McKie would have DIC equipment at his house. Access to that network would be really useful to Stanton. Stanton didn’t have a weapon on him, his was back on the boat, but he decided to follow McKie at a distance. He pulled his woollen hat down close to his eyes, dumped his shopping and the plastic bag with the yellow waterproof clothing over a wall on the trail up the Folkestone Road; McKie’s figure was easy to follow, though his walking pace kept him well ahead. McKie was absorbed listening to Conor’s inane chattering and wouldn’t have looked for danger. He felt safe.
When Stanton got to the junction of Elm’s Vale Road and Church Road McKie had disappeared. Stanton knew he’d gone that way though and had a quarter of an hour walk around the streets before he saw a house with a big white satellite dish on Markland Road, just up past a primary school. Stanton did some reconnaissance around the area and after making his way up to Eaves Road saw through gaps in garden gates the school field and the backs of the Markland Road houses.
David had got in from the walk breathless and giddy. He’d unwrapped Conor, given him a biscuit and was sat having a big mug of tea chatting in the dining room with Mary. It was a quarter to ten in the morning.
“Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah we saw boats and Dada promised to be a pirate with me.”
“Change of career then Davy?”
“Maybe.”
Mary was sat facing the garden picture window. The long garden backed onto the primary school field, across which there was a steep bank, leading up to the back gardens of the houses on the Eaves Road. She proffered David a plate of biscuits and he took a custard cream and bit it.
The door bell rang and Mary, expecting her friend, got up and missed the view of a dark figure sliding down the bank from an overlooking garden.
There was the bustle of Mina and her son Hadleigh in the house. Mina made small talk with David and then within ten minutes Mary and Conor had left in Mina’s car. David was going to go to the loft to do some work, but he quite suddenly felt comfortable and happy. The urge to put the television on and vegetate for a while overwhelmed him. He wasn’t normally lazy, but he felt that after what he had been through switching off for an hour or so would make him feel a lot stronger. He took his tea into the lounge and switched the set on.
At the top of the garden a figure crawled under the link fencing and emerged behind a small shed at the top of McKie’s garden. Stanton began looking at the house for weaknesses from his hidden vantage point. His eye lit on an open Velux window on the roof.
Chapter 88
London Vauxhall
9 a.m.
April 19th
The DIC checks revealed a fair few ‘hits’ for the name ‘Priory’ in London. There were pubs at all points of the compass, not to mention religious buildings and of course the ‘Priory Grange’ Roehampton, the rehabilitation clinic. Jack Fulton, in the building spot on nine in the morning, thought the intended victim might be there and sent a team to check the list of possible high profile patients. In spite of the high number of possible locations Jack despatched DIC watchers from London locations and took staff off CCTV watch and other duties to visit the pubs, restaurants and religious buildings with ‘Priory’ in the title.
Mason had been awake for an hour and had sat up in the car early in the morning. He was parked in a large car park in the fore court of a building on Benson Court. After waking he put the radio on and heard, amongst other items, news about Cobb. It hadn’t surprised him that Cob had been killed, but the fact that he’d had a suite at Claridge’s, a fact mentioned in the news, was out of place. It crossed his mind, given the speed of security’s arrival and the high profile nature of the hotel that Cobb had been set up. Cobb couldn’t have afforded the suite, Mason reasoned, so it meant that the people hiring them had put him there and if that was the case Cobb had got to the contact point first. So why not put him in a nice quiet place, out of the way, especially given his high media profile after Gatwick. Mason was nervous. He’d had his reservations about the people hiring them and the whole trip south to London.
He got out of the Beetle, walked around the corner to the Priory Arms on Lansdowne Road. The bright blue pub and its little outside ‘beer garden’ frontage was a closed face. He stood outside wondering whether to make a break for it out of the country and forget the whole thing, when someone called his name.
Paul Bentall had been with MI6 for five years. He’d spent the night in the black Honda watching for Mason or Stanton. He had the night shift. Peter on the day shift had it easy sitting in the pub and Bentall looked back on his five years and thought about how he always got the crappy part of any job. He checked the time and seeing it was close to shift change he got ready to report to Pete, when he arrived. They would swap cars and he, Bentall could go get some breakfast and go home to sleep.
He glanced over at the pub and saw Mason walk up and stand outside. It was Mason, he was sure, but he checked the photo just the same. He opened the car door and walked over.
“Peter Mason?”
Mason spun around, his hand on the Sig in the back waistband of his trousers.
“It’s okay Mason. I’m from the buyer. Want to step into the car?”
Mason pulled the Sig from his waistband and put it under his jacket at the front.
“After you.”
They walked over to the car and Bentall got in the driver side, Mason got in the passenger seat. Bentall was nervous. He didn’t dare reach into his jacket for his revolver, a snub nose point three eight Smith and Wesson ‘Night Guard’ special.
“Shame about the others any news on Stanton?” Mason asked establishing the man’s credentials through common knowledge.
“No. Cobb died this morning.”
“I noticed. Did your firm put him in the suite?” Mason didn’t look into his face, but deliberately looked over at the bright blue pub frontage.
“Yes.”
“A bit open wouldn’t you say?”
“No. We wanted him to wait until today and it seemed the least we could do after all he’d been through.”
“Do I get a suite at a top hotel?” At this point Mason did look into Bentall’s eyes.
“No. The job’s on from today, it’s all getting heated.”
Mason stiffened and made his pistol visible, sliding it from under the black leather jacket and resting it on his lap, as Bentall pulled an envelope from under his seat. He handed it to Mason, overtly cautious and casting glances at the automatic aimed at his stomach.
“Easy Mason. There’s the brief.”
Mason struggled to open the envelope one handed, but did so anyway. When the sheets slid out, he dropped them onto his lap, still pointing the pistol Bentall, he scanned the page and looked at the paper clipped passport photo attached to the sheet, his eyes widened.
“Him?” Mason’s voice was the epitome of disbelief.
“What did you expect for a million?”
“But him, that’s not possible! How do you expect me to get near him?”
“That’s your problem. You're to leave that envelope with me, so memorise those five key times and locations which are always the same when he’s at home and give it back.”
Mason read the sheet, put the brief back in the envelope and handed it back.
“Now I take it you’re parked nearby, so you’d better take your equipment and get going.” Bentall was harshly forceful in his tone of voice.
Mason didn’t move though, he had questions now for sure.
Who the hell are you people anyway?”
