by Angus McLean
Jonty shut the door behind them and produced a couple of bottles of water from a small fridge in the corner.
‘You must be parched,’ he said, taking his seat behind the desk, ‘the humidity’s the killer here, y’know.’
‘Cheers.’ Archer cracked his bottle and took a sip. ‘So, you’ve obviously been briefed to expect us?’
‘That’s right.’ Jonty nodded enthusiastically. ‘Not much happens here, y’know, so it’s always nice to have visitors. It’s usually just the usual boring bits and pieces, y’know, maybe a bit of smuggling and whatnot. Bit boring, really.’ He laughed suddenly, a short, nervous laugh as if he suddenly realised he’d said too much. ‘Don’t repeat that, of course, I was just joking, y’know.’
‘Of course.’ Archer smiled, taking a liking to this little guy. ‘We should be here no more than a couple of days, all going well.’
‘Great, great.’ Jonty nodded enthusiastically again. ‘How about dinner then? There’s a great little place round by the wharf, fantastic crayfish, y’know?’
Archer felt Tracy’s eyes on him. ‘Love to mate,’ he said easily, ‘but it’s probably not the best idea, given we’re not really here and everyone will know who you are.’
Jonty’s smile faltered, and Tracy stepped in to save him.
‘We don’t want to compromise you,’ she told him with a solemn look, ‘it’s more important that you can stay detached from us while we’re here.’
Jonty nodded and seemed to perk up slightly as he saw the sense of what she’d said. ‘Too true,’ he agreed, ‘don’t mind me getting ahead of myself.’
‘But if you’re ever back in Auckland...’ Tracy smiled, and Archer saw the small man brighten again, making the natural assumption that Tracy would be there.
‘Of course, of course. Haven’t been back in a while...’
‘So,’ Archer interrupted, keen to get back to the point, ‘if we need you we’ll give you a bell. I’ve got your mobile number. We’re down at Aggie’s, and we’ll let you know when we leave.’
‘Great, great stuff, y’know.’
‘In the meantime,’ Archer continued, his tone turning serious, ‘we need access to the black box.’
Jonty paused as he absorbed this, then nodded again. Archer figured he had probably never had this request before. He knew they were there to follow up a lead on the yacht owner who could potentially lead them to Yassar; he probably hadn’t realised how far that may need to go.
Jonty nodded again and went to an in-built cupboard behind his desk, set into an internal wall. He unlocked it with a key, opened the door, and crouched to access a large safe on the floor. Once it was open he stepped back again and gestured towards it with one hand, inviting them in.
‘It’s probably a bit light but it’s all yours,’ he said gravely, ‘take your time, y’know. I’ll just go and get a coffee.’
He scooped up his three dirty mugs and left the office, closing the door again behind them.
Archer went to the safe and surveyed the contents. Every embassy around the world had a black box, which was over and above the armaments they held as a matter of course for self defence. The black box contained a number of items of use to agents, which were intended to be untraceable. It was a way around having to rely on the diplomatic pouches in the case of emergency.
This one was sorely lacking. It constituted a small amount of electronic gear, which he ignored, infrared binoculars, a couple of pistol cases, a box of demolitions gear, a box of ammunition, and a rifle broken down into a padded case.
He removed the pistol cases and checked them. Matching Beretta 92Fs, civilian versions of the standard US military-issue sidearm. 9mm with a 15 round magazine. He took the guns and the spare magazines, and put the cases back in the safe.
The rifle case opened to show an Armalite AR-7, a 7 shot semi-automatic .22 which Archer had used before. It was lightweight and reliable, the moving parts could be stowed in the butt stock, and it even floated. It had a 9x scope with it and a suppressor, plus a couple of spare magazines. He took the weapon and replaced the case, then checked the ammo case.
Two boxes of 9mm for the pistols and a single box of sub-sonic .22 rounds were added to the pile. Two black nylon Safariland holsters were joined by the infrared binos, then Archer closed the safe and spun the dial. Tracy offered no input into the selections; munitions were his department. She couldn’t miss his scowl, however.
