Breakout: A Heart-Pounding Lex Harper Thriller

by Stephen Leather

  ‘No, he always said it was on a need to know basis and since I didn’t need to know, he wouldn’t tell me.’ She hesitated.

  ‘But?’ Harper said, sensing her discomfort.

  ‘I found the name on a letter heading in his jacket pocket. I wasn’t spying on him,’ she said hastily. ‘I was taking it to the dry-cleaners and was just checking the pockets first.’

  ‘A perfectly sensible thing to do,’ Harper said. ‘So what was the company name?’

  ‘It was called Risk Reduction. I know they’ve got an office in London, because it was an 0207 number I dialled when I spoke to them.’

  ‘And why have you only just called me?’

  ‘The number I had for you didn’t work. Then I called the Regiment and tried to speak to one of his friends, a guy I only knew as Mustard.’

  ‘I know him,’ said Harper. Ricky ‘Mustard’ Coleman had been in the SAS but prior to that had been in the Paras for more than a decade. ‘Well Ricky was away in the Middle East somewhere and he’s only just come back. He said he didn’t know anything but he had your number and suggested I try calling you.’ She sniffed. ‘Which is what I’m doing.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Harper, his mind racing. Even from the little she had told him, he was already more than half-convinced that Scouse was dead, but he let no trace of that feeling show in his voice as he said ‘Look Myfanwy, no promises, but I’ve not got much else on at the moment, so I’ll ask around and see what I can find out about him.’

  ‘Thank you, I’m really grateful.’ She paused. ‘I haven’t got much money, but I’ll find what you need somehow.’

  ‘I’m not looking for money. Scouse is one of my oldest mates. I’ll see what I can do. It might take me some time but trust me, I’m on the case.’

  He ended the call and put the phone back into the bum bag. He lay on his back and began to do his sit-ups. He had known Scouse Davies since their schooldays together on Merseyside. Scouse had always been a bit of a scally and a motormouth, but he also had enough charm and humour to win most people over, even when they caught him trying to rip them off, and he was always up for a laugh or an adventure. He and Harper had knocked around together on the margins of the rough-arse streets where they’d grown up, scrapping with the local toughs and doing a bit of petty crime like shoplifting or pinching lead from church roofs.

  They’d been collared by the police a couple of times but on both occasions had managed to talk their way out of it with nothing more than a caution. However, the last time they’d been taken in, the desk sergeant had given them a final warning. ‘I’m telling you now,’ he said, before he let them go again. ‘This is the last chance saloon. We’ve got your number now and if we catch you again, it’ll be straight to the Magistrates Court, followed by a spell in juvie for you. That’s if you’re lucky; if you’re not, you might find yourselves going straight off to Walton jail instead, and trust me, you really don’t want to find out what the old lags do to juicy young fresh meat like you in there.’

  Harper wasn’t much deterred by the warning and when he left school soon afterwards, at the minimum age allowed and having played truant for most of the previous year, he had no academic qualifications whatsoever. However the prospect of a dead-end career in some mindless manual job in Liverpool was about as unappealing as the thought of Walton jail, and he chose instead to enlist in the Parachute Regiment. He was quickly followed by Scouse, though he was mainly attracted by the glamour of the red beret and the effect it might have on the girls in Liverpool. ‘They say all the nice girls love a soldier, don’t they?’ he’d said. ‘But I’m hoping a few of the not so nice ones might do as well.’

  They had both served in the Paras, but Scouse hadn’t been an enthusiastic soldier and when it seemed he might be sent on active service operations in Afghanistan, he found a way to sidestep the active service tour with them by applying for the SAS Selection course instead. Having done very little training or preparation for Selection, it came as a surprise to Scouse, but not to anybody else, least of all Harper, when he struggled to get anywhere near the necessary standard. Scouse eventually developed a tactical injury to his ankle during the ‘Fan Dance’ - one of the multiple ascents of Pen y Fan in the Brecon Beacons in Wales that was the culmination of the first part of Selection - and failed the course. Fortunately for him, because of the SAS’s heavy commitment to the same war in Afghanistan that the rest of his Para comrades were fighting, the Regiment temporarily found itself short of troops and Scouse was retained in the SAS Training Wing’s Demonstration Troop, known to everyone in the Regiment by its sarcastic nickname of ‘Doom Troop’. They were ordinary soldiers who did jobs for the SAS, like pretending to be the enemy during exercises or attending presentations and ceremonial occasions where Army politics required an SAS presence but no actual SAS skills were needed.

