by Ian Redman
“Sir,” Piper sighed, his fists clenching tightly, “with the way I’m feeling right now,” he replied, icily, “there is only one thing I can promise you!”
“Oh, and what’s that Sergeant?”
“Violence!”
Colonel Mann opened the exit door. It was still dark outside, the chill of the fresh, cold, night air coursing through Piper’s veins. He enjoyed the feeling! It brought about a sense of wildness inside him, refreshing his senses, making him feel fully alive once again. Then he saw it, across the grass, in the middle of the large white painted ‘H’. A small, bulbous nosed, unarmed attack helicopter, sat waiting for its passenger. Instinctively Piper knew he was ready! Ready for action, and for combat!
“We’ll keep in contact. Use this earpiece, and this throat mounted transmitter to talk to us once you arrive at Schiphol.” Piper nodded and accepted the two small pieces of equipment.
Slowly, a high-pitched whining sound began assaulting their ears, the engine from the AH-6 steadily cranking up, creating the standard down draught of rotor blades gathering speed. As Piper prepared to walk towards the waiting pilot, he caught a glimpse of a figure moving hurriedly up the exit corridor, towards him.
Jeannette Descard smiled as she drew close to the man with whom she was rapidly becoming fascinated. Pulling up the collar of her thick coat she spoke, her voice struggling against the whining din of the rotors. “I just wanted to wish you good luck Sergeant.” Her hand moved lightly in an attempt to hold back her hair, whipping around her face.
Piper noticed she was starting to shiver. Probably from the cold air, he thought. “Thank you Jeanette”. He smiled, a smile to warm the French woman’s heart.
“TIME TO LEAVE,” shouted the Colonel.
Without looking back, Piper walked quickly over to the AH-6. He climbed in and fastened his safety belt, a helmet being handed to him by the pilot. He put it on.
In the blackness of the night, Charles Mann and Jeanette Descard huddled together as the rotors powered up to full speed, then, ascending slowly, the pilot brought the helicopter to a hovering position approximately ten metres off the ground. With a sharp increase of power, he dropped the AH-6’s small, bulbous nose forward and flew off, rising steadily into the night sky.
As the Little Bird’s red and green flashing navigation lights started to fade into the distance, Charles Mann spoke quietly. “Good luck Red Haze,” he said. Walking slowly back to the exit door he called to Jeanette, who was still standing in the now still night air. “Jeanette, come on in, it’s cold out here.”
Shivering a little more, Jeanette gently clutched a small crucifix hanging from the thin chain around her neck. “I won’t be long,” she replied, looking upwards into the darkness as Piper vanished from sight. With an intense look of concern set in her tired eyes, she put the tip of the crucifix gently to her lips and kissed it. “Bon chance, mon ami,” she whispered, “bon chance.”
7
PILLOW TALK
At exactly 05.14 a.m., well before Sergeant Ashley Piper arrived at Schiphol Airport, Dutch businessman Erik Karlson was woken by the ringing of the telephone beside his bed. He yawned as he picked up the receiver, the codename Pillow Talk being instantly given to him.
Within minutes and with a sense of urgency about them, Erik and his wife Monika dressed and left their house, Number 16 Palmgracht, situated in Amsterdam’s Jordaan district, where many small bars and businesses sit comfortably alongside charmingly elegant houses and apartments. To all around them, the couple were well-respected Dutch entrepreneurs, but in reality, the two were known in CEATA’s secret world of covert operations as Class 2 field agents, or more importantly…Followers.
Erik and Monika had been trained well, their backgrounds both being in law enforcement and to Erik especially, their job today seemed simple enough. Monitor the new arrivals expected at their house and keep in close contact with Headquarters regarding their movements. Simulating a tired yawn as several people passed him, Erik lazily crossed the small canal bridge by his house and walked up to another building directly opposite. Slowly but surely, he inserted a key, opened the front door, walked in and closed it behind him. Upon doing so, Erik then briskly walked up a flight of stairs.
