by Andy McNab
But now she was trying it for herself. For real. It was dangerous, it was risky, it was illegal, but Danny and Fergus were existing outside the law and Elena was prepared to run any risk for them.
First she had to hide her online identity, spoof her IP address, cover her tracks. Finding and downloading a program that enabled her to mask her IP address was relatively easy, but it took time, valuable time. And this was the easy bit.
The minutes became hours as she hunted in dark corners for a script that would give her root access to the one place she wanted to go. She needed a script already written by an experienced hacker, an expert who would probably laugh at the tentative and fumbling efforts of a script kiddie like Elena.
At three forty-five she heard a noise outside her bedroom window. She looked towards the chink in the drawn curtains and saw that the sky was beginning to lighten. The noise was birdsong.
Elena was suddenly aware of how desperately tired she felt, but there was no way she was giving up. She found scripts of successful exploits and ran them, but nothing was right; she was getting no closer.
Her eyes were red and sore and her brain was telling her to stop. She made herself focus and carry on, but tiredness crawled over her, sewing seeds of doubt and disappointment.
'Why won't someone out there help me?' she whispered as she logged on to another site.
It was the last thing Elena was aware of until the alarm clock on her desk started to ring. She'd set it for seven thirty to make certain she was online for Danny. She reached for the alarm clock and fumbled for the off switch, then looked at her dark computer screen. The machine had long since logged off and gone into standby mode. When Elena went online to Danny her latest screen name told him exactly how she was feeling: Useless says: (8:07:16 am) im sorry, I cant do it
Danny looked at Fergus and saw him frown. 'It was worth a try.'
Fergus nodded and Danny started to type, not bothering to change his screen name. Stockwell says: (8:08:02 am) not useless, if u cant no1 can Useless says: (8:08:31 am) swot I thought. big head or wot? O yeah, n my dads here, all I need, it's a nightmare
'Danny, we haven't got time for this,' said Fergus. 'You'll be talking about the weather next. If she's got nothing for us, then we're off.'
'But she hasn't seen him for years.'
'Well, then let's hope their reunion goes a bit better than ours has. Now, come on!'
'Two minutes, that's all.'
Danny went back to the keypad. Stockwell says: (8:09:05 am) u ok wiv that Useless says: (8:09:18 am) just. look I wanna try again 18ter. 2morrow might ave something 4 you
Tell her no,' said Fergus. 'We're visiting friends tomorrow and can't make contact like this. If all goes well, you'll be online the day after.' Stockwell says: (8:09:47 am) cant do. visiting 2morrow. day after. got 2 go, take care Useless says: (8:10:04 am) u 2. bye then xx
Danny logged off and ten minutes later they were on a local train to the seaside town of Cromer.
'Why stop here?' asked Danny as they walked from the station into crowds of late season holidaymakers. It was hot and clammy, as if a summer storm was slowly building up its forces.
'Because it's too early to get to where we're staying tonight. If we have to hang around it's better to do it in a crowd. We need a whole day for Meacher, time to recce and then make the approach. We do that tomorrow.'
At the cliff top they looked down on the beach, where brave swimmers were splashing about in the grey, choppy North Sea. They moved down to the pier. Huge posters with pictures of 'stars' Danny had never heard of promised a night of fun, glamour and excitement at the 'Seaside Special'. It must have been popular with Cromer's elderly visitors: there was a long queue at the ticket office.
Fergus found an empty wooden bench, gestured to Danny to sit next to him and then took out the map Elena had provided.
'I know this area,' he said. 'Came here when I was a kid. I think we can find somewhere close to Meacher's place for tonight. He lives further along the coast. Very remote.'
Danny stared out to sea. A huge freighter slowly moved across the horizon; closer to the shoreline white-sailed yachts ploughed through the waves.
'What's up with you?' asked his grandfather.
'I'm worried about Elena.'
Fergus refolded the map and replaced it in his day sack. 'Look, she's all right. It's only her old man who's turned up, not the police. And you'd be better off worrying about yourself.'
