Authors: Andy McNab
Remote Control (14 page)
Still looking out of the window, I saw the white Taurus come out from behind the mall onto the slip road, stop at the junction and turn with the flow of traffic. It was four up by the looks of things, all suits, though in the rain it was hard to be certain. Four up was a good indication that they were lifting off: if they were taking Luther to hospital, there’d be three at most inside, one driving, one looking after the casualty. The others would have stayed behind. I was beginning to feel a decision coming on.
I’d have to change my appearance and I’d have to do it on the cheap – I had about $500 in total and would be needing every cent.
I finished my coffee and went back into the boardwalk. I found a clothes shop and bought a thin cotton raincoat that folded up to about the size of a handkerchief. I also bought a Kangol cap, the sort it was fashionable to wear the wrong way round, so the peak was hanging down the back of your neck and the logo was in front.
Then I went to an Hour Eyes and bought a pair of display glasses with thick rims. Glasses really change the shape of your face. Whenever I’d needed an appearance-change on a job, a haircut and glasses had always done the trick. Wearing a different colour and giving yourself a different shape was the minimum required.
I went back to the toilets to sort myself out. I ripped out the inside of the raincoat pocket with my teeth. My newly acquired Sig .45 was down the front of my jeans, with the mags in my pockets. If the shit hit the fan, I could draw the weapon and fire through the coat.
I wanted to use the last three-quarters of an hour of daylight doing a recce of the bin area; the lift-off might have been a ploy and I wanted to reassure myself that nobody was lying in wait. The idea would be to do a complete 360 degrees around the target area, but, before that, I wanted to go back and give the hotel a walk-past; I wanted to see if there were any police cars outside, to confirm whether or not it had been an official lift. If Luther and his friends were after a murder suspect, the police should be up there by now, dusting for prints and taking statements.
I put on my disguise and looked in the mirror at Washington’s hippest dude – well, nearly. If people looked closely they would think I was the oldest swinger in town. I turned the cap round, with the peak forward, and off I went. I walked straight across the car park, crossed the main drag at the junction and worked my way back up to the Best Western, along the roads. I saw nothing. Everything looked perfectly normal; not a police car in sight.
As I walked back I thought about the state that Kev, Marsha and Aida had been left in. Why hack them to bits? Luther and his friends weren’t dope-heads, they were pros; they’d do nothing without a reason. They must have wanted it to appear drug-related to cover their arses. Given the number of attempts on Kev’s life in the past, it would have been perfectly reasonable for the police to assume that one of them had finally succeeded, and that the perpetrators had then gone overboard and slain the whole family as a warning to others. But I knew that wasn’t the reason. They had killed Marsha because they’d have had to assume that Kev had passed on whatever he knew, and then they’d had to kill Aida simply because they didn’t want witnesses. Kelly owed her life to the fact that they hadn’t seen her. It was probably only after the news reports that they realized they hadn’t finished the job, and that there might be a witness after all.
The way they’d butchered Aida brought back to me a story about the American hearts and minds programme in Vietnam. In one region they injected the children of a village against smallpox. The Viet Cong came along a week later and cut off each child’s arm. It worked: no more hearts and minds programme for them. Sometimes the end justifies the means. I had a sort of respect for Luther and co, but I knew I mustn’t fuck about with these people – they were too much like me.
Rush hour was now in full swing and it would soon be dark. The shops were still open and the area was packed with people. It was great for me, it made me just another punter.
As I walked I had my head down against the rain. I reached the Wendy’s car park. This time I was nearer the fence; wiping my glasses, I looked across the low ground as the rear of the mall came into view.
There was a loud hiss of air brakes as a truck backed up to a loading bay. Three other trucks were already parked up alongside the car where I’d met Luther. But again, just as at the hotel, there were no police investigating the crime scene. Maybe they didn’t like the weather.
Only the bays that were in use were lit. The huddle of skips where I’d hidden Kelly was pretty much in shadow. One was being filled up with the old metal shelving I’d used on Luther. Even from where I was I could hear the loud crash and clatter. Kelly must be petrified down there.
No need for a 360; I’d seen enough. As I looked forward, deciding where to go now, I watched a bus pull up by a shelter, take on passengers and drive off again. Maybe that was our way out of here.
But, if they’d found Kelly and set an ambush, where was I going to run? I had to work out an escape route. Hijacking cars doesn’t work so well in a built-up area – it attracts too much attention. Better to use the crowds and confusion. I picked three possible routes.
Hanging around increased the chance of getting pinged, so I decided to lift off from the area for a while. I carried on to the shops. I thought I’d get some stuff for Kelly, because she’d be needing an appearance-change, too. She’d been on the news; she was famous now.
I bought her a nice big floppy hat. I wanted to tuck her hair up out of the way, and hide her face as best I could. I also bought her a thinly padded, pink three-quarter-length coat to cover those skinny legs, and a completely new set of clothes to fit a nine-year-old. She was tall for her age, so I thought I’d better get the larger size. Almost as an afterthought, I bought myself some new jeans and a T-shirt.
With a handful of carrier bags I retraced the route along the fence. As I walked away from the shops their lights reflected on the wet tarmac of the car park. The traffic was slow on the main drag, windscreen wipers on full speed.
As I got to the fence I looked left. There was no change.
I carried on walking. As I got level with the shops the slip road started to rise up to meet me. The fence stopped. I turned left down a slippery grass bank and onto the slip road that led to the back of the shops. I followed the fence again as I dropped down into the dead ground.
The rain had turned the dust into mush. I now had the fence to my left and the loading bays to my right. I kept on walking, fighting the temptation just to run to Kelly, grab her and fuck off out of it. That’s what gets people caught or killed.
