by P. S. Bridge
The second was Hix Lomas: a thirty something year old, former Chechnyan army soldier, professional Hitman and the person Mark believed was physically responsible for Marie King’s death. What troubled Mark was HOW he was going to get into London without being recognised .Ian Hawking seemed to have a very irritating knack of finding Mark wherever he went. The other guys, including Vose and Lomas, wanted him dead. At this point, Mark wasn’t sure whether he was the hunter or the hunted and had to work out some sort of plan of action. Mark realised his aunt, who was a theatre make-up artist, had taught him how to use make up to change a person’s appearance and he remembered he was particularly interested and skilled in prosthetics. Mark decided he was going to take a trip to his aunt’s storage unit outside of London and use some of her props to disguise himself.
Mark drove to his aunt’s storage facility and, on the drive; he remembered how much his aunt had taught him that, up until this point, he had forgotten about. He smiled with fondness at the memories. He checked his watch which was set to US time as well as UK time and thought of Hope and Benjamin. He missed them so decided to call them (using an untraceable pre-paid cell phone) in the US to find out how they were settling into their new school. Wendy answered, putting him on speaker, giving everyone a chance to talk.
Mark smiled as the questioned were fired at him,
‘When are you coming back Daddy?’ they asked innocently.
‘Very soon Kiddo’s’ Mark replied, trying not to sound upset, ‘but Daddy has to take care of some business first.’
Mark grinned and fought back a tear as he told him how they were getting on, the friends they have made and Benjamin jumped in saying Hope was saying she had a ‘boyfriend’ at her new school. This scared Mark as he actually despaired at the thought of his little girl growing up too fast without his protection. He truthfully feared that, more than the prospect of facing his wife’s killers and ridding the world of their entire network.
Mark finished the phone call and cancelled his hands free connection, being careful to wipe any record of the call before arriving at the storage unit. He got out of the van and wandered around inside, using his pocket mag light to light his way. It was a relative warehouse full of costumes and props from the theatre as well as an entire section dedicated to make-up and prosthetics. He looked around and began to load a few boxes into his Mercedes van. He loaded it up with as much as he could carry, including an old dressing room mirror, and, upon leaving, paid the security guard at reception for allowing him in without any record. The last thing Mark wanted was to be traced here.
It was nearly dark as Mark drove back to his bunker but he decided to do a quick drive-by of the office building where his intelligence revealed Lomas and Hix visited regularly. No sooner had he parked up out of sight, he saw a team of cleaning staff all stood at the side entrance of the building, presumably on a smoke break before their evening shift. He took out his small camera and proceeded to take photographs of them for reference. He made a note of the time their shift started and pictures of the whole team, including their ID badges they wore around their necks. He also took photographs of the security desk inside the building Conveniently, the security guard was studying a rota on the desk in front of him which showed what appeared to be the shifts for the next month and the staff names on the list. Mark took a picture of this and counted himself lucky he managed to find such a powerful camera. Putting the camera back in his kit back, he then looked around the area for a vantage point and decided on the roof of the building opposite: perfect sniper position.
Back at the facility, Mark had erected a long table with the equally long mirror he borrowed from the storage facility. He took out some magazines he acquired along the way and flicked through the various pictures of random people until he settled on a version of Keanu Reeves, post Matrix, with a beard. Over the next few hours, Mark practised until he had perfected the look and used some of the prosthetics, applied to his face, completely changing his appearance. From the electronics he acquired and the stores of gadgets already at the facility when he ‘moved in’, he managed to rig up two small cameras which beamed a pre-recorded moving image of him, which he had filmed earlier. He rummaged through the sack loads of costumes and realised one of them virtually matched the uniform the cleaners were wearing earlier. He grabbed it and began to hang each costume up on a rail. Once he had finished, he had costumes ranging from airmen to cowboys all lined up neatly on the rails. He smiled.
‘This will definitely be useful,’ he said to himself as he let his hand run across the rows of costumes.
