Off Reservation

by Bram Connolly

  Faisal took a breath and steadied his hands; lying under the truck he took aim at the bandit behind the Iranian brothers. He applied a firm grip with his master hand and focused on the foresight of the weapon until the rear sight slowly came into focus. He let two rounds loose from the silenced Browning. Both thudded into the back of the bandit’s head and he fell on top of Jafar, who let out an involuntary yelp.

  The noise alerted the other two bandits, who came running around from the front of the truck. They spotted their colleague dead and the Iranian brothers now standing above his body. One of the bandits levelled off his AK and let rip with a ten-round burst, but the brothers had already dived out of the way and the rounds cracked past them and off into the side of the hill in the distance.

  Faisal eased himself out slowly from under the front of the truck, and then he moved fast, firing two rounds at each of their backs. They crumpled to the ground and he ran to stand above the bandits. They were writhing in the dirt, moaning in agony. Faisal put one bullet into the back of each of their heads. Then he looked over at Arman and levelled the Browning at his face.

  Arman screamed and placed his hands over his eyes. Dropping to his knees in the dirt, he pissed himself where he sat; the violence of the past thirty seconds exceeding anything he had seen before.

  ‘Want to call me a Talib coward again, Arman?’

  Arman was shaking as he took his hands away from his face.

  Faisal lowered the Browning. ‘Let’s get this mess cleaned up, shall we?’

  The brothers looked at each other then, after thanking Faisal, they dragged the bandits off the side of the road and hid their weapons in the undergrowth; they would recover these on the way back, they agreed.

  Then they set off again. The three brothers sat in silence up the front and Faisal sat in the back. He looked up through the gap in the tarpaulin into the clear night sky. He thought about Allah and the importance of his mission and what it all must mean.

  ...

  When they approached the Turkish border crossing the next morning, Faisal was concealed in the cavity beneath the floor of the truck. The Iranians bribed the Turkish guards the same way they always had: with money and cigarettes.

  A few hours later Faisal was stretched out on a bench seat of an express train hurtling towards Istanbul.

  14

  RAF BRIZE NORTON AIRFIELD

  Rachel pulled the black Range Rover Sport into the car park opposite the aircraft hangar. She switched off the engine and took in a deep breath. The steady beat of the windscreen wipers was much more audible now that there was no engine noise. She looked down at her phone. It had been a few days since Matt had messaged to say that he would be coming to visit. She had replied suggesting that he call her so they could make firm arrangements, but he never had. She wondered if she should call him; if it was two am here, what time would it be in Australia? No, this wasn’t the time – she needed to focus. Sighing, she put the phone away.

  The hangar in front of her was one of many that lined the runway at the RAF Brize Norton airfield. It looked like all the others: grey and nondescript. This particular hangar was different, though; it housed the necessary equipment, computers and communications support to enable the men based there to deploy anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice. And they had. On more than one occasion the hangar had been the staging area for men preparing to face their country’s adversaries. It had been the ‘temporary’ home of the Special Boat Service’s Rapid Response Team for more than a decade.

  Rachel finally switched off the ignition, the wipers freezing in the middle of the windscreen. She stepped out of the car and into the cold night air. Lifting her suitcase out the back of the car, she struggled under its weight and let it crash to the ground at her feet.

  ‘Oh rubbish,’ she whispered.

  She picked it up and pulled it along behind her, the wheels crunching awkwardly over the gravel. She shivered as she walked past the hangar’s giant roller doors. Light seeped from underneath, the only indication that there was life in there. These doors were very rarely raised and the hangers and their contents had remained inconspicuous for years. She continued around the side of the building to a smaller side door and whistled softly to herself when she saw the fit-looking Royal Marines captain she had previously only seen in a file photo; he looked even better in the flesh.

  Glyn Thomas was double-checking the aircraft pallet loaded with green military trunks and black Pelican cases, the type used to protect sensitive equipment. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a grey woollen V-neck jumper which was stretched tight against his muscled torso. He resembled the archetypal university rower – probably because he had been one in his younger years, representing first his grammar school and then Exeter University. Rachel knew from his file that he excelled in both the sporting and academic arenas, and he had breezed through the Marines and SBS selections.

