Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

He glanced over at the pub and saw Mason walk up and stand outside. It was Mason, he was sure, but he checked the photo just the same. He opened the car door and walked over.

“Peter Mason?”

Mason spun around, his hand on the Sig in the back waistband of his trousers.

“It’s okay Mason. I’m from the buyer. Want to step into the car?”

Mason pulled the Sig from his waistband and put it under his jacket at the front.

“After you.”

They walked over to the car and Bentall got in the driver side, Mason got in the passenger seat. Bentall was nervous. He didn’t dare reach into his jacket for his revolver, a snub nose point three eight Smith and Wesson ‘Night Guard’ special.

“Shame about the others any news on Stanton?” Mason asked establishing the man’s credentials through common knowledge.

“No. Cobb died this morning.”

“I noticed. Did your firm put him in the suite?” Mason didn’t look into his face, but deliberately looked over at the bright blue pub frontage.

“Yes.”

“A bit open wouldn’t you say?”

“No. We wanted him to wait until today and it seemed the least we could do after all he’d been through.”

“Do I get a suite at a top hotel?” At this point Mason did look into Bentall’s eyes.

“No. The job’s on from today, it’s all getting heated.”

Mason stiffened and made his pistol visible, sliding it from under the black leather jacket and resting it on his lap, as Bentall pulled an envelope from under his seat. He handed it to Mason, overtly cautious and casting glances at the automatic aimed at his stomach.

“Easy Mason. There’s the brief.”

Mason struggled to open the envelope one handed, but did so anyway. When the sheets slid out, he dropped them onto his lap, still pointing the pistol Bentall, he scanned the page and looked at the paper clipped passport photo attached to the sheet, his eyes widened.

“Him?” Mason’s voice was the epitome of disbelief.

“What did you expect for a million?”

“But him, that’s not possible! How do you expect me to get near him?”

“That’s your problem. You're to leave that envelope with me, so memorise those five key times and locations which are always the same when he’s at home and give it back.”

Mason read the sheet, put the brief back in the envelope and handed it back.

“Now I take it you’re parked nearby, so you’d better take your equipment and get going.” Bentall was harshly forceful in his tone of voice.

Mason didn’t move though, he had questions now for sure.

Who the hell are you people anyway?”

“That’s secret.” Bentall reached onto the back seat and brought a briefcase forwards. Mason raised the pistol and held his hand further back in response to the sudden movement.

“The equipment and a contact method is in there.” Bentall rested the briefcase on his lap and tapped it.

“Contact method?”

“Disposable cell phone with one number in its memory is the contact method. When the job’s done call and you’ll be taken to safety, a hideout, then a pay off and a well planned escape, any questions?”

“You really expect me to trust you?” Mason looked him in the eyes.

“What else have you got?”

“My wits and my instincts.” Mason said all too suddenly and pressed the weapon to Bentall’s chest and pulled the trigger. There was a muffled bang and Bentall’s face screwed up in agony, he jerked and twisted and finally slumped against the window, his heart having stopped.

Mason looked around. There was no-one to be seen. He began searching the car. He was damned if he’d do the job before he knew who he was working for. The glove compartment was locked, but Bentall had the key in his trouser pocket. There was a nine millimetre Browning pistol with silencer and a spare clip and Bentall’s identification, clearly showing he was with MI6.

Bentall had been told not to take ID with him, but he was sure he’d be spotted by someone whilst he was sitting outside the pub all night every night for at least three days and wanted something to show any police who might show up.

Mason smiled. So the secret service wanted ‘him’ dead. There was a turn up for the books. He checked the case and found a bomb with a timer and the cell phone. He switched on the phone and rang enquiries to get a taxi firm number. He ordered a taxi for twenty minutes later, went back to the Beetle and got his sports holdall. After ten minutes with Bentall’s pass and his own photo he’d made up a passable MI6 badge for himself.

He knew how he was going to get to the target. This was a historic hit. He wasn’t going to trust them after he’d done it, but he knew who they were and where to find them and they’d know that too. They wouldn’t mess with him and he’d get the money and get himself out. Him, no wonder it was a million.

He left Bentall’s body in the Honda, putting the bomb and cell phone in his holdall. He went to meet the taxi around the corner. As he jumped in with the briefcase and gave the address a DIC watcher was driving past him on route to the Priory Arms. Sharp eyed as ever the watcher passed, noted and turned his car around in the car park on Benson Close, to follow. He called Euston Tower on his satellite phone as he followed, alerting DIC.

A DIC duty team was despatched to follow, but not to intervene until Mason had got to his destination. Jack Fulton made it very clear that he wanted to know where Mason was going, it might reveal the people hiring or the target.

Neither Mason, his taxi driver nor the DIC man, in his car, noticed the Nissan Micra following them. Peter Brook had arrived at the Black Honda to relieve Bentall seconds after Mason had walked around the corner. He’d found Bentall dead, the case on the passenger seat, the brown envelope with the target and details, bloodstained on Bentall’s lap, but the bomb and the phone gone. He’d run to corner of Benson Close to see Mason get into the taxi. He had taken the envelope and followed and he too had made a phone call.

The three car ‘convoy’ went up Lansdowne Way and turned right onto the Wandsworth Road. Traffic was thick and it was slow going.

In his office Sternway took the news badly. He’d just sat down and ordered his coffee when the phone rang.

“Sir? It’s Brook. I’m following Mason in a taxi going up the Wandsworth Road. He’s killed Bentall, taken the bomb and he’s headed the right way for the job.”

“Killed Bentall?”

“Yes. One shot to the chest, so he didn’t torture him. There seems to be no reason.”

“Did he take the envelope with the hit details?”

“No sir. I’ve got that with me, covered in Bentall’s blood.”

“Right keep following. He’s not doing that and getting away with it. I don’t like anyone killing my men for no reason. Get ready for extermination and see if you can pick a spot on the route. I call in three minutes to confirm that E order. Clear.”

“Yes Sir.” Brook reached into his glove compartment and took out gloves, he slid them on. He was one of the better skilled men from ‘dirty tricks’ and had carried out a few E orders, mostly abroad. Bentall had been a good colleague and Mason was going to pay.

Sternway put the phone down and stared at it. He’d liked Bentall, a good solid man he’d always said, never complained and always did the nasty stuff really well. Sternway was about to give the execution order for Brook to carry out when he had a better idea. He called Joe from the outer office.

“Mason killed Bentall at the meet point. Brook is tailing him in a taxi up the Wandsworth Road, so you know where he’s headed. Make a call to the Sun newspaper, use a disposable cell phone and whilst you’re at it get rid of this, I mean crush it to pieces.” He threw a lime green Bic disposable cell phone across the desk. It was the only thing to link him to Mason. They had stacks of them, used for one off contact.