Operative 66 : A Novel

by McDermott, Andy

  The escaping car was still nowhere in sight. ‘Fuck!’ Parker snarled. ‘Where the hell’s Reeve?’

  Reeve had run behind several buildings. He emerged just in time to see Blake and Parker’s car shoot past. Two more cars and a van raced after it.

  He stayed in the shadows. Where was the target? If he had gone east from the accommodation blocks, he should be in sight . . .

  Headlights came on across the road.

  Reeve felt the thrill of discovery. The target’s car had pulled in behind the last block and switched off its lights. Its occupants had gambled on the attackers assuming they were fleeing through the base. Instead they had hidden, waiting for the military forces to drive the intruders away.

  A good gamble. But one they had lost.

  The car started towards the road. No rush. They thought they were safe. Reeve waited until it reached the junction – then ran out into the open.

  The driver saw him. The car accelerated, turning hard on to the wet road. Reeve brought up his UMP and fired. Shots burst across the windscreen. The car charged on for a few seconds – then it veered across the road on to a lawn. It slewed around, right side facing him, and stopped.

  Reeve raced after it. Movement in the car’s rear. He ducked, angling to go behind the stationary vehicle rather than straight to it.

  Gun raised, he scurried to the left-rear door – and threw it open.

  The interior light came on. The man inside had his back to him, a pistol in one hand. He had expected Reeve to come to the closest door. His head turned—

  Reeve fired three shots into his back.

  A pained cry, then the man slumped. Reeve checked his face. It was the target. One mission objective completed. Now for the other. Where was his laptop?

  An impact-resistant briefcase on the floor. The weight felt right for a laptop and charger. A closer look. Combination lock. No way to check easily what was really inside. A decoy?

  No. It was wet. The target had carried it through the rain. Confident he had his prize, he backed out of the car. Over the clamour of alarms he heard another vehicle approaching. Enemy forces would be here any second.

  He sprinted back across the road. Headlights to his right, but he was behind the building before the car stopped. He ran, weaving through trees towards the perimeter fence.

  It was designed to prevent people scaling it from outside. From within, it posed less of an obstacle. He shouldered his gun, then quickly climbed a concrete post. Coiled razor wire awaited him at the top. He mashed it down with the briefcase and scrambled over. A gasp as a blade cut his calf, but the wound was superficial.

  He dropped down on to the slope below. At its foot was the railway. He hurried through the trees towards it. Shouts from behind. Had they seen him climb over?

  The voices spread out, his pursuers moving along the fence. They hadn’t spotted him. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the crushed razor wire. But by then, he would be gone.

  Reeve reached the line. Buildings rose past fences and walls on the far side. He rapidly scaled the nearest barrier. Small industrial units lay beyond, silent and dark. He hurried through a yard and ducked behind a rusty container.

  Debris crunched underfoot. He took out his torch. The ground was littered with broken wood and discarded junk.

  Reeve put down his gun, then removed his camouflage gear. Nondescript civilian clothing was revealed beneath. The balaclava came off, exposing short mousy hair and a youthful, angular face. The discarded camo covered the rifle. Recovering the briefcase, he returned to the yard and headed east.

  He soon reached a street. A few cars and vans were parked along it, but no one saw him emerge. He walked quickly, away from the base.

  Radio chatter told him what had happened. Blake and Parker had collected Stone and Locke before crashing through the gate. Blake was an expert driver, soon losing their pursuers. Now all talk was anger and recriminations, fury at their failure. He was not surprised when Stone loudly blamed everyone but himself. Parker and Blake for losing the target, Flynn for getting caught, Reeve for disappearing—

  Reeve smiled, then cut in. ‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘The target is down, and I have the briefcase. Mission complete.’

  ‘What?’ Stone’s bark almost overloaded his microphone. ‘How the fuck did—’

  ‘I’m going dark. See you at the rendezvous.’ He removed his earpiece and throat mic and pocketed them as he continued.

  It took several minutes to clear the industrial estate. Factories gave way to low-rise apartment buildings. Few people were out in the rain, but Reeve still avoided any close encounters. He made his way to a van parked on a side street. A check that nobody was watching, then he entered via the driver’s door.

