Time seemed to pass slowly as Mark perched uncomfortably between the two sets of bins as he waited to see who the car was there to pick up. His patience paid off as moments later, Roman Vose walked towards the car and used his weapon to tap on the window. It rolled down, and he was passed and hand full of papers. Vose looked at them and nodded, walking back towards the building again. The window wound back up again, and the car remained parked. Mark’s mind was racing as his body tensed. Who was the driver and what did they give Vose? Mark waited until Vose was out of sight and, checking the road both ways for witnesses, crept silently towards the car. He tapped on the window and waited. It wound down and Mark jumped up from behind the door, pointing his pistol at the leather jacket-clad driver. Instantly, hands were raised and Mark got in the passenger side. Once inside he sat, gun pointed at the driver.
‘Who are you and why are you meeting Roman Vose here?’ Mark quizzed him.
The small, weedy looking man trembled and stuttered as he stared at Mark’s pistol.
‘I’m just the hired driver,’ he said in a Cockney accent. Mark chuckled.
‘What’s your job? Who do you drive for?’
‘I drive for all of ’em, mate,’ he replied, surprised at Mark’s lack of knowledge.
‘All of ’em?’ Mark mocked, taking on his accent. The driver didn’t look amused.
He passed Mark a list on a crumpled piece of paper and Mark took it, staring at it. It was a list of names, times, locations and instructions. Mark folded it and put it in his pocket, staring at the driver.
‘If you want to live,’ Mark threatened, his voice menacing and threatening, ‘you will say NOTHING of this and forget you ever saw me.’
The driver nodded as his shaking increased, and Mark tightened his grip on his silenced pistol.
‘Or I will come looking for you and I will kill you, do you understand?’
The man nodded again, still shaking. Mark got out of the car and jogged back to his van, excited about his find. He wasn’t too worried about Vose getting away for now. He would catch up to him again soon. For now, he had enough information to process as he started the ignition, reversing back down the alley and speeding off into the night.
He pulled over into a dark dirt track which led to some woods and turned off his lights and ignition. Undoing the window to light a cigarette, Mark got out the piece of paper and examined it closer. It was a list of meeting times and places which the driver was supposed to attend, to pick up what appeared to be members of Vose’s crew.
‘Naturally,’ Mark thought aloud, ‘without a crew to operate with, Vose is now vulnerable.’
Mark would leave him until last. He continued reading until he settled upon a meeting at a railway station. There were train arrival and departure times and it looked as though the driver was due to hand over a package to the subject before they boarded a train.
‘So he is a “delivery driver” as well as a “chauffeur”?’ thought Mark, realising this would suit his need well.
He would need to get hold of a car the same as the black Audi A4 that the driver used. He would also need to get rid of the driver, so as not to have two of them driving around.
‘Perfect,’ Mark said to himself as he finished his cigarette. The meeting was two days from now at Richmond Train Station. He read that the time for the train to leave Waterloo was twelve thirty-nine and it would reach Richmond Station at twelve fifty-nine, giving Mark just twenty minutes to target the subject. Mark traced his finger down to the name on the list: Marco Salvatore.
Back at Mark’s hideout, he pored over the map of the London Overground and Underground as he planned his next hit. The driver was due to arrive at Richmond at twelve fifteen and would wait to be contacted by Salvatore, and he would be there to intercept. Mark planned that he would pose as the driver and hand over the ‘package’, a small black case, so he knew who his mark was. Once he had a decent depiction, it would be the ideal opportunity for Mark to take him out. He couldn’t use the traditional method of shooting him outside the car, it would attract far too much attention and he would be spotted. It also wouldn’t guarantee a successful hit, so he had to think of another method. At that time of day, the station would be busy with passengers getting on and off the trains, so although this would provide Mark with sufficient cover, it also increased the risk of being spotted and of innocent people being hit in the crossfire. Mark needed to ensure it was a perfect shot. He reached over for his laptop and searched for images of the station, to see if he could find the best spot for a sniper attack.
After an hour of searching, Mark realised that a public hit such as this, with plenty of potential witnesses, was too risky and there were only a few places he could conceal himself and get a decent shot from his rifle from a safe enough distance. He was an incredible shot, but he wasn’t THAT good. It would require more than this to bring down Salvatore. Mark knew nothing about Salvatore, except that he worked for Vose and so needed to be taken down. Then Mark remembered a case he had researched from the 1970s concerning poisoning of a victim using thallium. Mark looked up thallium poisoning on the internet and remembered the victim absorbed it through the skin in quantities of fifteen to twenty milligrams. It was perfect; he could lace the handles of the briefcase with a lethal dose of thallium and vanish, out of the way of suspicion as the symptoms don’t show until two to three days after coming into contact with a lethal dosage. Mark smiled to himself but then realised he would need to get access to thallium, and they didn’t just give it out at the local Boots. He considered all his options before researching local laboratories which held thallium and within seconds, he was reviewing the results. He found one close to his target area and decided he would pay them a visit.
The view from the rooftop across the road from the research laboratory was good enough that Mark could use his telescopic scope to get a good view of the cameras that covered the exterior and interior of the building. He decided that the best way to avoid the majority of the cameras was to enter via the roof, and he had spotted a skylight which was almost inaccessible; almost. Reaching into his kit bag, Mark pulled out the grappling hook gun he acquired and, checking no one was on the ground below him, aimed it towards the concrete roof near the skylight and squeezed the trigger. He smiled as he heard the sound of it burying itself into the concrete as the hook found its mark, and gave it a tug to make sure it was safe. Satisfied, he anchored the other end to the door handle of the fire escape ladder he had used to climb up to the roof, and attached his belt to it. He would need to be quick across the rope, so he anchored it higher than his head, to ensure he could quickly manoeuvre down the wire to the other side.
