To Kill Or Be Killed

by Richard Wiseman

  Unaware of the gathering problems around him Mason prepared for the taxi to stop a street away from his target’s address. The taxi made slow progress up the Wandsworth Road and the Sun photographer arrived at the bridge exit in time to see the junction surrounded. It was ten in the morning.

  The London cab rolled onto the bridge, the red railings flashing past and the two towers on the far side looking like sentinels. The driver was suddenly struck by the lack of traffic coming from the other side.

  “Might be a contra flow for some reason; I’ve never seen it this empty.”

  Mason looked ahead and saw the blue flashing lights. He looked back and only three cars were following, a large empty gap behind them stretching back across the Thames to more flashing lights at the south entrance.

  When the police had sealed the northern exit they waited and sprang into place cutting traffic off at the south entrance. They’d been unable to stop the three cars; directly behind the cab was DIC, a civilian car and then Brook from MI6.

  Mason was stunned. Then he became angry. They’d grassed him. It was a trap. He pulled out the Sig and shot the glass between himself and the driver, who hit the brakes.

  “Drive on or you’re dead.” The cab driver felt the muzzle of the gun against the side of his face. He drove on.

  “Speed up.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “No. There’s a road block ahead and they will be armed. You think they’ll give a damn about you when they open up with those rifles and sub machine guns. If you don’t floor it I’ll kill you and if you do floor it you’ll be going fast enough for them not to want to fire at you. Now do it.”

  The cab sped up and the DIC operative slowed down, the car behind him also slowed. Brook was about to put his foot down and drive past them, but thought better of it, he slowed too.

  At the north entrance police were told not to open fire until the cab had stopped and they had a good clear shot at Mason so as not to endanger the cab driver.

  Through the windscreen Mason saw the two police Volvo 440’s blocking the road, the heavy black cab accelerated towards them like a tank and Mason and the driver braced for the crunch. Policemen behind the cars moved away at the last second as the taxi crashed through, smashing the front of each Volvo.

  Metal screeched and the impact took the speed out of the cab. Mason was thrown forward, his torso pushed through into the front of the cab. As the damaged cab headed towards Bessborough Gardens a sniper, tracking the car through his scope, saw Mason full body from his side of the road. Mason pulled himself back through the gap just as the round was loosed and the Enforcer round punched the window shattering it, ricocheted off the steering wheel and grazed the cab driver’s forehead, knocking him unconscious.

  With his heavy foot on the pedal, dead weight, and his body sliding the wheel to the left, the cabbie unconsciously drove the cab into Bessborough Gardens, smashing into the iron railing gates, where the cab came to rest.

  The Sun journalist was positioned opposite the park and his high powered zoom lens honed in on the details of the scene as the rapid shot setting on the camera captured the round stunning the driver, the cab’s passage and the cab crashing. He took shot after shot of police running forward.

  Through the lens, on the digital screen, the camera saved the images of Mason rising from the cab’s floor well in the back, the flashes from the Sig220 instantly matching two policemen knocked to the ground as the rounds slugged their way into, but not through, their body armour. Finally the camera caught Mason’s face as three sets of high velocity armour piercing Enforcer rounds penetrated the cab door at chest height, puncturing both lungs and heart. Mason grabbed the door handle and in desperate pain struggled out the door. He fell to the ground on all fours and was knocked onto his back by a kick from a policeman pointing an MP5 at his prone body.

  Ambulance men came over, paramedics bearing stretchers. News teams arrived and though held back were able to get shots of the scene from behind the now powerful police cordon.

  The cab driver was carefully extracted from the wrecked cab and rushed to St Thomas’ hospital near Westminster Bridge. They checked Mason, but he was dead. He was stretchered to the ambulance and taken away.

  The police searching the cab found the case with the bomb in it. It took fifteen minutes to evacuate the entire area including all the buildings surrounding. Press, news teams, police and anyone else in a quarter mile radius was evacuated. Bomb disposal arrived, they used a controlled explosion to destroy it and had they not done so a strange fact would have been revealed, which might well have raised interesting questions at the time, but it was thought safer to blow it up under safe conditions.

  The cab, of course, was a wreck. Bullet ridden, dented, glass shattered, ripped apart inside and charred all over with twisted metal pointing out at odd angles, embedded in iron railings. It sat like a gargoyle memorial to yet one more of the hired killers and a testimony to their desperate fatal struggles to remain un-captured.

  Traffic was backed up along the Thameside roads as the Vauxhall Bridge was closed at both ends. Traffic on the embankment on both sides took until night time to get flowing again and even then the taxi had not been moved.

  Back at the DIC centre, Euston Tower, Jack Fulton and many members of the team watched the scene in awe from live CCTV footage from the numerous cameras in the area.

  For a few seconds the whole building sat in silence, all work stopped as the scene was brought up on every screen in every office.

  When the shooting was done Diane Peters was standing at Jack Fulton’s side.

  “What a mess!”

  “Yes it is. Is the taxi driver dead?”

  “You want me to find out?”

