Nick Stone 1 - Remote Control.

by Andy McNab

  I entered the Metro and found a bench. Lights at the edge of the platform flash when a train's approaching; until then most locals sit chatting or reading. There was nothing else to do so I started a connect-the-dots picture in one of the coloring books and waited for the lights.

  The rain had stopped at Pentagon City, though it was still overcast and the ground was wet. I decided to do a quick check of the target while I didn't have Kelly.

  Cutting across the supermarket parking lot, I headed for the highway tunnel and Ball Street.

  I was soon on the same side of the road and even with the building. A small concrete staircase surrounded by dense shrubbery led up to the glass doors at the front. They opened into a reception area, and then another set of doors that probably led into the office complex itself. A security camera was trained on the front doors, looking down from the right-hand corner. The windows were sealed, double-glazed units.

  Inside, the building on both floors seemed full of PCs and bulletin boards, the normal office environment.

  I couldn't see any external alarm signs, nor any signs saying that the property was guarded. Maybe the alarm was at the rear. If not, whatever detectors there were, were probably connected to a telephone line connected directly to the police or a security firm.

  I got to the end of the road, turned right, and headed back to the hotel.

  The room was like a sauna. Kelly's hair was sticking up all over the place; she had sleep in her eyes. Her face was creased and had some crumbs stuck on it. By the look of it she'd been halfway through a cookie and fallen asleep.

  As I dumped all the supplies on the side she said, "Where have you been?"

  "I've bought tons of stuff." I started diving into the bags and dragging things out.

  "I've got you some books, some coloring books, some crayons..."

  I laid them on the bed and stepped back, waiting for some form of appreciation. Instead, she looked at me as if I were crazy.

  "I've done those."

  I thought a coloring book was a coloring book. I'd quite enjoyed doing my connect-the-dots.

  "Never mind, I've got you some sandwiches and Coke, and you're to drink as much as you can because I need the bottle for something."

  "Aren't we going out to get something to eat?"

  "There's some cookies in there ..." I pointed at the bag.

  "I don't want any more. I hate it in here all the time."

  "We've got to stay in the hotel today. Remember, we've got people who are looking for us at the moment, and I don't want them to find us. It won't be for long."

  I suddenly thought. Shit what if she knows her home number and starts using the phone? While she was pouring out some Coke with both hands around the bottle that seemed as big as she was, I stretched around the back of the small cupboard between the two beds and pulled out the tele phone jack.

  I looked at my watch. It was 4:30; the best part of five hours to go until Pat made contact again.

  I wanted to get the camera sorted out. I wanted it working at first light; I might even be able to get in an hour of filming before last light today.

  Kelly got up and looked out the window, a bored, caged-up kid.

  I poured myself some Coke and asked, "Do you want some more of this before I dump it out?"

  She shook her head. I went into the bathroom and poured the remainder down the sink. I ripped the wrapper off and with the scissors I'd just bought I started to make a cut at the top where the bottle started to curve into the neck. I also cut at the base so I was left with a cylinder. I cut a straight line up it and pushed the resulting rectangle of plastic down flat to get rid of the curve. I cut a circle, first by trimming off the corners of the rectangle, then developing the shape. That was me, ready to burgle.

  I came back into the room and checked the cords and made the camera ready for use, by battery or power lines.

  "What are you doing, Nick?"

  I'd been hoping she wasn't going to ask, but I should have known better by now. I had a lie all prepared.

  "I'm going to make a film so you can say hello to Mommy, Daddy, and Aida because you said you were bored. Here, say hello."

  I put the camera to my eye.

  "Hello, Mommy, Daddy, and Aida," she said into the camera.

  "We're in a hotel room, waiting to come home. I hope you get well soon. Daddy."

  "Tell them about your new clothes," I cut in.

  "Oh yes." She walked over to the wall.

  "This is my new blue coat. Nick got me a pink one, too. He knew my favorite colors are pink and blue."

  "I'm running out of tape, Kelly. Say goodbye."

  She waved.

  "Bye, Mommy; bye, Daddy; bye, Aida. I love you."

  She came skipping over to me.

  "Can I see it now?"

  Another lie.

  "I haven't got the cords to plug in to the TV But I'm seeing Pat soon, so maybe he'll get some for me."

  She went back to her glass of Coke a very happy bunny.

  She picked up a crayon and opened the coloring book, and was soon engrossed. Good; it meant I was able to put a tape into the camera without her seeing.

  I picked up two plastic coffee cups, got the rest of the kit together, put it all in the video bag, and said, "Sorry about this, but..."

  She looked at me and shrugged.

