Manchester
Midnight
Cobb had driven as fast as caution allowed down the M62, switching to the M6 and finally the M56. His plan had been to find a hotel near Manchester airport. He knew he could park the car amongst the hundreds in the car park, stay overnight and get a plane very early.
Having negotiated the car park and got himself a room on the ground floor of the Bewley’s Hotel on Outwood Lane. Even without a booking and at that time of night he was able to get in. The airport located hotel had round the clock staff ready to ‘make a buck’ on the odd hours of travellers.
Once in the room Cobb settled down to eat the cold takeaway and drink a beer.
He began looking at the pictures he had taken from Wally. Surely his face in the sketch was lit by match flare, the light from below. When had they seen him? He recalled the cigarette after landing. Who had seen them? Surely no-one could have been there so quickly unless they were being set up.
He turned to the identity badge. It was an odd one. It didn’t mention which specific branch of the security services the bearer worked for it just gave authority to the bearer and was signed by the Queen. He noted the right to bear arms and diplomatic immunity on the UK mainland. Who gave their people immunity on their own turf? It was a new one on him. They’d been picked up and dropped off by a British navy submarine which to his mind meant that it was someone with authority in the UK, secret service or some such, wanting outside assassins to do a job for them.
He looked keenly at Wally’s face in the picture, then taking up Wally’s wallet he looked at the family pictures. Cobb got off the bed and walked to the window, swigging his beer. This guy with the badge was married, had a kid and was a local which meant that there was some sort of nationally co-ordinated neighbourhood watch scheme. The local guy in Scotland had seen them and he, Cobb, had been tracked to Liverpool. Looking out across the grass to the hedge and beyond the railway tracks to the city lights beyond Cobb felt ‘eyes’ watching.
He closed the curtain and looked around the room. It was clean enough, but it was all worn, like the arm chair sat in by a thousand people and the bed slept in by the same and it was all so impersonal. The white mug and tea pot washed a thousand times for a thousand different people sat impersonally on the courtesy tray with the sachets of coffee and sugar. Cobb reflected that he’d seen at least a hundred rooms like this and had thought from time to time as he had left them to go and do a job that it might be the last place he’d have taken refuge in before he died.
Cobb shook his head and settled on the bed, pistol within reach and put the television on. Having found a repeat of ‘Where Eagles Dare’ just starting Cobb leaned back on the pillows and switching his mind from the day’s events, the impersonal and jaded furniture of the room and, as the third beer took effect, the direction his life had taken, Cobb watched Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood blast their way through German positions until he became drowsy and fell asleep.
It was around one a.m. when one of two returning drunks, singing down the corridor, fell heavily against Cobb’s door which ripped him from his sleep and pulled him upright, off the bed his cocked PSS pistol pointed at the door. He stood frozen in attitude, ears straining for other sounds and the tell tale noises of security forces gathering at the door. There were none and he relaxed on hearing the shutting of the door of the next room and a room further up the corridor. His pulse was just slowing when he became aware of BBC News 24 running on the television and caught the words ‘Mersey marina’.
With a certain amount of personal interest and horror he saw his face from the sketch on the screen and a picture of the Peugeot with the license number listed beside it. They had found the bodies very quickly. He became more than concerned when the news went on to the Perth shootings and had a growing sense that this spy network in the UK was highly organised and efficient to a deadly level.
Knowing that he’d be in the papers the next day Cobb had a cold shower, made some hated instant coffee from the courtesy tray and sat cleaning and loading his pistol whilst planning.
After cleaning up and packing Cobb took a long look at Wally’s government pass. Manchester airport would give him no need for a passport, but with the right glasses and the right wig he could pass for Wally and the ID badge would get him through quickly, especially with diplomatic. There’d be a lot of security around the airport and they would be looking for him so a disguise was needed. Cobb knew well that as far as security was concerned the right hand hardly ever knew what the left hand was doing.
Cobb removed Wally’s credit card and went to look at the hotel room door lock. They didn’t have the swipe keys here yet. He took his key, locked himself out and listening carefully to the corridor, reassured, he set about opening the door with the card. He practised the movements four or five times, went back into his room, got his bag ready and read the lay out of his room.
The drunk in the room next to him had shed clothes on the way to bed and had slumped onto his bed at an awkward angle. Cobb had managed the door easily and silently and stood in the room eyes adjusting to the dark for some thirty seconds. The whistling snores put him at his ease and having left the door pushed to, but not closed, he made his way to the bedside. Sure enough keys, cell phone, wallet and change on the bedside table. The key was a ‘bleeper’ type with a Citroen tag. He gathered the items quietly and exited the room.
Cobb checked out of the hotel via his window, made his way round to the car park, which was in full view of the front of the hotel, but that couldn’t be helped. He pressed the key as he walked around and the indicators lit up on a Citroen C4. He popped his bag on the back seat and started the engine. He fired up the Satnav and scanned a map of the area. His eye hit on the Daisy Nook country park and he punched in the destination. It was just outside the city on the M60, close enough to get back in early and far enough out to hide him and the car.