Pushing away using his legs, Mark inched his way silently across to the opposite roof, quickly unclipping his belt harness and crawling flat on the ground towards the skylight. He peered in and everything was silent and still underneath him. Equipped with an adjustable spanner to unscrew the skylight, being careful to ensure he left no trace of having been there, Mark unscrewed the bolts which held the skylight in place.
The last bolt caused Mark some frustration. Time was vital and he couldn’t afford any hold ups, but at last, he felt the bolt move and turned the bolt head quicker and quicker. Laying the skylight next to him, he dropped his black military grade rope into the moonlit laboratory below. Inch by inch he lowered himself down until he felt his feet on the ground. Looking around him, he followed the signs to the ‘Hazardous Chemical’ storage where the thallium was stored.
He saw the rows and rows of small clear bottles, all embellished with the Hazardous Chemical emblem, and, pulling out his syringe, taking care not to spill a drop, Mark reached in and took them, one at a time, using his syringe to extract the contents of the bottles. Ensuring he was careful not to cause any spillage, he squirted the contents into his own bottles he had brought with him. Next he replaced the bottles in his small string bag and took out his large bottle of water. He took the syringe and replaced the thallium with water, taking care to reseal the bottles and close the glass cabinet doors quietly. He darted back to his rope and expertly climbed back up to the rooftop, pulling the rope back up once he had reached the top. The next ten minutes were spent carefully replacing the bolts on the skylight window and ensuring it was fixed back into place, stopping whenever he heard footsteps and voices on the street below.
Removing the grappling hook from where it had embedded itself in the concrete rooftop and left it lying on the concrete ready to pull away, Mark attached one end of his rope to the grappling hook and dropped the other end down the side of the building and took a deep breath as he abseiled down to the ground below. Racing across the road in the shadows, he climbed back up the fire escape and pulled the grappling hook back towards him with the rope still attached. He packed everything back in his kitbag and secured it over his shoulders, making his way back down the fire escape and into the night towards his waiting van.
The following morning, Mark put on his suit and tie, ready to meet Salvatore’s train at Richmond. He had a long drive ahead of him and had to store his car somewhere safe as he planned on using the driver’s car from now on. Having visited the outskirts of Richmond before, he knew, if he left the car there for long enough, it would be stolen, driven around for a while, and then burned out on the waste ground. It was the perfect place to abandon the vehicle, preventing the need for counter forensic measures later on. After packing his kit into his car, Mark headed out on the drive to Richmond, putting his Aviators on to shield his eyes from the morning sun. It was an unusually warm morning and Mark enjoyed the drive to Richmond, listening to some of his favourite songs on the way and smoking as he drove, with the window down and a pleasant breeze to keep him cool. He patted his black Jasper Conran Crombie coat on the passenger seat, concealing his kit bag, thinking he wouldn’t need it today, but it was a good coat for concealing weapons, such as his newly selected Remington R51 with its new AAC 9mm suppressor. He had planned the hit down to the tiniest detail, even including a cover story. Mark lifted the Crombie to ensure he knew where to place the thallium, and gripped the steering wheel tighter with his black leather gloves. It was hot, but he had the air-conditioning on which kept his hands from sweating and he thought it was handy that he had a heated and cooled steering wheel in this car, although he had never used it to cool his hands before.
Arriving at the edge of the waste ground, Mark noticed there was already a gang of hooded teenagers on push bikes circling round. He got out of the car and left it unlocked, before pulling out his case, small bag and Crombie, shutting the door and walking down the road towards the station. He knew that within half an hour of him being out of sight, his car would be stolen and he was sorry to see it go. However, what he had to do next required no trace, and a stolen car, should he be questioned, was a perfect alibi. He rounded a corner and spotted the black Audi A4 just as he had hoped, with the smoked windows and no one around. He tapped on the window and it rolled down, as it did before, and the driver rolled his eyes before looking terrified. After all, Mark had threatened to kill him if he saw him again. Two hands rose from the steering wheel as Mark glared at him from behind his Aviators.
‘Follow me,’ he said gruffly. ‘I have some important information for you.’
The driver got out and Mark went around to the passenger side and placed his bag, coat and case on the passenger seat before the driver locked the door and followed Mark. Mark led him to a quiet street he had picked out beforehand, with no witnesses, and down the side of the back of a restaurant. Mark smiled at the driver, putting him at ease.
‘Look over there,’ said Mark, pointing to the other end of the street.
The driver did as he was told and didn’t see the hard metallic object Mark had concealed, which made contact with his head, rendering him unconscious. He hauled the limp body up and pulled the key from the hand of the driver, before lifting him into one of the large restaurant refuse bins and rolling him over the edge, shutting the bin lid tight.
In a matter of minutes, Mark was sat in the driver’s seat of the Audi A4 and taking full advantage of the smoked windows. He checked his watch; it was twelve thirty.
‘Great. Nine minutes until the train arrives,’ he said to himself, breathing calmly to get his breath back.
Mark pulled the case onto his lap and reached for his cotton wool buds and syringe. He laid a cloth over his lap and slowly filled the syringe with thallium, then gradually dripped it on the handle of the briefcase. He hoped to God Salvatore wasn’t wearing gloves today but figured, because of the temperature, he wouldn’t be. Mark used the cotton wool buds to spread the thallium all around the handle and edges of the case, ensuring he put it into the two locks. He was wearing hospital surgical gloves under his black leather gloves to make certain he didn’t poison himself, and he stood the case upright on the seat. He sat, and he waited for the familiar knock on the window.