by Matt Johnson
Harris wouldn’t be drawn. ‘Everything that can be done is being done. My understanding is that no serving personnel are affected. Only those such as yourself.’ He was starting to sound like a politician.
‘Well, for what it’s worth, Monaghan has already been in touch. I turned him down flat. But what I’d like to know is what the regiment is going to do about it?’
‘Not much we can do. We are not investigators, Finlay. You know that. If I were you I’d leave it to the police and the Security Services.’
‘And meanwhile, what am I supposed to do?’
‘Pray?’
‘That’s helpful,’ I replied, sarcastically. ‘Hide might be better.’ I glanced about the now empty church, not wanting to look at Harris any more. I hoped our brief conversation would soon be at an end.
‘Very wise. A safe house, possibly?’ he suggested.
‘But that doesn’t give me much idea about what the hell I am going to do long term.’
Harris changed tack. ‘You were on the embassy job with Bridges, weren’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘In many ways I wish that had never happened, put us in the public eye too much.’
‘That and Bravo Two Zero.’
‘Yes … but that’s another story. Mark my words, Finlay. Don’t get involved. Monaghan’s had some problems since the death of his wife. He took it very badly.’
I didn’t bother to pry into what the ‘problems’ were. Harris wouldn’t have told me anyway. We stood up and I made that promise to mark Harris’s words.
As we reached the church gates most of the mourners had already left. I slipped an anorak over my uniform and headed towards the side street where I had parked the car.
Chapter 28
Costello sat watching the road.
Dominic was tapping an erratic beat on the handlebars of the bike. It was starting to become annoying.
They were waiting for the blue Ford Sierra to appear. The previous day, the target had led them from the police station at Ilford up as far as the Gants Hill roundabout before they had decided to break off. On that occasion, they had used an old Escort van Costello had bought; today they used another moped. Dominic was up front, Costello on the pillion.
With any luck the policeman would use the same route and pass by at about the same time.
‘What’s the time, Dominic?’ he asked.
Dominic rolled back the sleeve of his jacket. ‘A quarter past two, he should be here by now.’
As Dominic finished, Costello saw the car.
‘There he is,’ he said. ‘Give him a few seconds and then pull out behind him.’
Dominic kicked the motorcycle into gear, waited for the Sierra to pass and then eased out into the traffic.
The target car was moving more quickly than the previous day. Costello guessed that the policeman was hurrying home to watch the rugby on television.
‘Don’t bloody lose him,’ he said.
They made steady progress though the traffic. At traffic lights and junctions, Dominic was careful to keep out of sight of the car’s mirrors. Finally, their target slowed as he pulled into a cul-de-sac off New North Road and into his driveway.
He was parking.
They had located his home.
Next day, they returned.
This time, Costello drove. They used the Escort van. It was a good choice. Dirty and bearing all the dents and scratches of a trader’s vehicle, it gave them the appearance of moonlighting builders on a job.
Inside the van, Costello and Dominic now wore light anoraks over cheap overalls and plimsolls. Experience had taught them how the police forensic science laboratory worked. They would destroy all clothing after a job and wash their skin and hair thoroughly. Traces of explosive residue and nitro powder from firearms had been used to convict many a volunteer. Science continually improved but there was no sense in making it easy for them.
Both of them were now armed. Dominic sat in the passenger seat with a folding-stock Kalashnikov AK47 nestled between his feet and both men carried Browning 9mm pistols hidden in shoulder holsters. Today was to be for final reconnaissance but they were tooled up in case they were stopped. The real job would be done tomorrow, just as the target arrived home.
‘If he runs true to form he should have been home about two-thirty.’ Dominic scanned the A–Z as they turned into New North Road.
‘What’s the time now?’ Costello asked.
‘Three.’
‘We’ll drive past the house and take a wee look, then.’
As they drove slowly down the cul-de-sac, the target was in the driveway washing the blue Sierra.
‘That’s him,’ said Costello.
The target glanced up from his car washing and watched them as they drove past.
‘He’s seen us,’ said Dominic.
A small boy ran across the road and shouted at the target. As they cruised past, Costello slowly wound down his window.
‘Uncle Rod,’ the boy called out, ‘can you fix the brake on my bike?’
The man that he called Uncle Rod looked down on the little lad. ‘What’s wrong with it then, Tommy?’
‘It keeps falling off.’
Costello pulled the van into the side of the narrow street and stopped. As he watched in his rear-view mirror, the target disappeared into his house and returned with some tools.
‘We’ll do it now,’ said Costello, as he continued to observe the target working on the child’s bike.
‘There’s a kid … we can’t.’ Dominic reached between his feet and placed the AK47 deeper into the foot well of the van.
‘You’ll do as yer fuckin’ told, Dominic. He’s seen us. If we come back another day he’ll recognise us.’
Dominic kept silent, but lifted the AK47 from between his feet and cocked the firing mechanism.
Costello turned the van around and moved slowly towards the target.
‘Call him over … make it look like we need directions,’ he said.
Dominic wound down his window as they pulled up adjacent to the target’s house.