'You would say that. You've only ever thought of yourself. Never gave a toss about anyone else.'
Fergus stood up and beckoned for Danny to follow him to the very end of the pier. They leaned on the railings. 'You're right, I never did care – not enough, at least. Not until I got back to the UK this time.'
Danny turned to his grandfather. 'What, you're saying you cared about me?'
'I wanted to know you were OK. I made enquiries, found out where you lived. I saw you a couple of times, outside Foxcroft.'
'But why? What was the point if you never meant to meet me?'
Fergus shrugged. 'Getting old, maybe. Or maybe I needed to know that not everything I was part of had turned out badly. I dunno, I wanted to, isn't that enough?'
'No,' said Danny angrily, 'it's not enough. It's what you wanted, as usual. What about what I wanted? You never thought of that, did you? And what's the point of telling me now, anyway?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, suddenly I've got this caring granddad and guess what, he might well be dead tomorrow or the day after.'
Fergus looked out at the freighter on the horizon. It seemed hardly to have moved. 'D'you fancy some fish and chips? Cromer's famous for its fish and chips.'
Danny nodded.
'Good,' said Fergus. 'And after that we need to get some more supplies and go to a garden centre.'
'A garden centre? You taking Meacher some flowers?'
Fergus smiled. 'Something like that.'
25
Elena was having the day from hell.
Joey didn't come straight out with it. He spent the first few hours 'getting to know his beautiful daughter', as he put it.
They went out for that big English breakfast he'd been looking forward to ever since he stepped off the plane from Nigeria. And then his 'get the cash' campaign began. Joey was smiling, joking, saying how wonderful it was they'd found each other again.
And at first Elena was almost taken in. She did enjoy being with her dad. They went sightseeing and he told her stories of the family she'd never met back in Africa. She was fascinated and intrigued, just as he meant her to be.
It wasn't until mid afternoon that the subject of money and her inheritance came up. He was so pleased that her dear mum had managed to leave a few pounds for her and he only wished he had money to spare too.
'It doesn't matter, Dad,' Elena replied. 'It's just great to see you after all this time.'
But Joey wasn't finished. 'But I can help, darling, and I want to – it's my duty as a father. There's an investment I have lined up that will double your money, guaranteed, maybe even treble it. Much better than leaving it in the building society with its miserable couple of per cent interest.'
Elena's heart sank. If only he hadn't said that. If only Joey really had made the long journey back to England to see her and be with her.
She listened in silence as he went on and on about the great wealth they would make by investing in his friend Sonny's scheme to export second-hand 'white goods' – fridges, freezers and washing machines – back to Nigeria.
'You see, darling, in Africa we repair old white goods so they can be reused. It's not like the UK, where people throw them out after a few years because they want a new style or colour. It's a winner, babe, I'm absolutely certain of it. And believe me, I wouldn't risk your inheritance if I didn't trust Sonny like a brother.'
Elena nodded and smiled and eventually agreed to go and speak with Sonny. There was no way that Joey or his friend were going to get their hands on a si
ngle penny of her savings, but at that moment she was too tired, disappointed and disillusioned to even argue.
'We'll go now then, shall we, darling?' said Joey with a huge grin. 'No time like the present.'
'Yeah, all right.' Elena just wanted the whole thing over and done with.
They set off with Joey convinced he was at last on the way to the fortune he deserved, and with Elena wishing that he would go home and never come back.
She liked Sonny exactly as much as she had expected to – not at all. He was loud and self-important and dripping with chunky gold. And he spent most of their visit telling them how lucky they were to have the opportunity of coming in on his moneymaking scheme.
They wandered around his lock-up, staring at old fridges, freezers and washing machines that looked as though they should have been carted off to the rubbish dump instead of taking up valuable cargo space on a freighter to Africa.
And as far as Sonny was concerned it wasn't just Joey and Elena who were benefiting from his benevolence. 'The people back home in Africa are fortunate I can provide this service for them. Of course I make money, I'm a businessman, but I also consider I'm doing my bit for the third-world countries.'
