Nick Stone 1 - Remote Control.

by Andy McNab

There were one or two cars behind us. The shape of a vehicle's headlights, once it is up close, helps a lot to ID it. If the same shape is up your ass on three turns in the same direction, it's time to get out the worry beads.

  Pat signaled and started to move to the right. All the other cars seemed to want straight ahead or to turn right with us;

  nobody was in the left-turn lane. At the last moment Pat signaled left and moved over--nothing that was aggressive or would provoke a bout of road rage, just a change of mind.

  We were all held up at the light. I looked at each car in turn.

  Just couples or kids cruising--or so it appeared. I'd soon know if I saw them again.

  We turned on the green, and nothing followed. It was now time to talk.

  Pat started it off.

  "Your instructions were shit. You said three buildings; there were four. It's a good thing I know what I'm doing." He was waiting for praise.

  "The fact is, I couldn't remember how many. The taxi was driving too fast. I can't count anyway."

  We were now just cruising. Pat said, "I've been thinking.

  Do you want me to go in as your number two?"

  That would be good. It would get the job done quicker and would mean better security and firepower if we were in trouble. But I decided against it; Pat was my only link with the outside world, and I didn't want to compromise that. I told him my reasons and he nodded his acceptance.

  "Take us back to the Pentagon City Metro station, will you, mate?"

  I started to prepare for the drop-off and got into acting mode again. He put his signals on, everything correct, nothing untoward, nice slow approach and into the curb outside the Metro. I got out, put my head back in through the open window.

  "Thanks a lot, mate, see you later." I retrieved the black nylon bag from the backseat. My mind-set was that I'd been playing baseball with him all night and now I was going home; he'd just dropped me off after a drink. I closed the door and tapped the roof a couple of times, and off he drove. I suddenly felt very alone. Had I made the right decision about Pat not coming with me? I made distance and angles before doing a circuit back to the hotel, arriving at about 11:50.

  I quickly sorted out and double-checked all the stuff that Pat had given me and packed what I needed into the bag. I emptied my pockets of change and anything else that might rattle or fall out. Then I cut off most of the top end of a trash bag, put in my passport and wallet, wrapped it into a small bundle, and put it into my coat pocket.

  Once I'd done that, I jumped up and down one more time to check for noise, picking up the bag and shaking that as well.

  "Guess what, Kelly? I'm going to go out again in a minute, but I'll be back very soon. Will you be OK?"

  But she was out of it. I left the hotel and walked toward the target.

  The bag had two handles and a long shoulder strap. I walked toward the river with it slung over my shoulder, following the same route as the previous night. Nothing had changed except that the lights from the highway were a bit brighter tonight without the mist.

  At the fenced gate I used the handles of the duffel to put it on my back like a rucksack and climbed over. I'd keep it on my back now; if I was confronted, I could run and still keep the kit, or, as a last resort, draw down on them with the Sig.

  I got level with the target building, with the vacant lot and fence in between. There was no sound apart from the hum of the highway. I started to pick my way through the clutter. It was muddy not deep squelching mud, because the ground was quite hard, but I still needed to take my time to get through; I didn't want to slip and make noise, because my pal in the shrubbery might not be the only homeless person around here.

  I got to the fence near the PIRA building. Using the bush as cover, I eased the bag off my shoulder and sat on it. The first leg was completed; it was time to stop, look, listen, and take everything in. I needed to be extra careful because I was on my own. Really this was a job for two people, one watching, one doing. I spent a few minutes more just tuning in. Visibility was a bit better tonight because of the stars.

  Looking left, the parking lot was still empty; to the right, the pallets were still where I'd seen them.

  From my coat pocket I pulled out the trash bag protecting my docs. Right at the base of a bush I dug a shallow hole in the mud with my hands, threw in the bundle, and covered it over. This was my emergency cache, my hidey-hole, as Kelly would say. If I got lifted, I would be sterile, and if I got away, there would always be the chance of coming back and retrieving it.

  I wiped the mud off my hands onto a small tuft of grass and started to get myself ready for the job. I gently unzipped the duffel. I got out the pair of navy blue coveralls, probably just like the ones Kev's friends had worn.

  The problem with climbing over a high fence with a forty-pound bag is that you can spend more time getting stuck and making noise than actually crossing it.

  I pulled the draw string from the center of my coat and put it between my teeth. Moving as near to the steel stake support as I could without breaking cover, I then lifted the bag up to shoulder height. Using my shoulders to support its weight, I tied the handles as near to the top of the fence as I could with a quick-release knot, throwing the free

  end of the string over the top.