He sat at the small metal table in the corner of the room and took a picture of himself on his digital camera. Using the internet and social media, Mark researched the names of the security employees, researching details of their lives, noting them down, and did the same for the cleaning team. Using a “Magicard Pronto ID Card Printer” he purchased on the way, he pasted his own picture onto several ID badges before printing off a copy of the rota. He placed the rota on a large glass writing board and, using red string, drew a line on a map of the area from the building he had selected as a target, to the outside of the map. He wrote all the names of the security guards and cleaning crew and placed them at various locations and times around the building. Reaching across the table, he pulled out blueprints he found online and building plans showing the exact layout of the two buildings.
Using a phone, he used an anti-trace device to prevent anyone tracing the call, and then made a call to the building he picked out as a vantage point, speaking to the Building Services Manager to advise them of the need for some overnight works to wiring on the ninth floor of this sixteen-storey building. He provided a ‘contact’ number, being another untraceable pre-paid cell phone which was then connected to the landline facility number, and requested that building services call his boss to confirm the works. Mark awaited a call back from Building Services. Within ten minutes, the phone rang, and it was Building Services. Putting on his best fake voice, Mark answered and confirmed the works to be carried out, providing a fake name and details for an ‘employee’ of Mark’s imaginary company and told them to expect him. Mark then printed out another fake ID badge and details. Next he went online and created a website and details about the fake firm he made up including testimonials taken from other websites of similar companies. Luckily for Mark, the internet connection was untraceable as it belonged to the MoD and in the event of World War Three, the MoD wouldn’t want anyone to hack into their systems to get their location.
Mark pulled out parts of different costumes and put them together to look like an electrician specialist. He put them in a bag along with his sniper rifle, handgun, mini cameras and remote control, ammunition, a zip wire clamp and a grappling hook gun, hard wired belt and harness set including Kevlar-plated leather security gloves. He then went to have a shower, shaving all of his body hair off and washing his hair thoroughly in a non-odour body wash. He also ensured he hadn’t smoked for at least twenty-four hours beforehand so the smell of tobacco would be cleaned from him. After his shower, Mark applied the prosthetic mask, using the body glue and base foundation. He commented that even HE didn’t recognise himself in the mirror.
He dressed in the same uniform as a cleaner and took his bag and equipment to the van. Before he got into the van, he swapped the plates for foreign number plates and clipped a timed explosive to the under-carriage of the vehicle in case he had to abandon it. He had images on his phone of all the maps, plans and photos of the people he needed, including his targets.
Mark parked up in the next street in an alley and blocked it using large restaurant wheeled bins so as not to be disturbed. He waited until he smelled the cigarette smoke of one of the staff, a student in his late twenties who Mark believed was doing this job to pay his student loan.
‘Probably never good enough to get laid in the evenings,’ Mark tutted and whispered to himself, ‘or not popular enough to be out partying.’
He covered
his face with a balaclava and put on his Kevlar gloves and, jumped out of the van, closing the door quietly. Just as the unsuspecting student turned the corner, Mark grabbed him.
‘Sorry buddy,’ he apologised before hitting him on the head, knocking him unconscious. Mark dragged him behind the bins knowing, apart from a sore head, there would be no lasting damage. Mark took the student’s ID tag, took a picture of it and noted the name.
‘Well, Stuart,’ Mark said, standing up, ‘you won’t need this for a while!’
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out four five pound notes and folded them neatly as he took Stuart’s wallet. He placed the notes nearly into his wallet and wrote a small note on an old piece of paper he found in the bin. Mark spoke aloud as he wrote.
‘Sorry about the head, now go and get a new job!’
Before replacing Stuart’s wallet, he removed his balaclava and gloves and moved to fall in line with the other workers as they filed into the side entrance of the building. Mark had to think on his feet and noticed a black bin liner and plastic litter picker stood up against the wall. He quickly reached for it to use as a prop. Mark felt nervous as the security guard noticed he wasn’t Stuart. As Mark got closer, the guard put his hand up to stop Mark.
