Nick Stone 1 - Remote Control.

by Andy McNab

  I parked about four hundred yards west of the RV While eating my sandwich I checked my route back to the car. I got out and walked down the road, arriving at five minutes to three. There was still nothing to do but wait, so I window-shopped at the motorcycle shop, resolving that I really would buy one as a gift to myself. No, more than a gift--a reward.

  At twenty after three I moved into the shadows of the railway arches opposite the exit point I knew Simmonds would use. There were one or two people wandering about, clubbers on their way home, or to another club. Their drunken laughs shattered the still morning air, then there was silence again.

  I could tell it was him right off, leaning slightly forward as he bounced along on the balls of his feet. I watched him branch right from the exit and stand at the pedestrian crossing, intending to head for the metal footbridge over the five-way road intersection to the railway station. I waited.

  There was no rush; I'd let him come to me.

  As he crossed the road I came out of the shadows at the bottom of the footbridge steps.

  He smiled.

  "Nick, how are you?" He kept walking, nodding left toward Lambeth bridge.

  "Shall we walk?" It wasn't a question.

  I nodded the opposite way, toward my car.

  "I've arranged a pickup."

  Simmonds stopped and looked at me with the expression of a disappointed schoolteacher.

  "No, I think we'll walk."

  I was sponsoring the RV; he should have known that I'd organize for our safety. He stared at me a few more moments and then, as if he knew I was going to follow, continued on walking. I fell into step beside him.

  Simmonds looked the same as ever, his tie about half an inch loose, the shirt and suit looking as if his wardrobe were a carrier bag.

  "So, Nick, what have you got?" He smiled but didn't look at me, and as I told him the story he didn't interrupt, just kept his eyes on the ground, nodding. I felt like a son unloading his problems onto his dad, and it felt good.

  We'd been walking for about fifteen minutes when I'd come to the end of my presentation. It was his turn to talk. I somehow expected him to stop, or at least find a bench where we could sit, but he kept on walking.

  He turned his head toward me and smiled again.

  "Nick, I had no idea you'd be so thorough. Who else have you spoken to about this?"

  "No one else, only de Sabatino and Euan."

  "And has Euan or this de Sabatino also got copies of the disks?"

  I lied.

  "No, no one apart from me." Even when you come to someone for help,

  you never play your full hand. You never know when you might need an edge.

  He remained incredibly calm.

  "What we have to ensure is that no one else finds out not for the moment, anyway.

  This is more than low-level corruption. The links with PIRA, Gibraltar, and, it seems, the DEA mean this is very grave indeed. You seem to have a pretty good grasp of this so far, so let me ask you something." He paused as if he were a judge about to hand down his decision.

  "Do you think it goes further?"

  "Who the fuck knows," I said.

  "But you can't be too careful. It's why I wanted to talk to you on your own."

  "And where is the Brown child now?"

  "In a hotel, fast asleep. I'll be needing some help to pass her on to her grandparents."

  "Of course. Nick. All in good time."

  We walked on a while in silence. We got to a bar on the corner of a car tunnel under the railway line. Simmonds turned to the right, taking us under the arches. Then he spoke again, and it was as if there was no question of me not com plying with his demand.

  "Before I can do anything to help you, what I need from you, of course, is the evidence." He was still not looking at me, making sure he avoided the puddles of water stained with engine oil.

  "I haven't brought the disks with me, if that's what you mean."

  "Nick, I shall do my best to see that you both have protection. But I do need the proof and all copies of it. Can you get them for me now?"

  "Not possible. Not for a few hours."

  "Nick, I cannot do anything without them. I need all copies. Even ones you'd normally leave in that security blanket of yours."

  I shrugged.

  "You must understand that it's for my own protection" We turned right again and were now heading back toward the train station, paralleling the railway. For a couple of minutes we moved along narrow, warehoused streets in silence.

  Simmonds was deep in thought. He wasn't happy about the disks. A freight train rumbled above us on its way to waking up the residents of southwest London. Why the fuck was it so important for him to know how many copies there were and get his hands on all of them?

  "Believe me," I shouted above the noise, "I've got that side all under control. I've been fucked over enough. You know as well as I do that I've got to protect everyone, including you."

  "Yes, of course, but I need to control all the information. Not even you should have it. There is too much risk involved."

  This was getting stupid.

  "I understand that. But what if you get zapped? There would be nothing to back up what I'm saying. It's not only the DEA corruption, don't you see?

  Gibraltar was a setup. It includes us."

  Simmonds slowly nodded at a puddle in the gutter.

  "A few things puzzle me," I said.

  "Why were we briefed that the bomb would be initiated by remote control? How come the intelligence was so good about the ASU, but so wrong about there being no bomb?"

  Still he gave no reply.

  Things weren't adding up here.

