It wasn't much of a plan, but it was a start, and just starting the planning process made Alessandra feel good. All Alessandra's plans started out as a dubious draft, but slowly they always came together and moved to fruition.
Alessandra loved the preliminary work. The planning. The chase. Followed by the seamless execution of the job. In many ways, if the planning was perfect, actually completing the mission was an anti-climax.
Some assassins would say that luck had no part in their work, that it was all down to the planning, but Alessandra was no such fool. She knew, and recognised, that everything in life was dependent upon luck. If fate decided to act against you, there was nothing that you could do about it.
All she could do was to master everything that was under her control, and then hope for the best.
With any luck...it would then all work out fine.
However, if luck was not in her favour, she would always be sure to have another plan in her back pocket. A Plan B. Just in case.
And often, very often, a Plan C.
Opening her bag, she took out a new phone and a fresh SIMM card, and made a few calls. Luckily, one of the sailing cottages was empty, and she booked it.
Getting out of the car, she wandered down to the edge of the sea and sat down on a rock. For the first time in over a week, the sky was laden with clouds, and there was no sun. She could feel the change in pressure in the air, and her senses told her rain was coming.
She looked over at the castle and admired it. It sat on a small island all by itself, about four stories tall, consisting mainly of two different sized rectangular buildings, each with a slanted roof and a couple of turrets. The castle itself was small, - not one of the vast fortifications she would otherwise have imagined at the mention of its name, but it was imbued with a wonderful sense of history and had a character all of its own. A long, small and narrow stone bridge with multiple arches, connected the island to the main-land. The backdrop to the castle couldn't have been more beautiful: a winding inlet of the sea that wound its way slowly out towards the Isle of Skye, fenced in on the left by a mountain covered in beautiful greens and browns, topped with purple heather.
It was nothing less than spectacular.
She sat taking it all in, breathing the air and relaxing until eventually she realised how hungry she was. Making her way over to the Castle’s visitor centre, she grabbed some sandwiches, then crossed the bridge and paid for a guided tour of the castle.
When she left an hour later, she was feeling much better. She was thinking clearly again, and looking forward to a shower, a glass of wine, and an evening of getting back to what she knew best: planning her next assignment.
Climbing back into her car, she closed her mind to everything that had happened in Loch Ness and focused on the next few days ahead.
It was time to get back to work.
--------------------
Plockton
7 p.m.
Upon arriving back in Plockton, her first job had been to stop by the local fish and chip shop and get herself a 'fish supper' wrapped in an old newspaper. The first time she'd ordered fish and chips in Scotland and had been handed it in the old newspapers, she couldn't believe that it was actually allowed, but now she accepted it as just another one of the many quaint Scottish traditions that made the country so special. In fact, now she positively enjoyed it: the world was becoming such a global village that it was curious traditions like that which still differentiated one country from another. "And long may it continue!" she thought to herself as she sat on the harbour wall and dangled her feet over the edge above the sea and the incoming tide.
Arriving at her cottage she was pleasantly surprised to find it was even quainter than the last one she had rented, with another view straight over the bay and the mountains beyond. The best surprise of all, however, came when she powered up her laptop and found that she had a strong Wi-Fi connection. Even more incredible was she discovered it was open, with no security, which meant she could access it to her heart's content.
One shower later, a large glass of wine and her notebook by her side, she curled up on the sofa, accessed the Tor network, and started to learn everything she could about her DCI Campbell McKenzie.
Logging on to the email account she'd created for the assignment, she downloaded the file she’d been sent by the client who had given her the contract. It contained a wealth of information on the target.
The dossier listed where he worked, where he lived, details of his wife, his hobbies, and gave a whole file full of personal information. It also included a number of very detailed, and clear photographs of the man she was to kill.
The information provided was essential for her to gain an understanding of who he was. But it was not enough.
She needed to learn far more.
And thanks to Google, it was all forthcoming.
Linked-In, Facebook, Instagram, the archives of the Scotsman Newspaper in Edinburgh, the Electoral Register, even Police Scotland's website itself... wherever she looked she found breadcrumbs or nuggets of intelligence which helped her build her own dynamic persona for Campbell McKenzie. Normally she didn't go into so much detail when researching a target, - she just took the money and killed them - but needing to be busy and kept occupied, she dived straight in.
She quickly learned about his earlier career, his promotions, his marriage, his relatives... and devoured the recent newspaper articles about the upcoming trial in which he had been framed by the crime lord Tommy McNunn.
As the hours slipped by, Alessandra came to know Campbell.
His skills, his dislikes, his favourite places.
She made notes, copied pictures, downloaded articles.
By the time she began to feel tired, the sun's first light was beginning to stream over the mountains on the other side of the bay.
