Danger Close

by Charlie Flowers

  ‘Thanks, Holly. We’re on our way back.’

  ‘See you in a bit babe.’

  31

  We convened in the back of one of the black people carriers and Rico got the console linked up to the monitors inside. We crowded round to look and he ran the take. ‘OK, first camion. Empty.’

  And it was. The file slowed, fuzzed, wobbled and went out of focus as me and Rico’s separate units made their way down each side. The screen clearly showed an x-ray style image of a totally empty container.

  ‘Next camion. Rolling…’

  Again the file slowed, then jittered… moved up as I’d raised the receiver unit. Rico froze the movie and started using the digital zoom. I could hear soft swearing around me, and I didn’t blame them. There were enough small arms, grenades and mines in there to start a civil war. I could even recognise the weapons. AKs. PPSHs. AKSUs. Skorpions. This was bad.

  Tchéky spoke. ‘Putain de Merde! And to think that they want this to run on, to find who it’s going to. Idiocy.’

  He turned to us. ‘OK. Riz. Holly. We have the trackers on, we wait. I think you should get back to the hotel and get some sleep. I will call if things change.’

  We left our new car with the parking attendants and got to work tidying the suite. I’d brought a roll of binliners up from reception and started clearing all the rubbish away while Bang-Bang packed away the techy kit. The wall display would have to stay for now. We packed our go-bags, and then slumped on the bed and flicked through the channels. I got some beers from the fridge. Bang-Bang had found a news channel, full of Front National people moaning about the raid.

  On the writing desk nearby the Vaio laptop was charging and Google Latitude was showing no movement from our phone tracker.

  By the time Prisunique came on we were asleep.

  At 7.05am my BlackBerry buzzed. It was Colonel Mahoney.

  ‘Morning Riz. Tchéky just called me. You two had better get on the road. Two men have just collected the truck and they’re heading north out of Paris.’

  I blearily checked the laptop display. Sure enough, there went the tracker symbol, north out of town on the A14.

  32

  October 5th

  Out in the morning air a valet had helpfully brought the service car round to the parking bay. We placed our bags and kit into the boot. Stevie was there to see us off. I shook his hand and Bang-Bang gave him a kiss. He was all smiles. Obviously he didn’t mind the mess we’d made. ‘This car has a device to go through the tolls on the autoroute, so don’t worry. I hope… the hotel hopes… to see you both again.’

  I nodded. ‘Definitely, Stevie. Thanks for everything.’

  Bang-Bang sparked up. ‘Yeah Stevie, we got a honeymoon coming!’

  And we were into the car and gone. I got the satnav working and Bang-Bang already had the laptop fixing the position of the tracker. ‘Thirty klicks ahead of us, babes, heading northwest on the A14/A13.’ She zoomed the map outwards. ‘I reckon they’re heading for a port… Saint-Malo; Cherbourg. Le Havre? Dieppe? I hope they go to Saint-Malo, I went there on a school exchange trip... ’

  ‘Could be any of ‘em Holly, but the minute we’re sure, we call it in. We’re going with them.’

  She nodded. ‘OK. I’ll run the phones and make the calls. Let me know when you want me to take over driving.’

  ‘Cool.’ I hit the A14 and accelerated. Our phones were already going. Bang-Bang answered hers. ‘Allo Tchéky… Did they? Hmpfh. Alright, I’ll tell him. A bientôt.’

  She turned to me. ‘They traced the address the truck was registered to. Some builders’ yard in Seine-Saint-Denis. They just raided it but there was no-one there.’

  ‘Shit.’

  We caught up with our target on the A13 just outside Mantes-la-Jolie. I eased up to one hundred metres behind and read off the license plate. Bang-Bang called it in to Tchéky. ‘Yes. Same as last night. India Papa 501 Alpha Kilo.’

  As we hung back, two people carriers swept past and ahead. Tchéky and Marianne’s DPSD teams, keeping eyes on. The truck was doing a steady 70 kilometres per hour. We accelerated away after checking in. I was heading for the first service stop I could find.

  We pulled in at the Shell Rosny-sur-Seine Nord. Bang-Bang took over driving duties and I made for the shop to get us some Red Bulls. I’d allowed us ten minutes. I knew that below us on the autoroute, the truck and its little attendant motorcade would be swooshing past and that was fine, we could tuck back in at the rear and watch for where it was headed.

