The lonely, battered Ford Mondeo which was parked outside the house for days it seemed was looking like a stolen car, dumped in a prestigious neighbourhood by kids of the wealthy who had rebelled against their rich, well-bred parents. There were old takeaway boxes and drinks cans covering the back seats and the smell was unbelievable.
The neighbours had reported it there earlier that day. At first they had thought it was an undercover police car judging by what happened at the house not so long ago. The police tape remained attached to certain parts of the door, garden and gate posts outside, and in an X shape across the front door where Mark had used the door to leave that night.
In the front seat with his head tilted back was a very decrepit, sleep deprived, coffee-overloaded journalist who had not gone back to work since he heard of Marie King’s death. He camped outside the Kings’ residence because he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He was suddenly awoken in the dark by the sound of tyres on gravel. He looked up to see a black Mercedes Vito van pulling into the drive. He picked up his camera and realised he had not connected the battery, so fumbled in the glovebox for a spare. It was only seconds, he literally had seconds off his target but when he looked back up, there was no one. Not a single soul around. It was definitely King, no doubt about it. He grabbed the spare battery and took pictures of the foreign plate Vito van. Suddenly, a figure appeared at the van again.
‘It IS you, King!’ he said as the clicking of his camera made him focus on what he was doing. He took around a hundred pictures before King got back into his van and reversed off the drive and drove off into the night. Ian Hawking put down his camera and smacked the steering wheel in celebration.
‘I got you, you bastard!’ he shouted before he started the ignition and drove away from the house, satisfied he had got what he came for: evidence!
What Ian Hawking hadn’t seen during his fumbling in the glovebox for his spare battery was Mark King taking pictures of his own of Hawking’s car before he disappeared around the back to the kitchen door.
Meetings were the order of the day, including a briefing on the Al Azidi situation. The wife of the lawyer prosecuting him during the trial, had been murdered, the lawyer himself had gone underground and there was no useful intelligence from the office shooting other than the mumblings of a security guard who said nothing ‘untoward’ had occurred prior to the shooting and the new cleaner seemed nice and not really anything to pay attention to.
‘New cleaner?’ said Agent Nathanial Williams thoughtfully to himself as he perched on the corner of Rachael, his superior’s desk.
He flicked through the evidence file while he waited for the briefing to start. He was a seasoned agent, having been attached to this unit for several months since Al Azidi had resurfaced. He was even more interested in this lawyer Mark King who had seemed to have everything going for him before his wife was murdered.
‘Strange,’ he said aloud, ‘that his wife dies, the case is dismissed then King vanishes?’
As far as his supervisor was concerned, that was what MI6 wanted in the first place, however, in his line of work, there was no such thing as a coincidence. His superior came rushing in.
‘Talking to yourself again, Nate?’
‘Hey Rachael,’ Williams responded without looking up. He was too busy mulling over Mark King.
‘Do you want to get your arse off my desk, AGENT Williams?’
He obeyed, moving himself to the chair and smiling but not taking her warning seriously. They had worked together years before on an undercover operation when she was NOT his boss and occasionally he lorded this over her whenever they didn’t agree on something. Agent Williams followed her into the briefing room and there were seven others all stood waiting to be seated around a pale pine boardroom table. There were several large screens around them, hung from the walls and on arms which could be pushed back against the walls when not in use. There was a copy of the same file in front of everyone and Williams’ boss called the meeting to order.
‘Thank you everyone! Several hours ago, we received intelligence as to an alleged witness, the security guard at the office shooting, who said there was a new member of the cleaning crew that night that he had never seen before.’
‘King,’ Williams mentioned. Rachel nodded at him and continued.
‘A cleaner had reported being struck over the head by a masked stranger while having a cigarette prior to his shift starting.’
Williams got up and addressed the attendees.
‘We have discovered some “anomalies” as you will see on screen and in your files. Why is this connected to the shooting, and is this stranger Mark King?’
The big screen TV switched on and he dismissed the meeting.
‘Everyone use your contacts to find out anything else that may have not been right that night.’
Agent Williams and his boss headed down to the ops room.
There was an extreme sense of tension in the ops room as Agent Williams had come into an operation in the Middle East, mid-swing. He was silenced and told to wait while a desk of military operatives made frantic phone calls on headsets and watched a huge cinema-type screen in the centre of the ops room. Everyone was talking with people rushing about. On the screen was a desert war zone with a building in the centre which seemed about to be blown up. The room went quiet as a female operative looked around at Rachael.