My eyes must have looked as if I was plugged into the mains. They were darting everywhere, getting as much information into my head as possible. I wanted to see this ambush before it was sprung. I was committed now. If push came to shove, I’d fucking shove.
What if Kelly wasn’t there? I’d call 911 and say I’d seen that girl from the news wandering around the area. If she hadn’t already been lifted, hopefully the police would get her before Luther’s pals did. That was if they hadn’t already. I’d then have to take my chances when the Nick Stone manhunt began. Whoever had her would also have my name.
I got to within about 20 metres of the bins, still walking at the same steady pace. I didn’t even look around now because that took time and effort.
I came up to the bins and started to lift away the boxes. ‘Kelly, it’s me! Kelly! See, I told you I’d come back.’
The cardboard was soaking and came apart in my hands. As I pulled the last of it away I could see she was more or less exactly in the position I’d left her, curled up, sitting on some dry board. My mind flashed back to how she’d looked when I’d found her in the garage. At least she wasn’t rocking, with her hands clamped over her ears. She was dry; maybe the bogeyman had got in, but at least the rain hadn’t.
I stood her up and put her new coat around her shoulders. ‘I hope you like pink,’ I said. ‘I got this for you, too.’ I put the hat on her head to preserve whatever was left of her body heat.
She put her arms around me. I hadn’t been expecting it and I didn’t know how to react. I just kept talking to her. She cuddled me harder.
I readjusted the hat. ‘There, that’ll keep you nice and dry. Now let’s go and get you a bath and something to eat, shall we?’
I had the bags in my left arm and she gripped my left sleeve as we walked. It was awkward, but I needed to keep my right hand free to draw my pistol.
11
The bus was about half full with shoppers and bulging carrier bags. Kelly was cuddled up beside me in the window seat. Her hat was doing its job; her hair was tucked up and the dropped brim covered her face. I was feeling good. I’d saved her from Luther and his mates. I’d done the right thing.
We were on our way to Alexandria, an area I knew to be south of central DC, but within the Beltway, and we were going there because that was what had been on the destination board of the first bus to arrive.
Everyone was fed up and wet, and the bus was well fugged up. I leaned across and used my sleeve to wipe the condensation from the window, but it didn’t help much. I looked towards the front, where the windscreen wipers were working overtime.
The priority was a hotel, and we’d have to check into one within the next hour or so because the later in the day I left it, the more unusual it would look.
‘Nick?’
I didn’t want to look at her because I could guess what she was going to ask.
‘Yes?’
‘Why were those men chasing you? Have you done something wrong?’
I could feel her looking at me under her hat.
‘I don’t know who they are, Kelly. I just don’t know.’ Eyes still fixed on the clear patch of windscreen, I said, ‘You hungry?’
I could see her hat moving up and down in the corner of my eye.
‘Not long now. What do you want? McDonald’s? Wendy’s?’
She nodded for both, then mumbled something. I was still looking out of the window. ‘What’s that?’
‘Micky D’s.’
‘Micky D’s?’
‘McDonald’s! Get with the programme!’
‘Ah, OK – that’s what we’ll get.’
I went back to my thoughts. I would only use cash from now on; I had to assume the worst, which was that we’d been traced through my credit card. Despite that, I’d still call London again. Deep down, I guessed that they’d probably already consigned my records to the shredder, but what did I have to lose?
We drove past a place called the Roadies Inn. It fitted the bill. I didn’t have a clue where we were, but that didn’t matter, I’d sort that out later. I signalled the driver that we wanted the next stop.
When the Roadies Inn had been built in the 1960s it had probably looked a million dollars. Now even the grass outside looked faded, and on the red neon vacancies sign the V and the N were flickering. Perfect.
I peered through the fly screen of the door to reception. A woman in her twenties was behind the desk, smoking and watching a TV on the far wall. I only hoped we hadn’t had star billing on the news. Looking past her, into the back office, I saw a bald, overweight man, probably late fifties, working at a desk.
‘I want you to wait just here, Kelly.’ I pointed to the wall of the hotel under the upstairs landing that acted as a verandah.
She didn’t like it.
‘I won’t be long,’ I said, starting to walk backwards towards the doors. ‘Just wait there, I’ll be right back.’ By now I was at the door. I pointed at her as if I was training a puppy. ‘Stay, OK?’
The receptionist was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair was the blondest I’d ever seen, apart from the roots. She glanced away from the TV and said on autopilot, ‘Hello, can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for a room for maybe three or four nights.’
‘Sure, for how many?’
‘Two adults and a child.’
‘Sure, one moment,’ and she ran her finger down the booking register.
The news was on. I turned and watched, but there was nothing about the murders. Maybe we were already old news. I hoped so.
‘Can I take an imprint of your card?’
I pulled a face. ‘Ah, that’s where we have a problem. We’re on a fly-drive holiday and we’ve had our bags stolen. We’ve been to see the police and I’m waiting for replacement cards, but I’m just running on cash at the moment. I understand you have to take imprints, but maybe if I pay in advance and you disconnect the phone in the room?’
She was starting to nod her head, but her expression was still the wrong side of sympathetic.
‘We’re really stuck.’ I played the wet and sorrowful Brit abroad. ‘We’ve got to go to the British consulate tomorrow and sort out our passports.’ I brought out some dollar bills.
It seemed to take a while for it all to sink in. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about that.’ She paused, waiting for more chemicals to interact in her brain. ‘I’ll get the manager.’
She went into the office and I watched her talking to the bald guy at his desk. From their body language I got the impression he was her father. I felt a drop of sweat roll down my spine. If they refused us a room, we were stranded maybe miles from the next motel and would need to start ordering taxis and raising our profile.
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