  As if sensing Rachel’s eyes on him, Glyn turned towards her and greeted her with a nod.

  ‘Hello, you must be Rachel Phillips. How was the drive?’ He beamed at her and held out his hand. She took it, feeling weak at the knees at the strength of his grip.

  ‘It was alright, I guess. Not much traffic at this ungodly hour.’ She gave a light laugh and then, realising they were still holding hands, abruptly released her grip. He stood back and put his hands on his hips, surveying her from head to toe, smiling the whole time. Realising she needed to say something – anything – to fill the silence, she gestured to her suitcase. ‘Where do you want this?’

  ‘Just over there, next to that pallet.’ Glyn waved his hand towards the third pallet in the row. She rolled the bag over and struggled to lift it onto the green dive bags. She finally managed to heave it up and left it sitting there precariously. She walked back over to Glyn.

  She waited as he finished looking through a manifest and then he looked up at her. Their eyes met again and for a second time they stood there in awkward silence. Eventually Rachel recalled why she was there and slipped her hand into the pocket of her Puffa jacket. ‘My presentation is on this thumb drive. Would you mind bringing it up on a projector somewhere?’ She handed it over.

  ‘Yes, of course, the men are in the briefing room now. Shall we?’ He indicated for her to follow him.

  She moved in close behind him and could smell the faintest hint of his aftershave. Stop it, she scolded herself as she felt a blush creeping up her neck.

  Glyn strode purposefully to a door on the other side of the hangar. As they entered the room the nine men inside stopped talking and slowly rose out of their orange plastic seats. Rachel was surprised to see that they had to wedge themselves under wooden desks made for primary school students. Apparently, the Ministry of Defence supply chain had decided that these highly trained instruments of foreign policy should receive all their briefings squashed under tables meant for children.

  Glyn scanned the room. ‘Bluey, are you happy with the equipment load out?’

  ‘Yep, it’s all ready to go. Weapons are bubble-wrapped, ammunition is boxed in the diplomatic trunk. Radio gear and batteries have all been checked. Once the personal bag pallet is finished we can roll out the door just as soon as you give the word.’

  ‘Good. I checked the manifest and load list and also the AD straps. When we’ve finished here just get the lads to make sure they’re all secured and tucked away.’ Glyn inserted Rachel’s thumb drive into the computer’s USB port and picked up a laser pointer that was sitting on the lectern. He gestured towards the interactive whiteboard on the wall.

  ‘Lads, you’ve all seen the deployment orders.’ He circled the mission and the administrative details with the laser. Then he turned to his left and indicated Rachel. ‘And this is our mission commander, Rachel Phillips from MI6. She’s going to update us on the task.’

  Rachel took a step forward and nodded to the men; they smiled back at her. She sensed that some of them were smirking, as if amused by the fact that their mission commander w
as a young woman. She stood taller and assumed a serious demeanour; she had to persuade them of the gravity of their mission.

  ‘Gentlemen, it’s great to meet you. I shouldn’t need to remind you that our task is in the national interest.’ She paused and clicked the mouse to bring up the first slide of the presentation before continuing. ‘Actually, it’s in the interest of humanity. We can’t afford to allow a weapon like this to reach the hands of terrorists. I want to thank you in advance for your professionalism. I know you will do yourselves, your service and the nation proud.’ She turned to the captain. ‘Glyn, can you do the introductions, please?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Glyn started to his right with his second-in-command.

  ‘This is Warrant Officer Bluey Reid, my 2IC and an expert in maritime operations. He’s the Team Bravo commander.’

  ‘Evening,’ said Bluey. He looked Rachel squarely in the eye and extended a big paw for a handshake. His bright red hair was cropped tight on his giant head which had the effect of making his huge shoulders even broader.

  ‘Hello, Bluey,’ said Rachel. ‘So what’s your real name then?’

  ‘Blue, ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, I see, of course.’ Rachel nodded.

  Bluey smiled at his boss, who gave him a frown in return and then moved to the next member of the team.

  ‘This is Corporal Stuart Ganley, a new addition to the team. He’s the Alpha Team sniper and a general nuisance, but he makes me laugh so we keep him around.’