The newly renovated third floor apartment was perfect for the morning’s observation and although CEATA had told of possible problems ahead, Erik felt confident the mission would pass quickly and without incident. After all, he and Monika had run local surveillance missions like this one, many times before. Moving to a large pair of high-powered binoculars mounted on a sturdy tripod, Erik prepared for communication with CEATA Headquarters. “Control, this is Pillow Talk One, now in position and awaiting our new arrivals, over.”
At the same time, Monika had walked to a nearby 24 hour café and ordered a large pot of strong, fresh coffee. She, like her husband, wore a communication set very similar to Ash Piper’s as she spoke calmly and quietly, her voice just a whisper.
“Control, this is Pillow Talk Two, now in position, over.” Monika sat back in her chair as a seemingly overtired waiter brought her coffee over. Not long now, she thought…not long at all.
Just over thirty minutes later, the first of the new occupants at Number 16 Palmgracht arrived. Three men, all keenly observed by Erik Karlson, the tallest inserting a key into the same front door. It opened easily, the three hurriedly walking in, gently closing the door behind them.
“Pillow Talk One to Control,” Erik Karlson’s voice resounded over the speakers at CEATA Headquarters.
“Go ahead Pillow Talk One, we read you at strength four, over.” Charles Mann’s eyebrows furrowed, his thoughts, apprehensive.
“A, B and C have arrived, now presumed safe, over.”
“Understood,” came the reply.
Time moved on as both the Karlsons remained in position. They had to, for D and E would arrive soon enough, and then, the key figure in this emergency would also arrive. From the briefing received, Erik and Monika knew he was tall, had dark blonde hair and answered to the CEATA codename of Red Haze.
It was Monika who reported in next. Gently lowering the magazine she was pretending to read, she took another sip of coffee and spoke quietly. “Pillow Talk Two to Control,” she whispered, “D and E have been sighted, now moving to a safe location.”
“Thank you Pillow Talk Two, keep monitoring, over.” Charles Mann quickly turned to Maurice Hertschell who had just walked up behind him. “So far, so good,” he said.
Hertschell nodded his reply.
Two minutes later, Erik Karlson transmitted a further message, his voice calm and relaxed, “Pillow Talk One to control, D and E have arrived and are safe, over.”
“Thank you Pillow Talk One, stay in contact.” Again, a look of concern washed over Colonel Mann’s face, “well…they’re in!” The somewhat tense atmosphere continued to thrive inside CEATA’s Communications Room as Nick Lucas monitored the flight location of Red Haze. All they could do now was wait for the AH-6 to land at Schiphol. So far…so good!
“Raptor One welcome to Schiphol, we have been advised of your arrival. You are cleared for landing on H2, please be aware of traffic movement from the south west.”
“Thank you Schiphol Tower, proceeding to H2. Over and out.”
They had flown over highways, towns and forests, the pilot hardly speaking a word during the flight, but that hadn’t concerned Ash Piper for his mind was on other matters. It was 08.42 a.m. in the morning and the early drizzle had given way to, what he hoped, would be a sun filled morning in Amsterdam.
Turning to his passenger, the pilot of the AH-6 Helicopter, more commonly known in military circles as the Little Bird, spoke through his helmet mounted microphone. “We should be landing in approximately eight minutes.”
Piper nodded. Without thinking his right hand slipped into his jacket as he ran his fingers along the smooth leather of the quick release holster and across the handgrip of the USP45. With a numbing intensity, his mind wandered ba
ck to his initial training in the SAS and his introduction to Heckler and Koch’s superb and very versatile handgun. It was a comforting thought to know it was close, and ready for use.
Moving deftly into a circular holding position, the pilot prepared to bring the AH-6 into its final descending flight path. As Schiphol Airport’s runways came into view, Piper noticed a KLM Boeing 747 taxiing into position, ready for take off. For a few split seconds, the tension in his mind eased a little as he contemplated the graceful passenger jet’s destination. Piper smiled and reached for the tiny earpiece and throat mounted communication device. They would both be attached as soon as he took his helmet off.
