Remote control, p.8
Remote Control, page 8
Still with Kelly on my back, not bothering to tell her what was happening, I got onto my hands and knees. I lowered myself to within about a foot of the floor and slowly stuck my head round the corner. There was a chance that, once I’d seen what was happening, I’d choose a different route.
The two cars had now been driven to the bottom of the staircase by the Coke machine. The fuckers were obviously upstairs. I didn’t know how many of them there were.
I realized that they couldn’t see most of the waste ground from where they were. I started running. The rain had been light but constant and the ground was muddy. It was reasonably well looked after, littered only here and there with bits of paper, old soft-drink cans and burger boxes. I kept heading for the gap in the chain link fence.
Kelly was weighing me down; I was taking short, quick strides and not bending my knees too much, just enough to take her weight, bending forward from the hips as if I was lugging a bergen. She made involuntary grunts, in time with the running movements, as the wind was knocked out of her.
We reached the broken section of chain link, which was buried in the mud. I heard the screech of car tyres, then the sound of protesting suspension and bodywork. I didn’t bother looking round, just dug deep and lengthened my stride.
Once through the gap we were faced with the rear of the office buildings. I couldn’t see the alleyway we’d come through earlier. I turned left, looking for any other route through to the main drag. There must be one somewhere.
Now on tarmac I could make good speed, but Kelly started slipping. I shouted, ‘Hold on!’ and felt her tense up more. ‘Harder, Kelly, harder!’
It wasn’t working. With my left hand, I got hold of both her wrists and pulled them down in front of me towards my waist. She was nice and tight on me now and I could use my right hand to pump myself forward. My priority was to make good speed and distance. They would be out and running soon. I needed that alleyway.
It’s a strange thing when untrained people are being chased. Subconsciously, they try to get as much distance as they can between themselves and their pursuers, and, whether it’s in an urban environment or a rural one, they think that means going in a straight line. In fact what you need to do is put in as many angles as possible, especially in a city or a town. If you come to a junction with four options, it makes the chasers’ job more difficult: they have a larger area to cover and have to split forces. A hare being chased in a field doesn’t run in a straight line; it has a big bound, changes direction and off it goes again – the pursuers are getting momentum in a straight line and all of a sudden they have to change direction, too, which means slowing down, re-evaluating. I was going to be that hare. As soon as I got to the end of the alleyway I was going to chuck a left or a right, I didn’t even know which yet, and run as fast as I could until I hit other options.
I found the alleyway. No time to think if it was the right decision, just make one. I could hear shouting behind me, maybe 100 to 150 metres away. But it wasn’t directed at me. They were too professional for that. They knew it wouldn’t have any effect. I heard the cars turning round. They’d be trying to cut me off. I ran.
By now I was out of breath with this seven-year-old on my back. My mouth was dry and I was breaking into a sweat. Her head was banging on the back of mine, and I was holding her so tight that her chin was digging into my neck; it was starting to hurt her and she was crying.
‘Stop, stop, Nick!’
I wasn’t listening. I reached the end of the alleyway and ran into a totally different world.
In front of me was a minor road that ran the length of the office buildings and, on the other side of it, a grass bank that went downhill to the main drag. Beyond that lay car parks and the malls. Traffic noise drowned out Kelly’s cries. The flow of vehicles was fast in both directions, despite the wet road. Most had their headlights dipped and their wipers on intermittent. I stopped.
We must have looked a sight, a man with a shoeless child on his back, puffing and panting down the grass slope, the child moaning as her head banged on the back of his. I climbed the railings at the side of the main drag and now we were playing chicken with the Washington traffic. Cars sounded their horns or braked sharply to avoid us. It seemed my new name was fuck, nut or jerk. I didn’t acknowledge anybody, even the ones who saved our lives by braking, I just kept on running.
Kelly was screaming. The traffic scared her as much as the running. All her young life she’d probably been warned about playing near the road, and here she was on a grown-up’s back, cars and trucks swerving all around her.
