by Chris Ryan
Michael smiled. ‘Impossible-ish,’ he said. ‘Sometimes we have to … how can I put this? Cut corners. You’ll need to start off by conducting surveillance on the Mercantile. You need to be very sure, Zak, that the traffickers on board are the people we think they are. Positive IDs. Nothing less. I’ll supply you with the imagery you need. Secondly, you need to make sure the diamonds are on board. And thirdly, you need to plant an explosive device on the vessel. It will be detonated remotely when the Mercantile is in international waters. The loss of their diamond cargo will be a financial disaster for them. It could even put them out of business for ever.’
Zak felt himself frowning. ‘What about the Mercantile’s crew?’
It took Michael a few seconds to answer. ‘Black Wolf are a new organization, Zak. They only came onto MI6’s radar about two months ago. All our intelligence suggests they were responsible for an explosion in India that killed thirteen street children and wounded twenty more so badly that they won’t walk again. Three weeks ago they targeted a marketplace in northern Tunisia. Fifteen dead, including one British national. The Mercantile’s crew are, we believe, all members of Black Wolf. There’s not a man, woman or child in the world they wouldn’t kill if the price was right. I wouldn’t waste your sympathy on any of them, Zak. You’ll be saving more lives than you’ll be ending, in the long run.’
‘They blow other people up. We blow them up. Who’s worse? Black Wolf or us?’
‘Your attitude does you credit, Zak. It truly does. But believe this: when the enemy stops playing by the rules, sometimes we must do the same. And besides, I’m only asking you to plant the device, not detonate it.’
Zak stood up. Once more he stared out to sea. He remembered his first op. He remembered his shock when Gabs had shot Martinez. Was Michael turning him into a killer? Or was he turning him into someone who stopped people killing others?
‘I don’t understand,’ he said suddenly.
‘Have I not been clear?’
‘Yeah, you’ve been clear. But why me? The whole point of having me is so that I can be inserted into places where adult agents would—’
‘– where adult agents would stand out. Quite right, Zak. Quite right. Forgive me for not explaining that earlier. The port of Lobambo is a small place. Newcomers stand out. Even if we were to send a special forces team in, it would be almost impossible for them to get close enough to the Mercantile to carry out surveillance without being noticed.’
‘Well, if they can’t get close, how can I?’
‘A volunteer group has set up camp on the outskirts of Lobambo. They’re there to help build a school with foreign aid money. As luck would have it, they’ve agreed to find space for you to join them.’
Zak gave his handler a cynical look. Luck, he knew, had nothing to do with it. Michael had ways of making things happen. Zak knew there was no point asking him how he’d set this up.
‘I’ve never been to Africa,’ he said. But my parents have, he thought to himself, and they died there.
‘I know,’ Michael said, in a tone of voice that unnerved Zak.
‘But what about Gabs and Raf? They’ll be coming with me, right? Like last time? They’ll be able to get me out if things go wrong?’
‘No,’ Michael said quietly. ‘Your Guardian Angels won’t be able to join you this time.’
‘What? Why not?’ All of a sudden Zak’s stomach was churning.
‘They have something else to do. Something rather important.’
‘But who can I call if things go wrong?’
A pause. ‘Nobody, Zak. And that means you need to be very careful. Angola is a dangerous place. Its citizens have known atrocities like you can’t imagine. There are mass graves in that country that are filled with the skeletons of women and children by the thousand. You’ll see things there that will shock you. If I understand you as well as I think I do, you’ll want to intervene. To help people. To make their lives a little bit better. You must resist that temptation.’
Zak felt a little surge of resentment. Why shouldn’t he use his skills to help people, if he could. Michael, he had learned, had a strange way of looking at things. ‘Either you trust me,’ he said, aware that he sounded a bit surly, ‘or you don’t.’
