At the very least, she would be able to see the van.
She also knew that if a change of shift was not obvious, it would mean spending another night in the open, watching the night shift and re-checking the time they were replaced.
However, Alessandra's glass was always half-full. She thought-positively, but also reacted positively if circumstances changed and things did not quite go as well as hoped. And if they did not, the art of bringing the world back into alignment and making things better, was one of Alessandra's true gifts.
So it was that at 5.54 am a green truck passed by, heading towards Arrochar.
It pulled into a parking bay underneath some trees a few hundred metres ahead of her. She watched through her binoculars as the back doors of the truck were flung open. Inside she registered only two people. Soldiers. Both jumped down and out. They hurried off into the night through the trees.
Twelve minutes later at 6.06 a.m. two soldiers returned in quick succession.
They jumped in.
The truck did a quick U-Turn, then disappeared back down the road alongside of the loch.
Alessandra nodded.
Two shifts. Four people plus a driver.
Her plan would work.
So, tonight was the night.
This time tomorrow McKenzie would be dead. And another mission would be complete.
-------------------
The High Court
Edinburgh
Monday 10.00 a.m.
Ivor Petrovsky sat alone in his cell, underneath the High Court of Edinburgh. The start of the fifth day of proceedings had just been postponed, and he'd been sent downstairs again.
Apparently new evidence.
Although it was not needed.
So far, the trial had been a disaster from start to finish.
Originally it had been expected to last for months, however his legal team, - what a joke they had turned out to be - were now insisting that the new evidence presented was so overwhelming, that there was little hope.
Two of his men had snitched on him. Done a deal. Spilt the beans.
Of course, even from prison, Petrovsky would ensure that they would still die.
As McKenzie would very, very soon.
But the reality was now dawning on Petrovsky.
The result of the trial was a foregone conclusion.
His lawyers, his team of lawyers, were telling him it could all be over within a few weeks, and that he would be facing life, probably without parole, behind bars.
To hell with that.
He already started to make other plans.
Escape or die.
They were the only two real choices.
Plans had already been set in motion for both.
-------------------
Arrochar
Tuesday 01.45 a.m.
It was raining. Pouring down. Cats, dogs, haggises, the lot.
Luckily, it had started after Alessandra had arrived and was in place, safely tucked away underneath her waterproof hide.
Thank goodness she had been spared the rain during her cycle down from her rental cottage.
She'd had a busy day of preparations getting ready for this evening, but now she was here, she was primed, excited, and ready for whatever fate had in store for her this evening.
The delivery had arrived, and she'd picked it up that evening as soon it was reasonably dark. Everything was there.
She'd hurried back to the cottage with it all, checked everything was working, made a selection of everything she would need - she'd over ordered as usual, not having yet formulated a plan and knowing what she would need - and packed it all up in the panniers of the bicycle she had bought first thing that afternoon in Balloch.
The bicycle was an intrinsic part of the plan.
She was concerned that driving the car down the small roads past the cottages of locals on such quiet roads, might be arousing suspicion, and could get her in trouble from anyone who saw her from the cottages she passed.
She'd thought about it. Also, she didn't know exactly how it would go this evening. Depending on what transpired, she might end up exiting over the hills, and catching a local bus back to Crianlarich the next day. Or just walking.
Having her car parked in the valley could be a disadvantage. She needed it to get away in later, once she'd cleaned out the cottage.
In the end, whilst lying in wait last night, she'd decided upon getting a touring bicycle and some panniers, packing it up, and cycling in.
It made a lot of sense, could be easily hidden, was practically invisible at night, and could be abandoned if she didn't need it later.
A good stretch of the road down from Crianlarich was downhill, and it had actually turned out very easy and quick to get there from her cottage.
People forget that cars are not the be-all and end-all of transport.
There are things called feet which can power you and help get you most places just fine.
She'd unstrapped her supplies from the back of the bike and hidden it over the other side of a stone wall. Nobody would see it, apart from the sheep, and it might not be discovered for weeks if she decided to leave it there.
Minutes later she was in place, underneath her hide, her new sniper rifle assembled and ready. Luckily her cottage was quite isolated, and she'd had a chance to try the rifle out earlier, making sure everything was fine. It was good.
The targets - Target One and Target Two - were in the same locations as before. Both would be an easy shot. Alessandra had chosen a different location tonight. She had moved to her right, and was higher up on the hill, closer to Target Two.
The plan was simple.
At about 2.30 a.m. she would take out Target Two on the hill, then quickly follow with Target One. She'd rush over to Target Two, check he was out of action, search him and take his radio. Then repeat with Target One.
