To Kill Or Be Killed (11 page)

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 the 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.

“Meet me in the
restaurant in twenty minutes, my treat.” Spencer nodded.

“I’ll expect a
repayment.” Stanton added.

“Of what
kind?”

“Information.”
Stanton spoke with a hard factual tone in his voice.

“I’ll tell you
what I know. Thanks Stanton.”

A short walk
along to the next carriage and Spencer identified himself to the
guard, said that he had got on the train in the last minute, having
been mugged for his luggage and wallet. This also explained the
state of his clothes, which pleased Spencer. When asked for the
ticket, Spencer explained that the muggers had taken it, but handed
over the passport, explaining that he kept it in his pants, giving
the guard a good reason not to hold on to it for too long. The
guard happily found the sleeper with the Townshend reservation. He
let Spencer in. Spencer quickly washed and visibly freshened up
went to the restaurant. His booking was overdue, but the guard,
fishing for tips had already contacted the restaurant and asked
them to be flexible. Stanton, already drinking a mineral water,
called him over. Spencer self deprecatingly and profusely thanked
the waiter and threading through the tables sat down opposite
Stanton. It was nine-forty pm when they ordered food.

Chapter
35

Lear Jet over UK Air
Space

9 -55 p.m.

April 17th

On the Lear jet
the teams had hardly had time to settle, all of them nervous,
fidgety, chatting for distraction, when the pilot called seat belts
on for the descent to Liverpool airport. The Jet bumped down and
being a government flight and internal the two DIC roving teams for
work in Liverpool were quickly on their way to their set
destination in the car of the DIC man whose watch included the
airport.

Jack and
Beaumont stayed on the Lear jet waiting for their plane’s slot in
the take off queue. It was close to ten o’clock, one hour to their
rendezvous in Perth when the jet once more slammed them into the
seats as it took off.