‘Excuse me,’ called Dominic. ‘Could you tell me the way to the station?’
‘The station? For Christ’s sake, Dom,’ hissed Costello.
As the target walked towards the van, the boy came with him.
‘Shit,’ said Dominic, as he thrust the barrel of the rifle through the open window and flicked off the safety.
The target reacted quickly. He span around, snatched the small boy up in his arms and threw him bodily across the bonnet of the car that sat on the driveway to the house.
It saved the boy’s life.
Even as young Tommy flew across the car, the air was split by the sound of the AK47 on fully automatic. The first rounds hit the concrete between the target’s legs, but Dominic raised his aim, and the next burst caught the man squarely between the shoulders. He flew forward as though punched by an invisible fist.
Costello was about to pull away when he saw that the target was still moving.
‘He’s still alive … finish him off!’ he shouted.
Dominic threw open the passenger door and ran towards the house. The target was crawling towards his home. At close quarters, Dominic fired five more rounds into the back of the prone form that twitched beneath him.
The door to the house was open. As Dominic stopped shooting, Costello saw a woman appear in the doorway. Dominic raised the assault rifle and pointed it at her face.
She started to scream.
Costello guessed her to be the policeman’s wife. To many who followed the IRA cause she was a legitimate target, but not to him and especially not today. This ‘hit’ was target-specific and the target was down.
‘Leave it. Come on. Now!’ he shouted to Dominic.
Dominic dived into the passenger seat as Costello gunned the engine. The tyres skidded on the tarmac as they accelerated hard away from the sound of the screaming woman.
Within twenty minutes, t
hey were leaving Hainault forest, the van was torched, their clothing destroyed and they were on their way back to Hackney in an old Ford Fiesta.
Costello pulled out his telephone, typed M.A. into a text message and pressed ‘send’.
M.A.: Mission Accomplished.
If Yildrim ran true to form, details of the next job would appear on Costello’s phone within a day.
Chapter 29
I was in the garden replacing a broken pane on the old greenhouse when Jenny opened the kitchen window and called out to me.
The aluminium clip slid into place and I stepped back to admire my handiwork before strolling slowly up the garden path to see what the problem was, making sure that I took the time to breathe in the sweet smell of the jasmine that covered the garden shed.
The news that it was Monaghan on the telephone again soured my mood and the smile disappeared from my face. I’d been thinking about what he had said to me for the best part of the day. If he was right, that the stolen files only contained names and new jobs, then I didn’t have to rush. With my home address still unknown, Jenny and Becky were safe for now. I’d removed all my home details from the police station files the previous night. All the station had now was a mobile number on which to contact me. Questions might be asked if they noticed, but I’d deal with those later.
I’d started to make some plans. Nothing concrete, just some ideas that I’d been mulling over. First, I thought, I would take some leave. Then, maybe a holiday to get away from the UK, somewhere we would be safer. Given time, the Anti-Terrorist Squad and MI5 would recover the files and eliminate the risk. If they didn’t, then I’d have to re-think my future.
I wondered what Monaghan wanted now. Jenny gave me an odd look as I took the receiver from her, a mix of curiosity and disapproval.
‘Finlay?’
‘Jenny said it was you. I haven’t changed my mind…’
Monaghan interrupted me. ‘Rod Skinner’s been shot.’
He’d done it again. I was stunned. Skinner was another of the old firm.
‘What happened?’
‘Drive-by shooting. Washing his car, I believe; died instantly.’
‘Was Skinner in the job?’ I guessed the answer. This was getting all too predictable.
‘Yes. PC at Ilford. Been out of the army fifteen or so years.’
I had that feeling of being out of control again. Jenny had gone upstairs. I listened for a moment to make sure she was out of earshot and then lowered my voice. ‘How the bloody hell did they find him?’ I demanded.
‘I don’t know. You help me and we might be able to find out.’
‘No way. No way.’ I struggled to keep my voice down. I wanted Monaghan to know that I meant what I said.
‘There are better men than me who can do your dirty work,’ I hissed. ‘Find someone a bit younger, and I suggest that you do it soon before they find you, too.’
‘Finlay, I have found someone else. Stay where you are, I’m bringing him over to see you.’
‘What do you expect to achieve by that?’ I asked.
‘I don’t expect to achieve anything, Finlay. I’d just like you two to have a chat.’
The telephone clattered as I slammed it down. Jenny must have heard. She came into the kitchen just as I was thinking about how I was going to explain the call to her.
As she looked into my eyes it was as if she was saying ‘Go on, tell me.’ I knew that one day very soon I was going to have to.
For now, I needed time to prepare, time to work out how best to reveal to her my past and explain my secrecy.
To stall for time I told her that Monaghan was now Special Branch, that they wanted me back to do protection duties and I had said no. I hated having to lie.
Jenny seemed pleased I had refused the offer. Then she asked me again if I was telling her everything. I had the feeling she could tell I was being economical with the truth. I said nothing.
Monaghan also drove an Audi. It pulled into the driveway at eight-thirty. I had to leave for the night shift within fifteen minutes. As I went to answer the door I wondered who the old man had found to help.
