‘Hello, I’d like to speak to Natasha Moore?’ The voice was clear and authoritative.
‘Yes’ said Natasha guardedly. ‘Who is this?’
‘Glenda Hadlett, Jordon Hospital. I’m the admissions duty nurse. I’m sorry to disturb to you so early but do you know a Ben Campbell?’
‘Yes’, she hesitated. ‘He works with me.’
‘I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Campbell was involved in a road accident last night.’
Natasha sat down abruptly. ‘Oh God, tell me how is he?’
‘I’m afraid the injuries Ben sustained were quite bad. It was a road accident and we’re doing our best for him. He’s in intensive care and he is stable at the moment, but that could change at any time. I’m sorry to break such bad news in this way. Do you know if he has any relatives?’
Natasha tried hard to recall. ‘No, I don’t think he has any here — all his family are in England.’
‘Oh. I don’t suppose you have a contact number for them?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t — I don’t know Ben’s family at all.’
‘We found an envelope with your name on it’ continued the nurse. ‘It was inside his jacket but there was no address. I’ve been ringing all the Moore’s in the phone book. It’s taken us half a hour.’
‘Could I come in to see him?’
‘You won’t be able to while he’s in the intensive care unit. But you can come over and wait if you want.’
Natasha gripped the phone tightly. ‘Of course, I’ll be right over.’
Her thoughts were flying all over the place. She called her boss Stan to let him know and headed for the door. Less than an hour later she found the hospital and parked in the adjacent car park. It was still dark but she remembered the red brick building, having passed it the first time she came to Plymouth.
At the reception desk she asked the nurse if she could see Ben. She checked her computer screen and her face tightened a little. ‘I’m afraid he is very ill. Has anyone told you about the extent of his injuries?’
‘No — all I know is that he was involved in a hit-and-run accident. The nurse who called said I could come over.’
The Nurse looked at Natasha sympathetically. ‘You might have to wait a long time. He’ll be in intensive care for the next 24 hours at least.’ The Nurse checked a cubby hole behind the desk. ‘We found a letter addressed to you.’ She fished out a transparent polythene bag. Natasha could see an envelope inside. When the Nurse handed it to her she recognised Ben’s writing on the front. There was just her name, underlined in a blue pen. Natasha stuffed it into her handbag.
‘Which room is he in?’ she enquired. ‘I’d like to go and see.’
The Nurse came around the counter and led Natasha down the corridor before turning left. They came to a room with the blinds partially pulled down. Natasha could make out Ben’s form through the slats. She saw tubes coming into and away from his body and there were several machines arranged around the bed monitoring key respiratory indicators. His head and the arm and leg on his left side were completely encased in plaster bandages.
The Nurse hesitated. ‘Are you OK? There is a restaurant on the floor above if you need something to eat, or there are some chairs down the corridor if you want to sit and wait.’
‘I’ll be fine, thank you’ said Natasha and she turned to peer through the window.
Sean’s first stop was the accounts department where they had the usual pile of forms. The one at the top required him to confirm he would return all unused expenses. Tucked in amongst the paperwork, as if an afterthought, was a copy of his will. Attached was a form confirming he wanted no changes which needed to be countersigned by a witness. In this case it was a pretty blond cashier who was no older than nineteen. He could tell when the girl had read the last section because she looked up with an embarrassed stare.
A sheaf of roses to be placed on Katherine's grave on 15th May each year.
She said quietly ‘Please God it will never come to that but if it does I’ll make sure it happens.’ She picked up the pen, signed the form and tucked it back into the file.
Next stop was the armoury in the basement. Although he never checked out a gun Sean rarely passed up an opportunity to practice. He never brought a gun on a mission for the simple reason that the airline industry was far too sensitive about passengers carrying weapons. After landing in the US obtaining any hardware he wanted would be easy. But having a gun was no good if you couldn’t shoot straight.
The armourer on duty was Hamish on his second secondment from the Army. Sean had heard that when Hamish and Murdoch went out for a beer it rarely stopped at six. Hamish was one of the few people Sean knew who wore a moustache. He was painfully thin and had a prosthetic leg, courtesy of a land mine in Bosnia.
‘Evening young man’. Hamish called all his recruits young men.
Sean asked Hamish for a selection of four handguns and three automatic machine guns. He picked up the first, a heavy looking Browning automatic and pushed a clip into it. He fired off four rounds before finding form. When Hamish pressed the button the cardboard target whizzed down and showed the second group was indeed much closer than the first. Sean removed his ear muffs — Hamish always had some advice to give.
‘Take more time with your first shot, you’ll find the rest will tend to follow the first.’ Hamish spoke with a Glaswegian accent.
‘I know Hamish, but I usually have to be quick with all of them.’
Sean moved on to the other handguns and practised with them for the best part of an hour. Then he signed for all the guns and ammunition he had used.
The last place Sean visited was documentation because they took longest to produce. He was given a driver’s licence and various store and credit cards. He was also given a small net book computer and an encrypted memory stick. The files on the stick detailed his cover from the very first school he attended. In particular it listed the dates and times when Ben had visited the UK, where he had gone and copies of all the emails between Ben and the Section. Sean could read them on the plane, then run a special program that would completely remove the information on the stick.
The elderly lady behind the desk handed him a passport and a printed sheet containing his ESTA reference permitting him to travel to the States. She gave him a perfunctory smile. That, Sean thought to himself, was the best ‘au revoir’ he could expect from the Section.
While leafing through the paper Sean was able to observe a large section of the hallway from his vantage point in the cafe at Logan airport. There was a strong visible police presence. Sean observed that they made no effort at all to hide the hardware they were carrying.
He tagged two undercover cops. The first was a cleaner who seemed more interested in scratching his right ear and leaning on a broom than using it to clean the floor. The giveaway was an almost invisible wire which ran from his ear, down the back of his neck and into his overalls. The second was an older lady who worked in the florist stall. She sat on a stool behind the counter. Only the younger girl served the customers, even when there was a queue.
He finished his coffee and made his way to the car hire counter. He always chose a car in the medium to large class purely because the extra horse power just might one day save his life. Besides, he liked to have a solid engine block in case of a head-on collision. He was given a Chevrolet Impala.
He didn’t look round as he passed Lomax but went straight for the car park. When he found the car he slung his suitcase in the boot then sat for 5 minutes in the front seat, scanning the environment before making for the exit.