Perth
8 a.m.
April 18th
The smell of bacon woke David from his uncomfortable sleep on the sofa. Rising from dark dreams into unfamiliar surroundings he sat up suddenly. Beaumont appeared in the doorway fresh from the bathroom.
“What time is it?”
“It’s just after eight am.” Beaumont sat down in an armchair April rain spattering the glass behind him.
McFarlane entered carrying a plate of bacon sandwiches. David frowned at the greasy, smoky smell.
“Here a good solid breakfast. Set you up for the day. I figure you’ve got a long day ahead.”
Beaumont’s eyes lit up.
“Good man.” He took the plate and selected a thick doorstep of a sandwich, taking a sizeable bite.
“I was up early. I checked the e-mails and this came through from the centre.” McFarlane handed David sheets of paper, one with a passport photo. “That’s Trevor Stanton. He’s ex Foreign Legion and a freelance assassin.”
David read the file, extracted from MI6 system by DIC after a decryption department foray into their computer system.
“Nasty piece of work.” He handed the picture to Beaumont. “Do you think he’s in the area still?”
McFarlane rubbed his chin reflectively. “Well he got as far as Glasgow if he got to the motorway and hitched a lift.”
“We’re heading for Glasgow after interviews today.”
“Not Edinburgh?” Beaumont spoke through a mouthful of bacon sandwich.
“Why Edinburgh?”
“East coast get a boat head down and come up the Thames I thought.”
“Wheeler’s not out of Glasgow. We could tell local DIC to watch Edinburgh marinas and exits. If we’re in Glasgow it’s only a short trip, but I’m sure I’d head for Glasgow if I were him. Maybe we should decide after we’ve interviewed staff and spoken to the police.”
“Listen lads I’d let me do the interviews and you get to Glasgow. This guy will be on an early start and if you leave quickly enough you’ll get ahead. I can e-mail you the results of the interviews.”
Beaumont nodded. “Get Jack to book us hotel rooms and see if he can get us a helicopter to Glasgow.”
“I’ll go get washed and dressed.” David got up wrapping the blanket around his waist.
“Have a sandwich first.”
“No thanks. Could you find me some cereal?”
“I’ve got porridge.”
“That’d be grand.”
David left the room.
“Healthy man eh?” McFarlane raised an eye brow at Beaumont.
“He is that. I’ve not known him long, but I can tell you now I do feel safe near him. He’s big, fast strong, but happily a thoughtful and intelligent man. He’s not at all Gung Ho and he is a good listener. I’d like him healthy. I’ve a feeling I’m going to be safer if he’s on ball.”
“I’ll make that call to Jack and get the helicopter for you.”
When McFarlane had left the room Beaumont looked over at McKie’s Sig220 lying heavily on the sofa arm. He stopped mid bite of a sandwich and stared a moment. Either David was taking the threat very seriously or he was highly strung. Beaumont continued chewing and decided the former fitted the bill. He thought he himself had better try and do the same; with that in mind he picked up Stanton’s photo. Sure enough this man had killed a police dog handler without hesitating. On an impulse he put down the sandwich and the photo and wiped his hand. He drew out his own Sig 220 pistol and started checking it over.