She opened his daypack instead and held it while he loaded the equipment into it. They had just finished when Jonty returned, knocking first and announcing himself. Archer smiled to himself-the man had an air of pronounced ‘spyishness’ about him.
‘Well, all done?’ he asked, putting his coffee mug down on his desk.
‘For what it is,’ Archer replied shortly. ‘I’ve got better supplies at home.’
Jonty flushed with the criticism but said nothing.
Archer shouldered the day pack. ‘We’ll be in touch within a couple of days and give you an update of some sort.’ He extended his hand. ‘Thanks for your help, Jonty.’
They shook then Tracy did likewise, before Jonty escorted them back out to Reception.
‘Good to see you guys,’ he said loudly, for the benefit of the receptionist, ‘take care, y’know.’
‘Cheers mate.’
They left the High Commission and walked back towards the hotel.
‘He’s an excitable little chap,’ Tracy commented, a touch sarcastically Archer thought.
‘He is,’ he agreed, ‘but sincere. I get the feeling he’s the sort we could rely on if needed.’
Tracy didn’t reply and he took this to indicate disagreement. He was getting a little bit sick of the condescending attitude, but bit his tongue. It wasn’t worth arguing about. The pitiful state of the black box didn’t help. Typical NZ approach; number eight wire all over.
They reached the hotel and ordered lunch at the lobby cafe on the way through to their room, promising to be back shortly.
Once in their room, Archer went to the bedroom and closed the curtains. He opened the bag and tossed Tracy a pistol. She caught it with ease and looked at him questioningly.
‘This is yours,’ he told her brusquely, ‘get to know it and after lunch we’ll strip them down.’
He put a box of ammo and two magazines with one of the holsters on the table in front of her.
‘We’ll load the magazines now so we’re ready, then have lunch.’
Just then they both heard a chirping coming from Tracy’s bag. She quickly dug out a cell phone Archer hadn’t seen before and answered cheerfully. He saw her brow furrow into a frown.
‘Hello....hello, Ruth? It’s Emma, you called me?’
Archer had a feeling of impending doom in his gut and the expression on Tracy’s face told him she felt it too. She stared at the phone for a moment then tossed it on the bed.
‘That’s strange…that was Ruth’s CHIS phone. There was someone there but they didn’t say anything.’
‘Has it happened before?’
Tracy looked at him, perplexed. ‘Never.’ She grabbed her normal cell phone and dialled a number from memory.
In less than a minute she had relayed her concern to a colleague and requested a welfare check on the informer. She put the phone away and came back to the table. She saw him glance at her second phone with a raised eyebrow.
‘Handler phone,’ she said simply. ‘Only used for sources.’
Archer nodded and picked up a magazine.
They worked in silence, each thumbing rounds into their own magazines before loading the weapons, holstering them, and stashing them behind the fridge. Archer watched her work, and noted she appeared comfortable with the gun.
He left the Armalite disassembled and stashed it with its ammo under the seat of the sofa. They cleaned their hands to remove the smell of gun oil, and returned to the cafe to find their lunch waiting for them. It was simple chicken stir fry with noodles, heavy on the oil, and they ate i
t in cane chairs, flicking through magazines in silence.
Archer went to the counter to order another drink, and as he did so he heard Tracy’s mobile buzz behind him with an incoming text. He turned and watched her face fall as she read it. She looked up as he sat back down, giving her a questioning look.
‘Bad news?’ he asked.
She nodded slowly. ‘Boyle’s escaped.’
Archer’s brow creased. ‘Casualties?’
‘Two contractors dead. Matthew managed to escape but obviously couldn’t stop him.’ Tracy let out her breath slowly and put the phone away.
‘When?’
‘About four hours ago.’
Archer nodded. ‘Not good.’
Tracy opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the ringing of her phone. She answered abruptly and listened. As Archer watched her, her face went white. She put a hand to her forehead, distress written all over her face. He knew what she was going to say before she disconnected the call.
‘How?’ he asked. ‘And when?’
