to Brook’s cell phone. When he was done he took the disk out and closed the
computer.
“You want to leave that disk with us?”
“You want it?”
“Well it’s interesting stuff, could be useful, but I was thinking it might be bad news if you were caught with it.” Brook said.
“You might be right, but I’ll hang on to it.” Stanton was cautious.
“Well your employer might be interested. Could sell it for you, take a cut. Say five percent. He’ll be very happy to do that. Shame if it got damaged due to falls or bumps.” Brook added willing Stanton to give him the disk.
Stanton nodded and handed the disk over.
“Call me a taxi will you?”
“Sure.” Brook dialled. “Yeah, Cab please. From Clapham Road at the junction with Ellias Place to Lord North Street please. Ta mate.” He rang off. “Fifteen minutes Stanton.”
They waited in silence in the car it was close to 3pm. Stanton read the target details and the regular times and likely room locations for the home address. He handed the envelope back to Brook.
Chapter 96
London
3 p.m.
April 19th
Liam and David were surprised when David was relieved by another DIC man and David was even more surprised to be driven back to Euston Tower.
“What’s the deal?” David asked.
“Don’t know Mr McKie. Jack Fulton sent me with your replacement, said you were wanted back at the ‘Tower’.” The driver said respectfully. David McKie was the most talked about man in the building.
London flashed by as the pool driver made neat work of journey back in spite of the traffic problems around Vauxhall. David wondered if it was about that. His bad driving in Scotland had made them late, cost the time and ultimately led to Beaumont getting shot. Maybe Liam had been called and they knew he had been late to Vauxhall, making Liam and himself late to the Belgrave. They might have missed Stanton due to his lateness.
The car drew up outside Euston Tower and David went alone into reception. The slow revolving door made him feel, as all felt, very exposed. He cleared reception with biometrics and with a glance to the two false lifts made his way through the ‘real’ entrance. He took the lift to the floor with Jack’s office on it. Else Patrick was in the waiting area. She rose from the seat.
“David I’m Else Patrick.”
“Hello. I take I’ve been called back for a chat.”
“You could call it that. My Office is on this floor. Come with me.”
They made their way along a corridor and she held a door open for him. It was an innocuous enough room, comfortable and friendly. There was no table and no other furniture than two soft arm chairs. David sat down and Else sat opposite.
“Where do we begin?” David asked.
“How has your appetite been?”
“Fine, really.”
“You look like you keep healthy, anyway. How have you been sleeping?”
“Not well. I had a bad dream too.”
“You had a bad dream? Have you had bad dreams before?”
“When I was very small, yes.”
“What were they about?”
“As far as I remember they were mostly about my dad, being hurt, he was a soldier you see.”
“I see and this current dream?”
David told her the dream. She took no notes and watched him intensely. When he was finished she spoke.
“You had to be the man of the house when your father was away. It’s a burden for a boy, especially an only child. You feel the need to protect people quite a lot and express it through your work, public service with customs and now this. You took on the responsibility, by coming here today, for the capture of Stanton. It’s natural and in your nature now to be a protector. The dream indicates that you feel you are failing, not able to protect. Your father represents the protecting parent.”
“My wife said that.”
“You told her the dream.”
“Yes.”
“That’s good. Are you able to talk to her, as much as the job allows, about what’s bothering you?”
“Yes she’s very supportive.”
“Good.”
“How do you feel about the assassins?”
“I can’t believe they have such a careless attitude towards human life.”
“How did you feel when Stanton had been in your house?”
“At the time, well at first fear, then anger and when I got the upper hand, the job kicked in and I tried to take him alive.”
“Did you want to kill him?”
“Not then, at that moment when I had the gun in my hand, but afterwards I was angry. He’d invaded our house. My wife is pregnant, I was very angry.”
“How do you feel about Wheeler?”
“I feel quite at ease now. I had guilt, nausea and then I felt relieved I was alive.”
“That’s natural. Has the incident with Stanton changed your feelings about Wheeler?”
