 |
 |
9th March 2014
Up at 6 o’clock, he watched the early morning news and had a light breakfast of poached egg on toast topped with mushrooms. Outside, he had a smoke and checked the weather situation while he drank his tea.
It was a crisp, bright March day. The sky was clear with no rain forecast. Nicks decided it was a nice day for it, whatever ‘it’ was. He took his time.
Back in the room, he showered and put on a pair of grey cargo pants, walking boots, a ‘T’ shirt, microfleece and dark grey waterproof walking jacket. He shoved his black neck gaiter and beanie hat into his trouser side pockets and put the spray plaster and latex gloves into the front compartment of his National Trust day sack, adding one thin single-use plastic carrier bag and one thicker one, both folded four inches square. He took a clean handkerchief and an unopened packet of chewing gum from his bedside cabinet, threaded the lead to the headphones into his left breast pocket and plugged them in the ‘job’s’ smartphone, attaching the pressel switch and microphone assembly inside, close to the jacket collar. Opening the room safe he took out some money, stuffing it in the concealed pocket of his cargo pants, relocked the safe and put on the £8 ‘Limit’ watch Mary had bought him in Llandudno. It still kept perfect time.
He picked up his sunglasses and rucksack then left the room. Seconds later he re-entered, touching all the drawers in the bedside cabinets and the dresser, making sure they were closed. Leaving the hotel, he put on his shades, inserted the headphones in his ears and selected a playlist.
The text had simply said: “Albert Dock. Welcome Centre. 0830. Tomoz.” He looked at his watch. Plenty of time. He’d have his coffee there.
Simon found Nicks sitting on a bench at the northern entrance to the Dock, one of Liverpool’s main tourist attractions. He pulled into the empty taxi rank then reversed back until he was opposite, leaned across the passenger seat and waved. It wasn’t needed, Nicks was already up and walking towards him.
“Morning, and how are you today?” Nicks enquired as he installed himself in the front passenger seat and closed the door.
“Not bad,” Simon replied. “The El-Hashem job’s on. When I say ‘on’, I mean they’re going to try the ‘benign’ intervention so we’ve time to get sorted. All the stuff’s in the back.”
“Where’re we off to now?” Nicks inquired. “I need to check the weapon.”
Simon smiled. “No probs, got it sorted. Lifeboat Road in Formby. There’s a spot where we can stop and quickly disappear into the woods for the test shoot. We can go through any other stuff in the car when we’re there.”
“Ok,” Nicks replied, then looked at the music CD sticking out of the player on the dashboard. “Anything decent on it?”
Simon laughed. “You can try it.”
Nicks pushed the CD into the player. After two songs he ejected it and stared at Simon intensely. “Si, how on earth do you listen to this shit?”
“It’s good,” Simon replied defensively. “It’s different. You need to broaden your horizons, Nicks.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I do, but not today, thanks.” He bent down to pick up a litre bottle of mineral water that was three-quarters full and annoying him as it rolled about his feet. “How old is this?”
“Fresh this morning,” Simon threw him a glance. “Help yourself.”
Nicks did, then chose another playlist from his smartphone, settled back listening to real music and watched some familiar sights go by.
Simon pulled over onto a section of hard-standing on the left-hand side of Lifeboat Road. A small opening in the fence separated them from deciduous woods; on the opposite side were a mass of pines with an open aspect. The road was narrow and named because it once led to the long-gone Formby Lifeboat boathouse, established as Britain’s first between 1771 and 1776.
It wasn’t a perfect position, but at this time of the day the road was quiet and they were beyond the last of the houses. It was enough.
Nicks applied the ‘spray-on plaster’ to the ends of his fingers and thumbs then, when dry, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves as Simon ‘popped’ the boot from inside. He moved the ‘junk’ Simon had stored there and found the metal mechanic’s case containing the weapon. It was pale grey and looked just like a large socket set. Inside under the soft cloth, a SIG-Sauer P226 DAK with raised sights, threaded for a suppressor, the suppressor itself, a loaded magazine and a box of spare 124 grain 9mm JSP ammunition. Simon joined him acting as both lookout and cover for his actions. Nicks quickly checked the weapon was safe by pulling back the slide, locking it in place with the locking lever and checking visually that the chamber was clear of ammunition.
Simon handed him the National Trust bag, already opened. With his left hand, Nicks removed the thicker of the two carrier bags, shook it out and placed the weapon in it. Then he stuffed it in the day sack along with the magazine and suppressor. He took the soft cloth from the ‘gun case’ and wrapped one round from the spares box in it, stuffing it in his pocket. As he did so, Simon took a glance around and said, “Yep, it’s OK.”
“Right. Bring the water,” Nicks replied.
He walked through the gap in the fence and into the wood. After 30 metres he stopped, placed the bag on the ground, opened it and removed the weapon. He attached the suppressor, inserted the magazine and released the locking lever so the slide moved forward under the pressure of the spring, picking up a round from the magazine and loading it into the chamber. Unwrapping the spare round, he ejected the magazine and fed the round into it before sliding the mag back on the weapon.
He chose a spot roughly 20 metres away, behind which a fold in the ground rose gently several feet, and pointed. Simon, carrying the four-litre bottle of water he’d taken from the boot, placed it down and returned to the car. Seeing him exit, Nicks raised the Sig, pausing momentarily as he breathed in, then gently squeezed the trigger. ‘Klak’. The bottle reacted to the obvious hit. He recovered the ejected shell casing and walked over to check the result. He’d aimed at the centre of the white oval on the label. Satisfied, he wrapped the weapon in the soft cloth, put it back in the carrier bag and zipped up the day sack. Picking the bottle up by its carrying handle he threw it into the bushes.
Returning to Simon, he enquired, “Well?”
“Sounded like a twig snapping,” Simon replied. He looked at Nicks. “You happy?”
“Very,” Nicks grinned.
They got back in the car and Nicks placed the day sack carefully on the floor between his feet. Simon leant around dragging a small black rucksack off the back seat and placed it on his lap, opening it as he did so.
“Right, you might need this. It’s a tracker,” Simon informed him producing a small slim black object. “Simple device. As you can see, it looks like a smartphone. Press and hold this button firmly for 3 seconds. Let’s call it button ‘A’. It’ll send out an encrypted signal which any colleague within a 5-mile radius will be able to pick up and then track you, right down to the last metre. Hold this button firmly for 3 seconds, let’s call it button ‘B’, and the screen comes on. You can now do exactly the same as your colleagues, provided they’ve also activated their trackers, and it’ll show you your position relative to theirs. Touch screen, which can be magnified like any normal smartphone, and it’ll track up to 5 people at any one time. Any questions?”
“Nope,” answered Nicks laconically. Simon had been doing so well he didn’t like to tell him he’d seen and used one before.
Simon threw the rucksack onto the back seat. “Right, let’s go then. We’ll have to turn around in the car park at the top.” He started the engine and put it into gear, releasing the clutch. The vehicle jerked forward and stalled. “Fuck!” he exclaimed.
“Try taking the hand brake off at some point, Si. It might help.”
“Fuck off!” Simon replied in mock indignation, starting the engine again.
“I suppose it’s the wrong time to ask if we can stop somewhere for another bottle of water,” Nicks tormented him.
“Yes, it fucking is,” Simon retorted, struggling now to get the handbrake off. “For fuck’s sake!”
“In your own time.” Nicks smiled inwardly as he replaced his earphones.