‘You aren’t Stuart?’ observed the guard. Mark smiled.
‘Nope,’ he replied jovially. ‘Stu is out getting drunk or laid or some shit like that?’
The guard did not share Mark’s jovial and comical act and continued to frown at Mark.
‘I’m a mate of his. I offered to do his shift for him tonight. Please don’t get him sacked; he’ll never speak to me again!’
The security guard smiled, remembering his own student days, and patted Mark on the back, waving him off towards the lift. Once inside, Mark slyly took a picture of the empty lift from underneath the camera, using the guise of polishing it with a rag, pressed floors five and fifteen, and waited until the lift was on floor five. He pressed the button to stop the lift. The lights went out, including the security camera. Out of his bag, Mark grabbed the zip wire harness and hook, and a small photo printer, no bigger than a standard camera. He quickly printed off the picture of the lift and stuck it to the camera carefully, facing the lens. He looked up at the ceiling and was just able to reach up to lift a ceiling tile. He breathed a sigh of relief as it lifted with ease and he pulled himself up into the lift shaft. Using the zip wire hook, he attached it to the lift cables and to his belt; he then used the grappling hook to fire up to the floor above and launched himself to the lift doors above. He prised them open with a crow bar and jammed the lift doors open. Looking around, he found a fake yucca plant and placed one of his tiny cameras in the leaves, hiding it from sight, and turned it on. He repeated this on the top floor and climbed back into the lift shaft. Putting everything back into his bag he sent the lift back down to the ground floor. Upon passing security, he waved a packet of Stuart’s cigarettes to the security guard who shook his head and tutted disapprovingly, buzzing him out to have a cigarette. Mark returned Stuart’s cigarettes, while he was still unconscious, before getting into the back of his van. Changing his uniform, he changed equipment and crossed the road and broke into the rear of the second building opposite.
Approaching the security desk he flashed his badge and explained who he was. It was the same person he spoke to earlier who was waiting for him before doing his rounds of the building. Again, Mark entered the lift, pressed one floor and pulled the switch to stop the lift and used his zip wire harness to climb the cables to the top floor. Once on the roof, he set up his sniper rifle and laser sight through a hole in the wall overlooking the fifteen-floor drop to the street below. He then activated the remote control cameras and waited for Vose and Hix to arrive.
Within half an hour Mark spotted a black Mercedes arrive and two individuals get out and enter the building opposite. Using his sniper telescopic sight, Mark could see them speak to the guard and approach the lift. He flipped up a small notebook laptop, and it showed a split screen display of both hidden cameras and the projection of him running. The cameras beamed an image of Mark running, the same one he filmed at his bunker earlier on, and Mark watched the camera until they spotted his image. They drew their weapons and tried to shoot at him. Just as planned, Mark’s image ran in the opposite direction and down a corridor. Vose and Hix gave chase and split up. Mark directed the image to the stairwell and Vose headed back to the lift whilst Hix chased Mark’s image up the stairs. Mark breathed slow and deep, thinking his plan was going well so far.
He had hoped to get them both on the rooftop simultaneously so it would have been an easier shot and reduce the risk of the plan being discovered, but it didn’t matter. Hix burst out onto the roof and walked towards the edge, glancing over. He wandered round beside an air conditioning housing unit and paused; Mark was already at his rifle and scope. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Images of Marie and the murder scene ran through Mark’s mind and his hands shook. Sweat soaked into the balaclava. Mark’s eyes went hazy for a moment as he fought to readjust his sight, praying Hix was still stood in the same place he was seconds ago. Luckily he was. Mark shook his head and relaxed his breathing once again, feeling the trigger on his finger tighten a little. He closed his eyes for a second and lined the crosshairs up to the side of Hix head. Mark felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he adjusted the trajectory to account for a slight breeze; however, he was on a rooftop. He held his breath and squeezed the trigger and whispered to Hix, as if Hix might hear Mark at this point.