‘Drugs,’ Tracy whispered, her face ashen. ‘She was found on her lounge floor with a needle hanging out her arm. The landlady rang the cops because her door was wide open.’
‘Your man?’ He didn’t want to use names out loud, so used the Irish slang instead.
Tracy pulled face. ‘Who knows. Early indication from the cops is it was likely to have been an accidental OD.’
‘Reasonable assumption, except for the recent events.’
‘The cops were there when the Special Branch guy did a drive-by. He rang straight back once he knew what was going on.’
‘They know how long ago it happened?’
‘Didn’t say.’ Tracy shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I may’ve been the last person she called.’
‘Well,’ Archer muttered, ‘that just changed things slightly.’
36
The rest of the afternoon was spent killing time.
Archer caught up with the news-the main story in the UK being the big shootout in Cornwall between two opposing gangs. A number of guns had been recovered and one gangster was in Police custody for interrogation.
There was no mention of the crashed helicopter and enquiries were continuing. Archer had to give it to the spooks, they’d done a great job of keeping a lid on it so far.
Tracy got a couple of updates but nothing of any consequence until near dinner time, when her base called to let her know that a man had been seen leaving Ruth’s flat an hour or so before the landlady called the Police.
The description roughly matched Boyle, but could also have been half the rest of the local male population. The Special Branch detective had confirmed that Ruth’s burn phone was missing from the address. They were trying to track it but without luck so far. They knew that the phone had been used to call Tracy but that seemed to be the only activity on it in the last day or so.
They eventually went for dinner at the place Jonty had mentioned, and ate in near silence. Archer tried a couple of weak jokes to snap Tracy out of her slump, and failed miserably. He gave up and ordered dessert coffees instead.
There was little news the next day and Tracy was getting agitated at the lack of updates. She finally rang Livingstone and her manner verged on being brusque as she demanded an update. She listened for a couple of minutes before disconnecting. Archer could see the tension ease slightly in her face as she put the phone down.
‘They haven’t made any real progress,’ she explained, ‘but it’s looking more and more like just an overdose. She was still on the gear, and she’d OD’d once before, a couple of years ago.’
‘What about the guy seen leaving?’ Archer enquired.
‘Haven’t tracked him down yet. It was probably a dealer, or a client.’
‘Or Boyle.’
‘Yeah, maybe….the timing doesn’t really work though.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, Matthew spoke to her about two hours before the landlady found her, so about an hour before this guy was apparently seen leaving. He said she was fine then.’
Archer frowned. ‘How does that affect the timing though, if he rang her? How does he know what was going on at her place from the other end of the phone?’ He sounded irritated and Tracy looked at him sharply. ‘I know you all think he’s a goddamn genius, but can he see through walls now too?’
It was her turn to scowl now. ‘He went to see her, okay? In person. And everything was fine.’
‘How does that mean Boyle didn’t come along afterwards and knock her off?’ he pressed.
Tracy’s lips pursed and he knew the argument was going nowhere.
‘Matthew is pretty well known to the Provos, okay? Part of the reason he moved to Six was his face got known over the water. If Boyle was lurking around, scoping the place out, he would’ve seen Matthew and he wouldn’t have gone near the place.’
He opened his mouth to reply and she held up a hand.
‘Just drop it, alright? It’s in hand.’
Archer shook his head in frustration and grabbed his towel, muttering that he was going for a swim.
37
The villa was clearly illuminated through the infrared lenses of the Bushnell binoculars. Archer took his time, methodically scanning the property section by section. What he saw was not good.
He slid back carefully into the slight depression where Tracy lay waiting, covering their rear. He leaned close to her head, close enough to smell her. Her hair brushed his face as he whispered.
‘There’s an outside cordon of infrared beams, all the way around, about thirty metres in front of us. There are at least two tree-mounted cameras that I could see on this side, probably motion-activated. There’s a guard roaming the inner cordon, carrying a Winchester semi auto shotgun. There’s at least one guard inside the house, couldn’t see what he had but a long of some sort.’
