Null & Void

Prologue

The figure in the raincoat waited on the platform for his train. He always found it funny when books gave hitmen trench coats and scars and Russian accents. They always apparently wore clad black and sun glasses. It was impressive that guns for hire managed to get anything done without being caught, they were always dressed so conspicuously.

The man looked at the board hanging from the ceiling of the small building that sat by the platform. The next train wouldn't be long. You never had to wait long. A train came every few minutes on the tube. He looked around the platform to see how many people were there. He was alone in the rain. That was exactly what he wanted. The crowds would come later. The rails began to groan and squeal as a train approached. The man grabbed his backpack and started whistling as the train slowed and eventually ground to a halt. He liked whistling. It never failed to brighten his mood,  and came in very handy from time to time. Especially when he whistled through his teeth. Some people found it creepy as when he whistled through his teeth it didn't look like he was whistling, he just curled his bottom lip inward and whistled. Some people got annoyed because they couldn't work out who it was. In the right place, at the right time, whistling could be the best thing you could do.

He continued to whistle as he stepped onto the train and sat down,  waiting for the doors to close and the train to lazily begin to pull out of the station, hoping nobody would enter the carriage. Sure enough, he was alone as the train moved out of Canons Park, but that was hardly surprising. He'd chosen this station precisely because so few people used it, so there were no witnesses. He took his anorak off and dumped the coat, wet from the rain, on the seat and began to rummage through his rucksack. In the rucksack was a foam box underneath some maps and leaflets about the Tower of London and the Imperial War Museum, as well as some sandwiches that were half crushed in a freezer bag. He moves the objects to the side and opened the foam box to reveal a chest inside it., caring some small, thin, dark blue tubes each attached to a small device., perhaps a centimetre wide, and as long as the tubes hems elves,  which looked no more than a couple of inches long. Quickly and efficiently, the man made a show if fishing out some marbles and dropping them on the floor, seemingly accidentally. Satisfied they had rolled across to all corners of the carriage,  he carried the tubes over and walked to each corner of the seat then either side of the middle of the carriage, each time attaching a device to the sear under the cushion area and collecting the marbles.

He'd rather not engage in the dramatic side of his job. If a vigilant person viewing the CCTV got suspicious, the train could be held at any station and the passengers refused entry,  which would scupper the entire plan. No, he had to play the role of this anorak tourist, and he had to play it well.  A wrong move could endanger the operation and the man got paid because of his attention to detail, and how meticulously and flawlessly his contracts were fulfilled. So he continued with the facade, collecting every marble as he went until they were in his pockets and the devices planted.

He returned to his seat just as the announcement came on. "The next stations is Queensbury. This train terminates at Stratford." The man gathered his belongings and waited for the train to pull into the station. He left the train as a family of four made a dash for the train. Two parents and two toddlers. Good. The public always got more shocked at tragedies when children were involved, and he intended to shock them more deeply than ever before. He left the station and caught a bus heading vaguely in the direction of Heathrow. He had a plane to catch.

He sent a text to a list of people. "Let me know what times you're free to have the bird watchers meeting".

Throughout the next half hour, 17 texts came through, each saying the time and date that had been agreed. So they had all been successful then. The bus came to a stop. His stop. The whistling assassin got off and began to walk towards one of the terminal buildings. The Whistling Assassin. He liked that. It had a ring to it. And what was life without a bit of whimsy? You needed it, particularly in his line of work. He slowly made his way through check in, eventually reaching the departure lounge. For he umpteenth time today, he looked at his watch. It was time. He dialled in a number and sent the message to a contact saved on his phone before sitting back and smiling as he thought of the money due to arrive in his account.

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Sharon LaCrey was enjoying her holiday in the United Kingdom. Spurred on by stories of princesses as a little girl in Minnesota, she'd always wanted to visit Britain. A lot of her favourite shows came from there. There were so many sights to see and the accent was amazing. It was hard not to love this place. She was still trying to learn how to use their underground system though. She liked the names of their lines. This one was the Victoria line if she was correct. It sounded so regal and quietly proud, yet modest. So British. She climbed down the stairs to the platform she needed and waited for the next train. Luckily she didn't have to wait long. She smiled. Sharon was going to meet a friend she'd found out was in London at the same time quite by chance. They were going to have a chat together then visit Buckingham Palace. Sharon had been looking forward to this for a while. It has been so long since she had seen Darren. She was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of the train approaching the station. It came to a halt and the doors opened,  but Sharon did not board the train. She stood stock still, shocked at the countless bodies that filled the carriage. She heard shocked gasps and mutterings and even a few screams which were all promptly silenced when the carriage with the bodies exploded.