To Kill Or Be Killed (15 page)

Once in the
room Cobb settled down to eat the cold takeaway and drink a
beer.

He began
looking at the pictures he had taken from Wally. Surely his face in
the sketch was lit by match flare, the light from below. When had
they seen him? He recalled the cigarette after landing. Who had
seen them? Surely no-one could have been there so quickly unless
they were being set up.

He turned to
the identity badge. It was an odd one. It didn’t mention which
specific branch of the security services the bearer worked for it
just gave authority to the bearer and was signed by the Queen. He
noted the right to bear arms and diplomatic immunity on the UK
mainland. Who gave their people immunity on their own turf? It was
a new one on him. They’d been picked up and dropped off by a
British navy submarine which to his mind meant that it was someone
with authority in the UK, secret service or some such, wanting
outside assassins to do a job for them.

He looked
keenly at Wally’s face in the picture, then taking up Wally’s
wallet he looked at the family pictures. Cobb got off the bed and
walked to the window, swigging his beer. This guy with the badge
was married, had a kid and was a local which meant that there was
some sort of nationally co-ordinated neighbourhood watch scheme.
The local guy in Scotland had seen them and he, Cobb, had been
tracked to Liverpool. Looking out across the grass to the hedge and
beyond the railway tracks to the city lights beyond Cobb felt
‘eyes’ watching.

He closed the
curtain and looked around the room. It was clean enough, but it was
all worn, like the arm chair sat in by a thousand people and the
bed slept in by the same and it was all so impersonal. The white
mug and tea pot washed a thousand times for a thousand different
people sat impersonally on the courtesy tray with the sachets of
coffee and sugar. Cobb reflected that he’d seen at least a hundred
rooms like this and had thought from time to time as he had left
them to go and do a job that it might be the last place he’d have
taken refuge in before he died.

Cobb shook his
head and settled on the bed, pistol within reach and put the
television on. Having found a repeat of ‘Where Eagles Dare’ just
starting Cobb leaned back on the pillows and switching his mind
from the day’s events, the impersonal and jaded furniture of the
room and, as the third beer took effect, the direction his life had
taken, Cobb watched Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood blast their
way through German positions until he became drowsy and fell
asleep.

It was around
one a.m. when one of two returning drunks, singing down the
corridor, fell heavily against Cobb’s door which ripped him from
his sleep and pulled him upright, off the bed his cocked PSS pistol
pointed at the door. He stood frozen in attitude, ears straining
for other sounds and the tell tale noises of security forces
gathering at the door. There were none and he relaxed on hearing
the shutting of the door of the next room and a room further up the
corridor. His pulse was just slowing when he became aware of BBC
News 24 running on the television and caught the words ‘Mersey
marina’.

With a certain
amount of personal interest and horror he saw his face from the
sketch on the screen and a picture of the Peugeot with the license
number listed beside it. They had found the bodies very quickly. He
became more than concerned when the news went on to the Perth
shootings and had a growing sense that this spy network in the UK
was highly organised and efficient to a deadly level.

Knowing that
he’d be in the papers the next day Cobb had a cold shower, made
some hated instant coffee from the courtesy tray and sat cleaning
and loading his pistol whilst planning.

After cleaning
up and packing Cobb took a long look at Wally’s government pass.
Manchester airport would give him no need for a passport, but with
the right glasses and the right wig he could pass for Wally and the
ID badge would get him through quickly, especially with diplomatic.
There’d be a lot of security around the airport and they would be
looking for him so a disguise was needed. Cobb knew well that as
far as security was concerned the right hand hardly ever knew what
the left hand was doing.

Cobb removed
Wally’s credit card and went to look at the hotel room door lock.
They didn’t have the swipe keys here yet. He took his key, locked
himself out and listening carefully to the corridor, reassured, he
set about opening the door with the card. He practised the
movements four or five times, went back into his room, got his bag
ready and read the lay out of his room.

The drunk in
the room next to him had shed clothes on the way to bed and had
slumped onto his bed at an awkward angle. Cobb had managed the door
easily and silently and stood in the room eyes adjusting to the
dark for some thirty seconds. The whistling snores put him at his
ease and having left the door pushed to, but not closed, he made
his way to the bedside. Sure enough keys, cell phone, wallet and
change on the bedside table. The key was a ‘bleeper’ type with a
Citroen tag. He gathered the items quietly and exited the room.

Cobb checked
out of the hotel via his window, made his way round to the car
park, which was in full view of the front of the hotel, but that
couldn’t be helped. He pressed the key as he walked around and the
indicators lit up on a Citroen C4. He popped his bag on the back
seat and started the engine. He fired up the Satnav and scanned a
map of the area. His eye hit on the Daisy Nook country park and he
punched in the destination. It was just outside the city on the
M60, close enough to get back in early and far enough out to hide
him and the car.

Chapter
46

Glasgow

6 a.m.

April 18th

Stanton had
driven all night, down the M90, onto the A90 and then onto the M8,
one short break of a half hour along the way, in a lay by to make a
phone call, using the dead man’s cell phone, hadn’t given him any
respite at all. He was getting exhausted, but pushed on taking the
lorry on the A899. His target was the A72. An old Legion buddy
lived in Motherwell and Stanton had been this way before some years
earlier.