‘Zak!’ Michael snapped. There was a fire in his eyes.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have the leisure to indulge these childish teenage ideals. I’m sending you into an extremely dangerous environment and it’s essential that you keep a low profile. That you merge into the background and do nothing to draw attention to yourself. You’re there to carry out this op quickly and efficiently, not to right the wrongs of western Africa. Remember, Zak, Black Wolf are pros. They know what they’re doing. They’ll probably have an agent on the ground liaising with the diamond producers and scouting for suspicious activity, and it’ll probably be the last person you expect. Don’t get lazy. Because the moment you get lazy is the moment you get dead.’
Silence.
Michael’s gaze was flinty.
And then, suddenly, he appeared to relax. He took a cigarette case from his pocket, withdrew a thin black cigarillo and smiled a thin smile. ‘Would you mind terribly if I smoked?’ he asked, as mildly as if they’d just been chatting about the weather. ‘It’s a filthy habit, I know, and frowned upon at sea. But somehow I just can’t seem to stop.’
5
ANTISOCIAL BEHAVIOUR
Monday, 17.20 hrs GMT
ELLIE WAS STANDING in the middle of her front room. It totally stank of aftershave. In the adjoining room the cuckoo clock cheeped once. Nobody paid it any attention.
Her mum and dad were next to each other on the sofa. They looked shocked. Sitting in one of the armchairs of the three-piece suite was a policeman. He had introduced himself as DI Andersen but he didn’t have a policeman’s uniform on. Just a suit. He was probably about fifty years old. The aftershave was his. It was like he’d put half a bottle on that morning. The top of his head was bald, but he’d combed a few strands over from the side, where it was longer. The comb-over was oiled down flat. It made the hair, and the top of his head, very shiny. On his lap was a clear plastic evidence bag.
And in the evidence bag, covered with dirt, was Ellie’s mobile.
Ellie’s mum broke the silence. ‘And this was found in …’ She sounded like she couldn’t bring herself to say it. ‘In Zak’s grave?’
‘I’m afraid so, Mrs Lewis,’ replied DI Andersen. ‘The grave was opened last night and our forensic team tell us the little finger from the right hand is missing.’ He gave Ellie a severe look. ‘I thought Ellie might like to explain how her phone ended up there.’
Ellie swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.
Her mum and dad looked at each other, but DI Andersen didn’t stop staring at Ellie. ‘Desecrating a grave,’ he said, ‘is a very serious offence. I’ve seen children sent into care for much less—’
‘I’m not a child,’ Ellie snapped.
‘Young lady,’ the policeman retorted, ‘if you weren’t a child, we wouldn’t be discussing care, we’d be discussing prison.’
‘I didn’t do anything to Zak’s grave.’ Ellie felt like crying, but she was determined not to. ‘I wouldn’t, all right? I just wouldn’t.’
‘I’m sure she’s telling the truth, Officer,’ her mum said. ‘She’s a very well-behaved girl. It’s true she was very attached to her cousin. I don’t know why. One doesn’t like to speak ill of the dead but he was an unremarkable child. Still, I’m sure she wouldn’t …’
DI Andersen gave her an oily smile. ‘Mrs Lewis, when you’ve been a police officer for as long as me, you soon learn that people can surprise you. Just last week I was interviewing a girl your daughter’s age. Her mother swore blind she was as good as gold. Turned out she was stealing from her purse and using the money to—’
‘I didn’t do anything to Zak’s grave!’
The grown-ups, clearly surprised by her sudden outburst, turned to look at Ell
ie as though they’d forgotten she was there.
‘There was this guy,’ she said. ‘He came up to me in Burger King and he had a picture of Zak and this, like, patch over his eye, and he wanted to know where Zak was and he was, like, really mean and he …’ Her voice trailed off. The grown-ups were looking at her as if she was mad.
DI Andersen stood up. ‘We often find, Mr and Mrs Lewis, that young people of an …’ He looked like he was searching for the right word. ‘Young people of an antisocial nature benefit from counselling with a—’
Ellie didn’t let him finish. She stormed right up to the policeman. ‘May I have my phone back now, please?’
The policeman looked surprised that she’d even asked. ‘Certainly not,’ he replied. ‘This is evidence from a crime scene. I won’t be charging you today, young lady, but we certainly haven’t reached the end of this matter. Mr and Mrs Lewis, this has just been an informal chat. When we next meet, I recommend Ellie has a lawyer with her. I’ll show myself out.’ He nodded at the grown-ups, gave Ellie a thin-lipped look and left the room.
