Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

Up in the loft Stanton went over to the laptop, which had not been locked by password, and began looking at the DIC network. He wasn’t shocked by the news bulletins on Cobb and Mason. He knew Mason had nearly made it and he knew himself to be the last man of the five. He quickly read the details of the shooting and began searching elsewhere on the DIC network. He didn’t have long and he wanted information. He found the file with the full list of DIC agents in the UK and their locations. He found files with the location of DIC headquarters and details about the duty rotas. It was very useful information. He checked the list of building CCTV cameras and chose the lobby, where there were two. He saw the revolving door, two guards and the lifts behind the desk. He had a quick scan around Euston Tower, the armoury and data gathering rooms. He was impressed by the size and scale of the operation of what was an organisation that the British public knew nothing about.

On the desk were writeable DVD’s and he popped one into the drive and began copying the file. In the meantime he looked for a quick way into London on the internet. He decided on a National Express Coach and saw that there was a coach leaving at eleven am and got into London at one forty-five p.m. He noted the price of five pounds, he could easily cover that. It was ten thirty so he knew he had time to get to the National Express stop at Pencester Road, a ten minute run from where he was, according to the online map. He covered his tracks by deleting the history tool bar and all cookies. The file copying continued. He looked around the loft and saw the gun cabinet. He then looked around for a key and found it hanging high up from a roof beam. He retrieved the key and unlocked the cabinet. He took out the shiny Sig 220 ‘Rail’, added the silencer, put a clip in, pumped a round into the breach and clicked it to safe. Looking in the cabinet he saw the laser sight and fixed it to the ‘rail’ on the pistol. He twisted around looking at the laser dot. He turned to the computer and seeing the file downloaded, took out the disc, popped it in a jewel case and slid it inside his jacket. He covered his tracks on the file copying as best he could, but didn’t know that the DIC access work was logged and monitored. The fact that the files had been copied registered on McKie’s ICT usage log at Euston Tower. Stanton was just making for the window when he heard the hatch being opened.

Cartoons over David went back to work. He pulled the ladder down and climbed up into the loft. Too late the personal danger signal hairs on his neck told him someone was there. He felt the cold muzzle of the pistol against the back of his neck.

“Climb in slowly, knowing that I’m taking a step back and this weapon has the laser dot sighting so I can fire accurately in this half light.”

David climbed into the loft, stood up slowly with his hands on his head. He turned around to face his assailant and stared straight into the eyes of Stanton. Stanton the killer from Perth, murderer of Griffiths and others and now was it his turn to be killed by him? How had he got there? How had he got in? Why was he there?

“What’s your name?” Stanton hissed.

“McKie, David McKie, you’d be Trevor Stanton right?”

“That’s correct.”

“I saw you at Perth. You had a goatee then.”

“I saw you in Glasgow too my friend.” Stanton’s bared teeth were as close to a smile as McKie imagined the man got.

“Glasgow?”

“Yes, after you’d killed Wheeler.”

“Motherwell? Were you following me?” David was astounded and a little unnerved.

“No. Our paths have crossed accidentally, which is unfortunate for you.”

“You came into Dover by boat, but you saw me and came here… you want revenge for Wheeler, that’s not very professional!”

David, palms sweating and heart thudding, remembered his training. He probed the man a little, a little needling, a small wind up might make the man react less rationally and, as he’d been taught, that might give him the ‘chance’ he needed. David felt as if the red dot from the laser sight would burn through his chest if it stayed there any longer.

“Believe me it’s purely professional and I’m not here for revenge. Now I need you to sit in your chair. Move carefully, hands where I can see them.” David hadn’t unsettled the assassin, Stanton remained calm.

David moved to the chair and sat down. He looked at the screen. There was no way to send a message about what was going to happen. They’d find him in the loft, killed by his own pistol. Mary wasn’t due home yet. He prayed that Stanton would leave before they got home. The thought of Mary and Conor at the mercy of Stanton made the anger rise McKie. He felt Stanton move behind him.

“You’re no killer McKie. I can see it in your eyes. Saddened about the sanctioned murder of Wheeler you sat at this desk and committed suicide. Put your hands on the keyboard McKie.”

David put his hands on the keyboard, but he put his feet between the ‘spoke’ like floor supports of his office swivel chair and tensed his leg muscles. Stanton was right behind him and placed the barrel of the pistol to McKie’s right temple.

McKie pushed both his feet against the edges of the supports, sending the chair in a clockwise spin, turning his head and body through ninety degrees. It was the micro second turning of body and head that made the bullet pass within an inch of his face. Even with the silencer the discharged weapon deafened his right ear. McKie’s hands cross cut Stanton’s weapon hand sending the Sig clattering to the floor near the desk. Stanton lashed out with his left hand sending David falling backwards, the chair tipping back, but David hooked his left leg under the desk, stopping his backwards fall. He lifted his right leg in a swift vertical movement and slammed his shin into the side of Stanton’s head. Stanton stumbled backwards and fell over near the loft hatch, heavily stunned.

David’s chair tipped forwards again and he dived for the floor, grabbed the Sig and stood up in a twisting turn. Upright he was facing Stanton, now standing just in front of the hatch. The red dot of the laser sight sat between Stanton’s eyes.

“You going to kill me McKie? An unarmed man killed in cold blood.”

“No. Turn around and kneel down. I’m taking you in.”

“I’d rather die and you’re going to have to kill me, which you won’t, you’re not the type. What now?”

The door bell rang down stairs and through the Velux they heard “Mr McKie it’s the police.”

McKie smiled, but was unnerved by Stanton smiling too.

Stanton took a step back and dropped through the hatch feet first, landing on a rung half way down the vertical ladder and in a twisting turn dived head first down the stair well. McKie ran to the hatch, looked down and saw nothing. He heard bumping down the stairs.

Stanton executed a single roll down the stairs, landed on his feet and opened the front door. He kicked the policeman in the stomach and knocked him out with his rising knee meeting the constable’s head. The second policeman pulled his baton, but Stanton parried it and flipped the man on his back, kicking him across the jaw, rendering him unconscious.

Stanton ran from the house and sprinted up the road. David came down the stairs and hurdled the unconscious policemen. Tom the neighbour watched horrified from his front garden as McKie gave chase, unarmed, knowing Stanton to be unarmed and wanting him alive.

David was faster than Stanton and Stanton felt the closing foot fall of the athletic Scotsman as they got to the Folkestone Road.

A huge container lorry, late for the ferry, mistakenly having taken the B2011 exit, near Hougham, off the A20, came thundering down the Folkestone Road. Stanton felt it coming, turned, looked and saw McKie three metres behind Stanton veered into the wake of the passing lorry and jumped. His hands gripped the upright metal bar of the container lock and he clung on. His feet hung in the air for a moment and then he got his feet on the light and registration plate bar of the trailer.