On the last
part of the exhausting trip he had opened the window as the bodily
fluids of the deceased were beginning to make a stench. Stanton
mused on the fact that he would probably go down as serial killer
having killed two truck drivers and a dog handler in one day.

Clarky was
expecting him. He hadn’t gone into details, but Clarky owed him and
was glad to help out such a good army buddy.

Stanton steered
the big lorry up the Bothwell Road and into the Hamilton Park
racecourse. He’d had this in mind earlier when he’d thought of
Clarky. They’d had a good day out here when he stopped by, years
ago, and Stanton roughly knew the lay out in his head. He entered
via The Paddock and swung the lorry through a tight circle. It was
six am and the whole place was empty. He parked under a line of
trees and spent a while wiping the cab. He locked the doors on exit
and walked to Hamilton West train station. There were CCTV cameras
so he kept his head down and faced away, though he was getting too
tired to care. It was a chilling and nerve racking wait, but a
short one, before the early train screeched to a halt. He was
drifting off when the train arrived and the brief journey saw him
to Motherwell station with ease.

Clarky opened
the door of his house on Parkneuk Street to an exhausted
friend.

“Hey Trev. My
god you look wasted. Better come on in.”

“It’s good to
see you my friend.”

Stanton took a
look around at the street before he walked in. The only thing which
caught his eye was the oversized white satellite dish on the roof
of the house opposite.

Chapter
47

Harlington Road
Bedfordshire

6 a.m.

April 18th

Mason was awake
very early. The back of the van was freezing and the rain drummed
on the metal roof like a hyperactive Phil Collins. He checked his
watch it was six-thirty. He unfolded himself from the back of the
van and stretched. All was quiet, the van was scantily camouflaged,
but he needn’t have worried it wasn’t a much visited spot. He
walked off through light drizzle and relieved himself behind a
tree.

Sitting in the
van’s cab, engine running and heaters going full blast with radio
four on Mason hungrily wolfed down a packet of Pork Scratchings and
washed it down with a sachet of orange juice. News headlines at
seven had him nearly choking mid swallow and exhaled orange juice
ran down his chin. The news of the Perth shooting and Cobb’s
handiwork in Liverpool, along with the report that security forces
were looking for Wheeler and himself sent a cold shiver down his
spine, especially when listeners were directed to the Today website
to see pictures of the wanted men.

He wiped his
face and looked in the rear view mirror; he knew he didn’t look
like any picture they had of him and he wasn’t far from London.
They’d probably have tagged the stolen van, though they couldn’t
know who it was that had stolen it. He decided to head for greater
London and dump the van and the sooner the better. With that in
mind he drove onto the A road and then back onto the M1. With any
luck he’d hit St Alban’s without a hitch, then a he’d get a
commuter train to London. Once in London he could very easily
become lost from sight, especially if he was careful.

Chapter
48

Liverpool

6-30 a.m.

April 18th

Tony sat on the
bed in Jaz’s room cleaning his Sig220. Jaz looked up as the regular
click of bullets being loaded back into the magazine clip
interrupted her reading of the early morning DIC e-mails.

“You expecting
trouble?”

“Yup. You’re
not?”

“Well the armed
police should be able to deal with the rough stuff.”

“This guy
killed two unarmed men. Shot them in the back of the head and then
shot each through the heart without hesitating. One of his
colleagues fought to the death, outnumbered at that. Another shot
an unarmed dog handler and the dog. I bet you that there’s a wave
of murders in their wake. If we’re the first to come in to contact
I’m likely to shoot first and talk later.”

“That’s not
what Jack wants. He wants them alive.”

“He’ll be lucky
if last night is anything to go by.”

Jaz went back
to her e-mails.

“First up is
that the Peugeot was seen heading into Manchester, local police are
looking for it. Second is that a listening team near the house of
Sternway MI6 dirty tricks have a conversation which might implicate
him, there’s an image of a fifth man, the one who killed the dog
handler and finally we’ve got a helicopter ready for us at the
airport to take us to Manchester Airport.”

Tony cocked the
pistol, put it on safety and holstered it.

“You think
he’ll go out by plane?”

“Well it’s as
likely as any. He’d have to be disguised, but Spencer’s baggage had
fake passports. He’ll try to get to some safe spot quickly,
probably under the wings of the buyer’s contacts, so a plane seems
likely.”

“He won’t be
booked so we’ll have to monitor bookings, but we might as well have
local DIC watching all CCTV covered exits.” Shadz joined them
immaculate as ever.

“After Wally’s
murder everyone is watching.” Jaz looked Shadz over. “I take it
you’re ready to go?”

“Yes.
Ready.”

“Alright let’s
get to Manchester, the quicker the better. Cobb could already be on
a flight.”

The phone by
the bed rang and Tony answered.

“Sure. No tell
them to wait, just surround the hotel and area. Only make a move if
he wakes and checks out. We’ve got a helicopter waiting and we’ll
be there in about half an hour. If you do have to move try to take
him alive.” He hung up with a smile creasing his handsome face.

“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.