It was only when they heard the front door shut that Ellie’s father spoke. Just like him, she thought, to keep quiet in front of strangers and to give Ellie a hard time when there was just the three of them. ‘You are in a great deal of trouble, Ellie Lewis. Visits from the police? This is such an embarrassment. Your mother and I won’t be able to show our faces …’
Ellie didn’t stick around to hear the rest. She gave her parents a poisonous look and stormed out of the room, slamming the door hard behind her.
Jason Cole. Jay for short. Born 3 September in Kensington, London. Age: 16. Home-schooled by his father James at their house in Notting Hill. Interests include scuba diving and fishing …
‘Fishing?’ Zak looked up from the briefing pack of the identity he was learning. It was amazing how, after months of practice memorizing things, the information planted itself immediately in his head. ‘I’ve never been fishing in my life.’ And he thought to himself: That’s for normal people. Sometimes he wondered whether he’d ever be normal again.
‘Never been fishing? Sweetie, you haven’t lived!’
Four hours ago, Zak had been on Galileo listening to Michael give him the details of his second op. Now, he, Michael, Raf and Gabs were sitting in a large room in St Peter’s House with floor-to-ceiling windows that faced out across the windswept island towards the sea. When Zak looked through that window, the ghostly reflection had shown how pale his face still was. Nobody seemed to be making much allowance for the fact that he and Raf had almost died that morning, or that he felt as if twenty-four hours’ bed rest was more in order than anything else.
It was in this room that Zak took his lessons, and he’d learned a lot more here than he ever did in school. Now they were standing round a circular wooden table. Lying on the table was a black tube, about a metre long. Next to it was a canvas fishing-tackle bag. Gabs picked up the tube and removed a lid at the end. From inside she pulled three sections of a fishing rod, which she slotted together.
‘Er, Gabs,’ Zak said. ‘Not many fish in here. Probably best till we get outside.’
‘Observant, isn’t he?’ Gabs murmured as she opened up the canvas fishing bag and removed a chunky black reel.
‘Amazing,’ Raf agreed. ‘No wonder you picked him out, Michael.’
‘It’s like sharing a house with Sherlock Holmes …’
‘Or James Bond …’
‘All right,’ Michael said like a stern schoolmaster. ‘That’ll do. We haven’t got much time. The Mercantile docks in Angola in three days’ time. Zak needs to be in-country by then. He’s booked on a flight from Heathrow tomorrow.’
Gabs fitted the reel to the rod and handed it to Zak.
‘I guess someone will eventually get round to telling me why we’re putting a fishing rod together,’ he said.
Gabs’s face grew more serious. ‘Check out the reel,’ she said. Zak examined it a bit more closely. At first glance it looked quite ordinary: a spindle, transparent fishing twine. It only took him a few seconds, though, to locate a small switch on the underside. Zak flicked it. There was a whirring sound and the front and back ends of the reel’s barrel opened up like a camera shutter.
‘Hidden scope,’ Gabs said. ‘In-built camera. Night-sight capability.’ She pointed at the canvas fishing bag. ‘There’s a selection of telescopic lenses in there. You’ll be able to conduct surveillance discreetly using this.’ She sighed. ‘Michael, really, it wouldn’t be difficult for Raf and me to be inserted along with Zak. We can easily come up with a cover story.’
But Michael shook his head. ‘I need you somewhere else.’
Zak removed the reel from the rod and walked over to the window. He didn’t like the idea that Raf and Gabs wouldn’t be with him, but he didn’t want it to show in his face. He held the sight up to his right eye.
‘Adjust the focus by turning the spool.’ Gabs’s voice was soft and just behind him. Zak did so and a distant portion of sea became sharp and clear.
‘Neat,’ he murmured. ‘Does it catch fish too?’
‘Course it does. We like to think of everything, you know. But I get the feeling you won’t have much time for that.’
