To Kill Or Be Killed (8 page)

Wheeler added
these to the white bin bag. Tugged and squeezed into the clothes
and finally put on a pair of glasses, which though female, looked
acceptable and changed his face. He added the bobble hat and clear
poncho.

Having done
this speedily and with some nervousness he walked rapidly out
through the busy reception turned right, through the stair doors
and down to the first floor. He followed signs for the casualty
exit, where he knew there might be police, but not as many he was
sure would be at reception.

As Wheeler had
made the stairs the summoned detective entered the room Wheeler had
left behind him and found his constable and the cleaner both still
unconscious. Immediately he made a call on his radio putting out an
alert, but sadly too late. Wheeler’s luck changed. He passed
through casualty, fortunately for him lacking any police presence,
and outside he saw a bus stop across from the entrance with a
waiting bus.

He wasn’t an
odd sight to the bus driver. Wheeler looked like the standard
alcoholic homeless passenger he always saw returning from casualty.
Wheeler paid his fare and sat down. There were agonizing moments of
waiting for the bus to go and then they were away.

Police cars
with sirens headed into the hospital as the bus came out and
Wheeler smiled. Some shopping, a neat change, cheap hotel room and
a change of look would put him back on track. He gingerly touched
the top of his head and winced. He hoped that his luck would change
for the better from there on in.

He knew, as an
experienced assassin that even the best plans went wrong. He mused
on the fact, as the bus swung widely around a corner just missing
someone chancing a quick run across a junction, that he had no plan
on this job at all. It was all chance, in a way, until he got to
London and actually got the contract. He didn’t like it. It wasn’t
the way he usually worked. Bruised and uncomfortably dressed and
unarmed he had a moment of feeling vulnerable. He quickly shrugged
it off. The only way, he well knew, was forward.

Chapter
22

Euston Tower

11- 30 a.m.

April 17th

After some
intense and concentrated research and careful access to restricted
sites Beaumont was first with the information on Special Forces
activities that day.

“Well there
were only two special forces exercises in the UK this week. The SAS
were in Scotland and they were around the Kyle of Lochalsh, but
they were dropped by helicopter, not submarine. The other was the
marine commandos, but that was a swim in to the Cornwall coast, but
they used a corvette class out of Plymouth, so that rules out the
submarine drop off being MOD exercises.”

“Well decrypted
MOD navy site reveals HM submarine HMS Vengeance passing Port
an-eorna at that time in the morning heading for the polar
cap.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but
there’s no mention of the stop and surface there.”

“Where did the
sub come from?”

“Well she had
been on NATO exercises in the Atlantic, coming up from Southern US
base. That was before leaving the naval sub base on the Clyde two
months ago. So she must have picked up the passengers in the
US.”

“How long ago
was that?”

“Two
weeks.”

“So our four
were put aboard two weeks ago, stayed on for the Atlantic exercises
and were dropped of en route.”

McKie nodded a
slow deliberate and grave nod.

“That would
mean that they’d have to have top secret clearance to be on the
submarine. That comes from a high level. Whoever got them on there
is MOD or government then.”

“Or at least
has the power and clout to bypass the usual channels.”

The phone rang
cutting in on their thinking. McKie answered it. It was Jack Fulton
and he wasn’t happy.

“Glasgow police
lost the Wheeler, he got away, so we can forget sending a team for
now. What have you managed to unearth.”

McKie outlined
their research and deductions then asked. "Could all this be down
to that Nigel Sternway?”

“Yes it could.
It could be any one of ten different people we’re aware of.”

“What’s our
next move?”

“We watch those
ten. I’ll send duty teams out to our hit list with mobile tracking
and listening equipment, gun mikes and other sensitive stuff. “

Beaumont
silently mouthed “What about us?”

McKie relayed
the question.

“You two keep
looking and thinking. See if you can work out possible routes and
contact DIC watchers on the routes you work out. I’ll have the
Glasgow watchers keep an eye out for Wheeler and make sure they go
armed. If he’s dragged back into the net I’ll send a team to
interview him, other than that get on with the brain work.”