Tracy nodded her understanding.
‘No sign of the target.’
She nodded again. ‘So; plan?’
Archer cocked his head. ‘Well, we can beat the infrared cordon, I can take out the external guard, we can probably deal with whoever’s inside, but those cameras are a problem. If we had enough time and some sheets of polystyrene, I could beat them too.’ He scanned the trees with the binos again. ‘Problem is, I don’t know how many or where they are, and if we miss one it doesn’t matter if we beat everything else; we’d be walking straight into an ambush.’
‘I thought SAS stood for Speed, Aggression, Surprise,’ Tracy jibed him.
‘It does,’ he agreed, ‘but not Stupid And Sloppy. If you fancy making a run for the front door from here be my guest; I’ll cover the rear and send a nice card to your parents.’ He frowned. ‘Let’s bug out and come up with a better plan.’
Tracy moved wordlessly ahead of him in a commando crawl through the undergrowth, her boots mere inches from his face. The night was heavy and humid, the buzz of insects loud.
He cradled the suppressed AR-7 in his arms and kept his head on a swivel, constantly scanning, checking, pausing to listen as they headed back towards the Jeep they’d stashed off the side of the mountain road.
Suddenly he heard something and paused, his left hand snaking out to grab Tracy’s ankle. Silence. No birdsong. No buzz of insects. Archer’s eyes probed the darkness and he carefully pulled the binos from under his shirt.
As soon as he raised them he saw the threat. Two large Samoans approaching from the right, straight towards them. The one in the front had a set of night vision goggles strapped to his face and was locked on the two crawling intruders just twenty metres away. The one behind him had no goggles but carried a shotgun at the ready.
The front man opened his mouth to shout and Archer rolled on his side, bringing the AR-7 up and snapping a quick shot at them.
Tracy raised herself and bolted at the same time, drawing her Beretta and doubling over as she ran, one hand in front to protect her face from low branches.
&nb
sp; The lead enemy ducked and scrabbled for a holstered pistol. The shotgunner stepped around him and brought his barrel to bear. Archer triggered a double tap, the little rifle barely twitching in his hands as he dropped the lead man.
A shotgun blast ripped the night air and birds screeched above him as buckshot shredded the leaves and branches. Archer rolled again, scrabbled forward a couple of metres and took a knee, coming into the aim again. The shotgunner let rip again, firing blind and wide, the muzzle blast exposing him badly in the pitch darkness.
Archer popped off another double tap, knew he’d missed and ran. Branches slapped at him as he crashed through the undergrowth, and he heard another shotgun blast behind him. He ignored it and ran on, knowing that unless his enemy was highly trained and lucky he would be hard pressed to nail a running man in the thick vegetation.
He reached the road and turned, dropping to a knee again, the AR-7 coming up as the shotgunner crashed towards him with the grace of a drunk hippo. Archer emptied his last two shots at him, saw the man drop, and bolted again. Headlights were coming up behind him from the direction of the villa’s driveway and he heard the throaty roar of an engine being worked hard.
Ahead another set of lights came on in the undergrowth, bouncing as the Jeep was manoeuvred out onto the road. He changed magazines as he ran, chambering a new round. He felt wildly inadequate with just a .22 in his hands, and for the hundredth time that day he mentally cursed the poor capabilities of the embassy’s black box.
Tracy was revving the engine as he reached the Jeep and yanked the driver’s door open. She scrambled across to the passenger’s seat and grabbed the Armalite from him as he jumped in.
The Jeep leaped forward as Archer mashed the accelerator down and the tyres screeched and grabbed at the seal. Headlights approached fast from behind them. Archer chopped up through the gears, riding the gas and clutch, fighting the wheel as the Jeep tried to swerve off into the darkness.
A shotgun blasted loudly behind them and they heard bird shot pinging off the rear panels. The headlights got brighter behind them, the full beams lighting up the inside of the Jeep as a ute closed in. More shots sounded over the roar of the Jeep’s engine and Tracy ducked. The fabric canopy twitched as a couple of shots got close to the mark.