The Alex King Series by A BATEMAN (free ebook reader for ipad TXT) 📕

“Sir?” she looked bemused.

Amherst held up a hand. “The woman tried to broadside you, destroy your relationship,” he paused. “The trust is obviously there between you and Alex. You two seemed to have sorted it out in no time at all. Find out everything you can about her, use what she tried to expose in your relationship to work a way in. I want you to gain her confidence, we need to know more about her.”

Caroline nodded. Her face had flushed. It was clear she wasn’t pleased with her assignment.

“King,” Amherst said. “Remain here, if you don’t mind.” He looked at the others in turn. “Go on then, get going. I’ll contact you all in turn for updates. This will be the last meeting here, until we have a conclusion.”

43

He knew that the rooftop would be the place. There was no other valid firing point. Gipri Bashwani’s office was no more than two-hundred metres distant with what he estimated to be a fifteen degree drop in angle. An easy shot. But the glass would be thick. At least three centimetres. It wouldn’t be ballistic glass, he knew this having already studied the blueprints of the building. But thick, toughened glass, could do unexpected things to a bullet. The angle of drop could make the bullet take a glancing strike. Or, the bullet may well penetrate easily, but deviate greatly from the target. The bullet may even expel all its energy exiting the glass and drop harmlessly onto the floor. It may not be affected at all, but there was never any sense in taking the most positive outcome. He had perfected his skills over half his lifetime. He knew that the least favourable scenario was the one to aim for. With these variables in mind, he knew the .338 Lapua Magnum would make the most sense. It would have the power to smash a single bullet through the glass and continue with only a slight decrease in both velocity or muzzle energy. It would be loud, especially in the proximity of the other buildings, but it would perform the task effectively.

He would need to get his equipment ready for the target. He liked to use a roll mat to lie down on and a small sandbag he fashioned out of an old cloth coin sack to rest the rifle on. Normally a bipod fitted to the underside of the rifle stock would steady his aim, but he would be firing from above, and that would only go to raise his profile. Amongst these buildings, he needed to keep as stealthy as possible. It would also be less to carry, the weapon would have to be transported stripped down in a sports bag, he would need the scope and mounts to be attached to the weapon, and the sight pre-zeroed. Calibration could be affected by miniscule alterations to the weapon system’s set up. If the mounts did not line up exactly to the position when the weapon was zeroed, then it would be inaccurate. Even at the relatively short range involved with this assignment.

There would be no need for a spotting scope, but he would need a magazine and would always load it fully, in this case, five rounds of match-grade, green-dot ammunition. The first hundred rounds to roll off the bullet press. All stamped with a green dot, and all infinitely better quality than the tens of thousands that followed and made their way to the military and sporting outlets the world over. He debated whether to supress the rifle. It could affect the power of the bullet, but at this range that would not matter. The gunshot would create an enormous echo from the position and distance of the other high-rise buildings. But even with the use of a suppressor, it would only work effectively if he used subsonic ammunition, and then he wondered whether it would jeopardise his shot. He would need to test both at the same distance when he zeroed the rifle. Not only would he test the bullets for penetration, but he would use a decibel meter app he had downloaded on his smartphone to make his decision whether to silence the weapon, or take an unsuppressed shot. His exit from the building and escape was paramount. He even weighed up the time it would take to remove the suppressor from the weapon. He made a mental to time himself at the same time he tested the other possibilities.

44

The surveillance teams of MI5 were known as watchers and they were the best in the world. Since the troubles in Northern Ireland, and especially from the early seventies onwards, MI5 had perfected the art of manpower surveillance not by using stereotypical intelligence agents or soldiers from the SAS, but by using mothers pushing prams, kids on skateboards, workmen repairing roads, old-aged couples walking in the park – the scenarios were endless, ever-evolving, and as natural as a snapshot of everyday life. The agents were highly trained, of all ages and race, and communicated through hidden mics. The IRA would notice SAS soldiers acting ‘civvy’, even when they grew their hair and wore beards, but they were not so quick to pick up a Rastafarian walking along with a ghetto-blaster on a busy London street, or an old man with a walking stick making his way down the Falls Road.

Two teams were on Amanda Cunningham. She was oblivious to both. She had parked her sporty Fiat 124 Spider in the carpark behind the mirrored glass offices of the pathology unit off Shoreham Road. The first team was a mobile unit consisting of a bicycle courier, a black cab and a non-descript white van typically used by parcel delivery privateers. The second team was a foot unit. Amanda had been bumped by a young woman talking on her mobile. She had apologised mid-conversation; the bump had