  Faint condensation inside the windscreen revealed that he wasn’t the first to arrive. He sidestepped between the front seats into the darkened rear.

  Someone sat on the bench seat along one side. He looked up at Reeve.

  It was the man he had shot in the car.

  ‘You killed me, Alex,’ said Tony Maxwell, sounding affronted. Then he grinned. ‘Well done.’

  CHAPTER 5

  Once the rest of the team arrived, Maxwell took the van’s wheel. Their first stop was the industrial estate so Reeve could recover his gear. They then drove back to the very place they had just escaped. ‘We won’t be popular,’ Maxwell remarked as they entered. The base’s exit barrier had been wrecked when Blake’s car smashed through it.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Blake, with a total absence of contrition.

  The exercise had taken place at the Royal Marines base in Hamworthy, Poole. The helicopter Stone had shot – with wax training rounds – waited on the field. Maxwell was referee as well as target. Judging the pilot to be dead, he had ordered him to power down. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I’ve already had a complaint from the CO.’

  ‘What about?’ asked Flynn.

  ‘A Marine needed medical treatment. Somebody cut his neck when they “killed” him.’ His eyes met Locke’s in the mirror.

  ‘A minor wound,’ Locke replied without concern. ‘I was careful to avoid the arteries.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,’ scoffed Parker.

  Maxwell was still regarding Locke. ‘This was a training mission – and these people are on our side.’

  Locke looked away. ‘Then I apologise.’ Like Blake, there was no hint of sincerity.

  An uncomfortable silence followed. ‘Still,’ Maxwell added, ‘at least he’ll have a cool scar to show off.’ The joke broke the brief tension.

  He guided the van to the field. Everyone hurried to the helicopter. Flynn was already inside. Red bursts on her chest showed where the Marine’s wax rounds had hit. She gave most of her comrades curt greetings, but Reeve received only an angry glare. He understood why, but felt no need to ask forgiveness.

  The mission took priority. Always. That had been drummed into them from the start. Everything else, even their own lives, was secondary.

  It was a price Reeve was willing to accept. To become a member of SC9, you had to. If Flynn couldn’t . . . maybe she wouldn’t make the grade.

  Reeve put his head back against the seat. It wasn’t his call, or his problem. Right now, he was tired. And they still had a long way to go to reach home.

  Home was 450 miles away as the crow flew. Their journey was less direct. The chopper took them to the nearby Bournemouth airport. A cramped twin-prop plane then took almost two hours to reach Oban in Scotland. After that came another two hours in a minibus through the dark Highlands.

  It was almost 3AM when they finally arrived. ‘Okay,’ said Maxwell, ‘get some sleep. We’ll debrief in the morning.’

  ‘Looking forward to that,’ said Stone sarcastically. ‘The whole thing got fucked right into a hat.’

  ‘I disagree,’ Maxwell replie
d. ‘You eliminated the target, got the laptop, and nobody was captured.’ A pause, then: ‘Good work, everyone.’

  ‘Let’s hope the boss agrees,’ Blake said, as they exited the minibus. It was still raining, even at the other end of the country. Spring had been dismal for the whole of Britain.

  Reeve found himself beside Flynn as they reached the house. ‘Might not have been captured, but I still got killed,’ she complained. She wasn’t looking at him, but it was obvious who she was addressing.

  ‘It was just an exercise,’ Maxwell reminded her. ‘See you all tomorrow. Well, today, I suppose.’

  Reeve went to his room. Each team member had their own quarters. None was especially homely, but his was positively spartan. It didn’t bother him. No point getting attached to anything. Not when you might have to abandon everything at a moment’s notice. He was here to learn, to improve: to push himself. To do the job better than anyone. A faint smile. He had certainly managed that tonight.

  He washed, cleaned his teeth, then went to bed. Sleep came almost instantly. To his relief, he was too exhausted even to dream.

  Grey morning light greeted him when he woke. He checked his watch. After seven. His tired body had taken all the rest it needed. All the same, he was irritated at himself. He normally rose before six.