  “Yes. If he’s alive and can talk he can say where Mason was going, the address he’d been given. It might tell us the target of these assassins.” Fulton rubbed his chin in thought.

  “I’ll find out and let you know.” Diane replied and strode away with purpose.

  Jack noticed Tony Deany by his side.

  “Four down one to go boss.” Tony said too brightly for Jack’s liking.

  “Very true, aren’t you seeing Else today?”

  “Yeah,” Tony looked at his watch, “In about ten minutes, Ellie’s having her session first.”

  “Good Else will be off down to Dover to see David tomorrow.” Fulton said reflectively.

  Everything had stood still at Euston Tower. Then when the shooting had stopped, some began watching the news footage, but most went on with their searches, knowing that it was their work that had brought down Spencer and Wheeler, and, as they thought at the time, their work alone that had ended the lives of Cobb and Mason. Pride swelled in the building as the teams of watchers knew that they had stopped four of the most murderous assassins the country had ever seen. They all focussed on finding the last man, Trevor Stanton.

  Chapter 89

  London

  10-30 a.m.

  April 19th

  Tarquin Robinson looked over the assembled press. BBC news, ITN news, CNN and various journalists from the newspapers who were all gathered in the press briefing room. He was sat behind the table with the head of the Met Police beside him, who was answering questions.

  “We’re not sure what the intention of the men is in detail. All the men killed are not people we have been watching, not have they been under surveillance from Special Branch.” The head of the met said slowly and deliberately as if reading.

  “Brian Mayhew CNN. Is this a new tactic for Al Qaeda, employing paid assassins to plant bombs and carry out killings?”

  “We have no information to either confirm or deny such a theory. That these men don’t appear to have links to any terrorist group is not a reason to preclude that being true. In the meantime we can only assume that the device found indicates their intention to target someone or something in London.”

  “Minister, what is your view?”

  Tarquin Robinson gathered his
thoughts.

  “There is no doubt that these men have a target in mind. Who or what that is has not so far been revealed. We have no leads and government security agencies are doing their upmost to find this last man and get him alive so that we can get to the bottom of this. We can’t rule out terrorism nor the fact that the use of paid assassins might be a new terrorist tactic.” Robinson said relishing the attention he was getting.

  “Can you reveal how the men first came to the attention of security services?” A BBC reporter asked.

  “I’m afraid I cannot. Needless to say our methods of observation must be kept secret in order to make the effective.” Robinson replied stonewalling with skill.

  The questions continued with the back and forth verbal tennis of government press conferences. Robinson excused himself after having made a final statement and left the room listening to the head of the met assure the press that security measures in London had been stepped up to maximum level.

  Robinson got into his car, surrounded by security. He put up the security glass between himself and the driver and pulled the orange coloured cell phone from inside his jacket.

  He dialled the only number in its memory.

  “How much longer?” He asked.

  “Today. We’re certain. It’ll either happen or the ‘product’ won’t get through.”

  “I need to ask questions… important information… this line…”

  “Be careful what you say.”

  “I want to meet. I need answers and I can’t ask on this line. If the time is close I’d like to decide whether we go ahead or not. We must meet.”

  “No out of the question.”

  “Can you send B… your man again?”

  “Again out of the question, ‘you know who’ will be watching closely now.”

  “What if I send someone to meet you, someone we can both trust?”

  “You’ve told someone?”

  “My wife knows. I talked to her.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “Hello.”

  “Well it’s good you’ve got such a trusting marriage." Sternway said in an exasperated tone of voice thinking to himself, ‘why couldn’t the man just see it through?’

  “My wife has always supported all my ambitions.”

  “I’ll be watched, this is out of the question.” Sternway said tersely.

  “Then you can call a halt now. Stop the process.”

  Sternway grimaced at the other end of the line. The conversation was taking a long time. He didn’t want to stop, they were so close.

  “La Rueda, Byward Street, three thirty. Tell her to come alone and bring your questions in writing. I’ll write the answers over lunch.” Sternway said rapidly.

  The line went dead.

  Robinson felt pleased. His wife had said that he should exert some control. He didn’t really have any important questions. His wife had said he shouldn’t let Sternway take the lead. She’d also said they should tape Sternway as a form of evidence to help them keep control. She would know a way to get Sternway talking too, questions on paper or not. Melinda was a strong woman and had as many ambitions for him as he had for himself.

  Across the city Sternway sat at his desk staring intently at the disposable mobile in his hand. He picked up the phone, gave a harsh instruction and two minutes later Joe came into office.

  “Problem Sir?”

  “Yes. Book me a table at Rueda, for two at three thirty?”

  “Mrs Sternway sir?”

  “No Joe Lady Macbeth by looks of it.”

  Chapter 90

  Dover

  10 – 30 a.m.

