When Bill opened the door he was just what Stanton was expecting. Stanton pushed him back into the hall, shut the door behind him, put the case down and pulled out the pistol.
“Hands on your head Bill.”
Bill looked back at him. He knew the face he’d been keeping up with all the alerts and doing the CCTV scans for his area. Now faced unarmed with the killer he was unnervingly brave.
“You’ll have to shoot me you scumbag.”
Stanton did, he shot him through the calf. Bill crumpled to the floor in agony. Stanton grabbed him and dragged him into the lounge and threw him into an armchair and pointed the weapon at his face, within an inch. Bill looked back with now steady eyes.
“I’m telling you nothing. You’ll have to kill me, which no doubt you will, but you don’t scare me.”
Stanton put the gun on a nearby table, Bill tried to rise, but his leg gave way. Stanton grabbed his arm, pulled him up and punched him across the jaw. Bill slumped into the chair unconscious. Stanton needed him alive in case there was information he needed. He took Bill’s tie off and used it as a tourniquet on his leg, took a curtain cord and tied Bill up.
He went to the kitchen got a tea towel and wrapped it around Bill’s wound. He looked down at the old man. He thought him brave and he made sure of the knots, a man like that would crawl out of the house and get help. They didn’t make them like that any more.
His first call was the upstairs of the house, there was no-one else there and the loft was empty. He found the equipment in the back room. The computer was on, but was pass word protected. He’d suspected as much. After McKie he knew they’d tighten security. He didn’t need the computer anyway, but would have liked to have got the updates, see what was going on. He thought of waking Bill and getting the answer out of him, but he felt sure Bill would die first. He found Bill’s DIC pass in the drawer of the desk. He examined it. He switched the computer off, logged on to the guest profile. He found a lot of Paint pictures with the name Stacey on them, a grand child no doubt, by the look of the badly drawn princesses and horses with odd legs. He found the scanner controls, a Lexmark, and set to work, he checked the time. It was three forty five. He was sure he’d be done in half an hour. Then he’d head for the target with the perfect ‘access all areas’ security pass. He called a taxi for four twenty.
Chapter 98
La Rueda Restaurant London
3-15 p.m.
April 19th
The beautiful glass building was full of light. From his seat in the large restaurant room Sternway could see the tower of London. He looked at his watch and as he did so he saw the rather elegant lady, in her fifties, half size heels, square toed and expensive, Dior original dress and beautifully glossy and pampered hair walk across the room towards him. Sternway found it hard to equate this obviously well heeled and attractive woman with her plump and spineless politician husband.
Sternway rose and pulled out her chair and settled her. He sat down opposite her.
“This is lovely.” She put her small bag on the table.
“Shall we order?” Sternway said and handed her the menu. The waiter arrived.
“I’ll have the Spanish Noodles with mixed seafood and shellfish.” Sternway said in a neat precise tone of voice and the waiter scribbled away.
“I’ll have the Lobster, Clams and Saffron rice.” Mrs Robinson said and added “Shall I choose the wine?”
Sternway smiled. She was surely the driving force behind her husband’s career.
“Please do.”
“I think the pink cava will do don’t you?”
“Yes.” It wouldn’t have been his choice, but he went with the flow.
When the waiter had gone Mrs Robinson opened her small bag and took a piece of paper out. It was an A five sheet, folded.
She slid it across the table to Sternway.
The sheet had three questions. The first was ‘would Stanton be killed when the job was done?’ The second was ‘what did Sternway want in return?’ The third was rather shocking and related to the target.
He took out an expensive, glossy ball point pen, emphatically clicked it once and wrote his answers; one word, a sentence and one word again. She took the sheet and read it.
Across the room a young man and a girl were eating Paella. The man had a medium sized sports bag on the floor beside his chair. Sternway had looked around the room when he arrived. He’d noticed the young couple, obviously engrossed in each other, but hadn’t noticed the bag under the table.
He had been too busy appraising Mrs Robinson as she entered to notice the young man move the bag out from under the table with his foot, reach into it and pull out a pack of tissues, as Mrs Robinson entered. If he’d been watching he’d have seen that the movement looked slightly too long and too complex the simple retrieval of a pocket tissue pack.
When Sternway did look around the room again after he had seated Mrs Robinson and himself and noticed that the girl had put her hand bag on the table, she was doing her make up and looked in the bag a couple of times.
After ten minutes Sternway’s and Mrs Robinson’s food arrived. It was a mini feast. Sternway wasn’t over indulgent with food, often left food on the plate, but ate the very best of what was on the plate, especially if it was good food and he liked La Rueda, for the food, the service and the view of the Tower of London. It was one of four or five of his favourite lunch spots. He avoided patterns as a spy, but he also liked to go places where he knew the staff and layout. His choice of favourite spot was random and he varied his lunch time. DIC had been watching him for some time and knew enough about him to put a team there.
As Sternway and Mrs Robinson ate delicately and made small talk the gun microphone in the bag fed their conversation, via the transmitter in the hand bag, to a car parked across the road. In the car a DIC operative recorded it on his laptop as a digital sound file. It was fairly boring listening material.