Crossing the railings at the far side, I, too, was starting to flap. Kelly was slowing me down, without a doubt, and I still had quite a distance to run to get to safety. I ducked and weaved through the car park, using the height of pick-ups and people-carriers to block us from their view.
At the far right of the mall was CompUSA, a computer superstore, and that was where I headed. There’s always a good chance that a large store on a corner site will have more than one entrance. I’d expect there to be one on the other side, maybe at the rear, so even if they saw me going in they’d have problems.
I knew the store would be hard for them to deal with because I’d had to do this sort of thing myself in Northern Ireland. If a player went into the shopping centre, we would send only one bloke in with him, then rush to seal up all the exits. It was hard enough when we knew a target, let alone having to find and identify him. If he was doing anti-surveillance drills, he could go up in a lift, leave by one exit, go back in through another and up two floors, down in a lift one floor, then wander out into a car park and he’s gone. If these boys were switched on, they’d start sealing the exits as soon as they saw where I’d gone. I had to be quick.
We went in through wide automatic doors. It was like a mega DIY store, with aisles and aisles of office equipment, computers and software packages. I went past the checkout counters without taking a trolley, still with Kelly on my back. The place was packed. I was standing there drenched with sweat, chest heaving up and down as I fought for breath, and Kelly was crying. People started looking at us.
Kelly moaned, ‘I want to get down now!’
‘No, let’s just get out of here.’
I took a look behind and I could see two boys coming across the car park. In their suits, they looked very much like plain-clothes police and they were running purposefully towards the store; they’d be heading to block off the exits. I had to put in some angles, had to get that confusion going.
I ran down a couple of aisles crammed with CD-ROM games, turned right and ran along the exterior wall, looking for an exit. Fuck it, there wasn’t one. The warehouse seemed to be one big sealed unit. I couldn’t go back out the way I’d come in, but if I didn’t find another exit I was going to spend the rest of the day running around the shop in circles.
One of the young assistants looked at me, turned away and went trotting down the aisle, obviously looking for the manager or security guard. Seconds later, two men in shirtsleeves with name badges started to approach us. ‘Yes, excuse me? Can we help you?’ All very polite, but in fact meaning, ‘What the fuck are you doing in our store?’
There was no time to answer. I ran towards the rear, looking for loading bays, emergency doors, open windows, anything. At last I saw the sign I was hoping to see: ‘Fire Exit’. I ran at it, pushed it open, and the alarm went off.
We were outside. We were on a platform, obviously used for deliveries, where trucks could back in and unload.
I ran down the four or five metal stairs and hit the ground. As I started to run to the left I shouted at Kelly to hold tight.
The rear of the shopping mall was deserted, just a long stretch of admin areas, with skips, Portakabins, even a container detached from its truck and being used as a static storeroom. There were piles of cardboard boxes and bulging bin liners everywhere, a day’s worth of garbage. Beyond the tarmac’d stretch was a chain link fence surrounding the whole area, and probably about fifteen feet high. Then waste ground, with trees and bushes. On the other side of that, I guessed, would be more car parking and stores.
I felt like a trapped rat. I only had two exits now, the slip roads at either end of the long line of shops.
9
I COULDN’T GET over the fence with Kelly on my back and if I tried to throw her over she’d break her legs. I started to run to the left, along the rear of the shops, heading towards the slip road. It was no good; they’d had too much time to react; the road would be sealed.
I had to make a decision quickly. I moved towards one of the collection areas of skips, bagged-up garbage and cardboard boxes.
I lifted her from my back and positioned her in amongst it all, throwing boxes over the top of her and moving others to fill in the gaps each side.
She looked at me and started to cry.
I said, ‘Disneyland, Kelly! Disneyland!’
She stared at me, tears rolling down her cheeks, and I threw a couple of boxes over the top.
‘I’ll be back, I promise.’
