Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get any more interesting. Remember that curse? May you live in interesting times.”

“I see you’re eating Jaffa cakes. Now that’s an interesting conundrum. Is it a cake or is it a biscuit?”

“It’s whatever the majority of people decide it is I guess." Beaumont said and gave him a twinkly smile.

“What about the tyranny of the majority concept?”

“True enough. I see you’ve read your JS Mill.”

“Also if you start thinking of Pol Pot and the ‘Year Zero’ concept isn’t anything exactly what a powerful tyrant says it is?”

“Hmmm. I tell you what though a cake by any other name would taste as sweet.” To emphasise the point Beaumont popped the rest in his mouth.

“Well that’s philosophy, politics and literature covered what’s next?”

Beaumont looked at his watch.

“It’s information technology next my friend. Let’s go.”

Both men chatted amiably on their way to the lift. In a short space of time the pair had formed a bond.

Mersey Marina

4 – 30 p.m.

April 17th

Inefficiently Cobb had not set the volume on the small digital alarm and though it flashed into action it made no sound. Cobb slept on in the warm bunk, lulled by the gentle action of the marina water.

It was too late that Cobb woke and seeing the time cursed his inefficiency. He lit a lucky, and put the kettle on. He noticed there were just two cigarettes in the pack and that the bag of groceries he’d ordered for the boat obviously didn’t include dinner of any kind. There were four eggs, two rashers and eight slices of bread from the small loaf left.

Coffee made, though instant, the kind Charlie hated, he went on deck to a river view close to sunset. He knew he’d have to stay put or leave the boat as it was. Charlie was essentially a comfort man. He didn’t fancy travelling at night and changing scene. The day was gone, why move on? The others wouldn’t have made London yet, he knew that. He flicked the cigarette butt into the Marina waters and mind made up decided to eat better. Some take away, a beer, one at least, a pack of cigarettes and he’d see if he could get a signal on the little TV.

Getting his coat and rucksack, with his weapon in it, identities and all useful tools of his trade included, he climbed off the boat, walked the boards, punched the numbers into the locked gate and headed into the city on foot.

The harbour watch man saw Charlie leave; he noted Charlie had his rucksack on him and figured him headed for a hotel. The Americans always did that. He knew the American hadn’t been off the boat all day and thought he’d be off for a night out.

As Cobb got on to the Nelson Street he found a convenience store, noting, further down the same road, a Chinese Restaurant doing take away. Ten minutes walk from the Marina, Charlie stocked up on useful and tasty supplies.

Liverpool

5 p.m.

April 17th

Three miles away in a house on Croxteth Road, Sefton Park Walter, Wally to his friends, Tyson held the hands of his only child as they swung back the green, iron garden gate and arrived home, damp and laughing.

She was a sweet freckle faced seven year old girl. He held her book bag and sports bag in his other hand. She had been at after school club playing football and Wally had been watching her play. In spite of being small she was incredibly tenacious as a player. Wally wondered whether his love of football and lack of a son had begun to turn her into a tomboy.

They laughingly sang their way through the front door, dripping onto the hall carpet. He loved being able to collect her from school and the DIC work allowed him that most of the year and this year, at forty-five it was his last year for active rota.

He was feeling a little guilty as he’d been alacritous about his work today. His partner, Ginny, was down with the flu. Though he’d logged on, in his loft, in the morning and caught the traffic about the four intruders through day, including the call to check the marina, when he printed the four pictures, he’d been

shopping since and every time he’d meant to check again Ginny had called for some TLC.

With Tara home he decided to quickly nip down and check the marina.

He settled Tara with a snack and TV, fussed around Ginny and told her he had a ‘visual check’ to do. He kissed her hot forehead and grabbing diplomatic pass, intruder photos and his coat, no gun, he got into his little blue Fiesta and drove towards the Liverpool Marina and the Mersey. It was five o’ clock when he set out and it didn’t take him long to get there.

The marina watch man, a keen sailor in his mid twenties, was just finishing up in the office when he noted the red Fiesta enter the car park. He sighed as the tall, blonde curly haired figure in the beige duffle coat headed straight for him. He had a sinking feeling as the man drew out what looked like some sort of badge from his pocket, in readiness.

Glancing at his watch he set his face to helpful as the man entered the office.

“Evening I’m a civil service employee doing a Marina check for new arrivals.” Wally handed over the credentials. It took the watch man a moment to read it.

“Civil service?”

Wally raised an eye brow in a conspiratorial way.

“Oh I see.” The watch man handed the credentials back.

Wally drew out the pictures.

“Have you seen any of these men?”

Each picture drew a blank until they got to the sketch of Cobb.

“That looks a bit like a guy who got here after lunch. He’s American. He’s just gone out.”

“Just?”

“Yeah about ten minutes ago. He had a bag with him. He’ll probably be out tonight, stay in a hotel.”

“Can you show me his boat?”

It was Wally’s turn to sigh. Given the DIC e-mail traffic he’d read he knew these men were on the move and was annoyed at having missed him. He was sure that Charlie was moving on. Still he’d check the boat and when he called in he’d not mention why he hadn’t checked earlier.

The watch man and Wally passed through the punch key locked gate, down the jetty and towards Charlie’s boat. The lights were off. The little boat sat bobbing in the early evening dusky gloom.

“Are you sure he went out.”

Wally hesitated, no weapon on him, but in Wally’s case he only ever got it out to clean it.

“Wait here.” He said sternly and climbed onto the boat. Charlie hadn’t locked it.

Wally gingerly entered the cabin. He saw the unwashed utensils and plates. The cabin reeked of greasy food. The bunk had been slept in. He called the watch man in.

“Hey you come in here.”

The watch man clambered onto the boat and stepped down head bowed into the cabin.

“What?”

“Watch me as I search.”

“Why?”

“In case I find something incriminating and the man I’m looking for, if caught, says I planted it.”

“I’m not sure about this. I might need to call someone.”

Wally was withering in his reply.

“Just do as I say.”

“Is the man in trouble?”

“Not yet, but you could say that as a person he is trouble.”

Wally began searching,

He found the stubbed ‘Lucky’ on a saucer, recalling Michael Dewey’s e-mail sketch from the match flare that morning. The man was a smoker. There were no bags, no passports and no gun. There were no personal effects, which struck a discordant note with Wally. If this was a regular American tourist where was the camera, the set of personal items and the paraphernalia of someone away from home? It was much too suspicious. Wally had made up his mind to get home, e-mail DIC centre and call the police to the boat.