The two DIC members in the restaurant and the operative in the car didn’t know who the woman meeting Sternway was.
It was close to four when they finished their eating. The restaurant wasn’t busy, but was waiting for the build up after five o clock. The young man and the girl were lingering over dessert and on the verge of ordering coffees that neither of them wanted.
Sternway called for the bill.
“The answers are clear, but what guarantee do I have that he won’t suffer the fate of his predecessor?” Mrs Robinson spoke suddenly, yet quietly and with confidence.
Sternway was silent. He gave her a look that would have had a time served assassin feeling queasy, but Mrs Robinson was made of sterner stuff.
She had met her husband at Oxford University. He had been slimmer then and both of them were studying politics. They’d both had an interest in politics, but for different reasons. He was man with a view for creating social justice for the working classes and she saw it as a route to an easy life. They had courted, married and she had worked hard to see him make it up the ladder of success. She had introduced him to Terry Bloom, the future prime minister, long before the man was publicly noted. Robinson had served as a back bencher under Bloom, but with her support he had made good contacts. It was Mrs Robinson who had paid attention to the changes in the wind and had pushed her husband towards Gary Braine before any change had taken place there. She was monstrously brilliant at manoeuvring her husband into the right circles, right places and right jobs. Braine hadn’t given Robinson a place in the cabinet. Melinda Robinson saw her chances slipping away and had engineered the situation with the then home secretary, Robert Cole. She had cajoled her husband into contacting Sternway, creating suspicion around Robert Cole about his investigating MI6 foreign operative work. The rest had been easily done, a scandal and the carefully arranged hill walking ’accident’ carried out by Marco Spencer. Mrs Robinson, a favourite of the PM, had arranged her loyal husband’s promotion, in the aftermath, to Home Secretary. She wanted the view from number Ten Downing Street. She nee
ded more control of Sternway.
“Question three…” She paused whilst the waiter took the card and cash tip away. “Question three are you sure that… it can’t be done… “
Sternway kept looking at her, not answering. The waiter returned handed back the card and walked away. Sternway rose, smoothed his clothes and very suddenly grabbed Mrs Robinson’s hand bag.
“Forgive me.” He opened it, took out a small digital recorder and pressed the off switch. He leant in and whispered in her ear.
“You’re a lovely lady Mrs Robinson and people like you do scare me a little, but you tell Tarquin that it will happen in the next hour, as arranged, and if he doesn’t show some backbone he’ll regret it.“
With that he put the recorder on the table and walked away. Mrs Robinson had flushed at the threat, Sternway was a dangerous man. She put the recorder back in her bag and left. The young man and the young woman called for their bill and left.
By the time the young couple of DIC watchers got to the car the digital recording was back at Euston Tower via the internet as was the photograph of Mrs Robinson, who’d then been identified.
The whisper was unclear and had been sent to the technical department to ‘enhance it’. Fulton was on tenterhooks. He knew if he could get a link he’d have Sternway in the bag.
Chapter 99
St Thomas’ Hospital London
4-15 p.m.
April 19th
The DIC team at the hospital, where the taxi driver who’d got shot taking Mason over Vauxhall Bridge, consisted of two people rotating shifts of two hours. Jack was a good boss and knew that sitting in a hospital all day waiting wasn’t interesting to the kind of people he hired.
Sonita was one of the Euston Tower permanent staff. She liked the job, watching CCTV, listening to radio transmissions, checking e-mail submissions and the occasional special jobs. She was twenty two and made excellent money in a civil service job which offered a lot of interesting work. She might get a home based DIC job later on, when one became available, but the London jobs didn’t come up often and that’s where she liked to live. The hospital staff had been told to alert either her or her alternating watcher the moment that the taxi driver, Don Chapman, woke up.
“Mr Chapman is awake miss.” A nurse stood by her and leant in to speak quietly.
Sonita had been day dreaming and was for a moment flustered. She’d been excited by the CCTV footage of the last three days. She’d watched David McKie at the bus station and all the other action that had been captured, isolated and put together as a digital file for use in the building. She was wondering what it was like to hold the pistol, pull the trigger. She pushed away her thoughts and went into the room.
Don had a bandage over his head and was looking around the room.
“Who are you?” He croaked. “Not the press?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
“I expect you’ll get the papers here yet. I’m civil service.”
“Civil service?”
“Yes.” She winked.
“You look a bit young.”
“I’m the office junior, sent to do one job, ask one question.” She smiled.
“Well ask away pretty, but you only get the answer if I get a kiss.”
“You’re a well man, I can tell, but can you remember where the guy with the gun who got into your taxi was going.”
“Yes I can because when he pulled the gun and started shooting I thought ‘oh no I hope they stop him’.”
“Where were you talking him?”
Don told her
“Are you sure?” Sonita’s eye brows nearly touched her hair line.
“You don’t forget that in a hurry.”
To his surprise and delight Sonita kissed him on the lips.
“Thank you, Thank you.” She ran from the room for the nearest hospital exit and once outside switched on her satellite phone.
Chapter 100
Euston Tower London
4-15 p.m.
April 19th
Jack Fulton burst into the Liam and David’s office.