Slowing its forward rate of speed, the AH-6 started to descend slowly towards the tarmac, the look on the pilot’s face, one of intense concentration. As always, Schiphol International Airport’s main terminal was alive with activity. Aircraft of all shapes and sizes were in view, taxiing, taking off and landing. The helicopter’s airspeed decreased further, the pilot concentrating on a man on the tarmac, in a yellow and white Hi Viz jacket. Utilising two fluorescent orange coloured batons, he was waving them in, guiding the two men from SHAPE Headquarters to their final landing area.
“Here we go,” said the pilot, his voice crackling through Piper’s Com-link. With a cacophony of sound assaulting their ears, they descended, the man below them crossing the two batons over his head, then swiftly bringing them down to his sides. They had landed. As the rotors powered down Piper opened the side door, a high-pitched whine from their decreasing speed entering the cockpit as he removed his helmet. “THANKS FOR THE RIDE,” he shouted over the metallic din, the communication earpiece and throat based vocal attachment now in place.
The pilot took his helmet off, “you’re welcome,” he said.
Swiftly and with purpose, Piper turned and began to climb out of the aircraft. As he did so, he felt a sudden tug on his sleeve.
“Listen,” the pilot’s voice was calm, but still held a hint of concern, “I don’t know what you’re here for, but it must be important. Good luck!”
Piper threw a smile of appreciation at the airman and jumped onto the tarmac. The location of Helipad 2 was perfect. Quickly, with a fresh morning breeze blowing his dark blonde hair about his face, he walked over to a large door leading into the main concourse on the ground level of the single, huge terminal. Close to the door, two uniformed Dutch police officers stood watching him draw ever closer. Without a word Piper showed his NATO/SHAPE identity card to the both of them as they nodded their heads and opened the door. They had been expecting him! Hastily, Piper stepped into Schiphol’s Arrival Hall 2, his eyesight and hearing carefully scanning the area surrounding him.
Prepare yourself, he thought, stay alert! Expect the unexpected! As the sights and sounds of international travel invaded his senses, Piper began concentrating his thoughts and energies on the mission ahead, readying himself both mentally and physically for observation and, if required, swift, decisive action.
Meanwhile, in the Central European Anti Terrorism Agencies Communications Room, directly below SHAPE Headquarters, a pair of hands once again ran deft fingers over a computer keyboard, the room’s large screen revealing an overhead satellite image of a man surrounded by a milling throng of people. All in the screen’s field of vision were viewed in black and white, apart from one man who showed a red spot glowing from what appeared to be his left shoulder. It was in fact the tracking device, previously implanted under Ash Piper’s left arm.
“There he is,” said Nick Lucas, proudly.
Colonel Charles Mann stood just behind the Canadian, with Jeanette Descard to his left. “Well done Nick! Now then, let’s talk to our new field agent shall we?”
“You bet!” Nick Lucas, his eyes not leaving the large screen, typed quickly on his keyboard and pressed the ‘return’ button. Seconds later, crackling static erupted over the loudspeakers attached to the screen’s mainframe, as thousands of kilometres above Schiphol a NATO 3 Communications Satellite readied itself for electronic voice transmission.
Having noticed a sign for Schiphol’s Railway Terminal, Piper walked hastily down another busy corridor, carefully observing the scenes around him. Suddenly, his earpiece crackled into life.
“Red Haze, this is Control, do you copy?”
Piper spoke quietly in response to the voice in his ear as a mass of men, women and children busied themselves around him. “Reading loud and clear Control.” He only had to whisper and his voice was transmitted perfectly to his CEATA colleagues via the overhead NATO controlled Satellite. The signal was strong. Nick was pleased.
The Colonel spoke again, “as far as we are aware Red Haze, our package has arrived, speed is now of the essence.”
“Understood Control. I am currently making my way to the rail terminal. I’ll keep in contact. Over and out.”
“Affirmative Red Haze.” The communication ceased, for the moment.
Now it was time thought Piper, time to blend with the scenery and mingle with the crowds. Now it was time…for the hunt. Turning to his right, moving nimbly through the bustling crowds, Piper approached a busy little news kiosk. Nonchalantly, he purchased a morning edition of the ‘De Telegraaf’ newspaper, folded the tabloid under his arm and continued to walk to the rail terminal. Piper knew the train service from Schiphol was reliable and efficient. Once on his way, he would arrive at Amsterdam’s Central Station within twenty minutes or so, the journey giving him enough time to recheck his planning.