  I jumped back in, Bang-Bang floored it and we were back down and onto the autoroute. I checked the laptop screen. Still there, heading northwest at a steady seventy.

  My phone rang. The Colonel. ‘Riz, all good on the ground?’

  ‘Sure boss, we have a nice box round the target.’

  ‘Riz, I’ve just had COBR on the phone. They want it to run on when it reaches wherever it’s going, and it’s looking like the UK.’

  ‘Is that wise, boss?’

  He laughed. ‘No, I don’t think it is. OK listen in. We’ll meet you at whatever port it arrives in, swap the vehicles over. How you coordinate with the Blackeyes is up to you two but I’m sending E Squadron and some Royal Military Police.’

  I checked the map display. ‘If they turn off for Rouen then they’re going for Dieppe. Where do Dieppe ferries go?’

  ‘Newhaven. We’re ready. Just stick with them and give my compliments to Tchéky. They’ll be on the ferry with you.’

  Bang-Bang’s phone rang and I took the call. ‘Riz, it’s Tchéky. We think they’re heading for Le Havre or Dieppe and we have phoned ahead. Pas de probleme, whatever ship they catch, we’ll all be on it.’

  ‘Nice one Tchéky. Compliments from the Colonel. See you there.’

  Bang-Bang grinned at me. ‘Pedal to the metal?’

  ‘Do it babe.’

  Half an hour later the truck turned off at Oissel and we all followed, streaming down the exits and north onto the N338. I looked at the map display. ‘Yeah. It’s Dieppe alright.’

  We reached Dieppe just after 10am. The DPSD vehicles and us had the target truck in a loose net, and we followed it down through the town and into the Transmanche Ferries port. We parked up and convened in the car park. We all had eyes-on the truck, and we now had… I checked my watch. ‘Damn. Next ferry ain’t till 6pm. We’ve got eight hours to kill.’

  Bang-Bang took my arm. ‘Let’s go see Dieppe. Look, there’s a big church over there. Let’s have a wander.’

  Tchéky grinned. ‘Enjoy yourselves you two. We’ll keep watch on…’ he indicated the truck. ‘I’ll be speaking with the Trans-Manche people.’

  We looked back at the truck park, and the empty jetty, awaiting the evening ferry. ‘Why d’you reckon they came here and not Calais or something?’

  ‘Dunno, babes. Maybe because Newhaven ain’t Dover, the security and screenings won’t be as tight. Or so Teacher told me. Anyway. It’s not leaving Tchéky’s sight. Come on, we might as well get some scran.’

  After a bit of a wander and a stopoff at a Bureau de Change where I’d changed the rest of my Euro notes to Sterling, we’d ended up in Les Voiles d’Or on the cliff top. Apparently it was the third-best restaurant in Dieppe. We threw caution to the wind and went for the La Peche Du Jour. I’d never been a huge aficionado of seafood as I could never work out what was haraam or not but Bang-Bang was talking me through it and ordering. The waiter had fallen in love with her within about a minute.

  I zoned in on my BlackBerry. I was looking at the screenshots Bang-Bang had taken in Second Life. We’d transferred them to our mobiles. I did not like the look of that tanker truck. Something was nagging me about one of the mosques so I zoomed into the photo. Then I had it. It was a mockup of Green Lane Mosque in Birmingham. I showed Bang-Bang. ‘That’s pretty much a combat indicator, then. Aren’t the EDL and Infidels marching in Birmingham?’

  ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘Think like a racist. What would you d
o with a truckload of smallarms and a tanker truck?’

  ‘Easy. Brass up the counter-demos with the guns, drive the panicked Mozzies into the mosque, and then drive the tanker into the mosque. Kaboom. Loads of dead believers and score one to the Infidels.’

  Bang-Bang looked at her Android phone and smiled. ‘Just got a Facebook message from Mo!’

  ‘You’re kidding. Where is he?’

  ‘Birmingham. He didn’t hang about. I’ve just Bluetoothed you his number. Oh I also got a Twitter inbox from Tommy Robinson. I took the liberty of pinging him cos I knew you wanted a word. He’s gonna ring you.’

  ‘Cool. Sooner the better, tell him.’

  The day passed. No one in the restaurant seemed in any great hurry, which suited us, and we took our thimble cups of black coffee outside and looked out onto the ferry and the vehicle park. Nothing had moved. India Papa 501 Alpha Kilo was sitting there as dumb as an ox, and the DPSD cars were arranged as casual as you like, conveniently near the exits.

