The Men In The Shadows ( Part 31 )

Jake. pic

By 11.45 the following morning Jake was in Dersingham. His journey so far had gone to plan. He’d told the first cab driver that he was from Southend in Essex and a keen walker. The driver listened intently but said very little. Jake rambled on and on about how one of his friends had said how great the walking was around Swaffham and how friendly and picturesque the local villages were. The cabbie wasn’t interested and just nodded a few times. From Swaffham he caught the train to Kings Lynn then went and had a coffee. An hour later he got another mini cab to Dersingham. This time he told the cabbie he was from Colchester and staying in Kings Lynn for a few days on a walking holiday and that he was looking forward to exploring the town of Dersingham and the surrounding area. Two different tales told to two different men. If, after the deed was done, anyone tried to trace him they would hear conflicting stories that would contradict and hopefully confuse his trackers. The waterproof jacket that he’d bought the day before was black with red lining. It was reversible so for one cab ride he wore it black and for the other he simply turned it inside out and it suddenly became a red jacket.
He was now less than an hour away from Hunstanton.
He knew the Drysdales Country House was a forty minute walk from the station. He was wearing everything that he’d bought from “Trak and Trail” and was carrying a large rucksack on his back. He looked every bit the professional hiker.
At 13.00 he rang the Hotel.
“Can you put me through to room 209 please. I’d like to speak with Mr Paul Barrett.”
The receptionist took a few seconds to answer.
“I’m sorry sir, Mr Barrett hasn’t checked in yet. No one can check in till after two.”
Jake put on his disappointed voice.
“Damn. I desperately need to speak with him and his mobile is off. Do you know what time he said he’d be arriving?”
“Just let me check the screen sir.”
Jake waited a few seconds to the hold music. It was Luther Van Dross. He liked a bit of Luther.
“According to our records we should expect him around five o’clock this afternoon.”
“That’s great news. Thank you very much.”
Jake walked into a local pub near the train station. He ordered up a pint of lager and a bag of crisps. He had an hour to kill. The train to Hunstanton took thirty minutes and from there he would walk to Drysdales. He wanted to be in place by 16.00 just in case Paul Barrett was early.
The time seemed to go slowly. He had two pints, a cheese roll and a packet of crisps before he caught the 14.30 train.
Once he arrived in Hunstanton he headed for the Hotel. According to Google Maps it was two miles, with only three roads to follow. It was still day light and wouldn’t be dark till after six. It was a cold, damp day but he guessed that was quite normal for this part of the country at this time of year. It wasn’t long before he reached the narrow lane that headed up towards the Hotel. The small country lane was about half a mile long. It was just a car’s width wide. If two cars came along from different directions, both would have to go onto the grass verges to get by. It was perfect for his plan.
He walked for two hundred yards where there was a slight bend in the road. He left the lane and entered the woods. He took off his rucksack and sat on it. He couldn’t be seen from the road because of the trees but he could see out and along the lane where it met the busier road. He looked at his watch it was ten past four. He waited.
It was cold. He was glad he’d bought the thermals now otherwise his bollocks might just be about to freeze. An hour passed. The sun was getting lower. He guessed he had less than an hour of daylight left. At 5.25 he saw a car pull off the main road and into the lane. It was a sports car. He quickly stood up and put on his rucksack. He walked out of the bushes and straight into the middle of the narrow lane. He had his back to the car. He heard it draw close. He heard the sound of a car horn. He took no notice and kept on walking. The horn sounded again this time for longer. Again Jake took no notice and kept walking. He heard a muffled noise, it was the sound of a car window opening. Then a man’s voice shouted.
“Oi swampy get out of the fucking road!”
He just kept on walking.
Again the man shouted.
“You fucking deaf or something. I said get out of the fucking way!”
He kept walking. He heard the car stop and the door open.
“Right you cunt. I’m gonna teach you a lesson.”
Jake turned quickly and raised his right arm. The Glock held tight in his hand. Paul Barrett was less than five feet away. Jake fired once, the bullet hit Barrett in the chest. He fell to his knees. A look of utter bewilderment on his face. Jake walked over to him and stood beside him. He shot him again in the left knee. Karate Kid screamed and slumped on his side. Jake stared into his face.
“Remember me Paul. Little Jake from ten years ago? You and your two mates said you were gonna hurt my mum and dad unless I killed the Russian. Remember?”
Paul Barrett tried to say something but he wasn’t quick enough. Jake shot him at close range in the head.


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