“Right okay
then.” McKie sounded disappointed and Jack picked up on the tone of
his voice, smiling to himself in his office.

“Don’t be like
that David. I’m inclined to send you two when we get a fix on
Wheeler or any one of the others, liaising with armed police of
course.” Jack hung up and David related Jack’s remarks.

“Oh great.”
Beaumont ran a hand through his grey hair. “First intruder is ours
then lucky us!”

“It’s okay
they’ll have armed police on hand we won’t be alone.”

There was a
moment’s silence.

“I thought you
didn’t want the chance to use that gun.” Beaumont said.

“I’m feeling
more Brie than cheddar right now. Anyway like I said armed police
will be there first and in the meantime we’d better work on the
possible routes.”

Beaumont
smiled.

“Okay Mr keen
let’s get a cup of tea and bring up some online map software. We
can start with the one who got to Inverness by rail. What was his
name?”

“Peter Mason,
ex infantry and SAS man.”

“Okay let’s
work out his possible routes.”

Chapter
23

The Mersey Marina

11- 45 a.m.

April 17th

Charlie Cobb
made the mouth of the Mersey, a little before lunch time. The call
to Mersey Radio on VHF channel 12 had him waiting for river traffic
then crawling past the Liver Buildings; he thought of the legend of
the birds keeping watch, one out to sea and one inland. He wondered
who else was watching. He passed the Albert Dock and cleared the
Brunswick Lock making the Marina with some struggles, especially
with banks and tides.

The berth had
been pre-booked in a different name to Jake Howard and Cobb had to
make sure that he got out the right set of fake documents. He
cleared the paperwork easily when the young watch man came out to
the boat to greet him. The young watch man was incurious and keen
to be indoors out of the niggling April drizzle.

Cobb noted the
CCTV camera on a pole in the centre of the marina and decided the
controls would be in the marina office. He opened his rucksack took
out a tube of superglue and popped it into his pocket with the lid
off. He wrapped a scarf around his face and pulled his hood up and
thanked the weather for the excuse of muffling is face.

Covering his
head with a hood and his face with a scarf he walked quickly to the
office, passing through the punch key gate. In the office it was
dry and bright. Cobb looked around the room. There was a chart
cabinet dead opposite a desk where two screens showed the images of
two cameras. He noted that they turned when needed by way of a
lever control. One watched the boats and the other watched the
approach and office. Cobb didn’t want his presence recorded. Cobb
noted that he could see the office behind the desk in the
reflection of the window.

“You haven’t
got a lower west coast chart I could have a look at have you?”

“You haven’t
got one?”

“Unscheduled
stop I’m afraid. I wasn’t going to go that far south, but I’m not
sure yet”

“I’ve got one
you can look at, but don’t take it away.”

The young watch
man went to a filing cabinet. The moment his back was turned, Cobb
moved the approach camera away from the office then moved the
marina waters camera away from his boat to the other side of the
marina. He took the super glue from his pocket and squeezed it into
the ball socket and turned just in time, popping the glue quickly
back in his coat pocket.

The young watch
man put the chart on a nearby pin board as he did so Cobb glanced
back at the control to see if the glue was visible or if he had
left a trace from squeezing it into the gap. There was a bare
trace, but nothing significant or noticeable. He made a show of
looking at the map and noted some features. He liked the idea of
Bristol as an entry to land if he went further by boat.

He thanked the
watch man and walked back to his boat sure in the knowledge that
the cameras wouldn’t record his presence there. He didn’t know how
vital for his continued journey it was. He had sought to prevent a
record of his presence, not knowing that the cameras were being
watched by people close by.