  I looked left to the town beach. I found myself seeing old sepia photos in my head and I spoke to myself. ‘The raid.’

  ‘What was that doll?’ asked Bang-Bang as she took my arm.

  ‘The Dieppe Raid, 1942. We did a trial run for D-Day here. One lot came in on that beach, mostly Canadian. It was - is - a shingle beach and the tanks couldn’t get traction. The Germans were waiting. It turned into a bloodbath.’

  ‘Bad omen?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe, Holly. Did they not teach you about Dieppe and D-Day in school?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Kids these days.’

  She poked my ribs and grinned. ‘Shut up you, you didn’t even go to school.’

  I laughed. ‘Touché.’

  The coffee was going cold. She was looking at me in that proprietary manner of hers. ‘You OK? I worry about you.’

  ‘Hah. I don’t know, Holly babes.’ I told her about the nightmares I’d had before coming to Afghanistan. She hugged me and we looked out to sea. ‘Don’t you ever get them Holly?’

  She shrugged. ‘Nah.’

  33

  The bridge of the Transmanche Ferries Seven Sisters was busy, but after the introductions and some waving of warrant cards the captain had given us free run. We were all looking at the monitors showing the cargo deck. No movement so far apart from crew members in their fluorescent vests every now and then. The truck was parked among several similar vehicles. India Papa 501 Alpha Kilo and its rusty container, still sitting there like the dumbest of dumb things. Tchéky had been instructed to turn off their transmitter as we left the three-mile line into international waters. He’d phoned both Defence Ministries to try to rearrange some sort of NATO country coverage but no dice so far. That was frustrating. Bang-Bang checked our laptop for our own tracking device. ‘Weak signal but it’s there. Bit worried about the battery though.’

  ‘OK… where are the driver and his mate?’

  ‘Truckers’ lounge. Marianne has eyes-on.’

  We all looked at each other and did the now-standard Gallic shrug. ‘Tea?’

  We went to the driver’s lounge, which was bizarrely called “Brighton Pier”, fell into the seats and kept half an eye on the truck crew. They seemed utterly oblivious. I took a photo of them on my BlackBerry and emailed it to Toots at KTS. Two hours till Newhaven and they weren’t going anywhere. Bang-Bang came over gingerly carrying a tray of tea and paraphernalia from the cafeteria. ‘You be mum, Riz darling, I’m going topside for a fag.’

  She gave the laptop on the table a final look. ‘Bollocks. Lost the signal. I think the modem is roaming for the UK side.’ She started tapping furiously on the keyboard. I squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. ‘C’mon babe, if anyone can get a connection out here, you can.’

  I looked at the DPSD team. ‘This girl here could get an internet connection on the moon.’

  She leant back and raised her hands away from the keyboard like a concert pianist who’d lost the vibe. ‘Yes to an internet connection, no to a phone. Either the battery’s dead or all the bulkheads are getting in the way.’ We all looked at each other. ‘Well like we said, it’s not going over the side. And we can see the drivers.’

  I poured the tea for our French colleagues. ‘Anyway. This is proper tea, mes amis. Pay attention.’

  My phone vibrated on the table. ‘Riz. Mahoney. How we doing?’

  ‘Too good, boss. The crew look cooler than the other side of a pillow and there’s been no interaction with the cargo. Also, we’ve been looking at stuff the opposition have been planning. They’ve been mocking up mosques in Birmingham.’

  ‘OK. That makes sense. They might use the demos as cover. I don’t like any of this either, and I’ve made a decision. We’ll hit them as soon as we can outside Newhaven.’

  ‘Agreed… time of arrival at Newhaven is 2000 UK time. Our vehicles are all about three cars behind the target but we’ll follow them straight out and see you in the arrivals park. Do COBR know?’

  He laughed. ‘They will…after the event. See you at the port. You’ll need to sign for your new wheels. Toots has the paperwork.’

  ‘Got that.’ I dialled Fuzz.

  ‘Rizbhai! You anywhere nice?’

  ‘On a boat. Listen, I need you to rustle up the posse and get down to Abacus Van Hire in Andover and hire two or so motorhomes. Ring the Colonel for backup, we can use the Army Land HQ account. I’ve a feeling we’re all going to be living like gypsies for the next couple of days. Get hold of Roadrunner and see how many fast cars she can get hold of – at least two, with some oomph. And swing by Uncle Khan’s shop. We’re gonna need guns. Lots of. Proper firepower. Say “Overmatch” to him.’

