To Kill Or Be Killed Read Online Free PDF Page A

worked there. The fifteen floors below
that contain gathering centres. These are staffed night and day by
two shifts of full time officers. There are computers for the
collection of in bound material, website monitoring and recording
radio newscasts and there are banks of TV screens with rolling news
linked to digital recorders filling both floors. The six floors
below that are duty team offices and the staff canteens. This
seemingly odd combination puts the rotating staff in contact with
the permanent staff regularly which is enough to build good
relations and bond the teams. The six levels below these are
technical support centres staffed by some of the best technicians
the country can supply including the front CCTV firm people.
    The first four
floors house the vast computer system and a small armoury. McKie’s
lift journey took him unseeing through the centre of this tightly
packed and dynamic building.
    The two week
duty team rota is made up of DIC operatives aged twenty-five to
forty-five. Each local area operative between those ages spends at
least two weeks a year at the centre in London and should the need
arise be ready to travel around the country to deal with any small
or large problem highlighted by the intelligence sent in from the
local area watchers. Some DIC operatives do up to three fortnight
shifts a year at the centre depending on age and lifestyle. Other
than that they work from home, most of the year.
    Knowing that he
was about to spend two weeks in the building McKie felt both
excited and a little homesick about not being there in the evening
to be with his family. He consoled himself that in the long run
he’d be around his family a lot more as a result of the job.
    The cold and
warm air conditioning in the building was perfect and as a result a
comfortable temperature greeted David as he exited the lift to be
met by Jack Fulton.
    Fulton had
served his time as a DIC operative and passed the rigorous
selection process to run the service after only five years in the
job. He’d been top man for twenty years. Selected from the
diplomatic branch of the civil service at twenty-five, a Cambridge
graduate, he’d distinguished himself on two crucial occasions for
the country, once in nineteen eighty five and once in nineteen
eighty seven. The latter adventure had left him with a limp from a
broken leg. A year later he was put in charge.
    He had been a
short and wiry young man, but the limp precluded exercise and he
had at fifty acquired a rounder, though not fat, stature. Along
with his physique, his white hair and short white beard gave him
the appearance of a friendly and amiable teacher. His grey eyes
though betrayed the chess playing genius and brilliant mind within
and for a moment David recalled the image of a wolf in sheep’s
clothing that had come to mind the first time he had met Jack
Fulton.
    A small dry
hand firmly held his own large bony fingers and as an added gesture
of welcome Jack placed his left hand warmly on top of their
grip.
    “So good to see
you. You’re right on time. Is everything going well?”
    David said that
it was and Fulton guided him, hand on back towards an office,
passing through his secretary’s ante chamber, he introduced
her.
    “This is Magda,
Magda David. You’ll have read all about him no doubt.”
    “White tea in
the morning, no sugar, will you have some now?”
    David was not
taken aback. He had answered a ream of questions and been
subsequently quizzed on all his answers several times as part of
the selection procedure.
    “That’ll be
lovely thanks.”
    Fulton gestured
to a chair as he closed his office door, McKie sat and Fulton took
his place across the desk.
    “I had the
report from Lympstone. You’re quite an athlete. The unarmed combat
instructor said you were flexible and in some ways fairly
unstoppable and the firearms instructors said you had good eyes and
steady hands. Quite a shot by all accounts, but I want you to know
now that though the unarmed