  Checking that my weapon was secure, I reached up, put my fingers through the chain links, and started to climb. Once on the other side I again stopped, looked, and listened; only then did I climb back up and haul the bag over the fence. I climbed down once more and then got hold of the free end of the string and pulled. The bag came free from the fence, and I took its weight. Then, squatting, I watched and listened again.

  Working alone on a job takes a lot of concentration because you can't look and work at the same time, yet both have to be done. So you do one or the other; you either get on with the job or you get on with looking. Try to do both and you'll fuck up.

  I stood up, put the bag on my left shoulder, and gently pulled apart the Velcro of the coveralls so that, if necessary, I could get to my weapon. Taking my time, I moved to the left side of the building.

  Before I did anything, I had to defeat the motion detector. I was to the left of it, with my back against the wall. Putting the bag in my left hand, I kept my eyes on the detector high above me and started slowly edging toward it. When I got more or less as far as I estimated I could without getting spotted, I bent down and placed the bag by my feet. Everything I did from now on would happen on the near side of the bag.

  Security lights that respond to movement make life much harder for people like me, but only if they cover the whole of the building. I found it strange that there was only one detector, rather than two or three overlapping each other to eliminate dead spots. I was expecting, at any moment, to be nailed by one I hadn't noticed. But whoever had installed the security system had obviously worked on the premise that only the lower fire escape door had to be covered and not the approach routes to it.

  It was nearly 1 a.m." which left me just over five hours before first light. Time was against me, but I wasn't going to rush. I went the long way around to collect one of the pallets.

  I got both hands in between the slats of wood, heaved it up against my chest, and started to walk slowly. The ground still had a top layer of mud, and my shoes squelched as they made contact. I finally reached the wall, placed the pallet against the brickwork on my side of the bag, and went back for the second one.

  I wedged the two pallets together, the bottom of the second jammed into the gap about three rungs down from the top of the first to make a ladder. I stopped, looked, and listened. The pallets had been heavy; I heard nothing apart from the sound of my lungs gagging for air

  through my dry throat.

  I climbed up on the first pallet, and that was fine. I got up onto the second pallet and it, too, seemed stable enough. I started to climb. I'd moved just two rungs when the whole structure buckled and collapsed. I hit the ground like a bag of shit, and the two pal
lets slammed down onto each other with a resounding thud and clatter. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I was lying on my back, with one of the pallets across my legs. No one came running to investigate, no dogs started barking, no lights came on. Nothing but the noise of the traffic and me swallowing hard, trying to moisten my mouth.

  Luckily everything had happened on my side of the bag. I lifted the pallet and crawled from under it, quietly cursing.

  This was crap. But what else could I have done bought a ladder at the mall and carried it to the target? I moved to the corner of the building, got down on the tips of my toes and fingers, as if I were going to do a push-up, and stuck my head around toward Ball Street.

  I was still annoyed with myself. I could spend all night improvising before I even got into a position to attack this motion detector. Maybe a ladder wasn't such a stupid idea; I should have gotten one and somehow tried to drop it off earlier, then pick it up enroute. But it was too late now.

  I stood against the wall and reevaluated. I decided to "react as the situation dictated," which was the Firm's favorite get-out clause. It simply meant they didn't know what to do. A bit like me really.

  Fuck it, I was going to get Kelly. All she'd have to do was lean against the pallets; she had to be there only for about fifteen minutes and I'd be done. After that she could stay with me or I could drop her back at the hotel. I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

  I picked up the bag, retraced the route to the high fence, and, staying on the target side, dumped the bag and coveralls.

  Then I followed the fence along, looking for an opening to get to Ball Street. There wasn't time to do the job properly and go back all the way around. I finally found a service alley between two buildings that belonged in some film about the mafia in 1950s New York. It took me down to the road. I turned left and walked briskly to the hotel, no more than two minutes away. It was only then I realized that I didn't have the room key because I'd left it in the trash bag. I'd have to wake Kelly.

  I knocked gently at first, then a bit harder. Just when I was starting

  to sweat, I heard "Hi, Nick." A moment or two later, the door opened.

  I gave her a look of concern.

  "How did you know it was me? You should have waited until I answered." Then I saw the chair and the drag marks on the carpet. I smiled and gave her a pat on the head.

  "You looked through the peephole, didn't you, clever girl? Hey, because you're so clever, I've got a job for you. I really, really need your help. Would you like to help me?"

  She looked sleepy.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "I'll show you when we get there. Will you come with me?"

  "I guess so."

  I had a brainstorm.

  "Do you want to do what your dad does? Because this is what Daddy does for the good guys.

  You can tell him all about it soon."

  Her face brightened. She was a happy bunny again.

  She had to more or less run to keep up with me. We got to the alley and headed down toward the vacant lot. It was dark; she was less than eager. She started dragging her feet.

  "Where are we going, Nick?"

