Sterling

by Robert Cameron

  Cam slowly lowered himself over the edge of the roof, feeling for the outer edges of the window as he placed his feet on to the sill. He balanced, crouching on the sill, and slipped his right arm out of the strap of his backpack. He unzipped it and felt around inside for his crowbar, and prised the window open. The wood was old and rotten and splintered easily.

  Placing the crowbar back in his bag he put on a pair of latex gloves and worked his fingers into the damaged part of the window-frame. ‘Now to see if there’s an alarm,’ Cam thought. The window slid up without a sound. Cam hunted in his bag for his small blanket and leaning through the window, shook it open and let it flutter to the floor. Cam took off his heavy backpack and lowered it to the blanket on the floor. Stepping through the window on to the carpet, he turned and carefully closed the window. He squatted down and listened. All he could hear was the sound of the television downstairs.

  He rummaged in the backpack and took out his silenced pistol and a set of plastic shoe covers. With the bag on his back, shoes covered and pistol in hand he picked up the blanket and re-opened the window. He quickly wiped the sill with the blanket to destroy any footprints, then focused on the job in hand.

  ‘I’m in, and I have all the time in the world. I’ll take my time and do it properly.’ Slowly, walking heel-to-toe and on the outsides of his feet, he moved towards the door of what seemed to be a bedroom – maybe even Jabara’s own room. ‘Not a good idea to stay in here,’ Cam thought.

  He peered out into the landing of the first floor and spotted a built-in wardrobe – he could wait in there. Before moving on to the landing he listened again for movement. Nothing. Only then did he notice the smell. It was the smell of a dirty house, belonging to a slovenly and grubby person – a smell all too familiar to him. In a few careful steps he was in front of the wardrobe. The door opened with a small click – it had probably not been opened in years – and he disappeared inside.

  His plan was clear. ‘I’ll stay in here and wait for him to go to bed, then take him out – just like the last one. If he happens to open this door, I’ll make a quick ID of the man, and positively identify him if I can – then I’ll double tap him, right here on the landing.’ It seemed so simple. All he had to do was wait.

  Chapter 11

  Cam had his eyes shut; he had been waiting for well over two hours, squatting in the cupboard. He wasn’t asleep – he was listening. He found that if he shut his eyes his other senses were heightened. He heard the unmistakable sound of the doorbell – the cheap rasping buzz made Cam’s eyes spring open. He saw his plan fly out the window with this unexpected turn. He would have to improvise.

  He could hear voices coming from downstairs, but he couldn’t tell if they were speaking English or not. Straining his ears, he failed to make anything out, suggesting that they were not UK natives. He could hear only two voices – so just one visitor. But what were they talking about? The conversation seemed to take on an aggressive tone. ‘But maybe that’s how they speak to each other,’ Cam thought. What the hell were they talking about? Their heated debate had gone on for almost an hour when Cam heard some commotion. He could not make out what had happened, but he heard the front door shut and then the sound of one person moving around.

  After some pottering around downstairs, that person started up the stairs then stopped outside the wardrobe for a moment before moving on, but to Cam it felt like an hour. He would rather have done the job in the same fashion as last time; kept it clean and simple, with minimal risk. The footsteps disappeared into what Cam assumed was the toilet or bathroom. Cam heard the seat being lifted and the sound of a zip. He was urinating. Was it still Jabara?

  With the flush of the toilet the man left the bathroom and entered the bedroom. Cam heard movement around the room, then some heavy fast footsteps growing louder. He was coming back towards the landing!

  The cupboard door flew open and the man gasped as he realised someone was hiding inside. Cam was discovered. In an instant he shot to his feet, head-butting the man’s chin as he stood up. The unknown man fell to the floor, clutching his face. Cam stepped out of the cupboard and tried to get a look at him to identify him, but the man on the floor swept Cam’s feet out from under him, and he fell to the floor. Cam levelled his pistol at his opponent’s head. In an involuntary reflex the man removed his hands from his face and placed them behind his back in an attempt to shimmy away from danger.

  Cam hesitated – this was not the man he had come for. It was not Jabara. In one smooth movement, Cam rose to his feet without breaking his aim. He stood for a moment, considering his options. The unknown man now had his back to the wall – he had nowhere else to go. Cam could see the hatred in the man’s eyes. Even in his desperate situation, the passion for his cause was still evident. Cam took two steps forward, never relaxing his aim. Cam saw no fear in him, only contempt.

  The man must have realised that he was about to die. He went to move – to attack Cam – but he was ready and smashed him squarely in the face with the bottom of his foot, knocking him out. Cam could not kill an innocent man. For all he knew he was no more than an acquaintance of Jabara’s and had done no wrong. He also knew that the possibility of the man being completely unaware of Jabara’s crimes was far from remote, making him guilty by acquaintance. But he would never take the chance.

  He knelt down near the man’s slumped body. He grabbed him by the hair and lifted it to take a good look at him. He bore absolutely no resemblance to Jabara, however, that was no proof that they were not related. Letting go and standing up, the man rolled on to his side. Cam turned to leave. ‘If I exit by the front door I can simply cross the street and be out of here,’ he thought.