Once both were confirmed as no longer a threat, she would quickly move to the cottage, let herself in through the back door, find McKenzie, despatch him, and leave through the back the way she had come.
With any luck she would be home within an hour.
If things went well, and she took the bike back to the cottage, she would bury the rifle and other equipment under a copse of trees she had seen near a bog. Nobody would find anything there.
As she lay in the grass, making her final preparations, Alessandra began to feel uneasy. Probably for the first time ever whilst on a mission.
Strange thoughts had entered her mind, similar to the evening before. She fought with them. Re-focused. Blocked them out. Engaged mission mode.
At 2.10 a.m. she took out the normal, standard bullets from her rifle, and replaced them with the special bullets she had ordered from her supplier.
Alessandra never killed anyone she didn't need to. The army soldiers protecting McKenzie were only doing their duty, serving their country. They were not her enemy, and she was not being paid to kill them.
Each bullet would deliver a sizeable punch, but would not kill them. Instead the drugs they would deliver into their bloodstream would knock them out for a good twelve hours. Until then, they would be effectively completely comatose and pose no threat to her or her operation.
The immediate danger would come from the back-up team.
Once they established that radio contact with both team members had been broken, they would become suspicious, and would quickly deploy to the field to investigate.
How soon that would be, Alessandra could not tell, but she would not have long.
There was also the possible threat from a third party, which she had considered seriously earlier, but in spite of all her searching, so far she had found nothing. However, that didn't mean to say that another threat didn't exist: she would just have to respond to it if and when it materialised.
The bottom line was that once inside McKenzie's cottage, she would have to act fast.
Get in, kill McKenzie, and leave.
In theory, it should be
simple.
She looked at her watch.
Two twenty-nine.
Show time.
Chapter 40
Arrochar
Tuesday 2.30 a.m.
Target Two was only about five hundred metres away. A relatively simple shot.
There was no wind, no special mitigating factors.
Just line up the shot, hit the target, and move on swiftly to Target One.
Salvador took both shots in quick succession and was professionally pleased when she hit both targets exactly where she wanted to.
Arm extended in front of her and carrying a Glock with a suppressor on it, within seconds of the second target being hit, she was running towards him, abandoning the hide and a few of her supplies, all of which had only ever been handled with gloves so she was certain they would leave no traces of DNA.
She carried the rifle with her across her back, not so comfortable about simply abandoning it. Ideally she never left any weapons at the scene.
Reaching Target Two she bent down and spun him over, checking his breathing. He was out for the count, the bullet having delivered the drug as planned. She located his radio and quickly donned his headset, hoping to hear any communications. For now, however, she found only radio silence.
A quick search revealed no ID.
She hurried over to Target One.
Target One was also asleep, and she likewise took the radio and checked for ID. Again none.
Jogging quickly, she covered the ground to the rental house, slowing down as she approached the fence around the back garden, before swiftly climbing it and dropping down into the garden beyond.
The house was dark, with no visible signs of life.
Doubling over, and following all her training, she manoeuvred herself to the back-door of the cottage, and squatted down beside the door.
Opening the pocket on the jacket of her left arm, she extracted the locksmiths tools which at times like these, second only to her rifle, were her next best friend.
The opening of doors to which there were no available keys was second nature to someone like Alessandra. They presented no problems, especially an old-one like this.
It took her less than three minutes to open.
Inside it was dark, but with her night-vision goggles on, she could see clearly.
The back door took her into the kitchen. A quick scan of its contents told a sad story. It was littered with empty cans of beer and bottles of wine. There were also a few empty bottles of whisky.
Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink.
The place stank.
Quiet as a mouse, she went into the hallway and listened. She heard snoring.
Opening the door to a room at the back of the house, she found its source.
A man was lying in a bed, fully clothed, a light cover kicked to the side.
A half filled glass of wine sat on the bedside table, and a few empty beer bottles lay on the floor.
Could this really be DCI Campbell McKenzie?
If it was, no wonder she had not seen him walking around Arrochar. The man was probably locked up in the house, drinking, drunk or asleep.
Before stepping into the room, she needed to check the rest of the building for any possible guests, and she did so quickly and efficiently.
It was thankfully empty, and the front door was locked from the inside. A pile of newspapers suggested he had not opened the door for a few days. A few letters were lying scattered on the floor, and she bent down, scanning the names on the front, hoping to find one addressed to McKenzie.
Sadly not. They were addressed to another person, or 'The Owner' or the 'The Landlord'. But not McKenzie.
Alessandra turned to walk back down the short hallway, back to the kitchen where she had left the rifle and her small rucksack.
There would be no need for a gun, and she holstered her Glock. She reached into the rucksack to locate the syringe with the poison in it, ideal for a situation like this where the excessive alcohol intake could suggest a cause of death all of its own.
