by Andy McNab
‘However –’ I might have guessed this was coming: there was always a ‘however’. He jabbed the air with his index finger. ‘– if you are confronted by a person or persons preventing you taking control of Dark Winter, you will react as the situation dictates to ensure the safety of the public and yourselves.’
It was the standard gobbledygook. Expedited killings couldn’t happen legally unless either the home or foreign secretary, I could never remember which, gave the OK, and if this went wrong, the Yes Man would need to cover his arse by saying that he’d never ordered the killing of the ASU on the UK mainland.
‘The first thing you’ll do is contact our source. Yvette will give you the meet details later.’ He exchanged glances with the Golf Club. ‘Once our friend sorts himself out.’
Suzy sat back and crossed her legs. ‘So no one else is involved?’
‘No one.’
‘Bit like using a nut to crack a sledgehammer, isn’t it?’
The Golf Club got up as the Yes Man gathered together his papers. Her jacket rustled as she leant forward and pushed her arms into the sleeves. ‘This operation is somewhat more complicated than most. The service has a difficult balance to achieve,’ she said.
It was the first time I’d heard her raise her voice.
‘We have got to get out there and find Dark Winter, but also keep the details of its existence and planned use from the public – which unfortunately includes the government and other agencies, plus some in the service itself. It’s the only way we can protect the public and at the same time achieve our goal. However, we have only a small window of opportunity to eradicate this problem before circumstances may make it prudent to inform the relevant agencies in the very near future.’
It sounded like something out of Yes, Minister and I really didn’t understand a word she was saying. But I got the message: if errors were made, others would be blamed. Dark Winter had been the name given to an American exercise conducted in June 2001 with the aim of educating US policy-makers about the possibility of a bioterrorist attack. In the simulation, terrorist networks attacked American cities, including Atlanta, Oklahoma City and Philadelphia, with smallpox. Within a fourteen-day period the virus had spread to all fifty states and several other countries, making the simulation a terrorist success. Thousands of Americans ‘died’, and countless others were ‘infected’. A friend of mine had been involved, and that was the only reason I’d heard about it. The whole world should have sat up and taken notice, but it was three months before 9/11, so nobody batted an eyelid.
I could see what was happening here. The Firm was covering its arse in case information about the attack leaked out, or we were compromised. If the service was accused of acting unilaterally or suppressing information from the Prime Minister, the Yes Man could turn round and say: ‘Of course we informed government – doesn’t everyone read the intelligence reports, doesn’t everyone know what Dark Winter is?’ The relationship between government and the Firm hadn’t been brilliant after the latest Gulf War. I bet the Yes Man was loving keeping this from them. Suzy was even more excited. I realized now for sure that she just lived for this shit.
The Yes Man shoved the last of his files into his briefcase. Yvette followed suit and continued her bit as she ratcheted the cuff round her wrist up tight. ‘At fifteen hundred there will be a brief to address your concerns about the contents of the bottles. His name is Simon and he will come here. He is not aware of any aspect of the operation and will think he is giving a general tutorial to the FCO.’ She looked up with a smile, making eye-contact with us both as the Yes Man cuffed himself to his briefcase. ‘I’ll be back at eighteen hundred, hopefully with details of the source meet and communications, and two Packet Oscars.’
The Yes Man got to his feet. It had never been his custom to ask if anyone had any questions: as far as he was concerned, once he’d finished speaking his audience knew everything they needed to know.
They both made for the door. Suzy was just ahead of them with the mugs before she veered off towards the kitchen.
The Yes Man leant down for a moment as he came level with me, so close I could feel his breath condense in my ear. ‘Make whatever arrangements you need to for that child before the three o’clock briefing. After that, you’re mine.’
As the front door closed, Suzy reappeared, all smiles. ‘Well, this is freaky here-we-go-again shit, isn’t it? Though I’m not sure the boss is as pleased to see you as I am . . .’ She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a blister pack of gum, then jumped backwards into the Yes Man’s sofa, her feet up on the arm. ‘OK, what do you make of all this, then?’
‘I’m keeping an open mind.’
‘Thanks. No need to go overboard.’
She studied me while shoving two chunks of gum into her mouth. ‘Well, at least you won’t die of passive smoking. I’ve given up.’
‘Thank fuck for that.’ I headed for the front door. As I turned the handle, I called back to her: ‘Listen, we’ve got an hour before the Simon thing. I’m going to get some washing and shaving kit. See you in a bit.’
‘OK . . .’ She didn’t sound convinced.
17
When I got back to the car and hit the cell keys the meter was just about to run out. I’d come out expecting to get a fond farewell from Sundance and Trainers, but they weren’t anywhere to be seen. With their job done for the day they’d probably slunk back into their holes.
How the fuck was I going to get out of this? I didn’t know yet. What I did know was that I’d better get my act together and prepare for the job, just in case I really did land up belonging to the Yes Man. It was an unsparing world. George was right – but, then, he usually was.
I got a crackly ‘Hello?’ Carmen must have been stuck down a well for him to have permission to answer. ‘Jimmy, it’s me, Nick. Listen, I—’
‘Here, best I pass you over to Carmen.’ The sound of the TV in their front room filled the earpiece and world order was restored.
