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Using the gangbangers as bait would mean that there would be only the escorting cops in the car, rather than the whole group of them if he engaged the target whilst they were lochside. He smiled at the irony that it was Hardie’s rescuers who had actually made the operation much simpler. This location for the engagement offered a perfect stalk point, and more importantly, a perfect route for exfiltration.
He picked up the spent case that had been ejected from the rifle with his gloved hand and shoved it into his pocket, and took one last look through the scope at the van. Hearing the wail of sirens getting closer, he made the call. He had plenty of time, but it was best to move now, before they got organised and put helicopters up. Even worse, they would almost certainly get the dogs out, once they’d figured where the shot had come from. No matter how well he was hidden, a dog’s nose would find him. It was time to go.
He kept low; belly pressed against the soft soil in the small copse of trees situated in the middle of the scrappy fields. He kept his movements slow and considered as he retraced his steps. As he reachedthe far edge of the copse, out of sight from the road, he slung the rifle over his shoulder to keep his outline unthreatening and headed down the slope towards the expanse of water that was the deserted Corsehouse Reservoir, where his fishing rod was set up alongside his tent and tackle box. He quickly went inside the tent, and within a few moments had reduced the long rifle into its component parts, and despite never having touched the weapon with bare hands, he used an antibacterial wipe to clean each component.
Once done, he went back outside and after checking the coast was still deserted, he threw each piece far into the loch. Satisfied, he reached for the packet of cigarettes in his pocket and pulled one out, putting it between his lips as he lit it. He inhaled deeply and with extreme satisfaction. It was always like this, and had always been like this. After a big operation in Afghanistan or Chad his unit would always celebrate with a cigar, and it resonated with him as an almost cleansing or ritualistic action. Together with his comrades, sharing a moment with a decent stogie. He didn’t have time for a cigar, so a fag would have to do, but the ritual was important.
He dropped the cigarette on the soft soil and ground it out with his heel. Once satisfied it was extinguished, he used the heel of his boot to create a divot in the ground, and dropped the butt in the depression. He quickly covered it with the soft soil. Leave no trace was the sniper’s watchword. It’s why he got paid as well as he did. Within a few minutes he’d collapsed his camp and was ready to go. Just a few final tasks and a check that he’d left nothing behind, and he’d be on his way before the cops had even had chance to work out what had happened.
He smiled when he thought of the very tasty sum of money that would soon be hitting his off-shore account situated in the Cayman Islands. Easiest money ever.
26
MAX’S HEAD WASreeling. An attempt to break Hardie out, followed by what sounded like an execution of him and then his solicitor by a sniper with a weapon system big enough to remove heads. After the drone had failed, Barney had relayed the radio transmissions. Max needed to speak to Ross, they needed to get in and amongst this, and soon. This whole thing had been messed up by idiots not listening to them, and a DCC in some stupid power-grab whilst the Chief was away. Max felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
‘Max, what the fucking fuck is going on, for fuck’s sake?’ Ross’s voice blasted down the receiver as Max was grabbing some things and jamming them in a bag. He knew that their much-needed week off was gone.
‘What have you heard?’
‘Don’t start bullshitting me. Where’s Barney? Somehow the conniving bastard called it in, and Miles is going fucking tonto about us being involved.’
‘He has his own radio, and was monitoring. What have you heard?’
‘A load of garbled and confused shite from Miles about Hardie busting out, and snipers and the like. Apparently, we now have two fucking headless corpses in Newton Mearns. A dead Hardie, and a dead solicitor, so don’t play that fucking game with me. What haven’t you bastards told me?’ Ross’s building rage was palpable down the line.
‘Barney was testing a drone up at the White Loch, and was justwatching the body get recovered when Hardie and the others left. We saw them getting sprung, but then the drone went dead, but he was able to monitor the radio traffic. It sounded really grim, Ross. Heads removed by a sniper weapon. That means military-grade ammo.’
Strangely Ross didn’t explode, in fact if anything his tone was suddenly calm. ‘Ah fucking hell, man. I’m gonna catch bastard hell over this. We need to get together. In fact, fuck it. We told those daft bampots that this was a ruse to break Hardie out, and they didn’t shitting listen. I say we go to the scene, apparently the DCC is shitting a brick, and is deploying everyone, all over the place.’
‘Where’s Miles?’
‘On his way to the scene. Firearms teams are on standby, but the feeling is that the sniper has fled. They put the helicopter up, and have swept the immediate area, but there’s no sign.’
‘That’s because they’re not looking properly. Anyone capable of headshots like that knows what they’re doing. When are you heading to the scene?’
‘Now. Where’s Janie?’
‘At home.’
‘Does she have a car?’
‘Aye, she took the Volvo.’
‘Okay, I’ll get Norma to the office, and I’ll meet you at the scene. Get Janie to pick you up. And, Max?’
‘Aye?’
‘Pack a bag, you know how these jobs go.’
Max sighed and looked at the scrappy rucksack as he threw some bits and bobs into it, ready for what could easily turn out to be many days of long hours.
He was pulling some socks from a drawer when he stopped dead and a name popped into his head. Bruce Ferguson. Ex–Special Forces Regimental Sergeant Major and no doubt a well-qualified and battle-hardened sniper. His words spoken just a day ago at theairport floated back to Max. ‘I’m not letting those bastard Hardie boys get out of prison a minute before they’re due out.’
Max just sat there, lost in his thoughts. Surely Bruce wouldn’t do this, but memories of what he’d done to Tam Hardie surged in his mind. A voice in the room dragged him from his reverie.
‘Going somewhere?’ said Katie, appearing from the en suite bathroom, her face pale and wan and her eyes lacking their usual sparkle.
‘Looks like it. Hardie and his solicitor have just been shot dead during an escape attempt.’