  After a while Scouse tried to join the Reserve, or R Squadron of the SAS that was part of the Territorial Army, but he failed that Selection too. However, as part of Doom Troop, Scouse found himself in the perfect niche position for him, ideally suited to his particular skills, or lack of them. He was not in the Regiment, but in the Demonstration Troop he was close enough to be identified with it. It gave him access to the right people, so he could hang around and mix with the real SAS guys on exercises, and have a brew and eat his lunch in the same Mess, and by keeping his ear to the ground, he could get to know all the regimental gossip and file it away for future use. He never had the beret, the pass at Selection or the badge, he had never been on any postings, nor carried out any operational duties, and he was never a member of 22 SAS. However, before long he had picked up enough information, SAS slang and mannerisms, and knew enough of the names of senior NCOs and officers, and the nicknames of some of the men in the Sabre Squadrons - the fighting troops - that when he was off base among the civilian population, he could pass himself off as a member of an SAS Squadron, something he invariably did.

  It wasn’t an unusual phenomenon around Hereford. At a conservative estimate there were half a dozen bullshitters for every genuine SAS man and the older, more streetwise young women in Hereford spotted him at once for what he was, a first-class specimen of the breed, and either gave him the cold shoulder or took the piss out of him, but a young girl called Myfanwy was much less worldly. The only daughter of a deeply religious family, she had grown up on a farm in the Welsh mountains but was now living with her grandmother in Hereford, while working behind the counter of Scouse’s local newsagent. She believed every tall tale that Scouse told her and after he asked her out, she sat saucer-eyed as he recounted his war stories.

  Newly back from his tour of duty in Afghanistan, Harper was still in the Paras, but was on attachment to the SAS in Hereford at the time, and when he met up with Scouse for a drink and a catch up, he introduced him to Myfanwy. Harper was struck by the girl’s naiveté and shy charm, in sharp contrast to the loud, brash personality of her boyfriend, and it struck him straight away that the relationship was unlikely to last long or end happily for her.

  Scouse’s life on easy street came to an abrupt end as soon as the guys who had actually passed the SAS Selection process, gained the necessary skills to become part of a Sabre Squadron and then been posted to a tough, demanding and dangerous environment in Afghanistan, returned to discover that Scouse had been busily doing his best to reap the rewards for their efforts among the local girls. In no uncertain terms they let the boss of Training Wing know that Scouse now either had to put up or shut up, and an ultimatum was given to him: either he passed Selection this time or he’d have to be RTU’d - Returned To Unit - back to the Paras.

  He immediately re-applied for the next Selection course, but once more it came as no surprise to anybody - perhaps not even to Scouse this time - that he only lasted a couple of days before once more retiring with a self-proclaimed injury that the doctor who examined him failed to detect. However, moving with more alacrity than he’d ever displayed during Selection, Scouse then managed to resi
gn from the Army before the SAS could complete the formal process and the paperwork to get rid of him.

  Out of work but still full of wind and piss, Scouse reckoned - correctly, as it turned out - that he now had enough knowledge of the SAS to bluff his way along, like many others who were already working the system. Scouse then talked his way onto ‘The Circuit’ - the unofficial network of ex-military men, mostly Special Forces, who shared knowledge of work as bodyguards, mercenaries and soldiers of fortune around the globe.

