Tidal Rage by David Evans (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

that all three of them—Richter, Hoagie, and himself—had booked in separately onto the Shannon flight. He routed Hoagie through Miami via Chicago and booked a separate direct flight for himself to leave an hour later, landing in Miami an hour earlier. He would reconnoitre the Miami airport before Richter and Hoagie arrived.

Cutler planned to keep Richter for a couple of days in the Everglades before resettling him in Salt Lake City, Utah. Even Richter would be hard-pressed to get himself in trouble in the Mormon state.

Cutler was on edge. He had taken every conceivable precaution to get Richter out of Europe, but every well-laid plan has weak links, and the flights out of the UK were his. All airports had pinch points, somewhere everyone had to congregate at check-in.

Hoagie went into John Lennon Airport’s departure terminal first. The terminal had departures and arrivals in the same terminus, situated on opposite sides. He scanned the area, and could see several suspicious persons, but then there were suspicious people in every terminal. Some moving drugs, some moving money, and then some just arriving or departing with more cigarettes than the allowance; they always looked the most conspicuous. But there appeared no ex-military types among them.

Lothar Gottschalk was an albino; he stood out from the crowd, never a good attribute of a hired assassin. Sometimes he dyed his hair and eyebrows and wore coloured contact lenses; sometimes he just wore hooded jackets and a scarf to cover his features. Today he wore a black fleece hoodie and black moleskin trousers. In fact, it was the same outfit as yesterday, as he had not moved off the roof in two days.

Werner had covered three airports that he second-guessed Richter may try to leave from. Werner may have lost his voice, but he had lost none of the acumen that had made him one of the most feared criminal ganglords in Germany, if not in Europe.

Lothar Gottschalk had chosen his site well. There were several factories on the peripheral of the airport: one overlooking the departure area of the airport. The factory-made car seats for Ford and other car manufacturers. Times had been hard for the motor industry, and the company had reduced security staff to one guard and reduced the night shift to a handful of employees. There was no closed-circuit television, which was always an open invitation to a thief or a killer.

Lothar waited until the guard had gone to the toilet and just ducked under the security barrier and jogged to the edge of the factory with his large, black rucksack on his back. There was a ladder with a hooped guard around it fixed against the side of the plant that led to the roof. There was no build-up of debris from the soles of rubber boots on the ladder, so Lothar assumed the access ladder was used very infrequently, and probably just for maintenance.

Despite Werner’s orders, Lothar had a minion, Ralph, drive over from Germany, bringing his beloved German Blaser 93 rifle. If Ralph had been caught coming through customs at the Eurotunnel he would simply do the time, as to speak out against one of Werner’s men was a death sentence, no matter what prison you were in. As it happened, countries without borders seemed to assist in the transportation of weapons, and his car was not checked.

Lothar had removed the Blaser 93 and had had it modified so he could break it down and place it, along with his ammunition, in the black rucksack. Lothar also had a thermos of coffee, US Army food packs that self-heated, water, adult diapers, and a thin raincoat, as it would undoubtedly rain here.

Ralph had been given a picture of Richter and had settled in at the small coffee shop near to the departure check-in. The first day he had stayed from 0500, which denoted the first check-in of the day, and stayed till 2130. He would then sleep in his car in the parking lot, before starting again at 0500 the next day. It was 2000 hours when he spotted Richter booking in. He was flying Aer Lingus to Shannon, due to leave at 2200. Once Ralph had confirmed the timings, he contacted Lothar over the shortwave radio.

Lothar moved in readiness a further twenty metres down the roof, which would give him a clear view of the stairs leading to flight number EI016 to Shannon. He set the tripod on the roof line and attached the German Blaser 93 onto the tripod, which was barely discernible at ground level.

The passengers began to decant from the departure lounge and were ushered on a yellow-lined, dedicated path they had to follow to the aircraft steps.

It was dark, with bright lights illuminating the path to the plane, and the brightness in the area took a toll on Lothar’s night vision, even through the scope. He did not have time to scan the multitude of passengers and concentrated on the one entrance at the front of the aircraft.

Lothar hit the dial on the mobile phone, connected immediately to Werner, and received the kill order.

First Hoagie walked up the aircraft steps and deftly had a backward look to see if anything was out of the ordinary. He could see Richter about twelve passengers back, and Cutler another ten or so behind Richter.

Cutler walked slowly, letting other passengers by as he scanned the area in more depth. Nothing out of the ordinary, he thought, but something nagged him about the area he had just risk rated. Something in his evaluation worried him, so he took a step out of line and scanned the area again. It was a light that did not fit in with the standard airport lights. It appeared right on the edge of the airport, maybe outside the airport, he thought.

Then the mist disappeared. He knew what it was troubling him. It was a laser guide used