‘Ma’am. Request authorisation for strike?’
Before pausing, she bit her thumb nail whilst crossing her arms, a nervous habit she had gained as a child. She paused again and gave the order in a serious, quiet but authoritative voice.
‘Strike authorised, target acquired, weapons free.’
The strike was launched, and the room fell silent after the drone had decimated its target.
‘Sit-rep. Strike confirmed?’ she demanded.
A voice came over a radio from the Operations desk.
‘Target destroyed. Repeat. Target destroyed.’
There was a moment or two’s silence before she turned to everyone, congratulated them on another al-Qaeda target destroyed and asked them to resume normal duties. Agent Williams looked on at her, knowing what kind of responsibility she held and how seriously she took it. He felt sorry for her having to shoulder such a burden but knew she was specifically requested for military intelligence because of her impressive success record in the field. She reveled in the excitement but the responsibility of the death of others took its toll on her daily.
Rachel looked over at Agent Williams and she knew he was right. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing it, but inside she knew.
‘OK, everyone, listen please. Dig up EVERYTHING you can about the office shooting: CCTV, witness statements, forensics, reports, and cross reference them with any other incidents which match the same details, specifically the fact that the operative used a guise to gain entry to the building.’
Williams intervened. ‘Also include anything where the primary weapon was a sniper rifle, but no reports filed and where a body was absent.’
Within seconds, results came in and people shouted results at both Agent Williams and Rachel.
‘Right,’ he replied in his familiar Scottish accent to the numerous responses from the team, ‘Now we’re getting somewhere!’
Rachael pulled Williams to one side and handed him a file. He looked at her, confused.
‘Rachael, what’s this?’ he asked, looking surprised that, after their history, she would want to share anything with him he didn’t have to fight for.
‘It’s something that may be of interest to you,’ she said, smiling, ‘it seems it could be connected to this shooting, I want you to look into it.’
Williams opened the file and read the description. His eyes widened.
‘A female assassin?’ He smiled, impressed by what he saw. Also he noted privately that, in the photograph that had been taken of her, she was very attractive.
‘Yes,’ Rachel replied, noting the look on Williams’ face, a look he used to give her, ‘her name is Nadia, that’s all our boys have been able to come up with so far. Ruthless killer, merciless and she uses her charm to get close to her victims. I’m waiting for the Psyche team to do a full eval but for now, she’s your responsibility.’
‘Right away!’ he replied, astonished at her request.
Mark King was polishing his rifle after deconstructing it and cleaning every single inch, just the way he had been taught at Sandhurst Military Academy. He put his rifle cleaning kit down and went over to his equipment table, where he had laid out the pictures of the car he saw at his house when he decided to divert there on the way back to his bunker. It was becoming a habit, and he knew he had to stop but he wasn’t ready to just yet, even though it could draw attention from anyone. He looked at the pictures and noticed something he hadn’t noticed before, a familiar face in the car window with a camera! He looked again but couldn’t make it out so reached for a box under the table. In it he found a round magnifying glass. He put it against the picture of the car window and was both amazed and shocked at what he saw. Ian Hawking camped outside his house trying to take pictures of him. He slammed the magnifying glass down on the newspaper he had next to him and immediately reached for a cigarette. Lighting it up and feeling the slight burn against the back of his throat took the edge off his anger, whilst a sip of single malt helped ease the racing heart rate. What on earth was Ian Hawking doing carrying out surveillance on HIS home? His EMPTY home?
He wandered over to his corner sofa and pondered this thought as he sat back and relaxed, retrieving the remote control for the CCTV around the bunker, a routine he had stuck to since the day he erected the CCTV system around him. He pressed a button which armed the electric fencing and the landmines in the grass areas surrounding the bunker. He was ready for bed but couldn’t seem to get the image of Ian Hawking out of his mind. Perhaps he needed to pay him a little visit? But that wouldn’t be good, he would be tempted to shoot him and make it look like suicide so decided against this. Mark desperately wanted to talk to him but there was no need right now as he was being diverted from his mission. Although Mark had no idea where he should go; if it was Germany, he didn’t know which location to look at. Without a shipping detail or log, he wasn’t even sure if he knew where those weapons were destined for. He researched the ship’s name and latest route on the web to see if that yielded any clues. According to the publicised ships log, Holtenau was the vessel’s next stop off before returning to the UK. Maybe Holtenau was the best place to start.