‘This is for Marie.’
Mark felt the trigger pull under the control of his finger and the rifle slightly pull back as the bullet let fly, making a sharp but dull thud as the barrel fired the bullet at what seemed like a million miles an hour towards its target. At Sandhurst, Mark was taught once you have fired, you move so the enemy cannot get a fix on your location, but Mark had to see this through. He HAD to see Hix fall. He kept his eye firmly on the telescopic sight and saw the bullet impact the side of Hix’s head. He watched as blood spattered out from the wound and Hix dropped like a stone, blood quickly seeping out of the wound and onto the floor. Mark moved to duck behind the wall and finally remembered to breathe. He was panting, but he knew there was still a target to take down. He pulled himself together and moved silently along the wall to his second vantage point. He used his telescopic sight to get a fix on Vose, who was still running around corridors and was trying desperately to call someone. Mark turned to his notebook and switched on the second projector, beaming the image of him onto the wall opposite where Vose was stood. Mark’s image turned and ran and Vose gave chase but not in the direction Mark wanted him to go, towards the roof. Instead, Vose seemed to have lost Mark’s image and had instead moved himself into what appeared to be a meeting room. Mark knew he’d never get another chance like this and took aim, realising that the bullet would make it easily through the toughened glass and straight into Vose’s skull where it belonged. Mark took aim through the window and fired at Vose’s head.
As Mark steadied himself, something seemed to have spooked Vose. HAD he spotted Mark, or did he realise he was being played? Whatever it was, it caused him to shift his weight from one side to the other and lift his hand to his ear with his phone in it. This was just enough for Mark’s perfectly aimed shot to have sped past Vose’s ear and embedded itself into the wall behind him, but it didn’t. Instead, it hit Vose on the hand, obliterating the phone he was holding. Vose hit the ground behind a desk and Mark took two more shots at the desk, hoping to hit Vose, but the window and the wooden desk took the speed and direction out of the bullet and all Mark could do was watch as the door opened, revealing that Vose had crawled out of the room on his stomach. Watching the building he saw Vose running out of the main reception and into the car parked outside before speeding off. Mark had missed.
However, realising that he still needed to clear up, he again changed costume in his van before making one last t
rip to the building to retrieve his bullet. The last thing he wanted was forensics linking the bullets to his weapon. He inspected Hix’s lifeless body on the roof before discovering that the bullet had gone clean through and into a piece of metal Hix was stood in front of. Mark used sharp pliers to pull out the bullet and put it in his pocket before searching Hix and retrieving a passport and some money, some other paperwork and an electronic pass key and a car key. Mark made his way to the room where he tried to shoot Vose and pulled the bullets out of a framed picture on the wall before smashing the window so the police couldn’t get an impression of the bullet from the holes it made. Back in his van, Mark was about to drive home when he spotted another car which had pulled up close by the building. The black Audi A4 sat there, no one getting in, no one getting out. Mark could make out the outline of someone through the smoked windows, so turned off his ignition and stepped out.
‘Who are you waiting for?’ Mark whispered to himself, leaning flat against the walls, and edged round to a large set of white industrial bins near the rear of the car.
Taking out his silenced pistol he waited in the shadows, silently, still and waiting.
Chapter Ten
Time seemed to pass slowly as Mark perched uncomfortably between the two sets of bins as he waited to see who the car was there to pick up. His patience paid off as moments later, Roman Vose walked towards the car and used his weapon to tap on the window. It rolled down, and he was passed and hand full of papers. Vose looked at them and nodded, walking back towards the building again. The window wound back up again, and the car remained parked. Mark’s mind was racing as his body tensed. Who was the driver and what did they give Vose? Mark waited until Vose was out of sight and, checking the road both ways for witnesses, crept silently towards the car. He tapped on the window and waited. It wound down and Mark jumped up from behind the door, pointing his pistol at the leather jacket-clad driver. Instantly, hands were raised and Mark got in the passenger side. Once inside he sat, gun pointed at the driver.