by Jay Gill
“You made me jump, Cromwell. You know, it’s a good job your mother loves you. Otherwise you’d be out on your ear. Don’t expect me to stroke you. You’re an overpriced ball of fur.”
Cromwell rubbed against him, wrapping himself around his leg.
“Come here, then,” Norton said as he picked him up. “You must promise not to tell her that I stroked you – and don’t get fur on my suit. It was ridiculously expensive.”
Norton was surprised by how jumpy he was. He thought about Brannon and McPherson. If they’d behaved differently, they’d be alive today. He wondered what they would have done on their last day had they known their lives would end so abruptly. He flicked the cigarette butt over a low privet hedge and considered lighting another. He decided against it; he was on edge enough already and more nicotine wouldn’t help. He had started towards the house when a voice from the shadows rooted him to the spot.
“That’ll kill you. Then again, I guess no one ever knows when their time is up.”
Norton dropped Cromwell and twisted around, his eyes and ears attempting to pinpoint the voice. The intruder stepped out from alongside the garage. Norton realised he must have been watching him the whole time. He looked between the approaching figure and the house, then up to the bedroom window. His wife was probably in bed with a book, and even if she’d heard him arrive home, she’d never look outside or come to the door to greet him, not anymore. He was alone with his intruder.
He knew who it was and had a good idea why he was here. He decided he needed to take control of the situation; otherwise, this could end badly.
“Are you out of your mind? What the hell are you doing here?”
The intruder said nothing.
“If you want to talk, that’s fine, but let’s go into the garage where we won’t be seen.”
Although the smell of car fumes was somewhat unpleasant, the garage interior was well lit and warm. The two men faced each other.
“Would you mind not leaning on the car?” said Norton.
“It’s a nice car. Must have cost quite a bit. A Jag, isn’t it?”
“You’re not Jeremy bloody Clarkson, and I suspect you’re not here to talk about cars. Let’s get this over with.” Norton wasn’t at all sure whether he sounded in control of his nerves, but he wanted to at least make a show of it.
The intruder smiled then walked around the car, running his fingers over the bodywork. “I attended a gruelling thirteen-week course to become a Royal Marine sniper,” he said conversationally. “Did you know it’s one of the hardest training courses in the world? Before even starting the course, I had to get through a selection process. Once I passed that, I was taught advanced infantry skills, which cover marksmanship, map reading, fieldcraft, camouflage and concealment techniques.”
“That’s wonderful. Your mother must be proud,” scoffed Norton with growing impatience.
“To remain invisible, a sniper wears a camouflage net called a ghillie. What most people don’t know is that just wearing the ghillie suit doesn’t make you invisible. To become invisible, you must change the camouflage to suit your environment. Then, as you move over different terrain, you must make further changes to ensure you continue to blend in and stay hidden. The skill is to acknowledge your current situation and adapt to ever-changing circumstances.”
“That is all very well and good, but what the hell do you want?” asked Norton. “We had a deal, and part of that deal was that we would not speak again. Yet, here you are. At my home, of all places. I’d appreciate it if you’d get to the point and then leave.”
“The current situation has changed, and I need to adapt. We need to adapt. I need the rest of the money. I need it tonight.”
Norton laughed. “A deal is a deal. Do you really think I am going to pay you the rest before you’ve completed the list? Why would I do that? From my point of view, it makes no sense at all.”
He knew all about the man opposite him; of course he did. Norton himself had sifted through the many candidates, and this one had stood out for obvious reasons. That was why, out of all the candidates, he’d selected Royal Marines Sniper Corporal Jared Vaughan to kill Brannon and McPherson.
What he hadn’t counted on was Corporal Vaughan wanting to renegotiate terms. In retrospect, it was rather a schoolboy error on his part.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Corporal Jared Vaughan placed the tip of the knife on the bonnet of the car.
“Like that, is it?” asked Norton. “If you don’t get your way, you’ll cut my throat? I always took you to be a man of honour.”
“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already. I think we both know you wouldn’t see it coming. I certainly wouldn’t introduce myself first.”
“If this is about your daughter’s illness, then I’m truly sorry. If it were up to me, I’d transfer the rest of the money. But it’s not up to me. There are others involved.”
Vaughan pressed the tip of the knife down hard and dragged the blade across the bonnet. The metal screeched as the blade cut through the paint. “Seems to me we have ourselves an impasse. I need that money now, and you need another pawn removed so you can get to where you want to be.”
Unmoved by what he considered a display of petulance, Norton waved his hand to encourage Vaughan to remove the knife from the paintwork of the car. “Listen, you and I have a contract. Complete the contract and we both win, but we must adhere to what we agreed. You’ve done sterling work and you’re close to a handsome payday. A few more steps to complete and we’re both home and dry. Nobody has a clue what’s going on. We’ve muddied the waters, and it’s working. On the one hand, you have James Hardy and the rest of the Met chasing their tails and spreading paranoia. And on the other hand, I have intelligence and security services looking for religious fanatics. Should it be necessary, I even have one of those young fanatics ready to take the fall for all this. A patsy.