Mark grabbed his ‘go bag’ and filtered through some of the piles of fake passports he had made for him and chose an alias. The yacht broker identity looked promising as he knew a great deal about luxury yachts. After getting cash, he grabbed his keys to the Vito and prepared to make his way to the airport. He glanced at his watch; it was just gone ten PM. If he could get a flight in the next hour, he would be in Kiel, Germany for first thing tomorrow morning. He yawned and grabbed his cigarettes to light another, always a sure-fire way to keep himself awake. He realised he didn’t have many so would have to stop off and buy more. He also needed food and a coffee too. Remembering a good Costa near to the airport where an attractive barista called Laura worked, Mark decided he would stop there. He stopped himself short at that point as he realised he found someone other than Marie attractive, and hadn’t looked at anyone like that since the first time he met Marie. As he set the intruder alarm system to ‘armed’, meaning anyone who gained entry into the facility would be blown to pieces by the strategically placed mines hidden all around the place, he looked up decent but discreet hotels near to the airport so he could crash when he got there and found one he liked the look of, the understated Inter City Hotel Kiel, which was conveniently located next to the train station: perfect for quick movements around Germany. He reserved a room under the same alias as his passport, to be paid on arrival for several nights. He had no idea how long he would need to stay or what he would uncover when he arrived. At least he could relax knowing that under this alias, no one would look for him. All he could think of now was supping a steaming hot toffee latte and he half hoped Laura worked the graveyard shift.
It was a cloudy descent as Mark gathered his small carry on possessions together and put on his safety belt ready for the landing. He was irritable and desperate for a cigarette and coffee as the announcement came over the Tannoy advising that they would shortly arrive at Hamburg Airport and that the weather was cloudy, at four degrees with a feeling of two degrees. Mark already felt the chill. He had taken minimal clothing with him as most of what he needed would be obtained when he got there. A stewardess came past asking everyone to fasten their safety belts. He got her attention, and she addressed him in his alias name, Russell Green.
‘Yes Mr Green, what can I get you?’
‘Where are the best places to buy clothes when we land? I didn’t expect this weather!’ he said with a smile which caught her eye.
She wrote on a piece of paper a list of shops which were high quality and reasonable prices and he thanked her, putting the piece of paper in his pocket. She was sweet and attentive, he thought to himself as the plane touched down on the runway. It taxied to its terminal and the usual instructions came over the Tannoy before people stood ready to retrieve their hand luggage from the overhead storage areas. Mark waited and picked up a copy of World News Media’s latest magazine about luxury property developments for sale in Germany.
He also noted there was an article about yacht brokerage which he thought would be of use, considering his cover was a yacht broker. He read it and, as he had done many times, memorised every word to be used at a later date. After most of the passengers had disembarked, he retrieved his bag and made towards the exit, thanking the stewardess on his way out. He made his way out via Terminal 2 and quickly eyed up all the exits and potential escape routes, along with anyone who looked suspicious or that may follow him. He may have been relaxed about travelling to Germany but he hadn’t lost the notion that, a few months ago, his face was all over at least the national news due to the Azidi case. That seemed like a lifetime ago, he thought as he felt for the piece of paper the stewardess had given him. He located a coffee shop just inside the airport, Café Treff and ordered croissants and a large black coffee, paid and chose a seat at the back so that anyone wandering by wouldn’t notice him. He re-read the note and found, in German, more than merely a list of shops and some directions. He translated in his head and was shocked by what he read.
‘Sir, it is not my place but, I felt I should warn you. There is a man a few seats behind yours who has been making notes about you since we left London. Please do not be alarmed but I think he could be a reporter. Good luck with the shopping.’
Nina X
Instantly, Mark was on the defensive and hadn’t really noticed anyone sat behind him on the plane.
‘More to the point,’ Mark thought to himself, ‘who the hell would make notes about ME and follow me to Germany?’
He was so careful using aliases and untraceable phones and money, he couldn’t possibly think of a way in which anyone could have got a link to him. He was uncomfortable as he looked around at all the people filing past him. It could be any of them. As he got up to leave, he noticed the stewardess in blue, walking her small wheeled suitcase across the airport. She clocked him and smiled as she walked towards the public phone booths to the left of Café Treff. She nodded for him to follow and he did so, taking up the phone next to the booth she was in. She dialled the internal number of the phone next to hers and Mark picked up. She seemed concerned for his wellbeing.
