To Kill Or Be Killed by Richard Wiseman

Author:Richard Wiseman
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: thriller, assassin, adventure, murder, action, espionage, spy, surveillance, cctv
Publisher: Richard Wiseman

Chapter 67

Baker Street Area of London

3 p.m.

April 18th

The phone rang waking Mason from a deep and comfortable sleep. He reached out lifted the receiver and acknowledged the call. A shower, change and coffee saw him ready for an outing into London. He’d removed the self manufactured false facial hair and looking at himself in the mirror he decided to get his head shaved to the length of the shortest hairs and he decided to dye it back to his natural black. He knew he’d have to buy clothes and decided on Oxford Street. There was the matter of cash and whilst bathing he’d run through the hotels he’d seen. Mentally picturing each one led to his choice of the Sherlock Holmes Hotel on Baker Street. A visit to the laundry room in this hotel would yield enough kitchen uniform to access the hotel at the back.

He left the Bickenhall Hotel room around three thirty. He decided to go unarmed. He locked the pistol in the small room safe using a self made combination and hoped for the best.

It was all too easy to get the laundry room and staff access areas. Most people hesitated, were nervous or held back in out of bounds areas, but having the confidence to just walk through the doors marked staff only and do so with an affected air of rectitude was one of the skills that delineated the successful in the killing trade. The trick was to look like you belonged there.

There was no lock on the staff door around the corner from reception and he pushed it open and made his way down a narrow stair case to a basement area. There was a decent though not large sized open area in front of him, a small lift to his left and storage rooms behind him and to his right.

To his delight the laundry baskets were sitting waiting to be taken away near a cellar hatch hydraulic hoist. He was at the back of the hotel and there were steps up beside the hoist and he could smell fresh air. He opened a basket and without cringing waded through the linen. Sure enough there were aprons, blue check trousers and white cotton tops, even white kitchen caps, at the bottom. He held a number of them up to look at, senses alert to the possible arrival of an employee. The third pair of trousers he pulled out, tomato stained and mucky around the trouser cuffs, were his size roughly and he found a white top with a variety of splashes and smelling of stale sweat which was roughly the right size too. The sound of the lift hurried his decision. He took the items, rolled them under his arm and climbed the steps into the fresh air.

Just around the corner from his hotel on Montagu Row he found a hair salon. The girl wasn’t impressed by his badly cut and poorly dyed hair. He needed an appointment and as the receptionist had taken

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