Driving around the area, in seemingly ever increasing circles as she took smaller country roads progressively further and further away, she found herself driving along the edge of another smaller, wooded hill, north of the prison.
Getting out of the car and wandering up the hill, she sat down under the trees and looked out towards the prison. Using a new pair of binoculars she'd purchased at a Field and Game store near Pitlochry on the journey down, she studied the building carefully.
From where she sat she could see one side of one of the buildings, the other building now hidden from view. The building facing her rose up above the surrounding wall and cliff, and she was able to see most of the top two floors: cold, dark, smoke-covered granite walls, with small windows which probably afforded the cell's occupants their only view of the outside world. If at all.
She was studying the walls of the building when she noticed one of the top windows open and a hand reach out, flicking the end of a cigarette into the open air outside.
Opening up her notebook she made a few notes.
Referring to the range finder on the field binoculars, she noted down the distance from her to the window as just over a mile.
She stood up and looked around her, at the trees and the forest. Then packing up, she started to ramble around the hill, taking notes on the terrain and the view she could get of the prison from various points within the forest.
Several hours later, she left the hill, walking back to her car and driving off.
She was smiling.
It might be impossible. It certainly was crazy.
But Alessandra had had an idea.
And if it worked, this was going to be one of her best hits yet.
--------------------
Slovakia
Poprad
6.30 p.m.
Copernicus hung up the phone, having accepted the assignment. It was good to hear from his old friend in the Kremlin again. It showed that his reputation was still strong, and his skills were still in demand.
Particularly for a job like this one, where the target was invisible and others would struggle to identity him, let alone kill him.
This new challenge would prove to be an exciting and extremely profitable one. And once it had been completed, his reputation would be enhanced beyond all measure.
Copernicus knew that in recent years his reputation had suffered. He'd failed to kill two of his targets in the past eighteen months and some of his customers were questioning if he'd lost his touch.
Which was not true, and Copernicus was determined to prove them wrong.
If fact, he needed to prove them wrong.
In his world, reputation was everything and by killing Salvador, a legend amongst legends, not only would his reputation be restored but in the eyes of many he would replace Salvador. He would take his place.
Of course, there was one small problem.
No one knew who Salvador was.
What he looked like.
And where he was. Ever.
Salvador was the ultimate ghost.
But today, Copernicus was feeling particularly psychic.
He would find Salvador.
Track him down.
Then cut him up, piece by piece. Whilst filming it.
Afterwards, he would post the video on YouTube and bask in the glory.
The adoration.
The respect.
Copernicus could visualise it now.
From his window Copernicus had an incredible view of the Tatras Mountains. They rose up before him in a sweeping panorama that filled his view from left to right, rising steeply from the gentle wooded slopes, almost vertically, touching the skies and breaking the clouds.
His apartment at the top of the old Grand hotel, now being renovated, was the cave where he had hidden for most of the past year.
Stupidly, he'd let his face be caught on a camera on his last trip to India to assassinate a leading member of the opposition party there, and ever since he had felt vulnerable. Worried that at any moment, a SWAT team would surround him and drag him off to oblivion in one of a hundred different countries where he had made mortal enemies over the years.
Slovakia was a beautiful country. Each day gave him a thousand different opportunities for ways to spend his time, enjoying the outdoors: cycling, climbing, skiing, swimming, running, skating...
He had chosen it as the ultimate place to go into exile and hide. To disappear from view.
But now it was time to return.
The world would soon hear from Copernicus again.
Although Copernicus had no idea who Salvador was, or where he would be now, since childhood he had been imbued with a wonderful sense of self-confidence. As far as he was concerned, until it was ultimately proved otherwise, there was nothing that he could not do.
He loved challenges.
And if finding Salvador was the next one on his list, although difficult, it was a challenge that he would rise to, and overcome.
Salvador was out there somewhere.
Until now Salvador had enjoyed the ultimate reputation of being one of the top hunters in the world.
But now things were about to change.
From this moment forth, Copernicus would assume that mantle and become the hunter.
And Salvador would become the hunted.
Chapter 21
Stirling
Scotland
9.30 p.m.
Alessandra's plan was viable. She knew it.
However it would only work if she could get hold of Tommy McNunn's mobile number.
She had a business proposition for him and she needed to talk to him soon.
She already knew, from the file that had been sent to her from the sponsor of the assassination, that Tommy McNunn had been given one of the best cells in the prison, at the top of the building, and on the side of the prison which enjoyed the finest views of the distant mountains and the world outside.
