very professional!”
David, palms sweating and heart thudding, remembered his training. He probed the man a little, a little needling, a small wind up might make the man react less rationally and, as he’d been taught, that might give him the ‘chance’ he needed. David felt as if the red dot from the laser sight would burn through his chest if it stayed there any longer.
“Believe me it’s purely professional and I’m not here for revenge. Now I need you to sit in your chair. Move carefully, hands where I can see them.” David hadn’t unsettled the assassin, Stanton remained calm.
David moved to the chair and sat down. He looked at the screen. There was no way to send a message about what was going to happen. They’d find him in the loft, killed by his own pistol. Mary wasn’t due home yet. He prayed that Stanton would leave before they got home. The thought of Mary and Conor at the mercy of Stanton made the anger rise McKie. He felt Stanton move behind him.
“You’re no killer McKie. I can see it in your eyes. Saddened about the sanctioned murder of Wheeler you sat at this desk and committed suicide. Put your hands on the keyboard McKie.”
David put his hands on the keyboard, but he put his feet between the ‘spoke’ like floor supports of his office swivel chair and tensed his leg muscles. Stanton was right behind him and placed the barrel of the pistol to McKie’s right temple.
McKie pushed both his feet against the edges of the supports, sending the chair in a clockwise spin, turning his head and body through ninety degrees. It was the micro second turning of body and head that made the bullet pass within an inch of his face. Even with the silencer the discharged weapon deafened his right ear. McKie’s hands cross cut Stanton’s weapon hand sending the Sig clattering to the floor near the desk. Stanton lashed out with his left hand sending David falling backwards, the chair tipping back, but David hooked his left leg under the desk, stopping his backwards fall. He lifted his right leg in a swift vertical movement and slammed his shin into the side of Stanton’s head. Stanton stumbled backwards and fell over near the loft hatch, heavily stunned.
David’s chair tipped forwards again and he dived for the floor, grabbed the Sig and stood up in a twisting turn. Upright he was facing Stanton, now standing just in front of the hatch. The red dot of the laser sight sat between Stanton’s eyes.
“You going to kill me McKie? An unarmed man killed in cold blood.”
“No. Turn around and kneel down. I’m taking you in.”
“I’d rather die and you’re going to have to kill me, which you won’t, you’re not the type. What now?”
The door bell rang down stairs and through the Velux they heard “Mr McKie it’s the police.”
McKie smiled, but was unnerved by Stanton smiling too.
Stanton took a step back and dropped through the hatch feet first, landing on a rung half way down the vertical ladder and in a twisting turn dived head first down the stair well. McKie ran to the hatch, looked down and saw nothing. He heard bumping down the stairs.
Stanton executed a single roll down the stairs, landed on his feet and opened the front door. He kicked the policeman in the stomach and knocked him out with his rising knee meeting the constable’s head. The second policeman pulled his baton, but Stanton parried it and flipped the man on his back, kicking him across the jaw, rendering him unconscious.
Stanton ran from the house and sprinted up the road. David came down the stairs and hurdled the unconscious policemen. Tom the neighbour watched horrified from his front garden as McKie gave chase, unarmed, knowing Stanton to be unarmed and wanting him alive.
David was faster than Stanton and Stanton felt the closing foot fall of the athletic Scotsman as they got to the Folkestone Road.
A huge container lorry, late for the ferry, mistakenly having taken the B2011 exit, near Hougham, off the A20, came thundering down the Folkestone Road. Stanton felt it coming, turned, looked and saw McKie three metres behind Stanton veered into the wake of the passing lorry and jumped. His hands gripped the upright metal bar of the container lock and he clung on. His feet hung in the air for a moment and then he got his feet on the light and registration plate bar of the trailer.
David desperately chased the lorry down the Folkestone Road, but the driver was running late and at forty miles an hour over a half mile the truck outpaced the running man. McKie kept chasing, but the lorry had disappeared down York Road towards the terminal, when he got to the roundabout. McKie stood panting for breath, hands on knees. He needed to get back to the house and contact DIC and the police. He wrongly assumed Stanton was headed for the marina. He turned and ran back as fast as he could towards Elm’s Vale.
Stanton headed straight for Pencester Road, after dropping off the back of the lorry on York Road and doing a circuit of Pencester Gardens. Stanton waited outside the bus station, aware of the CCTV. It was ten fifty, ten minutes before the coach left. Stanton wondered what to do, how to get on the coach without being seen by CCTV.
Back at Elm’s Vale Tom the neighbour had called an ambulance and David was greeted by Police, Ambulance men and a lot of questions. David walked straight past all the people on his door step, went to his coat and got out his DIC pass. He turned on the police man in his door way.
“Check this badge please.”
The policeman read it.
“I see sir. I still need to know what happened here.”
“Come on in and close the door and we can talk in private.” David nodded towards the gathering group of neighbours.
“Yes sir, can we bring the injured men in here?”
“Of course.”
They all decamped into the lounge and David excused himself for a moment, went to the loft and fired off an alert on Stanton. DIC Euston scanned the CCTV for Dover town centre. Back in his lounge David explained the situation and the policeman sent out an alert. Police in the area began combing the streets and some were despatched to the harbour, where they found the stolen boat and Stanton’s weapon.
Back at Pencester Road bus station Stanton’s idea was good. There were no cameras at the exit to the bus station so he waited there. He was blessed with good fortune as foot patrols were sent into the bus station first, to check for Stanton. They boarded and checked the London National Express coach, but found no-one and after they got off the doors closed and the coach swung in a wide arc to exit the station. The driver pulled up and braked sharply as a man suddenly appeared in front of the coach. The coach driver noted the man’s waving arms and gave a smile. No-one took any notice of the coach stopped in the exit and the police had already turned their attention to the ticket office to ask if anyone of Stanton’s description had bought a ticket.
Yards away the man they wanted stood in front of the stopped coach holding up a five pound note.
“Silly sod risking his life to catch a coach,” the driver said and he opened the door. Stanton ran around and stepped aboard.
“Sorry and thanks for opening the door. I was running late.”
“You want to be careful mate, you could get yourself killed, better late than never, they say.”
“Sorry. Thanks again.” Stanton looked humbled and grateful.” Ticket for London please?” He proffered the fiver.
He bought the ticket and settled into a seat by the window at the front. The coach pulled out of the station at last and Stanton had made his escape, unseen and heading into London.
Back in Elm’s Vale the police made heavy weather of the situation. David evaded all questions fired at him. He gave the rehearsed excuse of DIC that he was ‘Civil Service’ and that he had obviously been compromised by one of the ‘terrorists’ that everyone was on the alert for. When everything had been cleared and Jack Fulton had made phone calls and pulled rank, to fend off too many questions being asked of David, the police left and David alone in his lounge made for the drinks cabinet and poured out some Glenmorangie single malt in a good stiff measure.
Sat in his armchair he looked at the time. Mary was due home in fifteen minutes and he knew he’d have to tell her. He downed the scotch, felt the warmth of the ‘burn’ and the Valium like power of the drink to sooth nerves. He picked up the phone.
The first call to his father was easy. He told the story briefly and clearly as his father had demanded he did of all incidents from childhood to university. He asked for his father’s help and the old soldier said he’d be there in a few hours, stating that he’d catch a plane. David put the phone down glowing with warmth at the manly
