They tossed a coin for the spare room and Beaumont won. Exhausted and troubled Beaumont and McKie went to sleep, David with his hand gun on the arm of the sofa. The slightest of noises woke him all the way through the night.
Chapter 42
Just outside Perth
Midnight
It was a sopping wet and exhausted Stanton who stood at the edge of the M90. He had swum three miles down stream, knowing that the thermal imaging helicopter was checking the ground to the south of the station. He heard dogs and sirens, but kept swimming on, freezing and as the night wore on the rain got stronger, a veritable downpour. In the end the weather was to his advantage. He skirted the A94 and crossed fields to get to the Glasgow bound section of the M90 and risking being spotted started walking, soaked and muddy along the hard shoulder. Exhausted as he was he knew that he must keep going, the risk of capture now held years in prison and he had been free too long to suffer a cell.
Cars were few and far between and none would stop for the sopping figure, most having heard the news at least on the radio; man on the run. It was looking grim as at any moment one might connect and do the good citizen thing.
The rain lashed at him and he shivered uncontrollably. It was in his mind to get out of the country. Find a friend and leave this mission behind, money or not.
A sympathetic lorry driver saw the sopping figure way ahead and as Stanton held out his thumb the HGV truck and trailer slowed and pulled into the hard shoulder a hundred metres ahead of him. Stanton gathered his strength and ran to the open cab door and dripping rain water climbed up.
“My god friend you are soaking, wait a minute whilst I put a blanket on that seat.”
The driver turned and delved into sleeper compartment at the back of the cab. Stanton took his chance with the man’s back turned, slid the wrapped weapon out of his coat, and without taking it out of the bag, gripped it and shot the driver in the back of the head.
Blood spattered the sleeping compartment as Stanton made sure of the man with two more shots. He covered the body with the blankets and duvet, spending ten minutes neatening it up, just in case he was stopped. He found the man’s bag of spare clothes and put the baggy items on, just to be dry. He quickly checked the man’s paperwork.
Tom Welby had been fifty-seven years old, driving his lorry from Dundee down to Glasgow. What Stanton didn’t know was that Welby was divorced and hadn’t seen his grown up children in years. He spent most of his time on the road and so he was a lonely man always looking for company. He had paid a high price for his loneliness, his humanity and his sympathy.
Stanton found a towel, dried his hair, put the heaters on full blast, drying himself, though he turned them down when the smell of blood began to pervade the cab.
After a half hour stop to make himself warm, dry and look normal, Stanton rammed the gears home and drove the lorry away, concentrating fully and remembering the HGV training he’d had in the Foreign Legion.
Chapter 43
Glasgow
Midnight
Wheeler, light headed as he was, still had enough sense to stay away from the city centre. He’d hidden all day in Kelvin Park, but was still fairly dry having found the shelter of thick bushes and trees. It dawned on him that there was CCTV in the city and he was dressed somewhat oddly. He decided that the best way out of the city was a bus. He headed for the bus station on Killermont Street having skirted the city centre and having walked for miles.
He stopped on the way at a pub for a stiff drink. The bar was full, it being a Friday night. He picked a dowdy, rough looking pub on purpose; they’d not be too fussy about his mode of dress. He played the down and out to the letter, bought whisky, with a frowning up and down look from the landlord and sat in the corner for half an hour watching the screen above him. He had to stay there as long as possible, because he knew he’d be sleeping rough. There was no football, but the sports channel was on. It was around last orders that the breaking news came through about Perth and then the marina killings. Wheeler inwardly groaned. The Secret Service people were on to them for sure and he’d be on their list. He bought another whisky, dipping into the white bin bag for change.
When the pub closed he made his way to the bus station, but aware of CCTV decided to sleep nearby. He chose a building just opposite Port Dundas Place which had trees and bushes at its edge. He found a shielded spot, gathered leaves, grass sticks and branches and in the now pouring rain lay down in a depression in the ground, amongst bushes. He slowly and carefully covered his body with the camouflage materials and lay shivering. His plan was to get fresh clothes, change at the bus station and get on the soonest bus for London.
Wheeler lay sleeping in the bushes unaware the building he was sleeping near was Police head quarters. The police went about their night’s business unaware that the man they were searching for was fast asleep covered by moss leaves and branches at the very edge of their grassed frontage area on the Cowcaddens Road.
Chapter 44
Harlington Road Bedfordshire
Midnight
The white plumber’s van chattered discontent as Mason came off the M1 and took the Harlington Road. After a brief drive around he found a wooded area just of Toddington Road and near Harlington Station, which gave him two ways out. With a military approach he camouflaged the van, locked up and settled down in the back with snacks and drinks he’d bought at services along the way. Within the hour he was curled up in the back of the van pistol in his hand. Uncomfortable, but tired enough to sleep like that and happy at least to be safe, he was hidden, and dry, which he knew from long experience was vital if he was to keep up energy and fitness levels.
Chapter 45
Manchester
Midnight
Cobb had driven as fast as caution allowed down the M62, switching to the M6 and finally the M56. His plan had been to find a hotel near Manchester airport. He knew he could park the car amongst the hundreds in the car park, stay overnight and get a plane very early.