“We simply need you to follow orders. Then, before you know it, your little girl can be flown to Europe or the US or wherever she needs to go to have her treatment. After which, you can disappear forever. No one will be any the wiser.”
Vaughan began pacing and pointing the knife at Norton as he spoke. “She’s going to die. If she doesn’t get the treatment immediately, it’ll be too late. A specialist flew over and ran more tests, and they want to start treatment immediately. We can’t wait. I need that money now. I’ve done what you’ve asked. I will finish the job; you have my word. But I cannot wait any longer for payment.”
“This is completely unacceptable,” Norton pushed back. He knew Vaughan needed him. “I’d like to make a few things perfectly clear: I really don’t give a rat’s ass about you, your wife or your sickly daughter. The only reason you have this contract is that, without expensive experimental treatment, your little girl will die. Knowing that fact is what they exploited. Haven’t you realised that yet?”
Whether Vaughan realised it or not, Norton knew that hearing it out loud would be painful.
“It means, Corporal,” he went on, “you’re wasting your time laying your sob story on me, because personally, I really don’t care one way or another whether Becky lives or dies. What I do care about is whether or not you finish the job, because if you don’t, then we both have big problems.”
Norton could see the fire in Vaughan’s eyes as he went on. “We’re not friends; we never were. You don’t get to ask me for favours. You’re in this up to your neck whether you like it not. There is no going back. Finish the job, get paid, and if there’s time, pay for her treatment. Perhaps your daughter will live a few more years; perhaps she won’t.
“Your only alternative, one I’m sure you’re currently considering, is to kill me and try to disappear. The big problem with that idea is that you get no more money and my associates will track you down. They will then torture and kill your family in front of you. You see, they consider a deal a deal. And they just aren’t as warm and cuddly as I am. You being here – that in itself puts
us both at risk.
“Now, if there is nothing else, I’m going to watch Newsnight and enjoy a large cognac before bed. I suggest you go and comfort your daughter while you can.” Norton turned his back on Vaughan and pressed the button to open the garage door. “Remember, a deal is a deal.”
“You really are a low-life piece of shit,” said Vaughan. “I’ll complete the list, but I am bringing the date forward. I’ve seen another opportunity and I’m taking it.”
“That’s fine. We know you want to save her. We know you’re prepared to do whatever it takes. So, do your job and as soon as it’s done, the money will be transferred,” said Norton over his shoulder.
“I want you to know that if my daughter dies because of the delay, I’m coming after you.”
“I’d expect nothing less, Corporal. Goodnight.”
Norton walked into the house and didn’t look back.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Unable to sleep, Norton sat at his desk. He stared at the rich, golden colour of the cognac. There must be another way, he thought. He hadn’t expected this from Vaughan. His military service records had indicated he was the perfect soldier. He was intelligent, skilled and disciplined and followed orders without question.
Vaughan had been discharged due to his daughter’s illness. Norton had then authorised that steps be taken to squeeze Vaughan in order to make him more agreeable when approached.
It had been a relentless campaign of grooming, with the single aim of turning a good, honest and decent man into one who would do literally anything he was asked to save his daughter and put his life back together. The lucrative job Vaughan had lined up after leaving the military had evaporated. New job applications were rejected. Finance refused. Parking fines and speeding tickets issued. Neighbour disputes orchestrated. Vehicle and property damage inflicted. Even marital problems had been introduced in the form of an agency girl who was paid to befriend him and become a sympathetic ear. Photos were then sent to Vaughan’s wife suggesting he’d played away from home. Anything and everything was used to apply pressure.
It had worked like a dream. At his lowest point, a broken man brought to his knees, Jared Vaughan was offered salvation. It was then, and only then, that Norton had appeared and offered the young corporal a way out. An opportunity not only to save his family but to do his country a great service. Norton had introduced him to the Kill List contract.
To Vaughan it was like being handed a winning lottery ticket. He could instantly see a way to change his fortunes. It was an opportunity to use his God-given talent as a sniper in order to save his daughter, put his life back on track and make amends to his wife for the shit he’d put her through. Norton had played up his concern, making out he had no idea Vaughan was in so much trouble. He had even gone so far as to suggest the young corporal wasn’t the right man for such an important task, that he’d keep looking until he found another candidate. Going further still, Norton had suggested Vaughan should focus on “being there” for his wife and poorly daughter. Yes, the country had lost its way. Yes, it needed a man like him to be the catalyst for change, but it would find someone else, eventually.
Norton had introduced the idea of the Kill List contract to Vaughan as a way of showing patriotism.
“The current government is weak,” he told him. “It needs a wake-up call, even a manufactured one.” Those he worked for wanted to make sure the country took a hard line on terrorism. For the sake of this country’s future, he said, it was time the fight was taken to the enemy.
“We need troops on the ground in serious numbers, backed up with intelligence from special forces. We need to hunt down our enemy in those countries that harbour them. No more pussyfooting around. We need to instigate air strikes. We need to impose sanctions. We need our enemies to know that the United Kingdom is once again a country to be respected and feared.
