We parted ways, each with separate orders. I suppose they were sort of holding orders, nothing more. Marcus met me at the exit door of the bunker. We stood with the double-sided steel door wedged ajar and he shook my hand and asked if I was okay. I wasn’t. Brown came up out of the dark to join us. I lit a cigarette and gently allowed myself to explain that I could take Anatoly alone. No need for dramatics, they could rely on me. Marcus was calm and gave me a smile and then turned to Brown said, “Look after this one.” Brown laughed as we briefly enjoyed the night air together, each of us probably overwhelmed by the day’s events and where everything had ended up in our lives. Both Brown and Marcus were keen to warn me about the American issue as no one was really sure how deep this went. FBI agents working alone didn’t seem plausible, and Langley and the CIA involvement remained a mystery – either they were on the other side or they were internally trying to flush out a ‘Boris’. Who fucking knew? We shook hands, Marcus holding on that second too long before we parted ways.
Of course, as things turned out the op that unfolded on the ground was going to be somewhat different than what the team was expecting from those briefings, which to be fair had probably been more of a pooling of ideas, or even a complete diversion. Most of what had been agreed wasn’t actually going to happen at all anyway. The key to pulling it all off was to set a trap door for the terrorists, the Arabs and the Iranians, whoever the fuck they all were, to fall into, allowing the team to dissolve all players and hang it all on the Arabs at the accident point. The mastermind of what follows was the work of my very close friend Marcus who no doubt had a few sleepless nights as we all went off to play our individual but highly connected games. Ben and David were no doubt simply left to watch in awe as Marcus orchestrated his plan. They must have been totally enthralled as they learned from the master how to do the undoable.
I would join HMS Cavalier in Plymouth, integrate with the crew, do work-ups in order to prepare for a quiet insertion, possibly from Norway, and make my way overland to Sarov. I would train for any possible hot exits with an elite group from 42 Cdo and the team over the next six months, building in all the training packages with the ship’s work-ups and exercises. I would eventually meet a new operative on board who would be working with me and receive further instruction once deployed. My orders were very simple and kept completely sealed and undisclosed to the other groups. There was nothing in those orders that I was aware of that differed in any way from what the team was being briefed, and I was never fully aware of the entire plan forward from this point. However, I suspected that a very different and complex operation was being orchestrated beyond what the teams and I had been working through at MHQ that day. That was why Marcus was there; he was the big cheese, the top brass, the man with the egg on his cap. Marcus was labelled ‘only consult in the event of a fucking disaster’, and there he was, open for business. All briefing notes and agreed orders disappeared into his room and into the master plan, concealed from any outside opinion or influence, to be considered but not necessarily used, leaked and transmitted where deemed appropriate, to set the traps, set the scene.
I was soon aboard HMS Cavalier and enjoying my new life based in Plymouth. It didn’t take long for Anna and I to move from Nottinghamshire to a village in Cornwall only a few miles across from the Tamar Bridge. It was nicely isolated from the main city but pleasant enough, with a local pub and shop both as welcoming as a dose of the flu. However, we could forgive them for that so long as the Cornish pasty shops remained open! It was exciting for Anna I think, returning to Plymouth where she had done a nursing course. Old haunts, pubs and bars bringing back good memories. She got a job in Plymouth Hospital in the neurology department and we had a few months living a relatively normal life together. House-hunting had been swift although a little painful as prices were much higher than in the north. The move had been a bit messy, but with an interest-free loan from the navy things were made a bit easier financially.
Moving into our new link-detached house we were amazed by those wonderful storage heaters that used up all your electricity at night and released all the heat the next day while you were out, leaving you fucking freezing when you got home from work! This, coupled with wooden single glazing, gave rise to an expensive priority list of home improvements. We soon made it feel like home though and in no time became very fond of Cornwall. We enjoyed our weekends out and about enjoying the many attractions, beaches, village pubs and of course Dartmoor, one of my old training grounds. We became very fond of coastal walks from Cawsand round to Rame Head and back, and the 24-mile run I used to do over Dartmoor. Anna and I did well on these walks together, even in the snow.