Alessandra guessed that McNunn hadn't earned the cell. He would have purchased it using a mixture of fear, influence, blackmail and threats. Just having the room in the top right corner of Cell Block C would afford him respect and fear from everyone else in the prison, including its wardens. And from there he could lord it above all the other inmates, establishing a clear hierarchy within the prison world with him at the very top of it, both symbolically and physically. From his room in Cell 297, quieter than most, and further away from the noise and smells of the ground floors of the prison, Tommy McNunn's crime world could flourish.
That Tommy McNunn would have a mobile was almost certain. Mobile's were the most prized possession of any prisoner in any modern jail. Although they were illegal, new versions of phones designed for the prison populations could be hidden almost anywhere. They looked nothing like an iPhone, but they did the job and McNunn would have bribed or blackmailed the wardens to ignore his.
The file that Alessandra had been sent contained significant details, details which could only ever have come from inmates inside the same prison as McNunn, but which had made their way out of the prison to the sponsor via one form of courier or another. Alessandra was confident, that if she requested the sponsor - obviously himself a powerful and connected individual - to get the telephone number of McNunn's mobile, he would. For now, she would assume the number would be shortly forthcoming, and in the meantime she had started her preparations in haste.
If her plan was to work, she would have to acquire a number of specific, and specialised items very quickly. She knew what to order and had experience in its operation, having used it and been trained on it before in a training camp in Libya.
The main question was, could she get hold of it by tomorrow evening?
She laughed to herself when she thought of the question. Her suppliers always moved mountains to earn their blood money, and so far they had never disappointed.
From her hotel room in the Trossachs, after demolishing another newspaper full of the local fish and chips, she set about o
rdering everything she needed.
Then she slept briefly until it had gone two a.m., before getting back in her car and driving back to Stirling. She had two pickups to make.
First, she wanted to dig up the remaining rifle from her assignment to kill Kuznetsov, which she had reburied in the ground at a different location, having not needed it previously.
Secondly, she went to see if any of the other materials she had just ordered the day before could possibly have already arrived and been buried at the other location she had specified.
Incredibly, they were already there.
On the Surface Web, the everyday name most cyber experts gave to the normal Internet, undoubtedly Amazon was the master of expedited delivery, but when ordering from the Dark Web, no one could beat her suppliers.
They delivered every time.
On time.
Or like this morning, also often in advance.
Removing the spare tyre from the boot of the car, she filled the space it left with her supplies, and after replacing the cover, put the spare tyre on top of it.
Returning to her hotel room, exhausted from the morning's activities, she fell asleep quickly.
--------------------
The Trossachs
Scotland
Saturday
1.30 p.m.
The dilemma Alessandra faced was whether to carry her recently received shipment of weapons and supplies around with her in the boot of her car, or to bury them again somewhere close by to wherever she thought she might need them.
Currently, she had no plan about how she would deal with McKenzie in Edinburgh, and from experience she knew that when in Edinburgh, an opportunity could present itself very quickly and out of the blue. If so, having her supplies close at hand would be optimal.
However, there was a small risk that if her car was involved in an accident, or stolen, her supplies could be discovered and she could be in a lot of trouble.
It wasn't likely, but it was a possibility, and Alessandra preferred to plan for all eventualities.
Deciding it best to have everything at hand until she knew her plan for Edinburgh, she set off for the capital of Scotland and arrived there just after 4 p.m.
The first thing she did was to visit and drive around the neighbourhoods where she knew McKenzie worked and lived.
Parking the car several streets from his house, disguised in a hat, a scarf, and some clothes she had picked up in a second hand shop in Morningside in Edinburgh, she walked around the area, and passed his house several times.
The house had some lights on, so at least someone was at home. Which was a good sign.
However, whether it was McKenzie or his wife, she couldn't tell. Given it was early on a Saturday evening, it could be one or both.
As with all streets in Edinburgh, the road in which McKenzie's house was located was full of cars. Parking was obviously an issue.
She now knew a lot about McKenzie from the file she had received and her own personal research.
He liked to walk and cycle. He had twice won the St Leonards cup for Road Racing between Edinburgh and Dunbar. But whether that meant he liked to cycle to work or not, she did not know.
If he caught the bus, or walked, maybe she could sit in a car outside his house during the week and wait for him to return home, but that could prove to be stupid.
CCTV cameras were everywhere.
If the same car was seen waiting, day after day, she could attract attention.
From studying his social media accounts, his likes, dislikes, and his twitter feed, she had a good idea of his favourite places he liked to hang out, and his favourite bars.
She knew where he worked.
It would be tempting to intercept him going to work, or leaving it. Which may be the easiest way to pick him up.
She had his telephone numbers.
Perhaps she could just call him and make an appointment to see him?
If only it were that simple.
She knew from experience that when tracking someone down and finding the best place to kill them, it could take weeks of patient research, following and tracking a subject, and perhaps then luring them to a chosen location.