From the darkness, a few yards from the door I heard a familiar Welsh voice.
‘Salaams, boss,’ it said.
I would have known it anywhere. It was Kevin Jones.
Supervisor at my selection, Sergeant on my troop and one of the first to enter the Iranian Embassy, Kevin and I had spent years together training and on operations. We’d left the army within weeks of each other. Like me, he had joined the police and was now a PC at Hornchurch, where he ran a community beat and a local youth club. He was the only member of the regiment with whom I had maintained any contact.
As I stepped out to join Kevin in the garden, I noticed that the evening air had turned warm and humid and the sky was starting to darken. I could smell rain in the air.
Monaghan waited in the car.
We greeted each other warmly, but Kevin’s face was as serious as I knew mine must be. Kevin was a mate, a good one, and Monaghan knew that. He had played an ace.
Kevin got straight to the point. ‘I think the Colonel’s right, Bob.’ he stared out over the fields as he spoke.
‘It wasn’t fair for him to bring you here, Kev. He knows I owe you … he’s exploiting that to make sure he gets his way.’
‘Water under the bridge, you know that. For now though, I don’t think we have much choice.’
‘It’s a game for young men, not us,’ I said.
‘We’re the ones with the most to lose, boss. Although, if I’m honest, I can think of a few blokes I’d have come to before you.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, I’d have gone for a blade. One of the real hard nuts. I’m not being funny, but I wouldn’t have picked a Rupert like you. And let’s face it, you were never one for getting up close and personal.’
I was embarrassed but admitted to myself that Kevin was right. As an officer – a ‘Rupert’ as Kevin called me – my job had rarely been at the sharp end, and even then it tended to only be a means of gaining experience.
In SAS terms, I was very ordinary. Although I was fairly fit, a reasonable shot and adaptable in a crisis, my real strength had been working behind the scenes, employing my ability to organise. That’s what had earned me the respect of the troopers at the sharp end, the ‘blades’ like Kevin.
‘Monaghan knows that we’re on their list so he’s pressuring us into doing something about it,’ I said.
‘And he supposedly has a contact in the Branch who will tip us off when they locate the terrorist safe house.’
‘He told me that as well.’
‘Special Branch will want to house them first; as soon as they do, we’ll have to go in quick and hope we strike lucky.’
The evening air was becoming damp. It was cooling fast and the wind was picking up. It felt like rain was not far away. I took a deep breath. ‘The answer’s still no, Kev. I have a young family to put first. It needs a younger man. Less ties, fewer responsibilities.’
‘That’s as may be, but there’s got to be a reason the boss picked you.’
‘He told me his reason … it was pretty underhand and I don’t buy it.’
‘Your family?’
I nodded.
‘Look, I think it’s more than that, if I’m honest,’ Kevin continued. ‘I know what I just said about you being a bit of a pussy but … well, you were always different. You remember that day on the Fan Dance, the day I gave you a brew at the finish line?’
‘Best tea I’ve ever drunk.’
‘Well, on that day, we thought you would never pass selection. We reckoned you were too soft and, to be honest, you didn’t fit the officer mould. You weren’t a proper Rupert. You were the first officer we’d seen that was from a grammar school rather than public school.’
‘So, what are you saying? Being a grammar-school boy is what brought Monaghan knocking on my door?’
‘What I’m saying is th
at you were always up against it. The odds were always stacked against you. We read your file. You were one of only two Sandhurst cadets on your intake who hadn’t been privately educated. You went into the artillery. No officer from the artillery ever passes selection. We had you written off before you even started, but you never gave up, you always made the grade … even if you were never the best.’
‘So, Monaghan came to me because I never give up?’
‘I reckon … and because you were always resourceful, always imaginative. You were always the one who came up with ideas when we needed something doing. He’ll have remembered that.’
‘Well, it’s nice to think that not everyone thought I was useless,’ I grinned.
‘You earned the respect you got, believe me. Besides, there’s one other thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re on the list.’
‘What list?’ I demanded.
‘The same list as me, the target list. The list of files that have gone missing. They’re coming for us, boss. We either run or fight.’
As Kevin headed back to the car to join Monaghan, the sky was darkening. It was time for me to leave for work.
Once they’d left, I quickly nipped into Becky’s room for a goodnight hug, grabbed my briefcase and sandwiches and then planted a quick kiss on Jenny’s lips before running to the car.
Jenny tried to slow me down. She was curious about the visitors but she accepted my promise to explain the following day.
I would either have to think up something pretty convincing or tell her the truth.
The first spots of rain were falling as I pulled out onto the lane.
Chapter 30
Dollops of rain patterned the car windscreen.
The sky was turning prematurely dark as black-and-grey storm clouds gathered overhead. The lane was narrow and, distracted by the sky, I nearly hit a verge on the tight bend outside the Coach and Horses pub in the village nearest to the cottage. Lightning flashed from somewhere ahead and to my left. Moments later I caught the faint sounds of distant thunder as it rumbled over the tranquil fields.