  Ohfrick.

  I felt as if I'd been hit on the back of the head by a fire extinguisher again. Why hadn't I thought of it? The freight train's rumbling was now in the distance. The early-morning silence had returned.

  "But you know all this, don't you?"

  No reply. He didn't even break his stride.

  Who had briefed us that the Gibraltar bomb was going to be initiated by remote control? Simmonds, who was there at Alpha to oversee it. Why

  the fuck hadn't I thought of it before?

  I stopped. Simmonds kept walking.

  "This isn't just an American-PIRA thing, is it? It's much bigger. You are part of it, aren't you?"

  The rear arches were more light industrial than retail auto repair shops, sheetmetal works, and storage units, most with company vans that had been parked outside for the night.

  He turned to face me and took the six steps back to where I stood. For the first time, we had eye-to-eye.

  "Nick, I think you need to be aware of something. You will give me all the information and I mean all of it. We cannot take the risk of other copies being in circulation."

  The look on his face was of a chess grand master about to make the decisive move. The shock in mine must have been plain to see.

  "We didn't necessarily go along with the Americans' determination to kill you, but you should be in no doubt that we will do so now if we have to."

  "We?"

  "It's much bigger than you think. Nick. You're intelligent.

  You must realize the commercial and political implications of a cease fire Exposing what is on the disks would mess up much more than just what you know. It's unfortunate about Kevin and his family, I grant you. When he told me what he'd discovered, I did try to talk my American colleagues into a subtler course of action."

  So that was why I'd been ordered back to the UK so abruptly. Once Simmonds had talked with Kev, he wanted me out of the US and quick. He didn't want me speaking to Kev or interrupting his murder.

  I thought of Kelly At least she was safe.

  It was almost as if he were reading my mind.

  "If you decide not to give me all the information, we will kill the child. And then we will kill you after extracting what we need. Don't be naive. Nick. You and I, we're the same. This isn't about emotion; this is business. Nick
, business. You really have no choice."

  I tried to fight it. He had to be bluffing.

  "Euan sends his regards, by the way, and says that he managed to get a television set for her bedroom. Believe me, Nick, Euan will kill her. He rather likes the financial benefits."

  I shook my head slowly from side to side.

  "Think back. Who initiated the contact?"

  He was right, it was Euan. Simmonds was there to direct it, Euan was there to pull the trigger. But I still fought against the idea.

  He opened his jacket and pulled a mobile phone from his inside pocket.

  "Let Euan explain; he was expecting a call later anyway."

  He turned on the power and waited to put in his PIN number. He smiled as he looked down at the phone's display.

  "This is how the Americans found you, you know. People think that detection can take place only when the phone is in use. Not so. As long as they're switched on, these things are miniature tracking devices, even if no calls are made or received. It's actually a form of electronic tagging. We find it terribly useful."

  He tapped in his PIN number, the tones blaring out of his hand.

  "However, once you'd given them the slip at Lorton, our only option was to let you make entry back into the UK. I needed to know what you'd found out. I have to say, I'm so glad your cancer treatment was successful."

  Fuck! He hadn't even mentioned my lack of hair. That was because he already knew. But Euan. He'd been aware enough to mention it. I felt sick knowing he was using his skills against me.

  Simmonds smiled. He knew he had me by the balls.

  "Nick, I'll say this again. I really do need all the disks. You know the child would suffer greatly; it's not something that we would enjoy, but there are important matters at stake."

  I wanted so much for him to get through to Euan. I wanted to speak to him, wanted him to confirm that it was a bluff. But in my heart of hearts I knew that it wasn't.

  Simmonds had nearly finished tapping in the number.

  I had no choice. I couldn't risk Kelly. He wasn't going to make this call.

  With my right arm in a hooked position, I swung around hard and connected with his nose. There was a dull crunch of fracturing bone as he went down with a muffled moan. While he writhed on the ground I kicked his case under one of the vans and, in the same motion, picked up the phone in my left hand, got behind him, and positioned it at the front of his throat. Grabbing the other side with my right hand, I jammed it firmly under his Adam's apple.

  I looked to the right and left. We were too exposed where we were; what I had in mind would take several minutes to complete. I shuffled backward, dragging him in between two of the trucks. I got down onto my knees, all the time pulling back on the phone. He was kicking out, his arms flailing, trying to rip my face apart.

  His whimpers and chokes filled the air. I responded by leaning forward, using the weight of my upper body to bend his head down so that his chin was more or less on his chest.

  At the same time I pulled even harder. Just another two minutes and I'd be done.

  After thirty seconds he started to struggle furiously, with all the frenzied strength that a man draws on when he knows he is dying. But no matter what he did now, he wouldn't be getting up.