  He spent a further happy time, mostly doing body-guarding for clients around London, which often involved nothing much more arduous than carrying the Harrods’ shopping bags for the wives and daughters of oil sheikhs, billionaires and hedge fund managers. He also found time to make the occasional foray back to Hereford to large it up about how well he was doing in the rarefied air of celebs and foreign royalty. He impressed few listeners apart from Myfanwy, who would hang on his every word. Lex was surprised that the relationship had lasted and was even more surprised to hear that Scouse had a daughter.

  Harper finished exercising and went up to his flat where he showered and changed into a clean Polo shirt and Diesel jeans. He made himself a cup of coffee, sat on his balcony and phoned an old mate who was working on the Circuit. Like Harper and Scouse, Jinx was an ex-Para. He’d quit the regiment after serving for fifteen years, including active service in Iraq and Afghanistan, but soon found that he missed the mateship, shared identity and common purpose of a fighting unit, and the sheer adrenalin rush of combat. Unable to settle back into life on Civvy Street, he had gone on the Circuit, working mainly for civilian contractors who were hiring armed guards to safeguard their operations in combat zones or volatile Third World countries.

  After catching up on what they had been doing - at least as far as they were able to discuss it - Harper brought the conversation round to Scouse and Risk Reduction Inc.

  ‘I’ve not worked for them personally,’ Jinx said, ‘but I’ve heard mixed reports about them. They were fairly late in the field - well after the big British and American private security companies had got going - and I think they grew by taking on the jobs that the big boys avoided. So although their pay rates appear pretty high, the money they pay is certainly no more and maybe a good bit less than the jobs actually merit.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Harper said.

  ‘Because they’re often operating in some of the most problematic areas in the world. I mean there’s risk in any Kidnap and Ransom operation, but going into the Colombian jungles to try to do deals with renegade bands of ex-FARC guerrillas, or trying to haggle over ransom payments with Mexican drug cartels is not work I’d be willing to take on for any amount of money.’

  ‘And that’s what their operatives do?’

  ‘That’s what some of them do anyway. It’s not impossible, but like any op, you’d need to be fully up to speed on what you were dealing with, and have the right kit and all the back-up you could need, and then maybe you’d be okay. But you know what they say: if you spin a roulette wheel enough times, you’re going to wind up losing in the end.’

  ‘The guy I’m looking for was never big on research or preparation,’ Harper said. ‘He was definitely much more of a just do it and hope for the best kind of guy.’

  ‘Then he was definitely in the wrong line of work.’

  ‘Something I also told him about most of his previous jobs, without any obvious effect. Thanks Jinx, I owe you one.’

  ‘Forget it Lex, what are old mates for?’

  Harper’s next call was to the London number of Risk Reduction Inc, but the man he was put through to, speaking in a weary-sounding public school and Oxbridge drawl, told him that it was company policy only to divulge information about their activities to those who are personally known to them and certainly not over the phone

  Harper ended the call. He’d already decided that he was going to go to London, and hadn’t expected to get much over the phone, but the man’s attitude was still annoying. He went online and booked a flight from Bangkok to Paris, departing the next morning. He never liked flying directly into London and usually either went via Paris and the Eurostar or to Dublin and then taking the ferry over to Holyhead. He planned to travel light with just a washbag, a change of clothes and his phone in a backpack. Anything else he needed he could buy on his travels.

  CHAPTER 3

  Harper arrived at St Pancras station at just after eleven o’clock at night. He walked to King’s Cross and checked into a cheap, no questions asked hotel, paying cash for his room. There was no real need for hyper-security at this stage of this op but old habits die hard and Harper made it a policy always to be a ‘grey man’, never drawing attention to himself by driving flash cars or staying in top of the range hotels. Nor did he ever use credit cards or traceable ID or mobile phones, so there was never a paper trail nor an electronic one that could be used to track his movements and activities. He’d eaten on the Eurostar so he showered and went straight to bed.

  He woke at eight, had breakfast and two coffees in a local café, then bought a burner phone and called the London office of Risk Reduction Inc to make an appointment to see the manager later that morning. The office was located in a discreet, high-end block on the south bank of the Thames, close to MI6’s marble and glass Lubianka.