  ‘Turn it up, sir.’ Stuart looked at Rachel with wide eyes. ‘Good evening, ma’am.’ He gave a little bow. ‘Well, I must say, I have always wondered what spies look like and going by first impressions…’

  ‘Stop talking, Stu,’ Glyn ordered. ‘Moving on then, Rachel, this is Sergeant Simon Reid, the Alpha Team signaller. He’s from Southall originally and has been in the SBS for fifteen years. He knows Turkey well and will be an asset for us over there. Two tours of Iraq and five of Afghanistan. And this here is Corporal Johnny Brookes – he’s my team driver.’ Both men smiled at Rachel and said hello. Glyn put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. ‘Johnny’s background is electronics and electronic counter measures. That’s the Alpha Team complete then.’ Glyn nodded to Bluey, who had already assembled the other small group.

  The first man stepped forward.

  ‘Hello, ma’am. I’m Corporal John Higgins, the 2IC of Team Bravo. I’m from Cornwall originally. I’ve been in the SBS for four years, with three tours of Afghanistan.’

  ‘Ma’am, I’m Corporal Oisín Donough. I’m the Bravo Team sniper. As you can probably tell, I’m Irish. I was in the Royal Marines for eight years and have now been in SBS for the past two. I’ve had a few tours of the Ghan too.’

  Rachel nodded her approval and the next man stepped forward.

  ‘Corporal Nathaniel Xue, I’m the Bravo Team signaller. I’m originally from Mexico.’ At that the whole team broke out laughing. He looked around as if shocked at their response, which only made the men laugh all the more. ‘Just jokes – I’m from Hong Kong but have lived here in the UK since I was a teenager. I deployed to Iraq with the Marines and have been to Afghanistan as well.’

  ‘Right. Very good,’ said Rachel. She turned her attention to the next guy. A six-foot-two Pacific Islander, his presence dominated the room.

  ‘Ma’am, I’m Corporal Semi Taufolo,’ he boomed. ‘I’m the Bravo Team driver. My heritage is Tongan, but I’m a dual British and Australian national. I’m just happy to be here and part of the mission, thanks.’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Excellent, thank you – it’s good to have you all on board.’

  ‘Wait, there’s one more, ma’am,’ said Bluey. ‘Darryl, introduce yourself.’

  Darryl stepped out from where he had been standing behind Semi. ‘Ma’am, I’m Marine Darryl Tate. I’m the demolitions operator for Team Bravo. That’s about it, I guess.’

  Rachel wondered how old he was but knew better than to ask; he looked so young compared to the others, but clearly he was beret-qualified and therefore his competence was assured.

  ‘Okay, gentlemen – have a seat then and I’ll bring you up to speed on developments,’ she said. Rachel moved in behind the laptop. ‘This is Milko Orelik.’ She used the laser to circle his face.

  ‘He looks like your typical Russian punter,’ Bluey observed. ‘Medium height, stocky with blond hair, blue eyes.’

  ‘And Cold War dress sense,’ added Stuart. ‘Seriously, that geezer looks like someone Bodie and Doyle should be chasing through Padstow.’

  ‘How do you even know The Professionals, Stu?’ Oisín demanded. ‘You’re like twenty-five or something.’

  ‘Okay, lads, let’s keep it relevant, shall we?’ Glyn said quietly. ‘Please continue, Rachel.’

  ‘Thanks, Glyn.’ Rachel clicked to the next slide, which showed a photo of Milko and another man, whose face had been blacked out. ‘This is where we had the first indication that Milko was trying to sell the nuclear device. This is a meeting between him and one of our double agents in Russia, who was asked if he had contacts in ISIS. In his report, our agent made it clear that Milko had moved on from the export of booze and the occasional AK-47. What we now know is that Milko has made contact with someone working either on behalf of or with ISIS. We’ve seen the money trail forming and we’ve built up enough of an intelligence picture to know that the transfer is going to take place later this week. We even have a rough location and now we’re just trying to work out exactly when and where that transfer is going to take place.’

  ‘Why don’t you just ask the double agent?’ said Johnny Brookes. He turned to Nathaniel and said in a stage whisper, ‘Seems a no-brainer, right?’

  ‘That wouldn’t be terribly successful, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why’s that, Rachel?’ asked Glyn.