Anna’s sister and family visited often with their young children. They would take the 300-mile drive down from Sheffield to spend the weekend with us. We would always try to get to a beach or something, trying to keep the kids amused, which made our exploration of the South West very comprehensive. We always found a pasty shop or a good local pub for lunch before heading back home and all getting very drunk. These were good times and it was great to have her family so close and able to come and visit often. It felt like we were a normal couple with a normal family life. I was now commuting by moped to my job in the dockyard as I had to sell my car to help pay for the removals, etc. It’s funny to realise that the best times in your life are perhaps the quietest or seem to be the dullest of times. You don’t realise how happy you are until something much worse comes along to fuck you up. Then you wish you had been content as you were, where it was perhaps a little quiet but safe, happy and settled with a routine. But such times are never allowed to endure, they are time capsules in a world that won’t stand still and you never appreciate what you have until you, time or someone else fucks it up. Cornwall really is a great place and we still visit to this day. It never compared to Moscow; this was different, Anna was different, she wasn’t controlled or engineered by the intelligence services. Anna was pure and unspoiled, a virgin in a world of deception, such a gentle and beautiful creature, a floating butterfly in a sky of ash.
Often, Anna would drive me into the dockyard very early on a Monday morning and pick me up on a Friday as the ship underwent all the many trials and exercises that had to be undertaken for the ship, her deployment and our ops. The support teams and I worked through every possible op scenario gained from the briefings. It all got to be a bit routine for the crew in the end as this went on for about six months or so. But for me, the guys always had something new to teach me so I was always kept very busy and engaged. Sometimes the ship would go to sea for just a few days, a week or up to a month but nothing too heavy, which allowed for Anna and me to have some normal life together at the weekends when I was home.
Life was better for me now on board, I had my cabin which was very comfortable compared with previous ships I had worked on. I was very much left alone to my own devices now. I had plenty of engineering study to keep me occupied, which the Steering Group had passed on to me. They wanted me up to speed on a number of topics in order to be ready for Anatoly’s arrival, as I would be babysitting him on his new job. With this to think about and all the diving equipment to maintain for the team in my spare time, it made for a welcome boredom breaker. The diving store/workshop soon became a tea shop for the boys and all those interested crew members who liked to sneak a fag when they should have been turned to elsewhere. (‘turned to’ means to be at work)
All of the team, especially Cheesy, were very particular as to the standards of maintenance I deployed on those diving sets and to all the other equipment we held on board. The new UWCS (underwater communication systems) were a new toy for the boys to play with and, as we all believed we would be leaving the ship by water to join a Norwegian sub in the fjords, we were keen to get to grips with the new kit. I was deeply entrenched in the planning for that day when we would finally depart the ship. We spent many hours in the workshop, in the pool at Drake and down at Pier Cellars, checking and testing the kit as well as tryi
ng to break it!
The ship was soon to sail away from British waters and the programme released to the ship’s company. Joining STANAVFORLANT (Standing Naval Force Atlantic) was a great opportunity for everyone to get lost in and amongst other naval groups. The full teams were soon aboard and we had taken over our little section of the ship. Everything was setting itself up for a nice trip, the ship was comfortable and a good sea boat. Sailing out on a pussers’ grey is the Steering Group’s standard disconnection policy for all Naval Intelligence personnel to get away from all unwanted eyes and ears by being at sea like a satellite before ordering the execution of any mission package. Being away at sea was like disappearing into a communications abyss from which we could emerge confident that there was no tail and we were truly free from any shoreside connections. This gave huge confidence to the Steering Group knowing we had all been ‘sheep-dipped’ clean of any contacts, both in person and electronically, before they pressed the final green light. When I look back it’s a very clean way to ensure your operatives and SF teams really are detached from the world and can be readily reinserted anywhere and at any time in the world totally confident of anonymity. It’s easy to control what goes in and out of a warship at sea.
