Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

David shook hands. Beaumont had serious heavy lidded eyes. Looking at his physique David could tell that he kept fit. If it hadn’t been for the grey hair no-one one would have thought he was just forty, which he was.

“Jack was a security expert for private firms, I’m sure he’ll tell you all about that later.”

On the screen in front of Beaumont a section of CCTV was running whilst at the top of the screen there were Dewey’s four images; a sketch of Charlie Cobb, two fuzzy satellite images of Mason and Spencer, taken with high intensity satellite imaging, and finally the Nikon close up of Wheeler. There was also an image of Spencer from the airport

“These four were picked up by Michael Dewey at Port An-eorna, just on the Atlantic coast. Some blip appeared on the radar, just appeared, had to be a sub. This was just before dawn this morning. Now Michael saw one face by match flare and sketched it.” Jack Fulton pointed to the sketch. “He didn’t show up on satellite even though Dewey guessed one would head for a boat and scanned the harbour at Plockton. The harbour man, according to Dewey, said an American was taking a boat out, pre-arranged.”

“Well he’d be heading down the west coast in that. “ Beaumont interjected.

“We’ve got harbour and Marina bookings being checked down the west coast.”

“He might not put in. Anchor and swim in.”

Fulton nodded.

“That’s true enough. Now this one,” he pointed to Mason, “he had to have his ticket pre-arranged as Duirnish is a request stop and it was an early train. This one,” he pointed to Spencer, “was picked up by chopper. “ He waved a hand at Beaumont about to interject. “CCTV for Inverness, Perth and Aberdeen are being monitored and past hours checked so we should get something soon. That chopper had to be arranged too. The last one,” he pointed to Wheeler, “his motorbike was sitting waiting. We’ve put the license plate and picture out to police. There’s an approach with caution note attached.”

He walked to the door and turned.

“We’ll find out whose submarine it was. Decryption department are working the armed forces sites as we speak. For now,” he wagged a finger severely, “we assume they’re up to no good, positively dangerous and someone in the UK brought them in. The question is who or what are they? What are they going to do? I’m having the leads and vital information fed directly into the duty team offices and that means you two here. Remember brains David, not brawn. Work this one out and fast.”

David sat in a padded swivel chair his knees were half way up his chest. He struggled to reach the lever. Beaumont stepped over and worked the lever.

“Thanks Jack.”

“Call me Beaumont. Anyway, we’re a team for two weeks, partners. So let’s take a walk, get a sandwich and when we come back decryption will have cracked MOD and the rest. Plus the watchers will have found at least one face and we’ll have a lead. Come on.”

David hesitated.

“Trust me. I’ve been doing this job five years. Active duty rota isn’t usually this exciting. There are thousands of people watching. Our job will be to run around the country chasing.”

David smiled. “Okay Beaumont.”

They got their coats and headed down to the lobby. After being checked out by security they headed for Euston station.

“Good sandwiches at the station. The fresh air will get the brain cells going.”

Inverness watch picked Spencer out from the morning traffic at the airport. Meanwhile Decryption were getting ready to run the four images through MI6 computer when they got in, invisible to the secret service computer system and its anti-intrusion software.

Back in his office Jack Fulton stared at the footage of Marco Spencer eating breakfast at Inverness airport. His eyes hardened. He knew this one from somewhere of that he was sure. He stared harder at the image.

“Who are you?” He spoke aloud to the empty room.

The Home Office

9 – 30 a.m.

April 17th

“Mr Robinson will see you now.”

The secretary opened the thick wooden door and let the blandly dressed man into the ornate and beautiful office. Behind the desk Tarquin Robinson, the Minister for The Home Office, sat waiting, reading through documents. He was a short and extremely plump man. Known for being outspoken his heavy build, short stature and wobbly chins made him the target of many satirists. This greatly annoyed him as he took himself very seriously. He watched the man walk in; a medium build man, grey suit and nylon mackintosh, hair blonde, though not naturally so as his eyebrows were brown. The man had serious brown eyes and a thin pointed face.

“Have a seat Mr Bentall.”

Bentall sat and waited to be spoken to.

“No-one here aware of who you are?”

“No. Your secretary has a false name. I’m listed as a security firm expert.”

“Good. What can I do for you?”

“I believe that after the last work done for you by my superior he expressed a concern about a certain ‘situation’ and you agreed that ‘elimination’ by some means would be desirable.”

“Indeed I did. Mutually beneficial I think we agreed.”

“You discussed a plan I believe.”

“Yes.”

“That plan is now in motion.” Bentall’s face was impassive as he looked at the man’s black eyes.

Robinson shifted forward in his seat, his bulky body shifting with difficulty in the heavy and softly furnished office chair.

“Is it indeed, is your boss sure this will work?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be safely distanced?”

“Yes.”

“Do his superiors suspect anything?”

“No. We deal with people like this all the time it’s part of departmental work and no traces have been left. Our department is kept at arms length. No-one generally wants to know what we’re up to. It allows them to truthfully deny our work and if need be drop us in it. It’s not a good position. That’s why my superior has sought this…er… alliance, shall we call it?”

“Yes I see. The results on the target will be permanent will they?”

“Finished for good we should think.” Bentall couldn’t resist a small smile.

“The official explanation will pass muster?” Robinson probed somewhat nervously.

“Easily, it seems sensible given the security climate.”

“It’ll be a very satisfactory outcome. The time has come for change in that area.”

“We think so.” Bentall again gave a small smile.

“Your superior will gain from this himself, but what would he like from me?”

“Support.” Bentall had been told to make the cost clear. ”Of course if you’d like to cancel?” He added knowing that the fat, greedy man was hooked.

“No. Let’s proceed. It’s begun now.”

“Good.” Bentall felt in control. The old man was sweating. It was always the same with the power hungry, keen, but afraid when the moment came.

“What if I need to contact your superior?”

“We have a method. A mode of untraceable and disposable contact will simply appear and disappear as easily as you desire or he desires.”

Bentall took out the brown ‘jiffy’ parcel, sealed, and put it on the table.

“One number in the memory, untraceable, registered to a fake name and disposable.”

“Good. That’s all then.” Robinson once again spoke with authority, reminding himself he was speaking to a government lackey.

Bentall got up.

“Thank you minister, I’ll pass your consent to my superior?”

“Please do.”

Bentall left quietly.

Robinson opened the parcel and took out an orange coloured Bic ‘disposable’ cell phone. It was a clever gadget. It came with a pre charged battery and pre paid talk time. He’d seen them in France. This one was citrus orange colour.