As the sky and the emerging scattered clouds began to turn ominously red, she remembered the old English expression she had learned at school: "Red sky at night, Shepherd's Delight; Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning."
The word ‘warning’ lingered in her mind, before she finally flushed it away and returned her attention to her laptop.
Realising that she was now approaching the point of diminishing returns, - she'd probably found out as much as she could from her internet sources -, she was just about to pack up her things, when perhaps more out of habit and idle-curiosity than anything else, she decided to check out the pages of HitsForBits and see if her contract had now finally disappeared from its pages.
It had.
However, another entry on the pages immediately caught her attention.
Another contract.
In Scotland.
In Edinburgh.
For Tommy McNunn himself.
For two million pounds.
Five words jumped off the page at her.
'Tommy', 'McNunn', 'Two', 'Million', and 'Pounds'.
Alessandra wasn't stupid. The contracts for McNunn and McKenzie were obviously both linked. Perhaps there was a connection with the upcoming trial. Perhaps, even, the contract on McNunn was in retaliation for the contract out on McKenzie. Or perhaps an enemy with sufficient grievances wanted to make a clean sweep of it and get rid of them both.
There were questions to be considered, obviously, but even before she finished reading the details on the webpage, Alessandra knew she had already made a decision.
She would volunteer for the contract on McNunn too.
With any luck, if she got it, she'd kill two birds with two stones, during the same visit to Edinburgh.
Except, there was potentially a problem.
As she read the details, she discovered that the location of McNunn was HMP Stirling.
HMP?
A quick google later and she had the answer, which made perfect sense, given the article she'd read about McKenzie which mentioned the upcoming trial.
HMP was the abbreviation for Her Majesty's Prison.
Alessandra smiled to he
rself, understanding now why the offer price was so high.
Tommy McNunn was in prison.
Obviously someone wanted him dead, desperately.
Alessandra was good. Very good.
But could she kill someone in prison? A man's prison?
And get away with it?
Was it even possible?
It would certainly be a challenge worthy of her skills and creativity.
For the first time since leaving the caravan site, she thought briefly about Loch Ness. The Monster. Angus. Lisa. And the Monk.
Then she looked back at the HitsForBits website.
One was a world she couldn't understand. Where she was uncomfortable. Scared. Perhaps beginning to lose her mind.
The other was a place she knew, a comfortable and familiar terrain in which she was the hunter, and the others, the hunted.
The letters HMP worried her.
But right now, she realised, a challenge was exactly what she needed.
More than she had ever needed one before.
For the second time in under a week, she typed in a price - this time logging in as Salvador with a few updated personal contact details - and clicked on the green "Accept" button.
--------------------
Edinburgh
St Leonards Police Station
Edinburgh
Thursday
8.30 a.m.
DCI Campbell McKenzie had only just arrived in his office, hung up his jacket, and sat down at his desk when the phone rang.
Rather loudly.
He winced.
The walk into the office that morning had done nothing to clear his head.
When he was younger, waking up with a hangover was the worst part. From that point forward it just got easier. These days, the older he got, the worse the hangover became as the day went on.
Last night had been a good, but rather bad session. He'd drunk far too much.
With Fiona nowhere in sight to tell him off, he'd gone back to his bad old ways.
And Brian wasn't helping. At all. In fact, he was loving it. His wife had thought it was a good opportunity to go on a shopping trip to America with her sister, using the excuse that it was best if the 'boys were left alone to talk and bond', and for Brian to be able to help his best friend without any female distractions hanging around and nagging them about the empty beer bottles and dirty socks.
Brian had feigned protest, but as soon as she was out of the country, he'd practically taken a pen and paper and mapped out an evening of debauchery for every night next week.
Using Campbell as the excuse again, he planned to visit as many night clubs, strip bars and golf clubs as possible before Anita came home.
"I need to keep your mind off things," he insisted.
"Don't forget, I'm still working!" Campbell insisted. "I still have to make it into work each day. There's a lot on at the moment."
"So do I! You're a lightweight, McKenzie. Bloody lightweight. What's become of you?"
It was a good question.
He missed Fiona. He was worried about her. He'd called several times and left a few messages, but then Anita and Brian had persuaded him that it was best to let her have her own space for a while. Back off. She'd come to him when the time was right. At least leave it another week or two.
Two weeks?
At this rate, he'd be dead and lying in a morgue somewhere, pickled and embalmed in malt whisky.
He picked up the phone, "DCI McKenzie here."
"DCI Campbell McKenzie?"
"One and the same."
"Hello, this is Ray Luck. I'm calling from the Home Office in London. I'm head of the newly formed ACT -Advanced Cyber Team, which the Prime Minister formed last year. I don't know if you have heard of it?"
McKenzie detected an element of hope in the man's voice.
"Nope. Never. How can I help you?"
"I'm calling you with some rather bad news. Are you alone at the moment?"