As I ran, I looked at the container that was right up against the fence. It was a huge thing the height of a truck. Without 50 pounds of young girl on my back, running towards it was like floating on air. At last I was in control. I felt as if I’d lost a ball and chain.
Sprinting like a maniac, using the cover of the bins and skips, I suddenly spotted the boot of a car jutting out from one of the loading bays. It was a mid-1980s model, not one of the cars that had been chasing me. I’d check it for ignition keys and, if I was out of luck, I’d cross the open ground to the container.
A truck was parked up near another loading bay. I started to run past it. A guy was running full pelt the other way and we smashed our heads together. We both went down.
‘Shit!’ I looked at him through blurred eyes. He had a suit on. There was no way I was going to take a chance. I staggered to my feet and charged at him, banging him up against the car. He tried to wrap himself around me.
As I was pushing into him I could feel with the side of my face that his body was solid. This fucker had covert body armour on.
I pinned him up against the car, moved back a pace and pulled my weapon, flicking on the laser sight with my thumb.
Then, dazed, I sank back to my knees. I was seeing stars and my head was spinning, and he was probably in exactly the same state. He looked down at me, confused, but trying to make a decision. I aimed the sight onto his face.
‘Don’t do it,’ I said. ‘Don’t waste your life on this, it’s not worth it. Get your hands up – now!’
As his hands moved I could see he was wearing a wedding ring. ‘Think about your family. It’s not worth dying over this. Number one, you’re wrong, it wasn’t me. Number two, I’ll kill you. Put your hands on your head.’
My brain was clearing. What the fuck was I going to do now? Their cars would be here soon.
‘Stay on your knees,’ I said. ‘Turn right. Move to the back of the vehicle.’
I got up off the ground and stumbled behind him. My eyes were still smarting as if I’d been hit with CS gas.
We were between the loading bay and the car. He knew the score and hopefully was thinking of his wife and kids. I switched my pistol into my left hand, moved into him and quickly jabbed the pistol muzzle into his armpit, twisting it into the material of his jacket. I felt his body tense and heard a little grunt.
‘I’ll explain the facts of life for you,’ I said. ‘This weapon is screwed into your clothes. I’ve got my finger on the trigger and the safety catch is off. If you fuck about, you’ll kill yourself. Understand?’
He didn’t react.
I said, ‘Come on, this isn’t difficult. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Place your hands on your head.’
With my right hand I took his weapon. Mine had only one magazine. He was carrying a Sig .45 in a pancake holster over his right kidney, and three magazines on his belt. The Sig is an approved weapon of the FBI.
He was in his mid-thirties and straight off the set of Baywatch: blond, tanned, fit, good-looking, square jaw. I could smell baby lotion. This boy wanted to keep his skin soft. Or maybe he had a baby. Who cared? If he moved, he’d be dead.
There was a white wire behind his ear, linked to an earpiece.
‘Who are you?’ I said. Not that it made any difference whether he was FBI or plain-clothes police.
No reply.
‘Listen, whatever you think, I did not kill that family. I did not kill them. Do you understand?’
Nothing. I knew I wouldn’t get Baywatch man to talk. In any event, there wasn’t any time to waste trying.
I took the radio, and cash from his wallet. Then, with the pistol still in his armpit, I whispered loudly over my shoulder, ‘Stay where you are, Kelly! Don’t worry, I’m coming!’ I gripped him harder. ‘Kelly, I said we’re going to go in a minute!’ If they thought Kelly was still with me when I legged it, maybe they’d move on and search a fresh area.
I turned back to him and said, ‘I’m going to untwist this now. Don’t fuck me about; it’s not worth it.’ I gradually released my pistol, making sure I could fire at any stage. I was behind him, with the weapon now pointing at his head. He knew that.
I said, ‘You know what I’ve got to do next, don’t you?’
There was a slight nod of acceptance.
