Jack’s Deputy Diane Peters came down to brief the teams. Diane didn’t waste words.
“Be careful, tread softly and carry guns. Find him and get him alive, but if you have to shoot, shoot to kill. Remember how Spencer died, Wally’s murder, Jack Beaumont and what David McKie had to do.” She went to leave the room and suddenly turned. “Everyone to check their weapons.”
They all un-holstered their Sig 220’s, checked the magazines, pumped a round out, pulling back the casing and releasing, twice in succession, reloaded the magazines, pumped the action again and put them on safety. Tony was first to finish.
“Good off you go.” She turned on her heel and took the lift to Jack’s office. In the lift a shiver ran down her spine. To her mind it was all getting out of hand.
They left Euston tower in a three car convoy, each car with four DIC and each DIC pair with a list of hotels and the latest still image of Mason taken from the CCTV footage.
Chapter 71
Baker Street
5-45 p.m.
April 18th
Mason walked confidently into the lobby of the Sherlock Holmes Hotel and looked around. A guest passed him on the way to the stairs with a swipe card. He took a detailed, but surreptitious look at reception. One girl was manning it. He noted her having looked at the clock once or twice. It might be time for her break. The swipe card key given to each guest for their room was the one item which defined his plan. Seeing the guest toilets to one side he went in, closed himself in a cubicle and changed into the kitchen uniform.
He walked through the dining room, catching dark looks from the waiting staff who didn’t like to see kitchen staff in the guest areas. He walked straight into the busy kitchen. Once in he stopped and orientated himself. He saw what he needed to his left, two plates of sandwiches nearly ready to be delivered somewhere.
“Who the hell are you?” A big red faced man with sweat gathering on his forehead and his apron tied under a round gut came to a stop on his left and turned around barking at him.
“I’m Marc a temp agency sent me.”
“I don’t need anyone tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m bloody sure!”
“Alright take it easy. Obviously it’s a mistake.”
The chef calmed a little. “I tell you what just wait here and I’ll go and check.”
“Cheers mate.” Mason replied cockily.
The chef walked off and passed into a door marked office. Mason made his way to the plates of sandwich snacks, walking around as if just taking an interest. He watched the kitchen underling garnish the sandwich plates with salad.
“Not busy right now mate.” The kitchen underling noted his presence, assumed him to be a temp worker and found a job for him.
“No.” Mason said putting a helpful look on his face.
“Good then run these over to the duty manager’s office would you, it’s late arriving already.”
He handed Mason the plates and Mason unable to believe his luck took the two plates of sandwiches, walked out the kitchen door and over to reception. He braced himself.
Back in kitchen the underling took the wrath of the Chef, who called the duty manager’s office and asked him to send the man ‘with the sandwiches’ back to the agency. He then turned with full gusto to his evening’s work.
At reception Mason was his cheery best.
“Hi there, sandwiches for you apparently.” Mason said armed with his warmest smile.
“For me?” The girl asked warily.
“Yeah., you are due a break aren’t you?”
“Well yes, but I can’t eat it here and I don’t usually get them.”
Mason put on his very best smile and came round to the staff side of reception. He knew he didn’t have long, but so far all he looked like was an incompetent yet keen kitchen temp.
“Well I think it’s a treat for not being relieved for a while. I think they want you to eat it here.” He looked around for a staff access pass card and saw it on the desk to her right.
“Oh well it’s the usual disorganisation with staffing. Are you new?” The girl asked a little charmed by his smile and friendly demeanour.
“I’m a temp.”
Putting down the sandwiches in his right hand he stood behind her, placed her sandwiches on the desk with his left hand to her left and whilst her eyes watched it being placed and knowing her to be distracted he took the staff access pass card with its fob from the desk on her right and slipped it into his pocket.
“I’d better go. Enjoy.” Mason picked up the second plate and walked away.
“Could you get me a drink, some mineral water will do?”
“Sure.” Mason said and winked.
Mason made for the restaurant, looked back saw her head dip below the level of the desk to take a bite of the sandwich and he doubled back swiftly to the guest staircase and made his way to the rooms. Once upstairs he started to look for a suitable room. He knew he’d have to be quick.
Chapter 72
Dover
6 p.m.
April 18th
David McKie’s train had taken nearly two hours to get to Dover, nearly half an hour longer than it usually took. There had been a security alert at Charing Cross station and the police, all of them armed, had been checking tickets and faces, making the boarding of the train a slow affair.
It had been a long, start stop journey from there and the train became less and less crowded as it got further south until only David and an old couple with suitcases, obviously headed for the ferry, were left in his carriage. The final run through the cliff tunnels had infused him with memories of home so strong that when the train emerged into the setting sunlight at Dover Priory Station he felt the satisfied journey’s end feeling all travellers encounter when so close to home. It grew uncomfortably stronger when the taxi pulled up outside his house in Markland Road. Having paid the taxi he saw Mary at the window and waved and when hr got to the door it opened in welcome.
“Oh I’ve been so scared. It’s good to have you home.” She said as she embraced him tightly.
He said nothing and let the smells of the house and its warm familiarity of embrace him as passionately as he embraced her. He drank in her familiar smell, Obsession perfume mingled with fabric conditioner and her herbal shampoo. He buried his nose in her blonde, untidy hair. He felt the bump against him and deliberately touched the safely covered womb protecting his unborn child.
“Where’s Conor?” He very suddenly said.
“He’s asleep. He knew you were coming home and he was so excited all day he fell asleep.”
“Something smells good.” David said to allay guilty thoughts of his son’s disappointment.
“It’s steak and kidney pudding. I made it myself.”
“Lovely. You’d better sit down. I’ll sort everything else out. I’ll just pop up and see Conor.”
David took his bag upstairs and put it in their room. He felt as if it had been an age from home. He went into the next room and saw his son curled up on a small bed with a small, light blue fluffy blanket covering him. The floor was strewn with toys; a fluffy Pooh Bear lay across a bright blue Thomas the Tank Engine toy and everywhere brightly coloured bricks lay at odd angles in strange piles and shapes.
He leant over and kissed his son’s warm forehead. The boy didn’t stir. David wiped a lone tear from his cheek. The sheer relief of his return washed over him. He thought of the families of the murdered men and he flushed with shame at his joy at being home. When he got to the door he looked back, sighed and for a moment was taken over by the strength of a resolution, a strong desire to be a protector. He knew it to be his job to be one of the people who protected families from men like Wheeler, Spencer and Stanton, though as he descended the stairs he wondered for how long.
Down stairs Mary was sitting back on pillows on the only chair she found comfortable. He went over and kneeling put his head in her lap. She stroked his head.