  "You want to play spies, don't you?" I said in an excited whisper.

  "Imagine you are a Power Ranger and you're going on a secret mission."

  We reached the empty lot and took the same route toward the chain-link fence. I held her hand, and she kept pace; I hoped she was getting into it.

  We got to the bag. I picked up the coveralls and said, "I've got to put these on because they're special spy coveralls." Her face changed when she saw them. I suddenly realized she must have made the connection with the men who'd come to see Kev.

  "Your Daddy wears them, too. You'd better be a spy as well; undo your coat." I turned it inside out and told her to put it back on. She liked that.

  I picked up the bag and put it over my shoulder. I pointed.

  "Now we'll walk really slowly over there."

  When we reached the pallets, I put the bag down in the same place as before.

  "OK.?" I asked, giving her a thumbs-up.

  "OK. "Thumbs-up.

  "See that thing up there? If that sees you, it'll go waawaa and there'll be lights and all sorts, and then we've lost. So you must never go to the other side of that bag, OK?" I pointed.

  "OK." We gave each other another thumbs-up.

  I repositioned the pallets and showed her what I wanted her to do. I could hear her making little grunts. She had started leaning as I'd shown her and probably thought she had to make noises, doing manual work and all.

  I unzipped the bag, pulled out the clock and egg carton, and slipped the minute hand into its Scotch tape sleeve. I gently squeezed the tape onto it; it held nice and firm.

  Kelly was still pushing, and I told her to rest. At least she was into it. She was watching me as I put the clock and egg carton on the ground and placed two elastic bands around my wrist.

  "It's magic, watch me!"

  She nodded, probably still trying to work out how I'd stopped the remote from operating the TV "You ready, Kelly?"

  "Ready."

  "Let's go!"

  I climbed up slowly, trying hard to give the least possible weight and movement for Kelly to handle.

  Once up, and about an arm's length from one side of the detector, I got my wrist resting on my chest so that I had a good firm support. I turned the egg carton so that its long edge was horizontal to the ground. Then gently, gently, I moved it about six inches below the motion detector, but not going any farther than its front. Once there, I rested my back against the wall and my wrists on my chest. I'd have to stay like that for about fifteen minutes.

  I was waiting for the egg carton to move up against the face of the motion detector, the movement so imperceptible that the detector simply wouldn't register it otherwise, it would have triggered every time a spider walked across its face. I just hoped Kelly wouldn't give up. I'd find out soon.

  Now and again I looked down and winked at her.

  "Good, this, isn't it?" She looked back at me with a big smile or so I assumed, because all I could see was an inside-out coat, a hood, and a cloud of breath.

  As we both waited for the minute hand to become vertical, all of a sudden there was a single waa! of a dying police siren.

  Shit! Shit!

  It was on the road on the other side of the building. It couldn't have anything to do with us. Otherwise why just one unit, and why use the siren anyway?

  I couldn't move. If I did, it would trip the device and what for? I hadn't even seen a flashlight yet.

  "Nick, Nick, did you hear that?"

  "It's OK, Kelly. Just keep on pushing. It's OK, I can hear them."

  What could I do? I told myself to stay calm and think.

  A shout echoed around the parking lot. It had come from Ball Street, but a bit of a distance away. Other voices joined in. An argument had broken out. I couldn't make out what was being said, but there were car doors being slammed and words exchanged, then the sound of a car starting up. All I could think of was that someone had parked while I fetched Kelly. Possibly one of the couples I'd seen from Pat's car-they'd been busy getting the windows steamed up and had got caught by the police. It sounded plausible; I just made myself believe it.

  The egg carton was close to vertical. I held my breath. This wasn't a science; we had a fifty-fifty chance of success, no more. If it spotted us, we'd have to get the fuck out of there PDQ and take our chances.

  At last the box obscured the detector. No lights came on.

  With my teeth, I pulled the two thin elastic bands off my wrist; I got the first one over the top of the egg carton and around the motion detector, then pulled the back of it tight, twisted it, and wound around another loop of the band. I put the other band around to make it even tighter. The motion detector was defeated.

  I slipped the clock off the box and put it in one of the deep pockets at the front of my coveralls. I clambered dow
n and rubbed Kelly's shoulders.

  "Good work!"

  She gave me a huge smile, still not too sure what it was all about--but hey, this was what Daddy did.

  The next thing to attack was the alarms, which would mean neutralizing the telephone lines. One of Pat's presents was a disruption device--a black box of computer technology about eight inches by six; coming out of it were six different-colored cables with crocodile grips at the end, a combination of which I'd attach to the telephone line. When the intruder alarm inside the building was tripped, a signal should, in theory, be sent to the monitor station or the police; however, it wouldn't get there because the disruption device would have engaged all the lines.