Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

Brook took a pair of scissors and cut Stanton’s black T-shirt open then he undid Stanton’s trousers pulling them down to his thighs, as far as he could go with Stanton’s legs tied to the chair.

Stanton said nothing, protest was useless and fear was for children. Stay mentally sharp, eat the pain and plan a way out.

Pads with wires attached were put on him. One was put over the solar plexus and the other was put on the skin of his abdomen, just above the pubic hair line of his groin.

Telford lit a cigarette, but all of them heard the door downstairs open and close and Telford dropped the cigarette and ground it into the mouldy green carpet.

There was a footfall on the stairs, the door opened and a fourth man stood in the room. He was out of place in the dirty, dusty, dilapidated old bare room. He had highly polished black brogues, a neat dark blue three piece pin stripe and oiled, thinning black hair. There was a red silk handkerchief poking in a shiny peak from his top pocket.

“Hello Trevor.” The voice was clear and crisp, neat and slicing in its enunciation. “You don’t mind if I call you Trevor do you?”

Stanton looked into the cold ‘telescopic eyes’. Sternway continued.

“I feel I know you so well from your file. I’m very pleased with your work.”

“I’d hate to see the way you treat those who fail you.”

“Cobb and Mason failed me. You can take them as an average example.”

Stanton knew it all long. He made a vow. If he got free, if he had his chance he was going to kill this man. Sternway saw it in his eyes.

“Proceed Joe and make it painful to start, no use wasting time.”

The electric shocks were powerful and with the pads over two of his Chakra points, or nerve centres, the pain was immense, surging through him almost blotting out all thought.

There were three such shocking surges and Stanton sat writhing in the chair for half a minute before he felt the pain die down.

“Now about DIC and all you know please or there’ll be more of that.”

“What do you want with DIC?”

“They’re an inconvenience. They came close when your friend Spencer did a little job for me and they cause no end of trouble. Only the PM, Home Office Minister and the Queen, oh and some of the royal family, know who the head person is. We know about their existence, but we don’t know where they are and how much coverage they’ve got, which is pretty damned annoying when you’re trying to change things in your own favour through underhanded means, which you can imagine is what I do. Your friend Spencer, who used to work for me, was nearly caught by them when we did for Robert Cole. Right now we’re trying, with the help of a certain Mr Robinson, Cole’s replacement, no coincidence, to get rid of them for good. Then we’ll be free of their meddling influences and sticking their ‘tuppence’ in every time we want to make a change.”

“I see, if that’s all why didn’t you say? Let me go and I’ll tell you everything I found out.” Sternway smiled a crocodile smile.

“That’s what I love about mercenaries Joe so easy to get round to your way of thinking. Yes we’ll let you go; in fact well we’ll help you go. I don’t want you getting caught.”

Stanton gave them details about the building, what he’d seen on the computer. Telford drew a sketch from Stanton’s description of the lobby. Stanton had seen names for floors on the disk and assumed the boss, Fulton, was on the top floor. He told them about the cameras in the building.

He made up fake facts about security from having seen the foyer and finally told them about how he’d got the badge and what was in the loft in Dover and Bill’s house in Westminster. When he was finished Sternway smiled.

“Well done Trevor you know you really are quite the most dangerous man I’ve ever met and…” He was interrupted by a phone ringing. Sternway took the orange coloured Bic cell phone from his inside jacket pocket. “Yes. We’re just about ready… within the next hour.”

He rang off and put the phone in his jacket again. He suddenly patted his left jacket pocket and looked at Stanton.

“The green Bic cell phone?”

“Coat.” Stanton nodded with his head in the direction of the table.

Telford emptied the pockets. There was the lime green cell phone and a DIC pass. He picked up the pass and shoulder holster with the Sig 220.

“Well goodbye Trevor. I’m sure we won’t meet again.”

Sternway left the room, Joe and Brook followed and Telford left after checking the ropes on Stanton.

Downstairs Sternway gave his instructions to Telford who left on what was to be a tricky mission. Sternway told Joe and Brook what to do and left for home.

Upstairs Stanton knew he was going to be killed. They were down stairs arranging it, he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could hear the voices. He wiggled the chair, it was quite old. His hands were tied to the upright struts and his legs to the legs of the chair. Stanton bunched his muscles and tightened them. He balanced the chair on the two back legs, tipping the chair back and bounced slightly, but heavily, trying to avoid noise. There was a sharp crack from the two back legs. They must have heard because the front door opened and closed and there were hurried feet on the stairs.

With the legs bent inwards at the back Stanton bounced and sat on the chair heavily. The back legs gave way and the front legs snapped as he sat down. Stanton quickly stood up legs free, even if the front chair legs were still tied to his shins. He ran backwards, using his toes to counteract the low level of his trousers, at the closed door with all his might, bracing himself for the pain on his arms. Just as Brook and Joe arrived at the door and pushed it Stanton hit it and the chair back broke away from the seat and at the same time preventing the men from entering. Stanton wiggled free from the back of the chair, braced against the door. With his hands free instinct kicked in and he stepped to one side as three shots perforated the door panels where he had been standing.

Brook kicked the door in and stepped into the room. Stanton was behind the door and kicked it into Brook, stepped around grabbed Brook’s gun hand, extended into the room, slammed his hand into Brook’s elbow crook, grabbing the gun hand and pushing the revolver under Brook’s chin. Stanton got his finger to the trigger. A single shot slammed up through Brook’s chin, passed through his skull and embedded in the ceiling. Stanton wrenched the pistol from Brook’s grip.

Joe had left his gun in the black Jaguar under the seat. He ran down the stairs to the front door, but a single shot from Stanton at the top of the stairs hit him in the small of the back paralysing him and he slumped into the door, no power in his legs.

Stanton did up his trousers. He carried Joe into the room upstairs in a fireman’s lift and dropped him on the floor. Brook was on his knees groaning and twitching, alive but half brain dead. Stanton walked over and shot him point blank in the chest with the last chamber of the revolver. Brook collapsed, twitching; falling in front of Joe’s terrified eyes.

Stanton stripped Joe’s jacket and shirt off and put them on. They were a tight fit, but better than his split T Shirt. Stanton gathered up the electrical equipment and sat down next to Joe.

“You’re going to give me a lot of useful information. I’ve got all night. We won’t bother with anything below the waist, but if you tell me what I want to know I swear I’ll leave you alive.” He tapped Joe’s head with his forefinger. “Let’s see what in that head of your shall we.”

He attached the pads.

Joe fought as hard as he could, but knowing he was paralysed weakened his resolve. He took half an hour to break down with the pain and when he did Stanton had all the information he needed.