Within minutes a set of escalators came into view and he joined the queue of people in front of him. Slowly but surely, Piper descended to the waiting platform and looked around. People, he thought, many people…seemingly everywhere. But as yet, nothing appeared out of place, or threatening. But Piper knew he was being followed, his sixth sense was already telling him so. Yes, he thought, keep your wits about you, utilise your predatory senses…carefully! The fare for the journey to the heart of Amsterdam was 3.10 Euros. He paid it, and walked onto the busy platform, the wolf inside him still not detecting any direct threat. But he had to stay vigilant! He opened his newspaper, choosing a page randomly. Although he could not speak or read Dutch, it was a useful tool to help him blend with the crowds. Now he felt like a Dutchman. Casually he began browsing the pages, pretending to read the ‘De Telegraaf’ as the departure platform became busier.
Then, it happened!
The hairs on the back of Piper’s neck slowly started to stiffen. Casually, he glanced ahead, then to his left and right. Careful not to arouse suspicion, he turned and looked behind him. Now, the bristling of his neck hairs became more pronounced, so too, his senses of smell and hearing. Odours of oil, grease, fast food and perfume stimulated his senses, along with the smell of sweat…human sweat. Something was wrong! He was definitely being followed. Yes! The wolf had perceived a sense of danger around him. Hurriedly Piper glanced down at the newspaper as he fought to contain the animal inside him. Then, without warning, his throat contracted. Shit! No, he thought, not here…NO!
Piper growled, a low, deep, guttural sound, an elderly man and woman standing at his right side looking at him fearfully, quickly turning and moving away. So too, a woman by his side with two small children, also distanced herself. Damn it, he thought, control… I must have control! To Ash Piper, the remaining few minutes seemed like hours as he fought to control the wolf inside his body, his senses alert, adrenaline filled, focusing on everything around him. The sights, sounds and smells of the confines of the platform and the people upon it, were trying so very hard to seemingly overpower his human side.
Then his transport arrived, gliding effortlessly along the tracks, the bronze coloured train pulling into the station, the carriage doors sliding open, the passengers filing out. At last thought Piper as the people on the platform slowly strolled into the carriages, some sitting, some standing. Within seconds, the carriage Piper found himself in was full. Then came movement, telling all inside their journey had begun.
Once again, slowly, casually, Piper glanced around at his fellow passengers. There were several ‘would be’ suspects in the compartment, but having been expertly trained for this type of covert operation, he knew making rash decisions on possible suspects was a waste of time, and energy. Besides he thought, whoever was following him was making a very big mistake. Piper relaxed, looked down at the ‘De Telegraaf’ and smiled. Yes, this was exactly what he wanted! At the moment, the person, or persons trailing him could not make any open moves, not here…not yet!
“Ladies and gentleman, our estimated time to Amsterdam Central will be approximately twenty two minutes. Enjoy your journey.” The voice over the Tannoy was pleasant enough, the train continuing to pick up speed as Piper, now standing amidst a crowd of people, continued to ‘seemingly’ read his newspaper. Lazily, he scanned the front page. The massacres from the day before were spread across it and also covered a further eleven pages. He shook his head in disbelief. Not only was the terrifying carnage fully documented, he also noticed, on pages 12 and 13, images of the events just days earlier, at the Van Gogh Museum. It was definitely time to hit back, he thought. Leisurely, Piper turned and stared out of the carriage window, the flat Dutch landscape rushing by, his thoughts turning to the questions he would ask at the Safehouse. Suddenly, his heightened sense of hearing zeroed in on the conversation of two young girls, approximately two metres down the right hand side of the carriage. He turned a page of the newspaper whilst listening intently, the girl’s voices being slightly dulled by the conversations of the other passengers around him. But he could hear enough, and what Ash Piper heard…sent a shiver down his spine!
“It was terrible,” the first girl said, “both families were burned alive and they’d just received permission to stay in Britain. It’s horrible, so unfair, these fanatics don’t realise the harm they are causing to their fellow Muslims.”