Having negotiated the car park and got himself a room on the ground floor of the Bewley’s Hotel on Outwood Lane. Even without a booking and at that time of night he was able to get in. The airport located hotel had round the clock staff ready to ‘make a buck’ on the odd hours of travellers.
Once in the room Cobb settled down to eat the cold takeaway and drink a beer.
He began looking at the pictures he had taken from Wally. Surely his face in the sketch was lit by match flare, the light from below. When had they seen him? He recalled the cigarette after landing. Who had seen them? Surely no-one could have been there so quickly unless they were being set up.
He turned to the identity badge. It was an odd one. It didn’t mention which specific branch of the security services the bearer worked for it just gave authority to the bearer and was signed by the Queen. He noted the right to bear arms and diplomatic immunity on the UK mainland. Who gave their people immunity on their own turf? It was a new one on him. They’d been picked up and dropped off by a British navy submarine which to his mind meant that it was someone with authority in the UK, secret service or some such, wanting outside assassins to do a job for them.
He looked keenly at Wally’s face in the picture, then taking up Wally’s wallet he looked at the family pictures. Cobb got off the bed and walked to the window, swigging his beer. This guy with the badge was married, had a kid and was a local which meant that there was some sort of nationally co-ordinated neighbourhood watch scheme. The local guy in Scotland had seen them and he, Cobb, had been tracked to Liverpool. Looking out across the grass to the hedge and beyond the railway tracks to the city lights beyond Cobb felt ‘eyes’ watching.
He closed the curtain and looked around the room. It was clean enough, but it was all worn, like the arm chair sat in by a thousand people and the bed slept in by the same and it was all so impersonal. The white mug and tea pot washed a thousand times for a thousand different people sat impersonally on the courtesy tray with the sachets
of coffee and sugar. Cobb reflected that he’d seen at least a hundred rooms like this and had thought from time to time as he had left them to go and do a job that it might be the last place he’d have taken refuge in before he died.
Cobb shook his head and settled on the bed, pistol within reach and put the television on. Having found a repeat of ‘Where Eagles Dare’ just starting Cobb leaned back on the pillows and switching his mind from the day’s events, the impersonal and jaded furniture of the room and, as the third beer took effect, the direction his life had taken, Cobb watched Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood blast their way through German positions until he became drowsy and fell asleep.
It was around one a.m. when one of two returning drunks, singing down the corridor, fell heavily against Cobb’s door which ripped him from his sleep and pulled him upright, off the bed his cocked PSS pistol pointed at the door. He stood frozen in attitude, ears straining for other sounds and the tell tale noises of security forces gathering at the door. There were none and he relaxed on hearing the shutting of the door of the next room and a room further up the corridor. His pulse was just slowing when he became aware of BBC News 24 running on the television and caught the words ‘Mersey marina’.
With a certain amount of personal interest and horror he saw his face from the sketch on the screen and a picture of the Peugeot with the license number listed beside it. They had found the bodies very quickly. He became more than concerned when the news went on to the Perth shootings and had a growing sense that this spy network in the UK was highly organised and efficient to a deadly level.
Knowing that he’d be in the papers the next day Cobb had a cold shower, made some hated instant coffee from the courtesy tray and sat cleaning and loading his pistol whilst planning.
After cleaning up and packing Cobb took a long look at Wally’s government pass. Manchester airport would give him no need for a passport, but with the right glasses and the right wig he could pass for Wally and the ID badge would get him through quickly, especially with diplomatic. There’d be a lot of security around the airport and they would be looking for him so a disguise was needed. Cobb knew well that as far as security was concerned the right hand hardly ever knew what the left hand was doing.
Cobb removed Wally’s credit card and went to look at the hotel room door lock. They didn’t have the swipe keys here yet. He took his key, locked himself out and listening carefully to the corridor, reassured, he set about opening the door with the card. He practised the movements four or five times, went back into his room, got his bag ready and read the lay out of his room.
The drunk in the room next to him had shed clothes on the way to bed and had slumped onto his bed at an awkward angle. Cobb had managed the door easily and silently and stood in the room eyes adjusting to the dark for some thirty seconds. The whistling snores put him at his ease and having left the door pushed to, but not closed, he made his way to the bedside. Sure enough keys, cell phone, wallet and change on the bedside table. The key was a ‘bleeper’ type with a Citroen tag. He gathered the items quietly and exited the room.
Cobb checked out of the hotel via his window, made his way round to the car park, which was in full view of the front of the hotel, but that couldn’t be helped. He pressed the key as he walked around and the indicators lit up on a Citroen C4. He popped his bag on the back seat and started the engine. He fired up the Satnav and scanned a map of the area. His eye hit on the Daisy Nook country park and he punched in the destination. It was just outside the city on the M60, close enough to get back in early and far enough out to hide him and the car.
Chapter 46
Glasgow
6 a.m.