“No. It’s changed my view of killing though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well before I thought I couldn’t have done it, but then when I had to shoot I did and I felt awful afterwards, but I know that I can now, but I also know I have a choice. I don’t have to kill, but I can if I need to.”
“If you come across Stanton will you kill him?”
“Only if I have to.”
“You don’t want revenge for the invasion of your home?”
“No that was business on his part. No if we end up face to face and he’s going to kill me then I’ll get in first.”
“Kill or be killed?”
“That’d be it. That’s what it’s about. In this job, at the moment it boils down to kill or be killed. Stanton, Wheeler and the rest they kill first. I’ll only kill if they try to kill me or anyone else.”
“That’s healthy. Did you cry at all?”
“Yes when I got home and saw my wife and son.”
“Good. Take moments to grieve and don’t lose touch with yourself. I can see that you might get stressed from trying to protect too many people. You can’t protect everyone and you aren’t responsible for every bad thing that happens as a result of these men or any other trouble makers.”
“What about those who are responsible?”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone brought those men here and set them loose. It might be a man called Sternway, what about protecting people from him?”
“That’s a different job, but if you can bring the people behind this to justice will it make you feel better?”
“A little, but what’s done is done and can’t be undone, it won’t bring the dead back.”
“Would you like the person responsible for this to suffer?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. To feel what I feel, to feel as those families do, the ones left behind.”
“It would be good if they did, they seldom do.”
“How do I stop my anger about that when all of this is done?”
“Perhaps a chance to confront them if you catch them, make them realise, feel that pain, but you won’t get the chance. When this job is done you can come and see me and we’ll confront the anger you have at those responsible. It’s a noble sentiment, idealistic, but dangerous to become motivated by thoughts like that. Check your feelings when you continue and finish this chase.”
“Thank you. Is that it?”
“No I’d like you to describe every event in the last few days where you feel you have not had control, how you dealt with it and how you felt afterwards.”
Half an hour later David left the room. He felt better, cleaner and less tired in spirit. He went and got a cup of tea and then went to his office. There had been no sighting of Stanton at the hotels or the Priory Arms.
Else sat in Jack Fulton’s office.
“Nothing to be overly worried about, he’s coped well, but the stress has brought a certain protective anger to the surface. His father was in the army and as the only child
at home, he got to be man of the house. He’s been well loved. His mother died some years back and he’s grieved well, but… well he feels the need to see justice done. He has a problem, not with the assassins, that’s a black and white issue, but he’s got good solid working class anger against the uncaring attitude of those higher up that chain.”
“That’s not so bad. Idealism is good if you’re going to be heroic.”
“If anger against injustice is what drives that idealism it can turn to zeal and zeal can lead to ill considered actions.”
“Should I send him home?”
“No you brought him her, best use him, he’s a good man, best for this job by what I can see, just watch him when Stanton's in the bag or dead. He may want to crusade against the evil doers behind it.”
“Okay thanks Else.”
Else left and Fulton sat back. He felt the same way though. He’d lost a good friend, Cobb was dead, but he didn’t feel better. He felt in his bones that Sternway was behind it and he felt anger and zeal at the thought of getting justice for Wally’s death, especially if it meant Sternway’s downfall. He applied Else’s warning to his own situation.
Chapter 97
Lord North Street London
3-15 p.m.
April 19th
It was straight forward really and Stanton knew it. Hood up and woolly hat on, but coat open, he held the silenced nine millimetre Browning pistol under his coat, arms held in front of him, as if waiting in a queue. He knew it was the right house and he didn’t need the white satellite dish to tell him that this time. He rang the bell.
There was a tense five minute wait as Bill Hutchings came to the door of what used to be the original DIC centre. Back in nineteen forty it had simply been a central office, packed with radio equipment and cine film viewing room. Now it was a stipend residence for a DIC operative. The radio listening and gathering centre was gone and the house didn’t have the high tech equipment in the loft.
Bill Hutchings was in his sixties, slow on his arthritic feet; a bald portly man with a gentle nature. He had his DIC technical equipment in what would have been the back ground floor room as climbing to the loft was beyond him in his advancing years.
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