  His hands still scratched at my face. I bobbed and weaved to avoid them but maintained the pressure on his throat.

  Already the scabs from the fight with McGear had been pulled off, but I couldn't feel much blood. Then Simmonds managed to get his fingernails into the cut just below my eye. I stifled a scream as his three nails started into the already damaged soft skin. I made the injury worse by pulling my face away; as I did, Simmonds's nails took my skin with them.

  I didn't bother now to see if anyone was watching. I was beyond caring. I was fighting for breath myself with the effort, as sweat stung the injuries on my face.

  Gradually at first, his movements subsided to no more than a spasmodic twitching in his legs. His hands stopped grasping. Seconds later he was unconscious. It crossed my mind just to get up and walk away, to leave him to suffer the effects of hypoxia and be brain-damaged for life. I decided against that. I wanted this fucker dead.

  I gave it another thirty seconds. His chest stopped moving.

  I put my fingers on the carotid pulse and felt nothing.

  I dragged him to the wall and sat him up against the doors of a unit. Then I got to my feet and started dusting myself off.

  Keeping to the shadows, I tucked my shirt in and wiped away the sweat and blood with my sleeve. I checked the phone. It had been turned off in the fight. I wiped my prints off it, then just left everything where it was and casually walked away. If anybody had seen me, so what? It didn't really matter. I had more important things to worry about.

  I drove west, holding my coat cuff against my eye to stop the bleeding.

  The whole situation was still spinning around inside my head, slowly beginning to make sense.

  I now knew how Luther and his lot had found me--they must have beaten the number out of Pat and traced the signal while I had it switched on waiting for his call.

  If I'd let on to Euan or Simmonds that there was just one more set of backups in my laptop and had handed it over, I'd have been dead. They were covering their asses by retrieving the information.

  Had Simmonds arranged to phone Euan some time after our meeting? Euan was more than three hours away, and Simmonds's body would be discovered soon. If Euan found out, he wouldn't take any chances. He would change location, maybe even kill Kelly right away. Either way, I'd have lost her. This time there was no question of just leaving her. I could call her on the mobile and tell her to run, but what would that achieve? She was in the middle of nowhere; even if she ran for half an hour, it would make no difference.

  Euan's cottage was in the middle of acres of mountains, grass, rocks, and sheep shit. He would find her.

  I could call the police, but would they believe me? I could waste hours trying to convince them, by which time it would be too late. Or they might take it on themselves to raid Euan's house, and the result would be the same.

  For a fleeting second I thought about Big Al. I hoped he'd be well out of it by now. He didn't have getaway accounts for nothing. If he'd transferred four hundred grand into mine, for sure he'd have taken eight hundred for himself. Old Watermelon would be OK. I cut him from my mind.

  The highway services just before Heathrow were just coming up. I had a thought.

  I pulled off and drove into the parking lot. Now all I had to do was get to a phone and make a call.

  The service station was busy. I'd had to park a hundred yards from the main entrance. I got out of the car just as the heavens opened. By the time I reached the bank of four telephones outside Burger King, I was soaked. The first two I tried accepted only cards. I had about three pounds in change in my pocket--not enough. I ran into the shop, wiping my face to get some of the blood off. I bought a newspaper with a river, walked out, the woman looking worried at the state of my face. I men went back in and got a packet of M&Ms with a tenner. The woman looked even more scared. She was just happy for me to take my change and get out.

  As I dialed the number I felt a knot in my stomach, as if I were a teenager phoning to arrange his very first date. Would she have charged it and left it switched on? Why wouldn't she? She had never let me down before.

  It started to ring.

  For a moment I felt like a child in a candy store with his dad, hardly able to contain my excitement. Then I had new things to worry about. What ifEuan had the phone now?

  Did I hang up or did I try to bluff it and maybe find out where she was?

  It was too late to think. The ringing stopped; there was a pause, then I heard a quiet, hesitant, "Hello, who is it?"

  "Hi, Kelly, it's me. Nick," I said, trying for all the world to sound like Mr. Casual.

  "Are you on your own?"

  "Yes, you woke me up. Are you coming back now?" She sounded tired
and confused. I was trying hard to think of an answer; thankfully she went on.

  "Euan said that I might be staying with him longer, because you have to go away. It isn't true, is it. Nick? You said you wouldn't leave me."

  It was a bad connection. I had to put a finger in my other ear to hear her above the noise of the rain on the glass of the phone booth. A truck driver in the next one along was shouting loudly and angrily, arguing with his boss that he couldn't go any farther because of his odometer, and he wasn't going to lose his license just to get a few boxes of bloody anoraks up to Carlisle. On top of that was the steady boom of traffic on the highway, and the noises of people coming in and out of the station. I had to block all that out and concentrate on the phone call, because there was no way I could ask Kelly to speak up.