  I made my way up to the roof. The rain was holding off--the aircraft and traffic noise wasn't.

  The first thing I wanted to do was get into the elevator housing; I needed to know whether I could get direct power.

  I got out my circle of plastic and put it in the crease of the green door. I pushed and turned it, making it work its way through the twists and turns of the doorframe until it hit against the lock itself. The door was there to keep people out for safety reasons, not to protect something of value, so it was a simple lock to defeat.

  Once inside I turned on my mini Maglite, and the first thing I saw was a bank of four power sockets.

  I looked up at the ceiling. The shed was made of panels of quarter-inch mild steel bolted onto a frame. I got the wrench and undid two of the bolts enough to lift up a bit of the roof.

  Then I got the power cord from the camera, pushed it through the gap, and ran it down against the wall. It didn't look out of place among all the other shit. The small gap I'd created wouldn't let in much rain, so there wouldn't be a flood that somebody had to come up and investigate. I plugged the cord into one of the sockets and hoped I'd remember there was juice coming out the other end when I started to mess around with the camera.

  I kept the door open to give me some light while I prepared the camera. I got two trash bags and put one inside the other, then put the camera inside, pushing it against the plastic at the bottom until the lens just burst through. I then took the two plastic coffee cups, split them both down the sides, cut the bottoms off both, put them into one another, and then fitted them over the lens as a hood. That was going to keep off the rain but at the same time let enough light into the lens so the thing could work. I used gaffer tape to keep everything in position.

  I got on the roof with the camera and plugged it in. I lay flat and looked through the viewfinder, waiting for it to spark up and show me what the lens could see. I wanted a reasonable close-up of the staircase leading up to the main door.

  Once it had jumped into life I used the zoom, got it right on target, and pressed Play. I tested Stop and Rewind, then Play again. It worked. I tucked in the plastic, making sure not to dislodge the camera, pressed Record, and walked away.

  I went and bought a cartwheel-sized pizza, which we sat down and ate in front of the television, with the cell phone plugged in, charging.

  Then it was just a matter of hanging around with indigestion waiting for Pat to call and the four-hour tape to finish. It was dark now, but I wanted it to run the full four hours: one, to check that the system worked, and two, to see what the quality was like at night.

  For the first time, both of us were
bored. Kelly had had death by TV, death by pizza, death by Mountain Dew and Coke. She wearily picked up one of her new books and said, "Would you read to me?"

  I thought, All right, it 'sjtist a collection of stories, it won't take that long to read a couple. I soon discovered it was one continuous adventure, with optional endings to each chapter.

  I was reading to her about three kids in a museum. One had gone missing no one knew where when the story just stopped. At the bottom of the page it said, "Do you want to go to p. 16 and follow him through the magic tunnel, or do you want to go and see Madame Edie on p. 56, who might tell you where he is? It's your choice."

  "Where do you want to go?" I said.

  "Through the tunnel."

  Off we went. After about forty-five minutes and changing tack about eight times, I thought we must be getting to the end soon. It took nearly two hours to get through it. At least she had fun.

  The room was warm and I still had all my stuff on, ready to go. I kept dozing off, waking up every half hour or so to the sound of The Simpsons or Looney Tunes. One time I woke up and looked down at my jacket. It had come undone, and my pistol was exposed. I looked across at Kelly, but she didn't even give it a second glance; maybe she was used to her dad wearing one.

  I opened up a can of Mountain Dew and looked at my watch. It was only 8:15; I'd go and get the first video in about fifteen minutes, put a new tape in, and then wait for Pat's call.

  When the time came I said, "I'm just popping out for five minutes to get something to drink--do you want anything?"

  She looked quizzical and said, "We've got loads here."

  "Yeah, but it's all warm. I'll bring some cold ones."

  I went up to the roof. It was damp and drizzling now. I opened up the back of the plastic bag, pressed the Eject button, and quickly exchanged tapes. I was ready for the morning.

  I came downstairs, passed our room, and got another couple of sodas. Coca-Cola shares had probably skyrocketed over the last few days.

  Clueless came on, the TV series she'd told me she loved. I was amazed as I listened to her imitating all the catch-phrases. She had them down pat: "Loser ... double loser, moron.. . whatever!" Now I knew where a lot other sayings came from.

  At last it was just three minutes to go before Pat was due to check in. There was no way I'd tell Pat where we were or that Kelly was actually with me. All I would tell him was what he needed to know, as protection for him as well as for us. I went into the bathroom, closed the door, and listened for Clueless.

  Nothing.

  Right on time the phone rang.

  "Hello?"

  "All right, mate? Thanks for the sub!"