Leave had been granted before our deployment, offering the teams and me some downtime whilst the ship undertook the transatlantic crossing ahead of us in the New Year. I worked on board over the Christmas period. There was a lot of preparation to be made out of sight of the main crew who were away on their Christmas leave. Baz, Cheesy and Smudge stayed on over Christmas with me, which turned into some major drinking sessions. During the working day we jointly went through all the kit that was being delivered to the ship over the holiday period. It all had to be prepped, checked and made ready for use, and we worked methodically to ensure nothing was less than 100% perfect. Each team member’s weapons, Sigs and Glocks, SMGs, assault and sniper rifles, L119A1s, an L82A1 50cal anti-material rifle, sniper scopes, sound suppressors, grenades, rocket launchers, bergens, secure comms, tactical webbing, NVGs, diving kit, clothing, CamelBaks, goggles, rations, etc., etc., all had to be prepped and ready without too many prying eyes seeing it all laid out in the ship’s hangar. A lot of the kit was dispatched directly out of RM Poole from our cages there, but there were a lot of new toys the boys were playing with and it really felt like fucking Christmas the number of parcels we had to open from the many stores’ deliveries that seemed to come endlessly to the QM who was always piping (broadcasting) for me over the ship’s tannoy.
On Christmas Day Anna came on board. It was kind of weird having her aboard the ship but at the same time made everything feel normal. She stayed for Christmas dinner and the chefs actually did a great job. We ate with all the crew and were both genuinely impressed with the spread laid on: three meats to choose from, turkey, ham and beef, with all the trimmings, and a great selection of duff (puddings). Later we retired to the mess and got fucking smashed, with our friends who lived in Plymouth joining us later in the evening. It worked out at about 50p a pint and 20p a short. There’s no cash in an SNCOs’ bar, you just fill in a chit with what you’ve taken and then pay your mess bill at the end of the month. I think 20 quid covered the night which turned out to be quite noisy, and the OOD (officer of the day) sheepishly came and asked my guests to leave at 1am. I went on leave two days later as the crew returned from their leave plainly jealous of those who had stayed. They would now take their turn whilst the ship endured a three-week Atlantic crossing. Naval ships never go in a straight line!
Leave passed and I was picked up by a few members of the ship’s crew in a hire car in the New Year. I remember getting into the back of that car early in the morning outside the house and looking back at Anna. She was still in her dressing gown peering out the half-opened front door as I departed in the snow with airline tickets to New York and onward to the Caribbean. Our eyes met as the car drove off. How I wanted to stay at home with that girl, her sad eyes filled with the knowledge she’d be alone again now for months whilst I disappeared. So very sad. There’s nothing quite like being amputated from your soulmate as you disembark on a deployment or mission. It’s quite debilitating to your mind, soul, morale and purpose in life. There is no antidote for this feeling, it has to be supressed and covered over by a false engagement and enthusiasm with your teammates in the form of morale-boosting piss-taking and eventually getting drunk at the first opportunity. I often wondered what it must be like to be left behind. Fucking boring, I think. I would later learn from Anna that being left behind was so fucking lonely too.
The transit out to the ship was uneventful and I was greeted by the unpleasant fact that my entire support team had been diverted to another location. This was not some last-minute decision made in haste, it transpired that the decision had been well planned by Marcus back in MHQ that they would not accompany me for my part of the extraction of Anatoly. My operation was to take a new twist from previous instructions and new orders now awaited me, sealed in the captain’s safe aboard the Cavalier. These new orders would unveil my part in this new unfolding saga. I re-joined the ship in Puerto Rico and soon discovered that all the team’s kit had disappeared, their cabins abandoned, all the equipment and any sign of their presence removed. They had already deployed, or had other business to attend to before Anatoly. I didn’t know anything more at that point in time.