‘Come on,’ Michael said a bit impatiently. ‘We need to go down to the basement. There’s a lot to get through.’
The basement of St Peter’s House was given over to an indoor firing range. It was here that Zak had learned the difference between an Uzi and an MP5, between a Browning semi-automatic and a 1911 45, between an AK-47 and an M16. And it was here that he’d spent more hours than he could count learning to fire them. Today, though, Raf had a new firearm to add to the list. It was a very strange-looking weapon. It had five barrels, each the same length as a normal handgun but a lot more bulky. The handle was about twice the size of an ordinary gun.
‘Heckler and Koch P11,’ Raf explained once they were standing by the firing range. ‘Underwater pistol. Ordinary rounds are no good underwater. Not accurate. Short range. This fires ten-centimetre steel darts instead – five of them, one in each barrel. Effective underwater range about fifteen metres. Effective range above water, double that.’
Zak took the weapon. It was heavy – more than a kilo, he reckoned. He aimed it down the firing range and squeezed the trigger. The dart that shot from the weapon looked like a miniature rocket, with fins and a sharp, pointed end. At the end of the firing range was the silhouette of a man. The dart entered the shape in the centre of its forehead. When he lowered his arm and turned back to the others, he could see that Michael was faintly amused. ‘Yes, well …’ the older man murmured. ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that. But if it does …’
Zak handed the gun back to Raf.
‘The port of Lobambo has a long pier,’ Michael explained. ‘There’ll be one of these weapons fixed to the underside, along with other equipment you might need.’
‘Such as?’
‘A Draeger rebreather and a swim board.’
‘What are they?’
‘Specialized diving equipment,’ said Raf. ‘The kind of stuff the SBS use all the time.’
‘SBS?’ Zak asked.
‘Special Boat Service.’
‘Their motto,’ Michael interrupted, ‘is “Not by Strength, by Guile”. Something for us all to remember, I would say.’ He looked sharply at Zak, who felt like he’d just been told something important, but he didn’t know what.
Raf coughed a bit uncomfortably. ‘The rebreather allows you to swim close to the surface of the water without any air bubbles appearing,’ he explained after a few seconds. ‘If you want to approach a vessel without being seen, that’s what you use. The swim board has an illuminated compass. It means you can keep an accurate direction when you’re underwater.’
‘You’ll also find the explosive device that you need to plant on the vessel once you’ve ID’d the Black Wolf personnel,’ Michael continued. ‘It’ll be housed in a waterproof flight case.’
‘It’ll be well camouflaged. Nobody will find it unless they’re looking for it. Which they won’t be. Your briefing pack contains pictures of the Black Wolf members. You need to memorize them before you leave the country, along with Jason Cole’s personal details, of course. Do you have your phone?’
Zak nodded and pulled his iPhone from his back pocket. Michael had given him this at the beginning of his first operation. He had used it to capture and upload evidence. Since then he’d hardly used it. It wasn’t like he had a whole bunch of people he could phone up for a chat.
‘You’ll find schematics of the Mercantile already uploaded onto it,’ Michael said. ‘Our intelligence says there’s only a very small crew on board, so staying hidden should be straightforward. Use the schematics to guide yourself towards the engine room. That’s where you need to plant the device.’
Zak thought back to the devastation of HMS Vanguard. Michael was right: if you wanted to cause some damage, the engine room was the place to start.
Michael looked at his watch. ‘Fourteen hundred hours,’ he said. ‘A helicopter will be here in twenty minutes to take us to the mainland. Do you have any questions, Zak?’
Did he have any questions? Of course he did. Like, wasn’t this all happening too quickly? What was so important that Raf and Gabs couldn’t be on standby to help him like last time? Why hadn’t they given him more time to prepare? And wasn’t it madness anyway, sending someone like him into a hostile part of the world to carry out such a sensitive operation?
But these were questions there was no point asking. This was his life now. This was what he had chosen. And besides, what was the point of all this training if he never had a chance to put it into action?
‘No,’ he replied. ‘No questions.’
Michael nodded. ‘I’ll continue your briefing on the chopper,’ he said. ‘Let’s get ready to go.’