  We both had a quiet laugh.

  "Do you know what floor they're occupying?"

  There was a short pause, then, "Second floor."

  "OK. Any chance of more money? I need a big wad, mate.

  You know I'll square it away when I get back."

  "I could get you about ten grand. But you're going to have to wait a day--I won't be able to get it until tomorrow, or possibly the day after. You're welcome to it until you're sorted-and I take it you've got a way out?"

  "Yeah," I lied. It was for the best. If he got lifted, he could give only false information, and they'd start combing the airports and docks instead of looking around Washington.

  Then I said, "I need more contact in case I manage to find anything out about the building and things start changing rapidly. What about twelve hundred hours, eighteen hundred, and twenty-three hundred--is that OK?"

  "All right, mate. Is there anything else?"

  "No, mate. Be careful."

  "And you. See ya!"

  I turned the telephone off, went back into the bedroom, and put it back on the charger. I didn't know if Kelly had heard anything, but she was quiet and seemed uneasy.

  I got the playback machine set up, pushed the tape in, and tuned in the television.

  Kelly was watching intently.

  "We're going to play a game," I said.

  "Do you fancy playing? If not, I'll just do it on my own."

  "OK." It beat counting cars on the highway.

  "I thought you didn't have any cords."

  She'd got me on that one.

  "I bought some when I went out."

  "So why can't we see the video we made?"

  I had to think quickly.

  "Because I've already mailed it.

  Sorry" She looked at me, a little confused.

  "We're going to watch this tape of a building," I went on.

  "It's got people going in and out of it. Now, there's going to be some famous people going in there, there's going to be people that you know, like friends of Daddy's and Mommy's, and people that I know. So what we've got to do is see how many people we can each recognize. Whoever sees the most is the winner. You want to play?"

  "Yeah!"

  "You've got to be really quick, because I'm going to fast-forward it. Every time you see somebody moving, you've got to tell me, then I'll stop, rewind, and we'll have a look at it."

  I took some of the hotel stationery and a pencil and off we went. I had to use the button on the machine to fast-forward because there was no remote. I sat on the floor under the player by the TV and hit the fast-forward button. Kelly's eyes didn't leave the screen. I was quite pleased with the result.

  The quality wasn't bad at all; you could tell the difference between this and a home video, and I'd managed to get full-length pictures of the people covering about two-thirds of the screen.

  "Stop, stop, stop!" she shrieked.

  I rewound and had a look. Kelly had correctly spotted some movement. There were a few people entering. I didn't recognize any of them. Kelly was sure that man number three was from a pop group called Backstreet Boys.

  She got into the game more and more. Everyone seemed to be famous. I logged them all, using the counter.

  Two men, one with a long light coat, one with a blue coat.

  People think that being a baby spy is all James Bond, sports cars, and casinos. I'd always wished the fuck it was. The reality is sheer hard work, getting information, then sitting down and working out what it is you've gathered--and then interpreting it. Two people walking up a set of stairs means shit. It's interpreting what's going on that's important-identifying them, their body language, what happened before, what you think is going to happen later on. So you log everything, in case at a later date it might be important. Give me a sports car any day.

  The screen was slowly getting darker. The ambient street light was helping, but it was quite hard to see faces and we were losing color; I could tell the difference between a man and a woman and their ages, but just barely.

  It came to the end of the working day and everything began to close down; people going home were throwing switches and the light dwindled. In the end there were lights only in the reception area and corridors.

  I left the tape running at normal speed. What I now wanted to know was whether there was a night watchman around, but I couldn't see anyone.

  Kelly was loving it. She'd seen four actors, two of the Spice Girls, and a teacher from her school. Not bad at all. But what if she did recognize somebody? I'd have to take it with a grain of salt; after all, she was only seven. But I'd have nothing to lose in believing her.

  "Do you want to do this again tomorrow?"

  "Sure. I have more points than you."

  "So you do. I tell you what, after all that winning I think you should lie down on the bed and take a nap."

  If Kelly or I identified anybody on the tape tomorrow, it would be a bonus for me to take to Simmonds and prove a link. It would also mean that I'd definitely have to CTR close target reconnaissance the building and find out why they were there. I decided to go and have a closer look at the outside, and then I could plan how to make entry.

  By 11 p.m. Kelly was sound asleep, still fully clothed. I put the bedspread over her, picked up the key card, and left.

  To avoid th
e office I came out of the hotel via the emergency stairs. I got on the road by the highway, turned right, and walked past the playhouse toward the target. The traffic was quieter now, just peaks of noise instead of a constant roar.

  I turned right, then right again. I was on Ball Street.