Only my kit remained, one kit bag, a holdall and a suitcase. Keith, the short cockney I had met years before with Pierre in a pub in Weymouth, had joined me and was sitting patiently in my cabin reading a book. After a brief introduction I asked who the fuck he was, to which he simply retorted that he was my No. 2. He was from the same ilk as me, only about five or more years behind me, had finished his training with the Steering Group and completed his first solo mission unsupported overseas. I think going solo is the rite of passage of an N1 operative into the group. If you can work solo then you’ve got the fucking balls to do anything, because when you’re solo if it all goes pear-shaped the group can just dump you and deny your very existence. So you’ve got to be fucking good and completely committed to what you signed up for, prepared to get out of any mess you make for yourself alone and unsupported. I think that was the difference between myself and the SF boys. I think it fascinated them how long a guy can work incognito and alone, waiting patiently, working with the very people who’ll end up on a kill list. Don’t get me wrong, having the backup was great but the trigger was always mine to pull and that’s what joined us together. At the end of the day I guess we were all just tools in a box.
I have to say that at this point in my career I wasn’t too keen on the idea of being without my full support team. Maybe I had come to rely on their support too much, or was getting soft. Or maybe Marcus was thinking this part was better off back in the hands of an N1 operative – expendable? But now I was given an unknown to assist me in this next phase which to me was nothing short of crazy. I hadn’t got a fucking clue as to his abilities, let alone had any level of trust with this guy.
Keith reported that our gear was safe in the 4.5 magazine up forward. Oh and by the way, the captain was waiting for us both in his cabin to read our orders. All I could think was Fuck off, you little prick. I was angry about the change in plan, and my thoughts were on what Marcus had in mind – was I losing my nerve, was I really too reliant on the team? Was this a test of my loyalty? Paranoia? Fuck yeah, in a massive way. Or was it just that last conversation I’d had with Marcus outside the bunker: “I’ve got this, Marcus, you can rely on me.” Hmmm, be careful what you wish for.
We attended the captain’s day cabin. I let out a laugh as all the seats were fitted with those annoying hideous cream seat covers with the green floral arrangement which reminded me of my first interview with Cdr Brown all those years ago in Raleigh. Some shit never changes. We stood up as the captain entered the day cabin. It was a calm relaxed atmosphere and the captain introduced himself as Cdr Bolton, who had just taken over command after the ship
arrived in the States. Cdr Bolton was a ‘see and forget’ kind of guy, neither pleasing nor annoying in any way, typical naval officer, well presented, too much aftershave lotion and terribly polite, perhaps even a bit delicate.
The Caribbean sun beamed through the scuttle, beckoning us ashore for a few wets just as soon as business was concluded here. We had a nice friendly sort of chat, low-key, as he welcomed us aboard, explaining that before we opened our orders we should read and study the ship’s programme which had been published. This meant it had been passed to the NOK (next of kin) of the crew and was public knowledge. He was very subtle in his approach which for me clearly laid out the fact that we should try and fit all our plans into what would appear to be a normal deployment for a frigate attached to a NATO group. He didn’t want to break away from the main flotilla. I respected the fact he wanted to keep everything looking routine whilst allowing us to make our own arrangements hopefully without troubling him to change the programme. It was obvious that he was very pleased to have us aboard in our capacity, which was a little strange but I took it as a compliment because sometimes cruising teams get jittery when they have guests from Poole or London on board.
Keith sat back and watched me as I opened the envelope from the safe. Typically, the document was encrypted and left to us to de-crypt in the EW (electronic warfare) office. We both thanked the captain for his time and reassured him that our presence would be unnoticeable right up to our eventual departure and we would keep him informed of anything we thought of relevance to the ship, its programme or the crew. Being on the Cavalier felt homely and it was an absolute oasis away from the world in which Keith and I really operated. I loved walking down the main drag of the ship which stretched almost all the way from Charlie section, the buffer’s store, to Zulu section on the quarterdeck. Always plenty of people wanting a chat or to pass comment on something they didn’t approve of, like the time of liberty, duty lists or fucking rounds (inspections) coming up. The Royal Navy really knows how to moan – it’s called having a good drip sesh (moaning session).
The Steering Group Page 38