this, guilt indicates wrong doing.”
“Looks like that one was at Inverness airport this morning.” David, feeling guilty, got straight down to work. He stared hard at the face of Marco Spencer. “That’s from Inverness watch three back tracking through CCTV. He’s dropped off the map since.”
“This one was spotted by the watcher of Inverness watch two earlier this morning; David looked over at Beaumont’s screen and the face of Peter Mason.
“He was at the railway station, but no sightings since.”
“Got himself a car?”
“Or a boat?”
“Watchers are doing walk by on Marina’s down the west coast. There’s a nil return from Clyde Marina, the whole of the Irish coast, Isle of Man and Welsh coast is a nil return.”
“That leaves Liverpool.” David replied.
“If I was doing the west coast I’d go further than Liverpool.”
“That depends on where you were heading for.”
“Well London is obvious.”
“Yes,” David agreed, but suddenly struck by the oddness of the situation said, “but then why not come in closer and why Scotland?”
“Good point.”
“Well Inverness could lead to the east coast.”
“That’s true.”
David frowned then his brow cleared.
“There are four of them. They separate, but two turn up at Inverness. If they all have the same job splitting up means they’re harder to chase, plus if they’re working together whoever gets through to wherever meets at a rendezvous point.”
“If they’re terrorists then Midland industry, what there is of it, would be a good target.” Beaumont suggested. David immediately thought of Maisie’s words about the chemical works.
“Let’s see who they are then we might have some idea of where they’re going.”
David logged into the decryption link to MOD sites when Jack Fulton came in.
“Good you’re back. We’ve just had a message from Glasgow watch, a little late, that the motorbike man has been tagged. Came off his bike outside Glasgow and is being watched by police, he’s unconscious. I’m just waiting for a call to say they’ve locked him up and I’ll send a team to Glasgow to interview him.”
“Why would the police let DIC do that if they don’t know who we are?”
Jack grinned. “We just say we’re civil service, show our diplomatic badges and they leave it at that. They think we’re secret service or some such, practically everyone does, except of course the secret service themselves who know we exist and hate us.”
David looked back at his screen. He loaded the images of the four men into the secret service computer system and was amazed at the return speed of information.
“Talking of secret service look at this,” Marco Spencer’s image came up on his top secret MI6 file, “this one is ex secret service, dirty jobs section by the looks of it.”
Jack Fulton clapped his hands loudly and nearly shouted.
“I knew I’d seen him before. I was watching him eat breakfast at Inverness airport. Yes there was a big problem over him two years ago. He killed a member of the cabinet in rural Scotland. Of course he’s freelance now.”
“The cabinet? Why isn’t he in prison?” David asked incredulously.
“Well we know he did it there’s just no proof, so no case to answer. It went off as an accident, heart attack hill walking.”
“Robert Cole the disgraced Home Office Minister, I remember that.” David was amazed.
Jack became serious.
“Of course that’s top secret and unrepeatable. We knew it was him. DIC watchers tagged him in the area and leaving. Of course Sternway, head of dirty tricks had a hand in it. It’s one of those cases that got by us. Cole must have had some story or information to put out and was first disgraced by the news then bumped off. The press treated it as a tragic accident. I liked Cole, I don’t like his replacement Tarquin Robinson and quite frankly as one of the few people in high power who know about us he doesn’t like us either. It was a bad business and no mistake. No I still haven’t got over that failure, but yes Marco Spencer. He knows about us and he’s a hired assassin.”
“That means that the other three are too.” Beaumont added.
They looked at the screen and checked the other files. In each case the file of hired assassin came up. Jack Fulton’s face became angry and seriously white.
“Four assassins have entered the country on our watch. You two had better get ready to go to Stobhill Glasgow. Go armed. I’ll call the police there and warn them.”
“We’re going to e-mail our watchers, especially the ones going to Marinas. They’re to go armed. I’ll e-mail that instruction around the building. I want you two to focus on the MOD sites especially the submarine movements. I want to know who brought them in. I’ll get the others looking for missing persons.”
“Why?” David was rather taken aback by the serious turn of events on his first day.
“These are hired killers. They don’t leave witnesses. If they’re compromised they kill first think later. Spencer is a cold blooded killer. They all came to get someone. There are four, or possibly more of them, so it’s a multiple attempt, to make sure one gets through. One of them might have killed already. Get on to that sub question.”
When Fulton left Beaumont gave David a raised eyebrow look.
“Serious stuff,” David said quietly, “you ever experienced this before?”
Beaumont shook his head slowly.
Both of them quietly began searching MOD sites for relevant information each suddenly intent on the screens in front of them.
Chapter 21
Glasgow Stobhill Hospital
11- 30 a.m.
April 17th
Wheeler rose through layers of unconsciousness to the sound of rattling cups and unfamiliar voices. To the watching police officer, sitting in the armchair near the bed, as he had been for the last hour, the stirring body was a relief. The constable was bored by his watch. The suddenly opening eyes and look of fearful unawareness were reassuring for the officer too.
Wheeler felt his way round his body, wiggled toes, waggled fingers and reassured that everything was okay he tried to sit up. Pain from his bruises made him wince. The memory of the bike skidding away from him and realisation that he had a hospital gown on, added to which his certainty that his bag would have been opened, brought a rush of adrenalin which enabled him to sit up quickly and bypass the sudden pain from the bump on the top of his head.
“Hello.” The constable said dourly.
The voice was Scottish. Wheeler took in the uniform.
“Where am I?” Wheeler feigned a vaguely foreign accent, somewhere Eastern European.
He took in the room. Standard hospital single room, window to his right, bedside table in that corner, red string for calling help above it, and to his left, other side of the bed, the door. At the foot of the bed an armchair for visitors, in which was seated the constable; young, he noted, about twenty-five.
“Stobhill hospital Glasgow.”
Wheeler nodded.
“I’ve to call in, for a detective to interview you.”
Wheeler feigned a lack of understanding, crinkling his brow, a slight shake of the head.