  Bang-Bang took the phone from me. ‘Salamz hun - can you also bring the kit I’ve been working on? Ta muchly babes!’

  34

  I pulled the Citroen into the car passengers’ section and we got out. On the other side of the harbour under a splash of lights, I could see a big grey UK Border Agency ship moored right next to the warehouses. I’d better check that. I rang the Colonel. ‘Boss. Are UKBA cleared on this?’

  ‘All the way, Riz. They have a little office at the train terminal, they’ll be along.’

  ‘Cool. I worried for a sec.’

  Marianne and Rico pulled up and after some brief farewells Rico spirited the Citroen away, ready for the return ferry. I showed my diplomatic passport to an approaching UKBA man and he gave it the once-over, shrugged and went away.

  The trucks were being filtered through a different lane so we had a few minutes leeway. Toots walked smartly forward with a clipboard and a kitbag. ‘Hello you two and welcome back. You’re signing for the white fleet van behind me and…’

  She nodded at the bag, ‘your personal effects and personal weapons.’

  I began signing the forms. Toots was speaking under her breath. ‘MOD 90 and KTS passes, fuel card and Luncheon Vouchers are in the glove box. I topped it off with petrol myself and checked the tyres. The numberplate’s flagged so you can set off as many speed cameras as you like and plod will leave you alone. Your personal effects for a week are in the kit bag and I’ve loaded the back of the van with enough stuff for a short week. Two gonk-bags, a camp bed and a copy of Chat magazine. I have the keys to your flat, Riz, and I’ve spoken to your Mum, Holly, it’s all good. Colonel Mahoney says no heavy weaponry yet, let’s keep it low profile. Sign here and… here. Van’s all yours. Try not to push all the buttons at once.’

  Bang-Bang delved in the bag, pulling out her CZ85 and my Walther 88 pistol. She handed my pistol to me as I took the keys to the van. There was a post-it note stuck to it with Uncle Khan’s scratchy Urdu scrawl, saying he’d changed the barrels, firing pins, extractor parts and anything else that left marks on cartridge cases. We all looked back into the truck park. ‘Is it moving, Toots?’

  ‘Yes, it is. They just cleared customs. We’d better stay on it. Laters.’

  Toots saluted and made for an office car.

 
I looked at Bang-Bang. ‘Let’s go.’

  We went to the van. I familiarised myself with the controls and started the engine, then placed my BlackBerry in the charging cradle. The displays lit up and the Bluetooth connected. Your common-or-garden Army Intelligence Corps covert surveillance van. On the dash was the standard stern sticker reading “THIS IS A PETROL VEHICLE”. Some comic had turned the “E” in “petrol” into an “A” with a marker pen.

  Bang-Bang got in the back via the sliding side door, opened the connecting hatch and waved hello. Then she got the interior desk lamps on and started perusing the manuals and surveillance gear in the back. She whistled appreciatively. ‘This wagon has ALL the party gear, hun. We got night and thermal through a camera in the top, CB and all radio channels, wifi, TV monitoring, Airwave, printers, a scanner… hey check this, the luggage racks on top have all the antennas built in!’

  ‘Yes luv. I was driving one a month or so ago, remember?’

  ‘Ah. OK.’ She swore under her breath as she looked at the laptop display. ‘We’ve definitely lost the signal hun. I interrogated it with the software onboard and tried using it to restart the phone. No dice. Maybe the battery went. Eyes-on from now.’

  ‘OK.’ I pulled out onto the main road and dawdled away north. Sooner or later our target would come bumbling up behind us and then we’d call it in. Bang-Bang started snapping and popping some chewing gum. Nervous energy.

  The radio in the van hashed. ‘India Papa 501 Alpha Kilo is moving from truck park. Come back...’

  I keyed the pressel on the steering wheel. ‘Have that.’

  We parked up at a junction, which according to the dashboard-mounted satnav display, was called either the Hollow or the Pottery. Hard to tell. Perfect spot for an ambush though. We got out of the van and made our way to the middle of the A-road. I gripped my pistol and checked the safety. Bang-Bang nodded at me in the darkness and went right. I looked down the hill to the bright splashes of light from the Newhaven port. On the hill all was quiet, and silence fell upon the land.