‘Oh sir, thank goodness. You got my note?’ she panted, her eyes darting around her constantly.
‘Yes Nina, thank you,’ replied Mark in a hushed voice, ‘now, tell me everything you know.’
Nina settled down and explained what she had seen.
‘That passenger I warned you about is behind us, across the airport, just within sight.’
Mark casually turned around, acting out actions with his hands which were not relevant to their conversation so as not to arouse suspicion. He spotted a man in a brown suede jacket and grey chinos leaning up against the wall reading a paper.
‘Thank you sweetheart,’ he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘Why did you notice it was me he was taking notes about?’ he asked.
She leaned in closer so as not to be overheard.
‘The notes mentioned your seat number, description and your name.’
‘Great!’ Mark said encouragingly. ‘What else did he write and what makes you think I am in danger?’
‘I would not speak to you but, Sir, I saw the word, how you say in English, a hit? Forgive me sir but I thought you may be the target of a mugging or kidnap?’
Mark reached for the piece of paper she gave him earlier and a pen and wrote a quick thank you.
‘Thank you Nina, you have been a darling,’ he said, holding her hand tightly in his.
She smiled tenderly at him. In any other circumstances, Mark would have made more of it as he had a feeling she liked him.
‘Stay on the phone and pretend a conversation is ongoing with your boyfriend. Keep it going until I’m out of sight!’ Mark explained.
She nodded and Mark thanked her over and over and then hung the phone up. Shouldering his bag and with the piece of paper in his hand, he walked ‘accidentally’ straight into her, sliding the paper into her jacket pocket, made his apologies and caught sight of the man in the brown jacket lifting his phone to his ear.
He was spotted so made a quick retreat as the man motioned quickly after him. Mark spied a door marked ‘Private’ and, purely out of curiosity, checked the handle. It opened, and he passed through quickly to cover himself. He was in a long white and grey corridor with a sign on the wall in German: ‘Gepäckabfertigung’ (Baggage Handling). Mark made his way towards the sign and turned a corner. He heard the door turn after him and suddenly came up on a door marked: ‘Flughafensicherheit’ (Airport Security).
Again he tried the handle, and the door swung open. He located the arms cabinet and picked the lock quickly before grabbing a handgun, silencer and a magazine of ammunition. He locked and loaded with lightning fast speed, just time to hear the door go. He rushed behind it and a hand came around the corner holding a silenced pistol. Mark allowed the man to walk into the room before putting the gun to his head and ordering him in German, ‘Drop the weapon.’ The man did so and Mark aimed a foot to the back of the man’s knee, causing him to drop to the ground. Mark went round him to face him. ‘Why are you following me?’
The man refused to answer so Mark hit him on the chin with the handle of the gun he obtained from the cabinet. Blood dripped to the ground, and the man pushed himself back upright again. Mark held the gun to his forehead and pulled back the hammer ready to fire. This changed the man’s mind.
‘I was hired by someone, I don’t know his name.’
Mark’s face turned serious; he was furious and close to kicking the man half to death.
‘Why?’ he shouted, his voice deepening, pushing the gun tighter to the man’s forehead. The man glared at Mark and through gritted teeth, explained.
‘To follow you because I know you are. You are Mark Lucas King, disgraced lawyer.’
Mark felt the anger build, but wanted to know exactly who was following him and why. The man loosened up and explained.
‘We had located you because of the alias you used, Russell Green, which was one of your old client’s names who was deceased.’
Mark was struggling to keep control of his temper. He held tightly on, thinking he needed this man alive, at least for now.
‘Go on,’ Mark demanded. The stranger continued.
‘You represented his estate during a fierce battle of inheritance.’
Mark cursed himself for being sloppy and said it was no surprise they had found him.
‘Who are you people, the people who murdered Marie?’
‘I know nothing about that,’ replied the stranger looking confused, ‘I was supposed to follow you and update my “client” on where you were going and what you were doing.’
The truth dawned on Mark at that point and he realised they knew he was there.
‘You take a message back to your “client”: if they continue to hunt me or my family, I will locate them and kill them all!’
The man hissed at Mark and nodded, before he knocked the man unconscious and wiped the gun clean. He put the gun in the man’s hand so that his fingerprints would be on it and located the security alarm. He punched it and waited until people were running down the corridor outside the security office. He had about one minute before the guards came to fetch their weapons and he timed it perfectly, slipping out of the door and into the crowd, unnoticed, and out of the airport and into the street.