Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

As the helipad came into view below them David got more of a sense of the scale of the building than on the outward journey. He was not dwarfed or made to feel insecure by the sense of the huge machine of which he was a part. He felt a certain relief and comfort in coming in to land on the top of his base. He had felt alone and isolated at times on the ‘mission’, but as the helicopter bumped down the strength of the department and the threads of its power stretching across the country imbued him with a sense that the remaining assassins would be brought to book one way or another.

Out of the helicopter it was windy on the roof and he quickly made his way to the lift and into the warm conditioned air. After the short lift ride he made his way to Jack’s office. Magda told him to wait in a chair and gave him a warm smile.

David was lost in his thoughts for some minutes when the sharp opening of the office door and Jack’s friendly tones beckoned him in.

“David. Good to see you back safely come in. Magda hold all calls until further notice.”

David sat in the chair opposite Jack’s and looked at the grey sky and gloomy clouds held at bay by the thick protective glass of the DIC building. Jack sat opposite. David looked at the desk and saw a Sig 220 and two full magazines of ammunition lying beside it. They were stark against the scattered papers. He refocused his eyes on his boss’ face.

“Well the good news is that Jack Beaumont will make a full recovery. I’ll need a report, but you can type that and e-mail it tomorrow. By all accounts Wheeler was a nasty piece of work and the kill was necessary, even unavoidable. I’ve seen the bus station CCTV. I’m amending procedures for active rota at the moment since the last two incidents.”

“I’m sorry Jack it was all a bit intense and not at all as easy as it appeared to be at first sight.” David said.

“You needn’t be sorry. Aside from the lack of DIC fatalities you did the job well. I can tell you that everyone in this building is speaking highly of you right now.” Jack said looking at McKie with keenly focussed eyes.

David raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yes.” Jack continued. “There are less than fifteen people in this building who’ve had to kill either as a part of this job or the job they had when we head hunted them and they are the most impressed. You join an elite cohort of DIC workers who’ve had to use a weapon and the immunity to prosecution that the DIC badge bestows. If you like the David McKie legend begins here.” Jack finished tapping his desk.

“I hope it ends here too, sorry, but this is a little more brawn and much less brains than I had bargained for.” David replied quite seriously.

“I’m glad to hear that or you’d not be the man I hired, but I hope you’re not going to leave us. I know you were in at the deep end from the start, but I have every faith in you, in fact no-one could have handled that duty ‘mission’ better. Many would have hesitated to pull the trigger. Most would be awed by the responsibility of such a task.” Jack was taken aback by David’s remarks and it showed in the tone of his voice.

“Thank you. No I don’t want to leave, but I would like to go home and spend time in front of the screen monitoring.”

“And you will David. I’ve had your things packed and there’s a car waiting to take you to Charing Cross station. The counsellor will call next week to make sure that you don’t get post traumatic stress disorder.”

“Any news on Cobb, Mason or Stanton?”

“No. Cobb’s certainly in London. Mason must be here by now if the police car in St Albans is his handy work. Lord knows where Stanton is. Perhaps Monty will run him to earth.” Jack rose from his seat speaking. “Well it’s time for you to go home and I have things to do. I have to arrange for my deputy to take over whilst I go to Wally’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry about that. Did you know him well?” David asked glancing at the pistols on the desk.

“Yes he and I were partners on a DIC active rota in the eighties. He saved my life. He was one of those staff I mentioned who killed in line of duty.” Jack paused and picked up the pistol turning it over in his hands. “Sadly because of the shock of the kill he didn’t like to carry his gun after that, nor did he like the idea of killing again.”

Jack Fulton laid the Sig gently on the desk and suddenly reminded by the unused pistol David got up and grabbing his bag pulled Beaumont’s pistol, in a plastic police labelled bag, from his rucksack. He put it on the desk. He then added the laptop and cell phone.

“Beaumont’s.”

“Thank you.”

When David exited the office his overnight bag was waiting. He took the lift directly to the ground floor and went out through security. As he put his hand on the biometric pad his details were flagged up on the security screen. The desk section opened and he passed out. He felt the eyes of the security staff on him and turned to meet the gazes of the three men.

“See you soon Mr McKie.”

“Yeah safe journey home too.”

David smiled and in their eyes and across their faces he read some admiration and respect. Word really had got round the building. He smiled back.

“See you soon.” He replied smiling.

The revolving door eased him slowly out of the building and into the waiting car. The driver pulled into traffic, knowing where they were going. There was no talk, but David saw in the mirror the glances from the pool driver and in his eyes he read admiration too. The word had certainly got round that was for sure. David didn’t feel all that comfortable with such hero worship though.

London

4-58 p.m.

April 18th

Mason arrived at the hair salon two minutes early and was shown to his seat straight away. They were cleaning up and had obviously considered that shaving his hair short would only take a moment. The receptionist looked startled at his appearance. The story had got around the salon and so his description had been fixed in her mind.

“Who butchered your hair like this?” The hair dresser asked.

She was an attractive Asian girl in a standard black skirt and white blouse, a foot shorter than him, slim at the waist and rounded in a fulsome, but not heavy way, around the her backside. His eyes followed the contours of her body, flat stomach and small rounded breasts, up to the smooth dark skin of her neck and her hair which was spiky and swept around and under her chin in places, showing her high cheek bones. He looked at her face and thought it slightly Eurasian. Behind the dark eye make up he saw professional disdain in her eyes and her dislike of the job she was going to have to do. She looked at her watch and sucked on her teeth. She looked over at the receptionist.

“Tara I can’t do this quickly. If you leave the keys I’ll lock up.”

“Are you sure Aliesha?”

“Yes.” She turned back to Mason pulling at his hair gently in various places as she spoke. He mentally stored her name.

“I’ll clip the back and sides shorter and try and give it some sort of style, but they’ve cut the top and front too short and that’s the worst part to have done. What’s your natural colour?”

“Black.”

“I suggest we wash it and dye it black. It’ll cost, but you won’t look middle aged any more. I take it you aren’t middle aged?”

“No.” Mason said smiling.

For the first time she looked into his eyes via the mirror. He smiled in a wry, lop sided way. She smiled back with a little warmth, appraising his face, thinking it handsome and mulling over the confident cat like animal way he had walked over.

“I heard the story. Not your stag night?”

“No my friend’s.”