Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

Another glance at the girl saw her catch his gaze, she frowned and pulled out her cell phone. Spencer taken aback a moment by such an adverse reaction to what he knew to be his reasonable good looks recalled his mode of disguise. He was going to have to polish up if he was going to get himself a girl tonight that was for sure and he was shocked at how unattractive his disguise had made him when his reflection became apparent through the train entering the tunnel around Borehamwood. Behind the tinted glasses his eyes creased at the edges and below them a tight smile appeared, stretching the carefully arranged and, if he did say so himself, expertly created moustache. He hadn’t recognised himself for a moment.

Mason spent the rest of the journey planning his night out. The card he had still worked and a hotel, haircut and new clothes could easily be bought with it. It was cash he needed. He decided that a couple of neat swift hotel thefts would rack up enough ready cash to have a good night out.

His planning passed the time and when the train stopped at West Hampstead he decided to get out and take the Jubilee line. He picked Baker Street as a good place to stop. It was for the most part a journey spent wistfully sizing up and measuring the merits of most of the young women, broken by one cold sweat moment when looking at a national tabloid over the shoulder of a well groomed man to his right he saw his own image along with Cobb’s, Wheeler’s and Stanton’s. Spencer’s image was in a separate inset describing his death. Only by catching his reflection dragged over the tunnel walls was Mason relieved from his sudden panicky thoughts. He glanced back at the paper and realised that he could not be in any way thought to be the man in the photo, but the awareness that St Alban’s CCTV would link him to Glasgow station CCTV which in turn flag him up as having murdered the police officers gave fresh and more realistic reasons for him to smarten up and change his look. He shrugged off the fears knowing that he was close to his goal and the potentially protective wings of whoever was funding this kill and he finally stepped up onto Baker Street with the thrill of a carefree man in a city full of promise on a warm spring day.

He set off for a walking tour of the area, with the particular aim of choosing a hotel and noting the location of others in order to gather some needed cash. He finally opted for The Bickenhall Hotel in Gloucester Place, it was the kind of small hotel he liked. It was easy to place each face and easier to be aware of any atmosphere changes brought about by the arrival of officialdom in the form of police or security services.

He had a shower, a brunch on room service and lay down for a nap. He booked an alarm call for three pm so that he could get a haircut, shop for clothes and get ready for his night out.

Perth Airport

9 – 35 a.m.

April 18th

DIC’s powerful machine and immense influence enabled them to get helicopters chartered and ready when they needed them, but sometimes even that was a slow process; the Liverpool team had been in the air quickly earlier in the day, but David and Beaumont had a wait. The Helicopter had been chartered from Aberdeen and had landed, but had to refuel enough for a return flight. By the time David and Beaumont took off it was near nine forty am. The pilot promised a short flight, around twenty minutes.

Inside the Bell 407 with their headphones on David and Beaumont sat watching the landscape speed by below.

“You were a bodyguard?”

Beaumont gave him a glance, David’s voice sounding less conversational through the headphones.

“Yes.”

“How does a man with a philosophy degree get into that?”

“When I graduated I couldn’t decide what to do so I talked my way into a job as a security guard. I thought I’d make the money and needed the job. I got married in my third year at university and our first child was born just after I graduated. So I worked at garden centres and shops for a security firm. I liked it, but London houses are expensive and Ella’s job and mine didn’t bring in enough for a bigger house and she was pregnant with our second, my son Jacob. So I did a course on body guard work. Defensive driving, unarmed combat and small arms techniques. I switched to body guard work, my trainer and I got on and he got me the job. It was guarding rich business men in foreign countries. Turns out I was away from home a lot. I did that for near enough ten years.”

“Why did you stop? Were you head hunted?”

“I was head hunted after I stopped.”

There was a silence. David looked at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No it’s a good story, if it is a sad one. I’d been working for a rich business man, diamond business, South Africa. A good friend, by the name of Greenwell, Bob Greenwell, and I were driving our client to a dinner do one night and were attacked by roadside bandits. They had semi-automatic weapons. Bob told me to stay with vehicle, rolled out of the car and opened fire. He killed the four men, but they returned fire as he shot them and Bob was shot dead. I had to go out and get him, he died in my arms as I carried him back to the car and then I got the client away safely.

David whistled. “My god sounds really heavy.”

“Well I went back to the UK with his body and at the funeral I saw his wife and children, no older than my two. Ella was scared it’d be me next. The incident was in the papers and I resigned, but a couple of days later I got a call from DIC. I figured this had to be safer work.”

“Doesn’t look much like it now does it?”

“No, but if we’re careful we can ride it out. You didn’t seem shocked at the sight of Spencer’s dead body I note. That indicates either stupidity or experience and I know it’s not the former.”

“We opened a truck at Dover as we had a tip on for illegal immigrants. Inside there were fifteen dead Afghanis. The smell was terrible. The lorry had been sealed on the French side, but the driver hadn’t calculated the air supply properly as the ferry was delayed. They avoided leaving air gaps as they knew it alerted us in customs. He hadn’t let them out on the ferry. There were dents on the metal walls of the container where they’d been beating the walls, but the sea was bad, hence the delay, so no-one was on the car decks during the crossing. It was awful.”

“It’s a bad old world sure enough David.”

The pilot interrupted their chatter.

“Ten minutes to Glasgow airport. Do you want to me to arrange transport to your hotel for you?”

“No thanks our firm has a car waiting for us.”

David and Beaumont smiled at each other.

“Still you get the VIP treatment when you travel so there are compensations.” David said.

“Do you feel more like Brie when that happens?” Beaumont answered.

“Trust you to have food on your mind it’s been over an hour since your bacon butties.”

The helicopter began a circle descent into Glasgow airport. It was closing on ten a.m. when they landed.

Manchester

10 a.m.

April 18th

Cobb had a ten minute start on the chasing DIC. Once he was outside the Arndale Centre Cobb made his way two hundred metres up the High Street to the cash machine and stole one hundred pounds from the account using the card and pin. After he binned the card he walked two streets to the taxi rank. He was worried, but knew they didn’t have a description matching the way he looked. Cobb took the lead cab in the line and flopped in the back.

“The airport please.”

“Sure enough what time’s your flight?”

“Ten thirty.”

“Blimey you’ll just make that. Minimum check in time’s ten minutes.”