  He dressed in running gear as usual, then went downstairs. Mordencroft Hall housed SC9’s instructors – and recruits. Ten months prior there had been eleven of the latter. Now there were six. Training for SC9 was demanding in the extreme. Fall below the strict standards required, and you were gone.

  Reeve had thought his army special forces training was tough. In hindsight, it had been a comparative breeze. How much more he would have to endure, he wasn’t sure. He had come this far, though. He couldn’t imagine it getting harder.

  The smell of food reached him at the bottom of the stairs. Stone, he knew at once. Beyond a certain point in training, the recruits could choose their own meals. The hulking straw-blond Londoner now subsisted on the traditional English fry-up for breakfast. Sausages, eggs, bacon, baked beans, hash browns, tomatoes, all swimming in lard. How he hadn’t dropped dead from a coronary, Reeve couldn’t imagine.

  He entered the large kitchen. Stone was monopolising the hob, two frying pans sizzling and spitting. He barely acknowledged Reeve’s arrival. Locke sat at the long wooden table. His breakfast was modest yet refined; French bread and butter, soft cheese, a poached egg. He cut the last with surgical precision. ‘Good morning,’ he said, fixing Reeve with his piercing gaze.

  Blake was also there, about to wash his plate. Grilled kippers and duck eggs Benedict again, from the scraps. ‘Ah, our hero arrives,’ said the black-haired man. ‘Having a lie-in to celebrate, were you?’

  ‘When you need to sleep, you need to sleep,’ said Reeve, not taking the bait. He collected two slices of white bread. Blake eyed them with faint contempt, then cleaned his crockery.

  The toaster was fully occupied by four slices of Stone’s bread. Reeve puffed out a cheek in mild impatience. Footsteps outside. He could tell from their weight it was Parker. He had a similar lithe build to Reeve himself. ‘Morning,’ said the crop-haired Liverpudlian cheerfully. ‘Hey, guys – I think it’s going to be a big day.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Locke.

  ‘Most of the staff left at the crack of sparrowfart. They took the minibus. I think,’ he lowered his voice, excited and conspiratorial, ‘training might be over.’

  ‘About time,’ Stone sniffed. ‘Finally see some real action. No more fake interrogations and random polygraph tests and practice ambushes.’

  ‘If it is over,’ Parker went on, ‘d’you think we all passed?’

  Locke continued dissecting his egg. ‘If anyone hadn’t, I doubt they would still be at the Hall.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why Flynn’s not here,’ said Stone, as the toaster popped up. ‘She’s in a body bag in the back of the minibus.’ He laughed at his own joke. Only Blake and Parker seemed amused.

  Reeve started to prepare his own breakfast, hearing more footsteps. Too heavy to be Flynn. If Parker was right about the staff leaving, it was most likely Maxwell approaching.

  It was. ‘Morning, all,’ said their instructor.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ Reeve replied. The others followed suit.

  Reeve tried to judge his mentor’s attitude. He was hard to read, a deadpan amiability acting as a mask. You always knew when you had angered or disappointed him, though. Neither was a mood any of the recruits enjoyed. Maxwell, like many former special forces soldiers, appeared almost disarmingly unassuming. That was merely another cover. Even well past forty, he was a physical match for any of his younger trainees.

  This morning he seemed upbeat. ‘Something smells good,’ he said. ‘Hope there are some eggs left.’

  ‘Made sure of it, sir,’ Stone told him.

  ‘Good, thanks.’ Flynn entered. ‘Ah, the gang’s all here. Morning, Deirdre.’

  ‘Sorry I’m late, sir,’ she replied.

  ‘I only just arrived myself. And besides, there isn’t a timetable today.’

  ‘Something going on, sir?’ asked Parker, giving the others an I-told-you-so smile.

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute. First things first. The debrief.’ He gestured for everyone to sit. ‘No, no,’ he said, as Stone put his plate on the counter. ‘You eat, I’ll talk. So,’ Maxwell began, ‘in terms of mission objectives, it was a total success. You eliminated the target – me – and got the laptop. It still works, which I’m glad about.’ Quiet laughter from the group.