  The office was manned by a PA/receptionist screening visitors to the manager, the only other visible occupant of the office, and who turned out to be the man Harper had spoken to on the phone from Thailand. He had a neat moustache and thinning, sandy-coloured hair flecked with grey, and just in case there was any doubt about his military background he wore a regimental tie with his pinstriped suit. Harper was admittedly slightly prejudiced after their earlier conversation, but the manager looked to him like the sort of anal retentive type who would be an absolute stickler for formalities, rules and regulations, an impression reinforced by the nameplate on his desk which announced him as ‘Robin Parker-Phillips, Esq.’ Harper forced a smile as he sat down and looked around. ‘From your company’s reputation, Mr Parker, I was expecting a rather larger organisation.’

  He gave Harper a condescending smile. ‘It’s Parker-Phillips actually, and we’re a very large organisation indeed. But this is purely a recruitment office, finding personnel for our head office in Geneva or our regional offices around the globe, as required. I and the other recruitment managers are given a profile of the type of person and skills required, and the terms of reference, and our job is to find the right person to fill that vacancy. All positions are short term, lasting only as long as the requirement lasts, which is often only a few days and never more than a few months at most, and all our people are not employees but self-employed contractors. We very rarely need to advertise, because we have hundreds of CV’s already filed away. When we need someone for a particular job we will identify an individual who we think will be suitable because their skills and experience match the brief. We contact them and if that person is not available, he will ring around his own circle of contacts and usually within the space of an hour someone who we have used previously will ring in and be offered the job. Once accepted, the successful applicant will be processed, told the daily rate of pay for that assignment and he will then sign a contract, complete any other necessary paperwork and then be fully briefed on the job. Like the rest of the security industry, we prefer British ex-military, particularly SAS, because of their experience of working under difficult and often hostile conditions while being separated from their family and loved ones. And of course the cachet of the SAS resonates well with the firm’s clients because of its association with successful outcomes in dangerous situations.’

  He looked Harper over. ‘So, if you’re looking for work, you need to follow our protocol. Fill in the form that my PA will give you, then if you get over that hurdle, you’ll be interviewed by me or one of our other recruiters and after that, if we find you suitable, we’ll add you to our register and contact you if and when appropriate work b
ecomes available.’

  ‘I’m not looking for work,’ said Harper. ‘I’m looking for information on a specific person, a friend of mine, who I believe was working for you and has now disappeared. Name of Scouse Davies. Scouse is a nickname. Pete Davies. He’s based in Hereford.’

  Parker-Phillips’s expression became even more guarded. ‘As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, we operate on a strict need to know basis, so I’m afraid you really can’t expect me to discuss the confidential details of any of our self-employed contractors with you, whoever you are.’

  ‘His girlfriend called me, she’s very worried. Hasn’t heard from Scouse for weeks. They have a young daughter.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sure if I can’t get her the answers she wants she’ll be on the phone to the police and probably the newspapers.’

  Parker-Phillips nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what I can. Though frankly that isn’t much. As I said, we recruit here but operations are run out of our Geneva office.’ He sat back in his high-backed chair. ‘There were some unusual circumstances surrounding him being recruited. Our task often involves finding a courier to transport ransom payments or other high value consignments in and out of hostile environments. In this particular case, we were under extreme pressure to find a courier at short notice to take a payment in US dollars to South America. None of our regular contractors were available and, as usual, they rang round their contacts to find someone, but while we were waiting for the expected response, your Mr Davies turned up unannounced at the office. This in itself was unusual because, as I told you, the normal procedure is to complete an application form and then be invited to attend the office for an interview. The second unusual occurrence was that he not only brought his current CV, but his army discharge book as well. That was very useful in those circumstances because it enabled me to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s, verifying everything on the CV from the discharge book. So because of the time pressure we were under, I took the unusual step of processing him straight away and shortly afterwards he was on his way to Switzerland to be fully briefed.’