  He unlocked the front door and removed the safety chain. Opening the door he looked up and down the street. It was all clear, and he now had a decision to make. He could cross the street and climb back up to the balconies and go back the way he had come – or he could make a run for it. Mulling it over for a few seconds, Cam chose to run. It was early morning and still quiet. It was safe to go.

  Cam closed the door behind him and took to his heels. He would be out of the neighbourhood and back to safety in no time.

  * * * * * * *

  On the other side of the street, one door down from Jabara’s and out of Cam’s sight, sat a small, beat-up old transit van. Inside were two men with tired red eyes, looking open-mouthed at a monitor screen. One turned to the other, who continued to stare at the monitor.

  ‘Who the hell was that?’

  Chapter 12

  The next two days were some of the strangest of Cam’s life. The contrast between his two missions was immense. One could not have gone better – the other could not have been worse. Cam puzzled over the identity of the second man. He couldn’t risk going back, so he would either have to give up the whole programme or move on to the next target.

  Anyway, for now he was home, safe in front of his fire and sipping Johnnie Walker Red Label whisky. This was rare treat; he usually bought himself any whisky that was on sale. Not the cheap crap – he insisted on at least a well-established brand – but he couldn’t tell the difference between blended and single malt, so any good blend would do. Today though, he had got himself something he’d never tried before – a very rare treat. Usually he was careful with his money, not only because the ambulance service paid so poorly, but because his money went elsewhere.

  The next day he would be back at work – the last place he needed to be. He desperately needed to get his head sorted out. The whisky was doing the trick. He felt warm and relaxed. He would have to force himself to go to bed, to be fully ready for the next day’s work. ‘Maybe another quick dram first.’

  * * * * * * *

  Cam sat subdued in the waiting room of the ambulance station. So far it had been a quiet day. A busy day might have been easier to handle, despite the fact that he really did need time to think.
Nick was busy in the office doing his team-leader jobs and Cam was bored and needed something to do. He decided to get the daily cleaning done.

  As he wiped down the yellow handrails in the back of the ambulance, Cam couldn’t help but feel his mission was over. He could never risk involving an innocent person. God forbid that he should kill someone who did not deserve it. It was over – and that pissed him off.

  From the back of the ambulance Cam heard the bleep of the display screen. He put away the cleaning kit and closed the side door of the ambulance. All other thoughts were put to one side.

  ‘Job!’ Cam shouted. He started the garage door opening and pulled out the charging line. Climbing into the driving seat he pressed the ‘accept’ button then double tapped the ‘mobile to incident’.

  Reversing back into the garage bay, the atmosphere in the ambulance was tense. The job had turned out to be one that did not warrant an accident and emergency vehicle. Cam had shown annoyance with the people at the scene.

  ‘So,’ said Nick. ‘What was all that about?’ Cam sat at the wheel looking down. ‘Shall we go have a chat in the rest room?’ he continued.

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ They moved into the waiting room and sat down. ‘Before you say anything, I know that I shouldn’t have said any of that,’ said Cam, pre-empting what was about to come. ‘I suppose I’m just a little tired of going out to people who don’t need us. Losers like that get on my nerves.’

  ‘OK, but we have to respect the lives that people want to live. You have to remember that their standards can be very different from ours. It depends how you are brought up. Things that are fine for them wouldn’t be for us – but we have to respect their choices.’

  ‘Yeah, I know you’re right, but it’s still annoying.’

  ‘I know, Cam, but it’s our job,’ Nick sighed. ‘I don’t think that’s the whole problem though – is everything all right? You seem preoccupied.’

  ‘I’m, um, in the middle of something that I’m not sure I can finish.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to tell me about it, but if it’s going to bother you this much, you have to get it sorted,’ Nick said.

  ‘It would probably bring on a load of other problems. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Cam, just sort it out. Whatever needs doing, then go get it done.’ After a short silence, Cam replied.

  ‘You’re right; it’s as good as done.’ Nick had unwittingly sealed the fate of Jabara.

  That night Cam sat in front of the fire, finishing off the Johnnie Walker. In two days time he would head back to Bradford and finish what he had started. He knew how to get to the target without being seen. He knew the layout of the house. He felt confident he could get in and get it done. That should actually be easier than starting from the beginning, he made a quick plan in his head. He was sure he could finish the job.

  * * * * * * *

  Back in the rubbish-strewn alleyway, Cam experienced a flash of déjà vu. Once again he was looking at the house of Abdul-Waajid Jabara. The scene was exactly the same, but there was just the one light in the living room. He could picture it – the same room that he escaped through last time, with the television flickering through the dirty smoke-stained net curtains.

  The street was clear and he leaned on the wall with his hands in the pockets of his hooded top, one leg crossed over the other. He felt relaxed and calm; he knew what to expect with this one now. With the bedroom window broken into, it would probably be a bad idea to use the same entry point. The last time he saw from the roof that there was probably a back door to the property. If he went for it now, he could get in the rear door and hopefully, because it was still early, the alarm – if any – would not be set. Jabara hadn’t set it when his visitor stopped by last time.