  April 19th

  David grabbed a handful of fruit from the bowl on the dining table. He sat in a comfortable armchair watching ‘SpongeBob’ and peeling a banana. Conor liked ‘SpongeBob’, but didn’t understand it very much, though David and Mary found it hilarious. Kids’ television had certainly got better since he was a kid. He bit into the banana, enjoying the moment and feeling justified in doing nothing for a while. He had felt tarnished by the last few days, exhausted by the intense travel and imminent sense of danger. He promised himself that he’d finish the banana, the large juicy orange and the fresh looking Gala apple and get back to work upstairs as soon as the episodes of the cartoon were over.

  Stanton crawled from behind the shed at the top of the garden and sprinted the short distance to a larger shed nearer the house. The garden was twenty metres long and Stanton felt exposed until he was hidden from view by the old fashioned post war shed. He sidled along the exposed edge of it and made it to the shelter of the house. Crawling along on his stomach he got below the dining room window. He could see McKie watching television in the lounge as the dining room and lounge were ‘knocked through’. Stanton made his way around to the side of the house, climbed onto the roof of the kitchen extension and from there up the drain pipe to the roof. Using powerful arm and stomach muscles, amazingly agile for a man his age, he flipped his legs and torso feet first onto the roof tiles and slid his upper body and head afterwards. He spread his weight out and inched himself slowly up to the Velux window on the back of the house. The DIC technicians always put a roof window on both sides to let light into the attic. The one at the front was next to the large white satellite dish that David’s neighbour objected to.

  The neighbour, Tom, a retired accountant went out into his garden to get the washing in for his wife as she had seen spots of rain on the front windows. He looked into the sky and his eye was caught by the sight of a pair of legs disappearing into the Velux window on David’s roof.

  Tom wouldn’t have believed his eyes, but he wasn’t the kind to doubt them. He had been annoyed at the noise months before when the men had come and obviously done some kind of loft conversion and then there had been the satellite dish. He disliked changes to the locality. The nineteen thirties semi-detached houses on Elm’s Vale were a matter of pride for him; he lived in the house his parent’s had bought just before the war, he’d grown up there and he had a sense of ownership over the area. He was pleased to have a customs man living next door, good solid civil service job, but the changes to the house made him unhappy with his neighbour.

  Tom had checked at the time of the changes and McKie didn’t need planning permission. Tom felt angry and thwarted by the changes to ‘his’ street. Now it seemed a man was climbing in windows that he had objected to. Tom would have rung the bell and told David that there was a man in his loft, but anger made him decide to make a point about the windows and their inconvenience. He went inside and called the police, but not nine, nine, nine. He called the Dover number and duly waited.

  Up in the loft Stanton went over to the laptop, which had not been locked by password, and began looking at the DIC network. He wasn’t shocked by the news bulletins on Cobb and Mason. He knew Mason had nearly made it and he knew himself to be the last man of the five. He quickly read the details of the shooting and began searching elsewhere on the DIC network. He didn’t have long and he wanted information. He found the file with the full list of DIC agents in the UK and their locations. He found files with the location of DIC headquarters and details about the duty rotas. It was very useful information. He checked the list of building CCTV cameras and chose the lobby, where there were two. He saw the revolving door, two guards and the lifts behind the desk. He had a quick scan around Euston Tower, the armoury and data gathering rooms. He was impressed by the size and scale of the operation of what was an organisation that the British public knew nothing about.

  On the desk were writeable DVD’s and he popped one into the drive and began copying the file. In the meantime he looked for a quick way into London on the internet. He decided on a National Express Coach and saw that there was a coach leaving at eleven am and got into London at one forty-five p.m. He noted the price of five pounds, he could easily cover that. It was ten thirty so he knew he had time to get to the National Express stop at Pencester Road, a ten minute run
from where he was, according to the online map. He covered his tracks by deleting the history tool bar and all cookies. The file copying continued. He looked around the loft and saw the gun cabinet. He then looked around for a key and found it hanging high up from a roof beam. He retrieved the key and unlocked the cabinet. He took out the shiny Sig 220 ‘Rail’, added the silencer, put a clip in, pumped a round into the breach and clicked it to safe. Looking in the cabinet he saw the laser sight and fixed it to the ‘rail’ on the pistol. He twisted around looking at the laser dot. He turned to the computer and seeing the file downloaded, took out the disc, popped it in a jewel case and slid it inside his jacket. He covered his tracks on the file copying as best he could, but didn’t know that the DIC access work was logged and monitored. The fact that the files had been copied registered on McKie’s ICT usage log at Euston Tower. Stanton was just making for the window when he heard the hatch being opened.

  Cartoons over David went back to work. He pulled the ladder down and climbed up into the loft. Too late the personal danger signal hairs on his neck told him someone was there. He felt the cold muzzle of the pistol against the back of his neck.

  “Climb in slowly, knowing that I’m taking a step back and this weapon has the laser dot sighting so I can fire accurately in this half light.”

  David climbed into the loft, stood up slowly with his hands on his head. He turned around to face his assailant and stared straight into the eyes of Stanton. Stanton the killer from Perth, murderer of Griffiths and others and now was it his turn to be killed by him? How had he got there? How had he got in? Why was he there?

  “What’s your name?” Stanton hissed.

  “McKie, David McKie, you’d be Trevor Stanton right?”