‘Hello?’ It was her martyred voice.
‘Sorry, Carmen, I don’t know if I’ll get back tonight.’
‘Oh, really? What does that mean?’
‘You’ll need to take her to Chelsea. It’s important she doesn’t miss any of the sessions. Look, I’m trying to get back and take her myself. I want to see her.’ I could hear the sharp intake of breath as she prepared to give me a speech, but got in before she had the chance. ‘Listen, Carmen, let’s cut the bullshit, I haven’t enough time. It’s only a few more years before she’s old enough to look after herself, and then we’ll never have to talk to each other again. The only reason I put up with your constant moaning is Kelly. So just talk normally, will you? Are you going to take her or not?’
She huffed and puffed. ‘But we don’t know how to get to this psychiatrist. Jimmy won’t be able to manage the Underground.’ She just couldn’t stop herself.
I tried to keep my voice level. ‘Carmen, don’t take the Underground. I’ll tell you what, book a taxi tonight – a pile of those minicab cards comes through your door every day. I’ll pay. There, it’s all done.’
‘But what time does she have to be there? We can’t just go on a wink and a nod. Taxis need a time to come and collect, you know. We just—’
‘I’ll give you all that stuff in a minute. Is Kelly there? Can I speak to her?’
Her tone changed again. She was rather pleased with herself. ‘She’s very angry with you at the moment, I can tell you. We can’t get a word out of her. Whatever you said to her certainly made her very upset. But never mind, we’ll get by.’
‘Carmen, why can’t you just cut the crap? Are you going to take her tomorrow or not?’
‘I’ll take her.’ She had to force it out.
‘That’s good. Thank you very much. Oh, and I nearly forgot. I’m expecting a package in the post. It’ll be arriving tomorrow or Monday. Can you just hold it for me until I can pick it up?’
‘Well, I suppose so.’ She made i
t sound as if the package was going to be the size of a small car.
‘Thanks. Now, can I speak to Kelly?’
There was mumbling in the background as she got up and took the telephone out of the living room. I wished Kelly had a mobile, but hers wasn’t tri-band so she’d left it in the States. The TV chatter died and there was scuffling before I could hear breathing. ‘Kelly?’
‘I know, you can’t make it. You’re working. Whatever.’
‘It’s not like that. I’m stuck. I’m trying to get back tonight but if not they’ll take you to Dr Hughes’s tomorrow and I’ll try to meet you there. I’m sorry, I’m trying to get out of it, I really am.’
She’d heard it all before. ‘Sure, whatever. Do you want to talk to Granny now?’
‘No. I just want to talk to you.’
‘What’s to talk about? Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, then, eh?’
The phone went dead. I understood why, but it still pissed me off. I redialled and Carmen answered. I gave her the contact details and timings for Hughes, then hung up.
I drove out of the parking space and headed for a multi-storey, eyes skinned for the Volvo.
One carrier-bag full of washing kit and a black nylon bumbag from Superdrug later, I went into a corner shop-cum-post office and bought a pen and an A4 Jiffy-bag. In went my Nick Stone passport, wallet with Citibank credit cards, and all my other Nick Stone bits and pieces including the key to Carmen’s front door. I hated it when the Firm took away my real documents: it was like losing my personality, my life; I felt exposed, undefended. This way, at least I knew where they were, and if all went well and I got binned I’d be picking them up soon anyway. I couldn’t help a little smile as I addressed the bag to myself. Carmen had decided to call the bungalow the Sycamores, and got Jimmy to put up the sign – but you still had to write No. 68 or your mail never got there.
18
With ten minutes to spare, I buzzed up to the flat. Suzy let me in and I almost choked on Benson & Hedges. The windows were all double-glazed and had more locks than the Bank of England. I followed her into the bedroom and into a cloud of nicotine that even the French would have been proud of.
‘I know, Nick, I know. Sorry. But I was gagging. The gum’s shite.’
‘Well, get some patches or something, will you?’
‘I promise it’s the last one, ever.’
It was obvious that the Golf Club had already been and gone – so much for coming back at six. There was an open suitcase on the bed in Suzy’s room. It looked as if she was in the process of unpacking. She held up a Nokia moan-phone. ‘We’ve got one each, one spare, three batteries and a fill gun. The rest looks like the Packet Oscars.’
I dropped my carrier-bag on the bed and noticed the wardrobe door was open. The couple of shelves on the right were full of underwear and socks, a hairdryer and a washbag. In the suitcase were two MP5 SDs, the normal Heckler and Koch MP5 machine-gun but with a very bulky barrel, together with five or six boxes of ammunition and three magazines for each weapon. For us to respond with as the situation dictated to ensure the safety of the public and ourselves.
The SDs were suppressed and not ‘silenced’. There’s no way of totally silencing a weapon’s muzzle report. A suppressor just diminishes it with a series of rubber baffles and fine meshing inside the barrel, which dissipate the gases that propel the round. By the time the round leaves the muzzle there is just a dull thud and no flash, and the faint click of the working parts moving backwards before the return spring pushes them forward again to pick up another round and ram it into the chamber.
