The PSS round passed through the sweat impregnated foam where the base of the podgy driver’s neck rested. The bullet passed through the seat, the man’s spine at the base of his skull and lodged in the grimy ceiling covering, above the sun visor. The man arched his back briefly, but suddenly becoming instantly quadriplegic he lost control of his limbs and his lower body. The driver was about to fall forward onto the car horn when Spencer’s hand grabbed the hair at the back of the man’s head. Spencer twisted the head into the gap between the seats; the driver’s eyes were wild with fear and desperate with the need to scream as Spencer held the pistol muzzle to the left eye and squeezed. A black hole replaced the bloodily disintegrated eye and the light in the right eye went out as skull, brain matter and blood spattered the passenger seat, the bullet passing through head and seat, ripping and tearing, finally lodging in the metal frame of the seat.
Spencer had killed innocent people to keep cover and killed for money, but this was a little different and Marco felt it to be so. He felt he’d crossed a line. In his work it was often kill or be killed, but the only danger from the man was second hand smoke fumes. The driver wouldn’t have the kind of money on him that Spencer got for contracts, but he needed the money to move on. He steeled himself and thought of the million waiting. Enough to retire on he knew well enough.
The shame for the driver was that a simple mugging was out of the question as Marco couldn’t leave a witness to identify him.
With brutal efficiency Spencer bundled the body into the boot of the taxi, having taken the jack out and lifted nearly a hundred and fifty pounds in notes and change from the man’s pockets. Spencer also took all that could identify the man quickly.
He knew the man had radioed in their trip from the airport to the coast. He sat in the driver’s seat practised a rough version of the driver’s voice. Then as quickly as possible called in
“Two – zero d. o Highland”
A voice crackled back.
“Okay Tommy, now away home to your bed.”
A quick “Aye” and the job was finished.
Spencer once again stood in the slashing, drizzling rain. He put his briefcase and long black coat down by the road. He turned the car to face the sea. There was no sea wall, just the pavement and beyond that a pebbly slope down to the choppy waters.
Spencer got out leaving the engine running; he jammed the accelerator down with the jack, popped it into gear, stepped back and watched the car high rev off the road, in first gear, into the Moray Firth. At this point on the coast the shelf was shallow enough for the car to roll a good distance under water and be hidden for some time.
Spencer dusted himself off, put on his now much damper cashmere coat, plucked his briefcase from a puddle and drizzle spattered headed back into Inverness. He decided to walk back, there’d be no witnesses to his return from that area and now he had transit money. He decided against the plane as he’d be linked to the driver at the airport. No he’d get the night train down to London. Even though he was wet and cold he thought with joy of a sleeper berth, a restaurant car and a hot meal. It was getting on for ten in the morning and he knew he had to find a quiet place to spend the day before buying his train ticket.
Chapter 16
Euston Tower London
9- 20 a.m.
April 17th
With the tour of Euston Tower over David and Jack Fulton went to the refectory for coffee. As the work involved monitoring, staff in the building took breaks in shifts. There were quite a few people in what was a large and friendly room. There was none of the uncomfortable plastic and chrome furniture like most office canteens. The well decorated, light and airy refectory was littered with club chairs set around solid well made tables. The DIC refectory was self service, funded by subs from wages. The building’s workers were happy to ‘divvy’ in and DIC couldn’t have a catering firm do the work on the grounds of secrecy. Cleaning was undertaken by a team of ex DIC watchers living in the London area that were mostly retired or looking for less demanding work with DIC. No-one working for a firm of regular caterers or cleaners would allow themselves to be so thoroughly investigated and questioned in the way that DIC would need to for the sake of security.
Sandwiches and take away were delivered to the reception frequently throughout the day and were thoroughly checked by security before being allowed in. Buyers had to pop down and collect their orders.
Jack and David made themselves some coffee.
“Hello Jack.” David and Jack turned to be faced with a rather thin woman, in her late sixties, with piercing sharp little hazel eyes.
“Maisie my sweet!” Jack embraced her and visibly glowed. “You paying us a visit or signed up for a two week duty rota.”
“I wish it was the latter. Alas I’m too old.”
“I’m sorry. Maisie Dewhurst this is David McKie, our latest recruit.”
David held her small hand in his and smiled shyly.
“A handsome one too Jack now you make me wish I was doing the duty rota this week.”
“Maisie’s father was on the original DIC team for Churchill, David. Maisie was active from the nineteen sixties until nineteen eighty-six and now runs one of our Midlands stations. I tell you David I wish she was on the active duty rota; you couldn’t get a better tutor. Maisie’s probably forgotten more about this work than I know now. Anyway I’m forgetting my manners, let’s get a table.”
Jack led them to a table with four club chairs. David brought their drinks on a tray.
“You getting bored at home Maze?”
“No. I do my historical research and read my history books.” She answered smiling.
David smiled too. “Now there’s a coincidence. I did my degree in history.”
“Where did you do your degree?” In spite of her age her eyes were sharp with intelligence and curiosity.
“Strathclyde University.” David replied.
“I did mine in London.”
“What led you into History?” David asked.
“It was growing up in London during and after the blitz, all those open houses. Sometimes the whole inside of a house was visible, like a doll’s house. I’d stand and look at the opened up life, as it were, and wonder who the people who had lived there were, what they were like and where they had come from. It continued in school. I still keep up to date and you David what led you to History?”
“It was my father really. He was in the army. He told me about the history of his regiment, the Black Watch and I wanted to know about them, not the grand battles. Like you, it was the lives of the people in the regiment that fascinated me.”
“You see. That same curiosity and desire to know about people also led you to DIC. David I’ll leave you with Maisie. Give it ten minutes and go up to your office on the fourteenth floor. I’ll introduce you to your partner on this week’s fortnight’s active rota, Jack Beaumont. ”
“Are you okay Jack you seem excited.” Maisie asked suddenly.
David didn’t know him well, but Jack Fulton seemed quite calm to him.
“You’re amazing Maze. Yes. We had a message in from Michael Dewey in the Highlands. It seems a submarine surfaced and dropped off four men. We’ve got some pictures through, if a bit fuzzy, one of them is a sketch. We’ve got DIC Scotland watching CCTV at stations, marinas and all transport centres. It could be nothing, but my nose tells me otherwise.”
“Have you checked submarine movements?”
“We’re just waiting for the decryption department to get into secret service, Special Forces and MOD systems. They never know that we get in and it’s a trick to get in and out without being noticed. Hudson in decryption thinks it’ll be another two hours before we’re in.”
With that Jack limped away.