“The target was Downing Street. I’ve called and they’re on alert. I’ve told the Prime Minister that I’m sending operatives to number ten. You two are to go, now. Check weapons and be ready.”
“You think Stanton’s going to get in there?” David thought it very unlikely.
“I’ve no idea, but he must have plan and a way in. Now get going. Take a laptop and satellite phone, keep in contact.”
They left the room. The pool car had been left waiting at the front of the building for them. It was a grey Citroen C4.
Jack went back to his office and called the PM to tell him that his men were on their way. He put out an alert for CCTV in the Westminster area to be scoured by every watcher; orders given to drop everything else. Jack made a personal call to Bill, the Westminster DIC operative, but there was no reply.
On Lord North Street Bill was conscious and heard his phone ringing, but couldn’t answer it.
At the gate to Downing Street the old man with glasses and thinning grey hair, brown mackintosh carrying a laptop bag, Sig 220 ‘rail’ in a shoulder holster noted the heightened security.
“Bill Hutchings DIC.” He showed the DIC pass.
“We’ve been expecting you.” Stanton kept calm, but inside he was grinning like a crocodile in an abattoir. This meant that DIC knew the target, but it also meant they had cleared the way for him, he knew he didn’t have long, but he was used to this kind of pressure.
The policeman’s radio crackled as he opened the gate.
“Where’s the other one there’s supposed to be two of you?” He suddenly asked.
“He’s circling the streets, ready for a sighting.” Stanton replied casually, sensing that the DIC units knew he was around and why. It seemed plausible. The line did its work. Stanton passed through the gate and was stopped by a second armed policeman.
“Can I check the bag please?”
“Sure. It’s my laptop and sat phone. Need to follow the updates.”
The policeman looked in the bag. There was a laptop and a satellite phone.
“Okay you can go in, but you need to hand over your weapon.”
Stanton pulled it from the holster.
“No need for that in there eh?” Stanton said
“Safe as houses Mr Hutchings.”
“I don’t think we’ll mention house prices in front of Mr Braine eh?”
The Policeman laughed.
Stanton walked up the street steadily and got to the door of number ten. The paperwork in the envelope had clearly said which room for that time of day. The Prime Minister was a man of habit. In this case it would be the small dining room.
Stanton got to the glossy black door with the armed policeman in front it. He was let in. He passed the porter’s chair, as shiny and black as the door and he took in the clock and Wellington’s travelling chest.
He was greeted by the Downing Street security chief.
“You from the DIC unit?”
“Yes. Bill Hutchings.”
“Well I don’t know how you can help. I’m not really sure about you chaps, but the PM said he wanted some of you here. There’s only you?”
“Yes, my partner’s doing a drive around, ready for action. Can I just set up in a room somewhere?”
“The PM will be in the small dining room shortly, if you go in there he’ll see you and you can update him.”
“Oh that’s brilliant! I need to log on and get an update, there may be news.”
Stanton made his way to the room. There was the strange feature of a fire place under the window. Stanton looked around for a place to put the bomb. There were unlit logs in the fireplace. He quickly opened the bag. Pulled out the laptop and opened it.
He had hollowed out the laptop with a knife creating a space for the ten centimetre long paper covered tubes containing, he assumed, plastic explosives attached to small detonator with a digital display wh
ich had a push button. The instructions were clear. The bomb was pre timed for ten minutes. Plant it and get out were the instructions. He closed the laptop and put it back in the bag, then got the satellite phone out.
He heard voices. He slid the bomb under the grate with the unlit logs and straightened up as the Prime Minister and his security chief came into the room. Stanton quickly flipped open the stolen DIC Sat phone, closing the laptop as they entered.
“Yes… yes… okay… no.. I’ll be there straight away.” Stanton acted out the end of the phone call. The Prime Minister unused to waiting looked impatiently at him.
Stanton closed the phone.
“I’m sorry sir I apologise. My Partner’s on an unconfirmed sighting on Lord North Street. I’ve got to get to him. Jack Fulton’s orders we’re to go in pairs at the moment.”
“That’s fine. Things are secure here.” The security chief spoke with slight anger. It all seemed like a waste of time.
“You’re rather old for duty rota aren’t you?” Mr Braine asked, knowing the DIC rules.
“I work around here, my patch. I know the faces. There are more men on the way.”
He grabbed the laptop bag.
“Well thank you anyway er…?” Mr Braine left the space for the name to be proffered.
“Bill Hutchings Mr Braine.”
“Right Bill.”
Stanton made his way out and the Prime Minister sat down as his afternoon tea was brought in. Stanton got to the gate, was handed his pistol and was on his way to Parliament Square with little trouble. He pulled out the green coloured ‘disposable’ Bic cell and pressed dial when the one number in the phone memory came up.
Traffic had held up the Citroen C4 with McKie and Kershaw in. In spite of Liam’s best efforts it took them what felt to be an age to get there. They got to the end of Downing Street and jumped out holding badges in front of them. In spite of the badges four MP5’s were levelly held in their direction.
“McKie and Kershaw, DIC, we’re expected.”
To Kill Or Be Killed Page 31