“There was a time when this small country of ours was the most powerful nation on earth. We were proud conquerors. We led the way in industry, trade, exploration and science. We ruled the land, sea and sky. At every pivotal point in history we were there. Yet, look at us today. We’re a pathetic shadow of our former greatness, and it’s getting worse. We cannot even protect our own towns and cities. We’re under siege from an enemy at home as well as abroad. And the governments don’t see it. And even when our nose is bloodied by some godawful attack, they’re too weak to act for fear of upsetting those on the left. Fuck the left. It’s time to stand up for what really made Britain great. The only way to do that is to shock our elected officials out of their inertia. Every time there is a terrorist attack, it’s not the elected officials who suffer: it’s our people who suffer. Those with the power to really do something need to hurt. They need to be scared. Then they’ll sit up and take action. Then they’ll act.
“Only when they are in the line of fire themselves will they take up the fight. That’s why I and other patriots like me decided the status quo isn’t working. We need to change the status quo. We must make them believe our enemies are targeting them. If we do that, they’ll throw everything they have at saving themselves, and they’ll save our beloved country at the same time.”
It was all bullshit, of course. Yet for a true patriot like Vaughan, it was the icing on the cake. At his lowest point, all Vaughan could see was that his country had chewed him up and spat him out. He’d lapped it up, so desperate was he to believe it was the right thing to do. He had to save his daughter.
Norton had watched Vaughan practically wetting himself as he envisioned making the money he needed for his family. And to complete the task, he would be able to draw on his military skills, which were his strongest suit. He’d feel good about himself and restore his sense of pride, and, at the same time, he’d change the course of history and save his country.
Blah, blah, blah.
The real reason for Norton reigniting the war effort was far from idealistic. War meant deals, and he had negotiated contracts to supply arms. If he could convince the prime minister and the rest of the Cabinet that attack was the best form of defence, then he would very quickly become a wealthy man.
Sadly, Vaughan had made himself a problem. It was a shame, as he’d seen a bright future for the young gun. It could have been a very profitable relationship for the both of them. Norton could have lined up lucrative contracts all over the world for him. There was always someone willing to pay for a competitor, wealthy businessman, ambassador, prince, senator, army general or spouse to be bumped off.
Norton drank the cognac down in one and looked at the empty glass. Reluctantly, he picked up the phone.
“The corporal won’t be completing the final act. Are you sure your man can complete?
“Good. I want him at the next removal as well, just in case Vaughan doesn’t come through. If he fails, complete the job yourself. I want the minister dead.
“No, I understand. Good. The corporal’s must look like suicide.
“Yes, suicide. A note would be good – guilt, worthlessness, unable to adjust – you know the sort of thing. Then your man must finish the big one. Is that understood?
“Good.
“Yes. You’re right; it means we’ll need our asset ready. Take care of it.
“Good. You know what to do.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’d arrived at the historic town of Marlow-upon-Thames to meet with Robert Olsen from MI5. We walked alongside the River Thames swapping stories and talking about the pressures of our work. After a while he asked how the girls and I were coping since Helena’s murder. It had been a long while now, but I still found it hard to explain my feelings, especially to people I didn’t know well. So, I stuck to facts.
“Alice and Faith are doing really well, I think. We each cope in different ways, and we all have our moments when we can’t stop the tears. I think what makes it most difficult is the senselessness of it all; that, and the brutal way she went. The girls know little of that, of course. They know she was hurt by a bad
man and that during a brave fight with him she died. All in all, we’ve moved on and are well past the darkest part of it all.”
“I heard he was an addict looking for an easy bag snatch.”
Olsen was surprised when I laughed. “Well, he got more than he bargained for with Helena. By all accounts, until he pulled a knife, she had the better of him. She knocked the piece of shit to the ground, breaking his nose in the process. Then she repeatedly kicked him in the bollocks. That’s my girl.”
We laughed and walked a while in silence.
Finally, I asked him, “Are you going to tell me why I’m here? It’s good to catch up, but you and I both know we’re not here to talk about my life.”
Olsen shrugged and looked uneasy. His demeanour changed; he looked more serious. I was sure it was more for my benefit, a way of giving me notice he was now on duty. Which was bullshit, of course. I knew he was never off duty. Whether he was at home doing mundane tasks like mowing the lawn or out and about clothes shopping with his family, his mind was working. He and I were very much alike in that way. We had to work twice as hard to switch off.
His tone became more measured. “This is all off the record. None of this came from me or anyone within MI5. I want that to be clear. I am also not asking you to act on any of what I’m about to tell you. I am only telling you this because… well, because it is my belief you’re in up to your neck in all this, whether you know it or not. You’re respected, you know that, and it’s my belief that if McPherson were still with us, it would be him, not me, having this same conversation with you.” Olsen swallowed hard.
“What the hell is going on?” Olsen had me on edge. “I’m guessing this is to do with McPherson’s murder? Brannon’s too?”
“Yes. All of it.”
“You and I are on the same side, Rob. We both want the same thing. If we’re going to stop whoever killed McPherson and Brannon from killing again, it’s going to be easier if we’re all on the same page.”