April 18th
Stanton had driven all night, down the M90, onto the A90 and then onto the M8, one short break of a half hour along the way, in a lay by to make a phone call, using the dead man’s cell phone, hadn’t given him any respite at all. He was getting exhausted, but pushed on taking the lorry on the A899. His target was the A72. An old Legion buddy lived in Motherwell and Stanton had been this way before some years earlier.
On the last part of the exhausting trip he had opened the window as the bodily fluids of the deceased were beginning to make a stench. Stanton mused on the fact that he would probably go down as serial killer having killed two truck drivers and a dog handler in one day.
Clarky was expecting him. He hadn’t gone into details, but Clarky owed him and was glad to help out such a good army buddy.
Stanton steered the big lorry up the Bothwell Road and into the Hamilton Park racecourse. He’d had this in mind earlier when he’d thought of Clarky. They’d had a good day out here when he stopped by, years ago, and Stanton roughly knew the lay out in his head. He entered via The Paddock and swung the lorry through a tight circle. It was six am and the whole place was empty. He parked under a line of trees and spent a while wiping the cab. He locked the doors on exit and walked to Hamilton West train station. There were CCTV cameras so he kept his head down and faced away, though he was getting too tired to care. It was a chilling and nerve racking wait, but a short one, before the early train screeched to a halt. He was drifting off when the train arrived and the brief journey saw him to Motherwell station with ease.
Clarky opened the door of his house on Parkneuk Street to an exhausted friend.
“Hey Trev. My god you look wasted. Better come on in.”
“It’s good to see you my friend.”
Stanton took a look around at the street before he walked in. The only thing which caught his eye was the oversized white satellite dish on the roof of the house opposite.
Chapter 47
Harlington Road Bedfordshire
6 a.m.
April 18th
Mason was awake very early. The back of the van was freezing and the rain drummed on the metal roof like a hyperactive Phil Collins. He checked his watch it was six-thirty. He unfolded himself from the back of the van and stretched. All was quiet, the van was scantily camouflaged, but he needn’t have worried it wasn’t a much visited spot. He walked off through light drizzle and relieved himself behind a tree.
Sitting in the van’s cab, engine running and heaters going full blast with radio four on Mason hungrily wolfed down a packet of Pork Scratchings and washed it down with a sachet of orange juice. News headlines at seven had him nearly choking mid swallow and exhaled orange juice ran down his chin. The news of the Perth shooting and Cobb’s handiwork in Liverpool, along with the report that security forces were looking for Wheeler and himself sent a cold shiver down his spine, especially when listeners were directed to the Today website to see pictures of the wanted men.
He wiped his face and looked in the rear view mirror; he knew he didn’t look like any picture they had of him and he wasn’t far from London. They’d probably have tagged the stolen van, though they couldn’t know who it was that had stolen it. He decided to head for greater London and dump the van and the sooner the better. With that in mind he drove onto the A road and then back onto the M1. With any luck he’d hit St Alban’s without a hitch, then a he’d get a commuter train to London. Once in London he could very easily become lost from sight, especially if he was careful.
Chapter 48
Liverpool
6-30 a.m.
April 18th
Tony sat on the bed in Jaz’s room cleaning his Sig220. Jaz looked up as the regular click of bullets being loaded back into the magazine clip interrupted her reading of the early morning DIC e-mails.
“You expecting trouble?”
“Yup. You’re not?”
“Well the armed police should be able to deal with the rough stuff.”
“This guy killed two unarmed men. Shot them in the back of the head and then shot each through the heart without hesitating. One of his colleagues fought to the death, outnumbered at that. Another shot an unarmed dog handler and the dog. I bet you that there’s a wave of murders in their wake. If we’re the first to come in to contact I’m likely to shoot
first and talk later.”
“That’s not what Jack wants. He wants them alive.”
“He’ll be lucky if last night is anything to go by.”
Jaz went back to her e-mails.
“First up is that the Peugeot was seen heading into Manchester, local police are looking for it. Second is that a listening team near the house of Sternway MI6 dirty tricks have a conversation which might implicate him, there’s an image of a fifth man, the one who killed the dog handler and finally we’ve got a helicopter ready for us at the airport to take us to Manchester Airport.”
Tony cocked the pistol, put it on safety and holstered it.
“You think he’ll go out by plane?”
“Well it’s as likely as any. He’d have to be disguised, but Spencer’s baggage had fake passports. He’ll try to get to some safe spot quickly, probably under the wings of the buyer’s contacts, so a plane seems likely.”
“He won’t be booked so we’ll have to monitor bookings, but we might as well have local DIC watching all CCTV covered exits.” Shadz joined them immaculate as ever.
“After Wally’s murder everyone is watching.” Jaz looked Shadz over. “I take it you’re ready to go?”
“Yes. Ready.”
“Alright let’s get to Manchester, the quicker the better. Cobb could already be on a flight.”
The phone by the bed rang and Tony answered.
“Sure. No tell them to wait, just surround the hotel and area. Only make a move if he wakes and checks out. We’ve got a helicopter waiting and we’ll be there in about half an hour. If you do have to move try to take him alive.” He hung up with a smile creasing his handsome face.
To Kill Or Be Killed Page 11