Both weapons were fitted with holographic sights, a small window mounted where the rear sight would normally be. When you turned it on, it was like looking at a heads-up display on a windscreen.
There were different packets for different jobs. Packet Oscar was a covert killing pack. As well as the SD, it contained the basic kit needed to make entry covertly into a building in order to kill, all rolled up in a black PVC MOE [Method of Entry] wallet.
These particular Packet Oscars had come with a few extras. I picked up one of the moan-phones as Suzy busied herself with the other two, connecting up the jack that led into the fill gun, a slim green alloy box about the size of a pound bar of chocolate.
Suzy depressed the black button and kept it down until the red light flickered, indicating that the encryption code was downloaded. The phone could now be put into secure mode at any time, and anyone listening in would just get mush. Just as importantly, it would cut out the phone’s footprint; digital phones are notoriously easy to track, but once these were fill-gunned and on secure mode we became invisible. Two, ten, even a hundred phones could be filled with the same encryption code, and everyone could dial up and talk to each other in clear speech knowing they were secure.
The money to update kit had miraculously appeared after 9/11. The phones were light years ahead of the old system of one-time pads to encrypt a message into a series of numbers, then key the numbers over the phone. It took far too long, and there was always the possibility of fucking up under pressure.
Some fill guns had a number of codes so they could be constantly changed throughout an operation, at specified times and dates. Normally there was a numbered dial on the gun, one to ten, so you might get the instruction, ‘On Thursday it will be number six.’ But on this fill gun there was just one fill. We would still try to fill the phones once every twenty-four hours anyway, to ensure the fill didn’t drop – that the encryption didn’t get corrupted. Each phone had a sticker on the back with the PIN security code to access it, just like any other Nokia, and all three were the same – an unimaginative 4321.
Suzy leant down next to me as I turned the phones on and plugged them into the charger to make sure the batteries were full. Beneath the aroma of hastily smoked B and H she smelt of freshly washed clothes and apple shampoo. ‘Get everything you needed, then?’ She sounded bouncy enough, but studiously avoided any eye-contact.
‘Yeah. Spent most of the time trying to find somewhere to park the car.’ I paused. ‘You all right?’
‘Of course I’m all right,’ she snapped. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
I’d annoyed her. I hadn’t meant to.
She started to fill the last phone, and the red light flickered before she looked up. ‘How well do you know the boss? I thought when we got briefed before Penang that you two might have a little history . . .’
‘Hardly know him – we’ve just got that fatal-attraction thing going on between us.’
She wasn’t having any of it. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘You called your CA yet?’
‘Nope. We got to sort our story first. Penang’s history now, isn’t it?’ She stood up, her face beaming, almost taunting, just inches from mine. ‘Switch on, will you?’ The B & H was just still on her breath. ‘Anyone would think you didn’t want to be here.’
We spent a few minutes working something out, then I went into the front room and hit my own cell keys while Suzy headed for the bedroom to do the same. I was greeted by a happy, middle-aged female voice.
‘Rosemary, how are you? It’s Nick.’
‘Really well, thank you. Good holiday?’
‘Fantastic.’
‘You forgot to send us a postcard, naughty boy.’
They were good people, James and Rosemary. Their job was both to confirm my cover story and be part of it. When I was a K, I used to visit them whenever I could, especially before an op, so that my cover got stronger as time passed. They knew nothing about the ops, and didn’t want to: we would just talk about what was going on at the social club, and how to keep greenfly off the roses.
All my documentation, all my credit cards, anything that needed an address, was registered to theirs. I subscribed to three or four weekly and monthly magazines to maintain a steady flow of mail and regular charges on my card. I was even on the electoral register. I hadn’t seen them for over a year, since moving and working for George, so I’d had a lot of c
atching up to do before the Penang job. It had been quite a surprise for all of us.
‘Sorry about the card, but you know what Spain’s like – and the weather was fantastic.’
‘You’re making me green with envy, dear. We’d love to go to Spain ourselves this year.’ She’d got the message: Malaysia was history. ‘So, what can I do for you, Nick?’
‘The holiday went so well I’m thinking of going to London with my new girlfriend for a while, maybe for a couple of weeks. Romance is definitely in the air – you still think her name is Suzy or Zoë, something like that. But I really called to say thank you very much again for the lift you gave me to the station this morning.’
‘Oh, yes. The eight sixteen wasn’t it? The express to Waterloo?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘A couple of weeks, that sounds lovely. I hope you have a good time. She sounds like a really nice girl. Are we going to see her one day?’
‘All in good time, Rosemary – no need to buy a new hat just yet. Anything I should know about?’
‘Not much at all, really. We’ve got a new TV in the lounge, it came last Tuesday. You were out, so you weren’t here to see the delivery. It’s a Sony widescreen, black, twenty-four-inch. You and James like it, but I don’t because it makes the cabinet it’s on look too small. You know, the brown veneer one?’
‘I know it well. But never mind – just think, Delia will be even bigger and better than usual. Anyway, say hello to James for me, won’t you?’