So long as she maintained the element of surprise, the odds were stacked in her favour. The worst scenario would be if McKenzie somehow got wind of the fact that he was being hunted. Unlikely, but possible, if she wasn't careful.
Which she would be.
As she moved around Edinburgh, getting a feel of the city and the streets where McKenzie lived, she made a few mental notes of possible locations.
1: Close to St Leonards Police Station.
2: In, near, or around his gym.
3: Whilst visiting or leaving his favourite pub.
4: During or after a cycle ride with his club.
5: In his home.
How she would kill him was by no means certain.
Killing him in his home was an option, but there was a greater risk in doing so, for many reasons.
She preferred to do it out in the open.
However, this was a city and people were everywhere.
If she could get up close to him, with people around, a gun would not work. Her preference in such circumstances was a quick, lethal, injection.
She checked her watch.
It was getting late.
Then she remembered that it was a Saturday.
Perhaps, just perhaps, McKenzie might have been tempted to visit his favourite bar?
She was also quite thirsty.
Turning to Google, she looked up the location of "The Fiddler's Arms."
--------------------
The Fiddler's Arms
Edinburgh City centre
Saturday
10.05 p.m.
Brian pushed open the door from the street into the warm and noisy pub and stepped inside. He was followed by his good friend Campbell McKenzie, who had spent the past two nights at his house preparing to disappear off the grid.
When Brian had met Campbell at the bottom of the Hillend Ski Slope, Campbell had been ready to just up and go, to leave Edinburgh and head off somewhere and hide.
"And where will you stay?"
"Don't know, yet. But I've got my passport, so the world is my oyster."
"And how will you pay for it?"
"My credit cards."
"Aha. Good plan. I can see you've thoroughly thought this through. You're going to book a ticket using your real name and credit card, and then wave your passport at someone as you leave the country? Making it feasible for anyone with the right connections to track you down?"
Campbell had stared at him.
"How much is someone being paid to kill you? For that price, you don't think you're dealing with amateurs here do you?"
Campbell knew it was very unlikely that a criminal could have that reach and capability, to get such information. But he couldn't dispute that it was possible. He knew it was possible. But...
"So this is what we're going to do," Brian had persuaded him. "You come back to mine for another few days. You transfer a ton of money into my account over the phone, and then I go and withdraw as much as you want in cash, so that on no account do you ever use your credit card anywhere. The last thing you need right now is to leave any form of digital tracks. Anywhere."
Campbell nodded. So far, Brian was making sense.
"Then, I book some accommodation for you under my name, somewhere we both agree is a rational and safe place to go. Hopefully somewhere you won't be bored out of your mind. And we think carefully about what you want to take with you. Also, maybe you should go and talk with Fiona..."
"Up till then you were making sense, but the bit with Fiona you can forget..."
"Why? You haven't spoken to her yet. You have to tell her what's going on."
"I've thought a lot about it... and it's best if I don't tell her.
"Bollocks. You're telling her."
They'd argued about it for a while, but after Brian
had persuaded Campbell to come back to his house, he'd dropped it, temporarily, for a while, so that they could concentrate on other important things.
First, Campbell had transferred fifteen thousand pounds into Brian's account.
Brian had then collected three thousand pounds from the bank and discovered that there was a limit to how much he could withdraw that day.
Campbell and he had decided that Campbell would wait three more days, lying low at Brian's house, allowing Brian to collect another six thousand pounds in cash for Campbell.
They'd also found a small cottage on the outskirts of Arrochar, nestled under Ben Arthur, one of Brian's favourite mountains in Scotland, only ten minutes from Loch Lomond.
Arrochar was a small town. Unless you knew it was there, you probably wouldn't go there. And the cottage they had chosen was at the end of an almost hidden road, not viewable from the roadside. Nevertheless, the house had incredible views, both of the long sea loch that ran up to Arrochar from the Firth of Clyde on one side at the front, and Ben Arthur from the rear windows.
Brian knew about the cottage, having stayed there one New Year's Eve with a friend, many years ago.
Renting it had been simple, with a quick phone call to the agent. Brian had used his credit card to make sure there was no link to Campbell. And they were done.
It was agreed that Campbell would have Brian's car, and that he would head out there on the Sunday afternoon.
After insisting that he would only do so under the veil of a disguise, Campbell also agreed to one last night out with Brian in Edinburgh before going into exile.
They settled on the Fiddler's Arms because it was a small pub and frequented mostly by regulars.
It was probably as safe as you would get. And once Campbell was tucked away in the seats at the back of the pub beside the Ceilidh band, he could relax, blend in and become invisible.
But first there was something that Campbell knew he had to do.
He’d spent the best part of the past two days thinking about it.
The Assassin's Gift Page 20