  ‘Now, specifics.’ His eyes swept over them like radar. ‘It wasn’t exactly a stealthy exit, was it? I had another complaint from the Hamworthy CO, about the wrecked gate. Not that they know who we really are, of course. MI6 are taking the blame. But property damage and an injury? They really weren’t happy about your knife, Harrison.’

  Locke remained impassive under Maxwell’s gaze. ‘We had to make a high-speed escape,’ said Blake. ‘It was that or be caught.’

  ‘Yeah, if someone,’ Stone stared accusingly at Flynn, ‘hadn’t been spotted, we’d have been fine.’

  Flynn reacted with pent-up anger. ‘If I’d had some backup, they wouldn’t have got me.’ She glared at Reeve. ‘You sacrificed me so you could get the kill, you shite. You were supposed to wait for me. If you don’t look out for anyone else, nobody’ll look out for you.’

  Reeve was about to explain that he couldn’t have saved her, but Maxwell spoke first. ‘Deirdre, I agree. You’re all expensively trained assets to the country. When you’re working together, you cover each other.’

  The auburn-haired woman aimed a triumphant snort at Reeve. ‘Yeah. See?’

  ‘However,’ Maxwell continued, and her face fell, ‘the objective always comes first. Always. In this case, Alex acted correctly.’ He straightened, addressing the whole group. ‘There isn’t room for “nobody gets left behind” sentimentality in SC9. If it’s a choice between completing the mission or saving another Operative? You complete the mission. No exceptions. You all know what you signed up for.’

  Flynn broke the silence that followed. ‘Sorry, sir,’ she said, eyes downcast. ‘I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Better not,’ said Stone, through a mouthful of bacon. ‘We could all have been nailed ’cause you fucked up—’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Maxwell’s tone was sharp enough to make Stone flinch. ‘Deirdre, I know it won’t. Moving on. Seven tangos down. Quite a high collateral count, but acceptable. Good driving by John to lose the pursuers. Too fast on civilian roads for an exercise, but no harm done. And Craig, nice trick in tracking down my laptop. I wasn’t expecting that. Must remember to stay off the Wi-Fi in future.’

  Parker smiled. His wide mouth always reminded Reeve of a pit bull’s. ‘Thanks, sir.’

  ‘And the one casualty on our si
de was killed, so no interrogation risk. Nothing to lead back to SC9. Job done.’

  The team shared modest celebrations. ‘Now,’ Maxwell went on, ‘good news. That was your last exercise. Training’s over.’

  Silence at the sudden revelation, followed by relief. ‘So – did we pass?’ asked Blake.

  ‘I’ll talk to everyone individually. Craig, I’ll start with you. Have breakfast first. My office, at nine. Everyone else, take some personal time until I call for you.’

  The group finished their morning meals, then dispersed. Reeve returned to his quarters to clean his teeth, then checked the weather. Still raining. Undeterred, he donned a cagoule over his hoodie and headed back down for his run.

  Maxwell emerged from the kitchen. ‘Going out in this weather, Alex?’

  ‘It’s just rain, sir,’ he replied. ‘It dries off.’

  ‘Brings the bloody bugs out, is what it does. I’ll be glad to get back to London.’

  ‘I bet. You’ll finally be able to watch Fulham lose in person.’

  ‘Cheeky little bastard.’ At six feet, Reeve was actually two inches taller than Maxwell. They both grinned. ‘Although, do you remember that exercise in London?’

  It had been to track and eliminate a mock double agent. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I timed it so I could watch a match afterwards.’

  ‘Did Fulham win?’

  Maxwell held up his hands. ‘Well, that’s not the point, is it? Anyway, have your run. I’ll see you in a while.’ He was about to walk off when his phone rang. ‘The boss,’ he said before answering. ‘Morning, sir. How’s the holiday?’

  Reeve silently waved goodbye. Maxwell returned the gesture as he listened to his superior. ‘Yes, the debrief’s done,’ he replied. ‘Everything’s wrapped up.’ He listened – then surprise, followed by concern, crossed his face. ‘I . . . no, I didn’t. Are you sure, sir?’ He realised Reeve was still there and turned away. ‘I see.’ He stalked off down the hall.