I picked up a lump of angle-iron from a pile of discarded shelving and gave him the good news where his neck met his shoulder. That took him down good-style. For good measure I gave him a few kicks to the head and bollocks. At the end of the day, he wasn’t going to be more pissed off with me because of this kicking; he probably already wanted to kill me. But I had to stop him raising the alarm. A professional like this boy would be expecting it anyway; if the roles were reversed it would be him doing the honours. It would certainly fuck him up for about ten minutes, and that was all I needed.
I came out from behind the car and had a quick look around. Nobody in sight. I ran towards the container; there was a large bin beside it that I could use as a springboard. I jumped, threw myself upwards and got my arms onto the roof. I scrambled up. From there it was just a 15-foot drop to freedom.
A sign pointed the way to Maylords Boardwalk. I turned left and ran along the grass bank, past the bins and into another car parking area. I went straight towards the boardwalk because it promised cover. I was looking for a toilet; and, with luck, there would also be an exit to the other side of the mall.
The boardwalk seemed to be a mini mall with mainly shoe and greetings-card shops. I found the block of conveniences by the coffee shop about a third of the way down the arcade. Looking further down, I could see there was another exit to the boardwalk. I went into the toilets.
Two guys had had a piss and were now washing their hands. I went straight into one of the cubicles and sat there while I waited to calm down.
I put the earpiece in my ear and switched on the radio. I didn’t get much at all, the sound was all broken up, but that meant nothing. I was probably in a dead spot.
I used toilet paper to wipe the blood and mud off my shoes and trousers, and cleaned myself up as much as possible. When I was sure the other two had gone, I went out to the basins and washed my hands and face. I still wasn’t getting anything but mush on the earpiece.
I headed for the coffee shop, bought a cappuccino and sat down about three tables back. From there I could watch both exits to the boardwalk. I didn’t look out of place with the wire in my ear because so many store detectives and security guards wore them.
They sparked up on the net. They were talking freely, as if the radio was secure, not using codes. I checked and there was a jack on the radio for the key gun – the device that sends the chosen encryption codes to the radio. Once this has been done to two or more sets they can talk together securely. Everybody else would just hear mush.
I listened to some of them checking round the back, where the boy had been dropped, and others in places that I couldn’t identify. What I couldn’t hear was a base station, a central control. I started to wonder about that. Then I thought, Why was it that these guys and not uniformed police had turned up at the hotel? I was supposed to be a kidnapping murderer; in situations like these I’d expect to see heavily armed SWAT teams leaping from Chevrolet vans. I realized it was this that had made me run back for Kelly without even knowing it. I should have checked the boy I’d dropped for any ID. Never mind, it was too late now.
How did they find me so quickly at the Best Western? Had my call to London been traced to our room? Impossible: too quick. Was it my credit card when I checked in? Unlikelier still. Only the Firm would have known the details of my cover documents and they wouldn’t have turned me in because they’d be too worried about the Americans finding out about their deniable ops. So it must have been the receptionist. She must have watched the news and recognized Kelly’s photograph. But, even then, it didn’t add up somehow. I started to feel very uneasy.
These boys weren’t a Mickey Mouse group. When I bumped into Baywatch man, he’d been wearing a double-breasted jacket and it was open. But it was only now, thinking about it, that I realized that, in fact, it hadn’t been open at first. There had been a velcro fastening.
I heard more radio traffic. They’d found him. Baywatch man’s name was Luther; but, whoever the boss was on the ground, he didn’t really care too much about Luther’s condition. He just wanted to know if he was able to talk.
‘Yeah, he’s OK.’
‘Is he alone?’
‘Yeah, he’s alone.’
‘Did he see the target?’
‘No, he says he didn’t see the target but they’re still together.’
‘Does he know what direction they went?’
There was a pause.
‘No.’
I imagined Luther sitting on the ground with his head against the car, getting patched up and feeling pretty pissed off with me. In the background I could hear him mumbling information. He sounded almost drunk.
