Internal Concerns or DIC for short. They aren’t military. In fact they aren’t beholden to anyone but the British tax payers, who have no idea that they exist. The thing is that they’re armed and have the right to kill, under certain circumstances, to which end they have diplomatic immunity in the UK.” Stanton’s face was intense with listening and Spencer continued. “They have people in every town and city in the UK. These people monitor all digital and analogue traffic, they have the equipment to do it too, and they have access to CCTV. This is fed into a centre, somewhere in London, but no-one knows where the centre is.”
“How have they kept so secret?”
“Well for one they don’t advertise their presence in any way whatsoever and two though MI6 know they exist, they don’t know who the members of this huge network are so it’s hard to prove they exist. If you suggested there was such a network people would laugh. Big brother scares and all that. Top civil servants, the old ones are aware as is the queen. They’re funded from MOD money. They have spies literally everywhere. They watch everything and everyone.”
“Can they watch any CCTV?”
“Seemingly so, hence our drop off in Scotland.”
“So we could have been spotted already?”
“Yes, but odds are we haven’t or the police would have arrested us. Anyway our arrival point was too remote, which I think was the idea.”
“Right, who do you think is behind this hit?”
“I don’t know, but you must have sussed that it’s either military or government, the sub tells you that.” Spencer suspected his old boss Sternway, but didn’t say.
Stanton nodded and said “We’ll find out when we are told who the mark is. It’s got to be big for a million.”
“Listen thanks for the help and the meal. I appreciate it.”
“That’s alright. I’ve learnt something.” He got out his card. “Is yours not working?”
“No it’s bloody annoying.”
“I’m sure.”
“We’ll split up when we get to London, but if we get to the rendezvous point together or close we could collaborate, two heads and all that.”
Stanton was cautious “I’ll think about it. We might make a good team. I’ll see if we get to the rendezvous together.”
Stanton watched Spencer head for his sleeper. He stared at the door a long time and then mind made up to get off at Perth he went to his sleeper and began packing. If Spencer was telling the truth about these DIC they were probably already compromised. In his sleeper he ditched the passports and all the paraphernalia of an assassin, keeping his weapon, ammunition and a small plastic box with a hypodermic syringe and a variety of drug ampoules though. He picked an ID from the pack which had a change of face and look and with his complete change of face paraphernalia from his rucksack he went to the toilet and locked himself in. It was ten fifty p.m.
Chapter 38
Perth
10 – 55 p.m.
April 17th
Informed by the pilot that the Lear jet needed eight hundred and seventy-five metres to land and the runway was closer to eight sixty the two men held their straps tighter as the plane screamed in and juddered to a halt. Being a small airport the steps went down and grabbing their bags the two man DIC roving team ran towards a waiting police car.
“Evening gents I’ll brief you on the way.” A senior police officer greeted them at the waiting car.
They sidled into the back seat and the police car light flashing and siren blaring rushed them to Perth, down the 94 from Pitroddie, the Perth Road, into the city centre across South Street Bridge, round Marshall Place and finally through a police cordon into Leonard Street.
In the car they had been told that there were armed police surrounding the station, staff at the station had been evacuated and the signals were red from Perth on so that the train’s automatic systems wouldn’t let it move. The police were going to take over the engines, staff would be asked to leave first and the speaker system would explain that there was a fault with the engine and people had to get off. There were police in Scot rail uniforms, some in boiler suits with luminous vests, on the platform ready for each door to open, but they were going to empty the train a carriage at time in single file. There were snipers on roofs and a dog handler ready to sweep the train when the passengers were off if they didn’t find their man and in case of booby traps.
It was all in hand.
David nervously checked his weapon, but he needn’t have worried, he wasn’t allowed to the front and in the open. He and Beaumont were standing at the gate ready to spring and call if Spencer got past the police.
The station was lit up clearly and everyone tensed, radios crackled and went quiet as the train slowly cruised gleaming into the station’s stark lights, it was eleven fifteen. In well timed movements the disguised police manned the doors, the men allotted to the engines swung into action and the drivers were the first to leave. At the barrier they passed McKie and Beaumont.
On the train there was a stunned silence, followed by a babble of complaints and annoyed groans when the instructions to detrain were given including instructions to have a ticket ready to be examined at the gate. The staff came out of every door of the train and passed the DIC men, the first in what was to be a long line.
In the toilet Stanton finished his disguise with a frown. He felt sure that the engines were fine. He walked into the corridor and looked out of a window. On the platform there were a lot of staff, too many. He looked at the boots and knew they were police. Hasty disguises didn’t always include the foot wear and men of action liked their sturdy comfortable boots. He didn’t know that they weren’t looking for him, but now with a disguise and identity that didn’t match the name on his ticket he didn’t fancy his chances. He went back to his sleeper and sat down.
Spencer had been asleep. He was muzzy headed. He too looked out the window. He was sure it was a trap. He decided to get out the train on the track side, using the emergency opening. He’d alert them, but it was a chance he’d take. He knew he’d get caught for the taxi driver once they took his prints and there were other kills besides. He didn’t fancy thirty years in prison.
The passengers passed through the barriers a coach at a time with Police checking tickets and ID and McKie and Beaumont watching, searching each face. They were down to the last coach when they heard a shout and two shots.
Spencer, rucksack on his back and loaded weapon in hand, had opened the door and spotted by a sniper, who called out to stop, had fired a round at the voice, then dropped off the train, his dropping so quickly meant the sniper missed. Police marksmen with Enforcer rifles and those with Heckler-Koch MP5 sub-machine guns opened up as he ran down the track, zig zagging.
By the ticket barrier the people panicked, but were shouted at to calmly continue through the barriers. David looked past the crowds and saw the muzzle flashes. There were clangs, zipping noises and then a call to cease fire.
Spencer stood in the middle of the track, no less than nine rifles trained on him, hand with his weapon, still held tightly, at his side. He had to decide; capture or death. He ran through his mind the possibilities; the shouts to drop the weapon came thick, fast and with urgency.
The detective nearest McKie had a crackling voice from his receiver, someone breaking radio silence.
“We’ve got your man.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” David’s voice came out stronger and more directed than he himself had intended and his customs confidence surfaced. He had a badge and an office. The police here had been called by his boss, the man who sent him. Authority surged through his mind and pushed his shoulders back. David called Beaumont and they pushed through the crowd and onto the train. The two of them walked down the train, but were stopped by two armed police just opening a door via the emergency handle. David looked out the window nearest to him at