The syringe was already primed and ready to inject.
Gently opening the door to the room with the man lying asleep she held the syringe ready to deliver its payload. Before she killed the man though, she needed to confirm his identify.
Not only did she not want to kill the wrong person, but before she could claim completion of the mission to whoever who had contracted her, she needed to be sure in herself, she had got McKenzie.
The man in the bed was bearded, his face turned into the pillow. Rather than turn him over and try to identify him visually she started to look for a wallet. The back-pockets of his trousers did not look as if they contained much.
She turned her attention elsewhere, quickly scanning the bedroom for clues. Apart from the bed, two side tables, and a wardrobe, the room boasted only a single armchair.
On the armchair was a jacket.
Lifting the jacket she felt the ominous weight and heard the jangle of a bunch of keys in a side pocket. She felt for them and pulled them out.
House keys and car keys.
Suddenly the man on the bed let out a loud snore and turned. Alessandra spun around, ready to step forward and act if necessary.
The man snored again, coughed, then turned back into the pillow.
Unfortunately, although she saw his face briefly, she wasn't able to confirm with certainty it was him.
Similar to the pictures, yes. But she still needed to be sure.
Reaching into the inside pocket Alessandra hit pay dirt.
Pulling out the wallet, she dropped the jacket and opened the wallet.
Credit cards, business cards, bank cards.
A drivers licence.
And then several pictures.
As she flicked through them, she was pleased to find that the bank cards and the driver's licence positively identified Campbell McKenzie. She was just about to replace them in the wallet and put it back in the jacket pocket, when one of the photographs caught her attention.
Her heart almost stopped beating.
It was a photograph of Campbell with an arm around a woman, cut out from a newspaper.
Underneath were the printed words, "Congratulations to Campbell and Fiona McKenzie celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary."
Alessandra stared at the photograph in disbelief.
Not wanting to accept what she was seeing.
It couldn't be true.
It wasn't possible...
In the photograph she recognised Campbell easily.
She also immediately recognised his wife.
It was Amelia.
Chapter 41
Arrochar
Tuesday 2.52 a.m.
In the next few seconds, Alessandra's world was turned upside down, and Salvador's mission was thrown into doubt and confusion.
Alessandra felt weak at the knees.
Her mind was a whirl of emotions, thoughts and confusion.
How could this be?
Was someone, somewhere playing a dark, sick joke on her?
What the hell was going on?
Retreating to the kitchen, she sat down on the only chair that wasn't covered in rubbish, and looked at her watch.
She took a deep breath and tried to focus.
She'd been in the house for almost ten minutes now.
Too long.
She needed to complete her mission and leave.
Now!
The moment the backup team didn't get a response from their team on the ground, they would come rushing over to find out what was the matter.
She may only have minutes, or even seconds.
Alessandra knew there was no time to think.
No time to process what this all meant.
One thing was clear to her though.
For the first time in her life, she knew she would have to abandon or postpone the mission.
She couldn't just kill McKenzie!
It would make no sense.
S
ave the wife, kill the husband.
Even more than that, Alessandra had really come to care for Amelia... shit, Fiona... She'd shared her suffering, understood her pain. Then taken it away.
She understood that she loved her husband and wanted more than anything in the world to be given a second chance.
A second chance, so that she could become a mother.
So that Campbell could become a father.
The confusion that she had started to feel over the past two days suddenly surged within her and swamped her mind.
She couldn't think straight.
"Shit!" she swore aloud in Italian, "I knew the bloody Gift was a curse, sent to destroy me!"
She looked at her watch again.
Another two minutes had passed.
Luckily the anger helped clear her mind enough for her to make a decision.
She might still kill McKenzie, or she might let him live for the sake of Amelia,... Fiona... and the unborn twins, but whatever decision she would make she must make later.
For now, she had to get out of there.
And she was not leaving without McKenzie.
Rushing to the front door and looking out the window, she saw a car in the front drive.
Good.
She hurried back to the bedroom, removed the car keys from his pocket, and returning to the door, pointed the electronic key at the car through the window and clicked on the button in its centre.
"Beep, beep" and several lights on the car flashed as the door opened.
Bingo. Transport!
Next, she slid off the chain, turned the key and opened the front door of the house.
Hurrying out to the car, she popped the trunk and opened it up, and opened the back passenger door.
Returning to the bedroom, - her mind now focused on what she had to do in the next few minutes - , she stood at the bottom of the bed and stared at McKenzie, still snoring.
The main question was, how much had he had to drink, and how drunk was he?
Would he wake up easily?
The Assassin's Gift Page 39