  ‘Because his head is no longer attached to his body. He was found in Paris a week ago cut into fifths and floating down river. Suffice to say Milko and his associates are the key suspects.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ Johnny looked at Glyn and then back down at his notebook, pretending to write something inside it. The rest of the SBS team smirked at each other and focused their attention back on Rachel.

  ‘A few points about the weapon then.’ She clicked on the mouse and a new slide flashed up on the screen. On one side was a photo of a medium-sized grey Samsonite, the plastic type. Down the side of the slide was the tabulated technical data of the Soviet-era tactical nuclear device. On the other side of the screen was a picture showing the inside of the weapon. It comprised two coalcoloured cylinders, a nest of wires and a fuse box, nestled between all sorts of electronics and radio receivers. The men looked at the device in awe and Rachel detected a subtle shift in the atmosphere. They were focused now.

  ‘What are we dealing with here, Rachel? In terms of effect, I mean.’ Glyn was studying the slide with concern.

  ‘Best case, it’s about a kiloton of destruction. Enough to destroy a city block or render a country’s airport or harbour inoperable.’

  ‘For how long?’ asked Bluey.

  ‘For the people in the immediate area, forever,’ Rachel replied. ‘And for the infrastructure, well, depending on the nation, possibly decades.’

  ‘What if the bloody thing goes off while we’re trying to recover it? Jesus, we’ll all be wasted.’ Semi shook his head. ‘We’re going to have to go into this hard.’

  ‘Not necessarily, Semi. To arm the device requires a code sent from Russia. It’s safe to assume that the code was negotiated in the price of the deal, but the device can’t be activated instantly. You have to give the USSR some credit; they too had some protections in place for this type of scenario.’

  Glyn moved closer to the screen to look at the internal parts. ‘So, doesn’t that mean that someone in Russia – in the government, maybe – would have to broadcast that code in order for the device to work? Perhaps an option is to block all transmissions in the area as we do the recovery.’

  �
��That’s not a bad idea. In fact, it’s an excellent idea. However, I think that it’s more likely that Milko has replicated a government COMCEN with the ability to broadcast the codes for this device and maybe others that he has too. Our theory is that there will be a final transaction for the codes required to arm the device. Think about it: he gets paid big for the initial device, but his real payday is when the codes are requested.’

  ‘Right. That makes sense.’ Glyn nodded.

  ‘Also, it’s not too difficult to render the device safe; it’s just a matter of removing the receiver. That’s this small device attached to the bottom inside of the case.’

  Rachel moved next to Glyn in front of the whiteboard screen and indicated its location. She felt him move an inch closer to her. His elbow brushed the side of her breast and she felt her skin tingle. She blushed and swallowed hard. Taking a step back, she continued.

  ‘You see, it disconnects here and slides right out, leaving an antenna and coaxial attachment. The weapon is effectively rendered useless.’

  She nodded at Glyn to indicate that she had finished her presentation.

  Glyn stepped forward to address his men. ‘Gents, let’s wrap this up. The C17 will be here in an hour; I want the pallets loaded as soon as its engines are off so we can get out of here before daybreak. Simon, get on the computer and knock out some ground reference guides for the target area, get them distributed to each bloke.’

  ‘Yep, no worries, sir.’

  ‘Johnny, you need to think about electronic counter measures. Work out what frequency or bandwidth or whatever that device is on and see if you can figure out how to block it, just in case. If you need any other equipment, let Bluey know and we’ll see what we can rustle up.’

  ‘Understood.’ Simon got up and went over to the screen to take a closer look at the device.

  ‘Rachel, make yourself comfortable. We’ll get this stuff loaded and I’ll give you a yell when we’re ready to leave. Next stop: Samandira army air base.’

  ...

  Two hours later Rachel was sitting in one of the twenty passenger seats that had been configured inside the massive cargo plane. She adjusted the small pieces of hearing protection inside her ears, the noise of the aircraft seemingly passing through her whole body. Rachel couldn’t believe the size of the aircraft. She had been on C-130s before, but she found the space of the C-17 incredible. Apart from the three rows of seats, the rest of the space behind them was taken up by eighteen large cargo pallets and supplies for the Turkish government. Among the pallets was Glyn’s team’s equipment.