With no answers coming to his tired mind he e-mailed Jack Fulton for an update on Beaumont. A reply came back, from Diane Peters, Jack’s deputy, telling him Beaumont was stable and conscious. His family were there and he was making good progress. Beaumont had asked after David, it seemed, and for the last time that day tears wet McKie’s cheeks.
Diane didn’t mention the growing chase on Mason and Stanton, but she noted from the ‘Tekkies’ log report on David’s online activities that the files McKie had looked at tended in that direction. It was always the same with shootings. The man, or woman, always questioned things, raw and a little sensitive with trauma, answers were sought by those who’d been there and walked away in one piece.
Both David and Diane checked the update on Arran. Both learnt at nine thirty that night that the DIC duty team had interviewed Kevan Dean. Writing from Ivy’s house, where they and the pilot of the helicopter were spending the night, the report that came in made shocking and yet vitally important reading. Dean’s witness account was gruesome. The picture of Stanton was coloured in more clearly; cold stone colours like the tones of grave monuments.
Dean told of the murder, described the boat and direction, added the nugget about the million pounds turned down and gave DIC a razor edged etching of the kind of men they were after. Just one witness left behind and by the looks of it psychologically scarred for good by the encounter.
Diane sent out alerts, the west coast DIC were to watch, coast guard had been alerted and Stanton, Mason and Cobb were to be stopped and questioned, but if it came to an armed showdown, as the lat two incidents indicated it probably would, DIC were to shoot first and shoot to kill. The three men were to be stopped at all costs. Diane’s report ended with the remark that the hit had to be worth a million which meant it was a high rank target and hard to achieve.
David logged off and heading for the loft hatch was struck by the thought that Stanton was heading along the coast. He wondered where he would land. He gave the gun cabinet a friendly tap as he passed, remembering that the weapon in there had saved his life and ended the existence of a poisonous reptile of a man.
Mary was in bed when he came down. He looked in on Connor and finally folded himself into bed next to Mary. Her body was hot, lying on her back, the heavy womb rising and falling with her breathing. David inched beside her and felt her warmth. He fell asleep with his hand on the bump, not woken by the tiny night kicks of his unborn child.
Chapter 78
London Henry’s Bar
8 – 30 p.m.
April 18th
Mason had pulled a neat trick with the taxi. He’d had go down the Edgware Road, onto Park Lane and into Piccadilly, where he got out and walked towards the nearest tube stop. He picked out Henry’s Cafe Bar, right by Green Park Tube Station. He took a place at the long wooden bar between the two large cream coloured pillars and waited for the bar man. He ordered a ‘Screwdriver’, took his time over it and watched the door. When the first drink was down he popped to the toilet. In the cubicle he looked at the Sig 220 he had tucked in the back of his trousers. It wasn’t the weapon issued to secret service that much he knew. It was a neat enough hand gun. He wondered whether to dump it or keep it. Instinct told him to hang on to the weapon, someone was on his trail and he knew he’d better be ready for them.
The DIC machine had tracked down the taxi. It took them half an hour to get the taxi firm to confirm by radio. Jaz was at the hospital with Shadz, but the rest of the teams were pulled out of the Baker Street area and pushed on to Piccadilly. They took the street from both ends and swept down, bar and cafe, open building at a time. The CCTV for the street was being keenly watched and the previous hour’s footage being visually combed as the teams on the ground swept on.
Mason ordered a second ‘Screwdriver’ and thought about the tube and the CCTV cameras. A man sat down at the bar next to him, taking off a trilby hat, ruby silk scarf and green trench coat first. He had mid length floppy grey hair, a pinstripe suit and waistcoat. He looked through half moon glasses at Mason and ordered a bottle of champagne, loudly proclaiming the imminent arrival of his crowd of friends and his need for the lavatory. The man walked away, the barman had his back turned and Mason saw his chance. He took the hat, scarf and coat, resting on the stool, got up and walked out. He placed the hat on his head, swung the coat on and slipped the scarf dashingly around his neck. He passed a crowd at the door, young lawyers by the look of them, two or three glanced at him, recognising first the hat and coat, then looking away when his face didn’t fit.
It was a short distance to Green Park tube station. He pulled the hat brim down and descended. He took the Victoria line to Euston then switched to the Northern Line to Camden Town.
The Underworld night club was opposite the tube station. He popped across the road and walked straight in through the bright blue doorway and paid his dues in the stolen cash.
It was early, but a crowd was gathering. He’d dropped his chasers for sure. He noted that band called the Falconers was live that night and was amused by the early smattering of Goth styled revellers. There was black leather, fish nets, dark hair and heavy eye make up. It was going to be interesting seeing how Aliesha dressed, unless of course she’d been winding him up. He couldn’t see himself scoring at this gig unless she did turn up. He ordered a beer and sat in the bar. Loud heavy metal came from further into the building.
He was on his third beer when a perfumed arm curled around his neck and Aliesha’s voice alcohol slurred his false name.
“Hi Marc. You took the hint.”
Mason turned on his stool and was delighted at the sight. She wore a lace up black Basque, layers of black net skirt and leather boots. Her hair was spiked and her eye make up was heavy. The crowd with her were disappointed.
A tall twenty something lad, thin and dressed head to foot in black and clearly jealous spoke first.
“Invite your uncle ‘Leash’?”
He withered under Mason’s stare. A plump girl not quite carrying off the wan look and for all the world looking like a satanic meringue picked up the hat.
“Very dandy!”
Aliesha put her head to one side.
“Why the hat?”
“Stolen disguise…” Mason shrugged.
“Don’t say you’re a secret agent?” They all laughed.
“You didn’t fall for that line ‘Leash’?” The thin lad said.