  One last look to make sure it was all clear, then he moved. Across the street, hands in pockets, head down, making an effort to look inconspicuous, he entered the relative safety of the building-site near to Jabara’s house. Instead of climbing the builders’ tunnel to the upper floor, he stepped over the rubble towards the back of the old derelict house.

  The street at the back of Jabara’s – if one could call it a street – was similar to the alley he had just left. Piles of rubbish and household waste littered the gutters.

  When he reached Jabara’s back door, he stopped and listened. Putting on his latex gloves he contemplated the lock, trying to decide the best way to pick it. As he could not hear any sounds from the front room from where he was at the back of the property, he decided to use his bump key. The bump key was basically a normal house key that had had its teeth filed down to the minimum. The technique was to put some sideways pressure on the drum with the tension-rod from his lock-pick set. Next he inserted the bump key – but not all the way – perhaps one or two clicks from the end. Then, while putting some tension on the rod, he banged the key in with the palm of his hand. The fast movement would usually spring the pins up into the drum and, with the tension rod under pressure, the pins would fall into their housing and the lock would open.

  Cam was not surprised when it worked. The only problem with this technique was that the noise of the bump could alert people that something was going on. With the lock beaten and the door open, Cam waited to see if there would be any reaction.

  No movement, nothing – and no alarm had been activated.The same process time after time; to Cam it was second nature. Blanket down, shoe-covers on, prep his gun and close the door.

  Cam found himself in some kind of kitchen area. He hoped it wasn’t used to prepare food in any way. If it was, he probably didn’t have to worry about killing the occupant – food poisoning would do that for him. The flooring in the kitchen was solid, making it easy to creep over soundlessly. The only problem was the rubbish and debris that covered the entire floor. Cam picked his way to the door that had been left ajar at the far side of the room.

  Through the crack he could see down the corridor to another door that led to the living room. It was the same room that he had used to escape through, less than a week before. He could even remember how the furniture was arranged, as long as it hadn’t been changed. No point staying in the kitchen – the man he was after must be sitting in that room, only metres away.

  The closer he got to the living room, the more he could see into it… and there he was. Cam could see the back of a cheap cream-coloured sofa and the back of a head just visible. The man was slouched on the stained sofa, with his left arm propped up on the backrest.

  He had to make sure that it was Jabara – he couldn’t allow the same thing to happen again. From the way the room was laid out, it was going to be virtually impossible to see his face without being seen himself.

  With his left hand in the middle of the door, his right hand on the handle, he opened it further. Applying inwards pressure on the middle of the door and upwards force on the door handle, he opened the door millimetre by millimetre. The door was opened as far as it needed to be now. Cam knew that Jabara could not see his shadow. For the moment he was safe in the darkness of the corridor.

  ‘So far so good,’ Cam thought. The television was on loud enough that Cam could move around with little chance of being heard. He could now see the whole of the room. He would have to approach the sofa crouching down, avoiding casting a shadow in the light of a standard lamp in the back corner of the room. Keeping low, he sneaked forward, trying to keep a constant eye on the target, in case he moved. He was now in position, right up against the rear of the stinking sofa. ‘At least there is no way he can smell me,’ he thought.

  Cam psyched himself up, preparing to complete the second part of his mission. Only five days ago he would have never thought he would be in this room again. ‘OK, I’m ready.’

  With his pistol in his right hand he reached up with his left. Fingers spread, only inches from the back of the head of the unidentified man, it was time.
Cam gripped the man’s hair and clenched his fist. Within a millisecond he had the barrel of his silencer pressed hard against the man’s temple.

  As he pressed the gun harder into the side of the man’s head, he pulled it back, making him grunt with pain. He straightened his back to gain him a small amount of extra height. Leaning over he looked down on the contorted face – Cam was one hundred percent positive. It was Jabara.

  Cam let go and stood up and Jabara looked up at the intruder. He inhaled and instinctively tried to slide away from danger. Cam had the pistol levelled directly between Jabara’s eyes. Thump! The first shot hit him exactly where he wanted. Jabara’s head jerked back. Cam could see from his expression that he was already dead, within an instant.

  Thump! The second shot hit him in the jaw, nearly blowing it off.

  Cam lowered the pistol, and looked at the lifeless body of a terrorist. Stepping forward he reached down and felt for a pulse. It confirmed what he already knew. He was dead. Cam stowed his pistol in the rucksack and looked around the room. What he was looking for he did not know. Maybe he wanted to know more about the man he had just killed. His attention was drawn to a picture hung on the wall.

  He walked over to it and studied the huge framed image. It was a depiction of Muhammad. This struck Cam as strange, as pictures of the prophet Muhammad were widely rejected by Islam. ‘This is typical,’ Cam thought to himself, ‘a man like this knows nothing of his own religion. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s fighting for.’

  He looked up at the picture for several seconds then turned away, shaking his head. It was time to go. Just like the last time, he opened the door and made sure the coast was clear. He wondered how long it would be before this body would be found. He didn’t actually know if the last one had been found. He had no idea what was going on there… Then he was out and gone.