Campbell glanced around his office theatrically before realising how stupid he was being. The guy from the Home Office couldn't see him. Campbell put it down to the high level of whisky probably still circulating in his bloodstream.
"Yes, very alone." He replied, dwelling a moment too long on the 'alone' word, and thinking quickly of Fiona.
"Good. My team is a special task force with the responsibility to monitor threats in cyber space, which could impact the UK or India. A colleague of mine informed me yesterday that whilst monitoring a recent website on the Dark Web called 'Hitsforbit',- it's a forum that assassins, hitmen and criminals use to put out contracts on people's lives- , I'm afraid he saw a contract which has been offered and accepted that names you as the target. We tried to call you immediately last night but we couldn’t get hold of you at all."
Campbell choked on his coffee, spilling half of it over his desk.
"What did you say? A contract? Out for me?"
"Basically, yes."
"And? What else can you tell me? It's been accepted? By whom?"
"We don't know. And the details have now been removed from the site."
"Shit...", Campbell swallowed hard. "This is not some sort of wind-up is it? You've not been put up to this by my wife, or my friend Brian? I'd remind you that I am a police officer and that wasting my time would be a criminal offence."
"The contract specified the time frame for the hit was four weeks. And it was accepted several days ago."
"A month?"
"Less. Actually, if it's any consolation, you might be interested to know that the bounty being offered on your head is considerably higher than the market rate."
"How much am I worth?"
"Six hundred thousand pounds."
"You what?"
"Six hundred thousand."
"Bloody hell, I'd kill myself for that much. But why? Any idea who wants me dead?"
"You'd probably have a better idea of that than me. My job is just to warn you."
"Warn me. Is that it?"
"No. Are you still alone?"
Just then his office door opened and Campbell's boss walked in.
"Not any longer. My boss is here now."
"Good. I spoke to him before I contacted you. I'll leave you alone now. Detective Superintendent Guthrie wants to discuss the matter with you personally."
Click.
Campbell was left holding the phone in his hand, staring at DSU Guthrie who had already pulled up a chair and was sitting on the other side of his desk.
"You stink, Campbell."
"I know."
"Are you still staying at DCI Watkinson's?"
"Yes, but I've been promoted from the couch to my own bedroom."
"Take it from me, best leave it a while with Fiona. You fucked up. You've apologised. She's the one that has to come back to you..."
"I know. You're not the first to say that."
"Actually, my wife told me to say it."
Campbell stared at him. Exactly how many other people knew about it.
"Okay, enough banter. I've got some good news, or some bad news, depending upon how you want to take it..." his boss informed him.
Campbell raised his eyebrows.
"You're suspended."
Campbell stared at him, assuming there was something more to come.
Only the power of silence.
"Suspended? What the hell for? What have I done?"
"Nothing. But I think that it's probably the best option. There are a couple of reasons... and after I've explained them, I'm sure you will agree. Of course, you'd be on full pay. And the only condition for my incredible generosity is that you disappear. Get as far away from here as possible and DON'T tell anyone where you've gone."
Thirty minutes later, Campbell McKenzie walked out the door of the police station. Suspended, on full pay, and told to go on holiday.
Actually, when the DSU had explained the reasoning fully, it all made perfect sense. Guthrie was a friend of his. They'd known each other for years a
nd understood each other well.
First, there had been quite a lot of bad press around the trial which was coming up. The boys and girls in the PR department in Police Scotland Headquarters were worried about the fact that McKenzie had been sleeping with another CID officer, DI Wessex, a colleague, who had then been murdered by McNunn, her boyfriend. Questions had been asked at the time, and McKenzie had received a stern talking to, but to save journalists chasing McKenzie, photographing him and digging up the past again for the sake of getting new column inches by reviving what was obviously a good story, having McKenzie go on 'holiday' and being unavailable for comment was not a bad thing.
Secondly, Guthrie, and Police Scotland, were worried about McKenzie. One of their senior ranking officers was now the subject of an assassin's contract. The DSU had started out by offering McKenzie some police protection, but admitted that he knew McKenzie would turn it down. Guthrie knew McKenzie well. But Police Scotland had a duty of care to McKenzie, and if he refused to take police protection, then the next best thing would be to suspend McKenzie on full pay, with no associated disgrace, so that he could go on holiday and disappear.
It would not be a long-term solution. The contract out on McKenzie was only a short term contract, expected to be completed within a month. Guthrie had been advised by ACT that normally, any contract not fulfilled within the given timeframe would be revoked. This would cause severe complications for the assassin who may already have received partial payment for the work to be done: as a punishment and deterrent, a subsequent contract would often then being offered on the original assassin for failing to complete. The result was, historically, that almost all contracts offered on HitsForBits with a specified timeframe, were completed within that time.
The Assassin's Gift Page 16