Deciding not to
go out Charlie settled exhausted into a bunk after cooking a well
earned and heartily greasy fry up. He lay on his bunk smoking a
lucky. The trip hadn’t been easy, but to his mind it had kept him
away from people. He wasn’t sure whether to take the little boat
further down the coast. If he did do that he’d have to be out of
the Marina by five latest and there was a narrow window on the tide
directions. He decided to get some sleep first and look at the
charts and tides on waking. He dug in his bag and set a small
digital alarm for three-thirty pm. It was warm and humid in the
cabin from the cooking and Charlie slumped into a deep sleep, the
memory of the cold Atlantic water and the dark land looming in his
dreams.

Chapter
24

Inverness

12 - 30 p.m.

April 17th

Stanton
threaded the van through busy Inverness streets and into a pay and
display car park on Strothers Lane, near the railway station. He
checked for cameras as he drove in and before getting out of the
van he searched the van for change. In the glove box there was two
pounds forty-three in change. He strolled casually across to the
machine put enough in for an hour and a half and went to find
himself a place to eat. It was getting on for lunch and he had a
yearning for pasta, besides, he had to see if the card worked and
no better place or time than a restaurant.

When he got to
Bridge Street he found Bella Pasta. It was pleasant and the
waitress was friendly. He sat by the window, as was his habit,
people watching, keeping an eye out. He ordered spaghetti, tomato
based sauce and a bottle of sparkling mineral water. When it came
he ate it slowly and deliberately. He’d done his homework and the
night train didn’t leave until gone eight. He wasn’t going to go in
until the last minute, though he’d book the ticket after lunch. He
knew Mason was booked on it, but he didn’t care about the rule on
any of them travelling together. He was sure it would be fine.

With thoughts
of his travel arrangements cleared from his mind, eating his
spaghetti, he wondered if the wife of the frozen truck driver was
somewhere in the crowds that passed by. He wondered if he was being
watched. He wondered why they’d not come in through Dover or even
Heathrow? Why Scotland? What also bothered him was the fact that
whoever was behind this could get them on a British submarine, but
had only given them thirty pounds in cash. The fake credit card
looked good enough though. In the back of his mind he sensed that
something didn’t add up. Still, he thought, he was in it now and
there was a million at the end. He called the waitress and handed
over a Mastercard. He was pleased when it worked. That meant no
‘fishing’ for money or cash, which always meant death and the added
risk of capture.

Chapter
25

Glasgow

1 p.m.

April 17th

Mason had
arrived in Glasgow around lunch time. He’d been doing his thinking
on the way. In spite of the changed plates the white Alfa would
have been reported stolen by now and any white Alfa on the bridge
cameras would have been picked up. The car, he knew would be
getting hotter by the minute. Add the possible CCTV images anywhere
on the industrial estate and he might not get through.

He opted to get
a disguise, change clothes and get on rail as soon as possible. He
wanted out of Scotland.

He parked the
Alfa on a rough looking residential road on the Govan estate. He
wiped it clean of his prints and left it unlocked and ready to be
stolen by any nearby ‘Neds’. They would easily cover his
tracks.

He headed out
of the estate and caught the clockwork orange underground at Ibrox
into central Glasgow. He avoided the shopping centre and bought
second hand clothes on the outskirts of the town. A visit to an
Oxfam shop yielded beige trousers, a thick sweater, checked shirt
and worn grey overcoat. He bought hair dye, scissors, reading
glasses with a slight blue tint, the kind used for dyslexia, flesh
coloured medical tape and a mirror from a pharmacist. He put all of
these in an old fashioned sports hold all he’d bought in a luggage
shop.

There was a
decent sized greasy spoon café on Buchanan Street. The waitress was
an out of place blonde and breezy eighteen year old. Sharp green
eyes, blond pony tail, petite build she caught every man in the
room’s attention. Mason fell in with the crowd and flirted, it
would have been odd not to.

“What will you
have?”

“Apart from you
what’s tastiest?”

“Not much I’m
afraid and I’m not on the menu.”

“Well I’ll have
the all day breakfast.”

“Okay”

“Is it called
that because it takes all day to digest?”