'Yeah, you're all heart, Sonny,' whispered Elena to herself. After nearly an hour she couldn't take any more. She tugged at Joey's sleeve and spoke quietly to him. 'Dad, I'd like to go now. Tell him we'll think about it.'
'Sure, darling,' answered Joey. 'But you sure you learned enough?'
'Yeah, more than enough.'
Sonny wasn't pleased about them leaving; he'd obviously been expecting a quick and easy kill. 'Don't be too long making your mind up,' he called as they went. 'There are other investors looking to get in on this.'
The north Norfolk coastline stretches away from the resorts of Cromer and Sheringham in a long semicircle of flat beaches of fine sand or shingle. The wind blows in from the Russian Steppes, driving away many of the bucket-and-spade brigade.
Serious hikers stride along the shingle banks to catch a glimpse of the seals basking in the sunshine off Blakeney Point. And birdwatchers gaze out through powerful binoculars, hoping for a sighting of some rare feathered visitor to British shores.
But most visitors leave as the sunlight starts to fade. That's what Fergus was counting on. Darkness was approaching as he and Danny walked down the narrow road leading to the isolated stretch of beach he had chosen for their overnight stop. At the bottom of the road was a small deserted car park.
Danny was tired. They'd had a long walk since getting off the train at its end-of-the-line halt. 'There's nothing here,' he said irritably.
'That's the idea,' replied Fergus. 'We won't be disturbed and we're close enough to Meacher's place to get there early in the morning.'
But they weren't quite alone. As they reached the top of the sandy bank that met the beach they spotted two vehicles that had been driven through a gap in the bank onto the beach itself. One was an old Transit, its sides painted with multi-coloured flowers. The other was an even more battered-looking VW camper van, with curtained windows and a roof that opened to give standing room inside.
Near the vans, straggle-haired children played in the sand and a ponytailed guy threw bits of driftwood onto a bonfire.
'Hippies,' said Fergus. 'They won't bother us.'
Fergus led Danny further down the beach where three salt-stained, dark wooden sheds stood. 'Fishermen use these to keep their gear in. It'll do for the night.'
Danny looked at the three doors, each one protected by a heavy padlock. 'And what about the locks?'
His grandfather went to the door of the last shed. The lock was a large round combination with a black disc on the front and numbers from one to a hundred. 'Take off one of your trainers.'
Danny was learning not to question his grandfather's orders, however weird they might sound. As he slipped off one of his Nike Airs, Fergus twisted the lock to expose the shiny steel back. 'Now hit the lock with the heel of your trainer.'
Danny slapped down the trainer, hitting his grandfather's hand as much as the lock. 'Go on, keep hitting it.'
The trainer thumped down on the lock a second and then a third time, and as Danny lifted his arm for a fourth attempt, Fergus unhooked the lock and handed it to his grandson. 'The springs inside these things shake about if you hit them with something soft, like a rubber mallet. Or the soles of trainers.'
Inside, the shed was dark and gloomy. It smelled of fish and looked as though it was rarely used. There were curled lengths of rope, fishing nets, buoyancy floats and a rusting anchor on the floor. But there was plenty of room for Fergus and Danny to spread out their sleeping bags. It would be a reasonably comfortable night.
26
Eddie Moyes was enjoying himself. He'd taken a slow and leisurely drive up to north Norfolk and was comfortably settled in for the night at a pub with a reputation for good beds and great food.
He was well pleased with his accommodation. Now it was time for dinner. As he sipped his second pint of real ale, there was only one important decision to make: whether to go for the steak or the seafood platter.
The menu informed him that the seafood was locally caught and famed throughout the county. It was tempting, very tempting, but then there was nothing Eddie liked more than a thick, juicy steak, rare to medium and served with onion rings, chips and just a little salad. He didn't like too much green stuff getting in the way of his steak. Eventually he decided to ask for a smaller version of the seafood platter as a starter. Not too much smaller, of course.
During the long drive up Eddie had thought a lot about his recent night out in the country, when Watts's cottage had been hit. He reckoned the hit team were most likely MI6: they were the ones with the ongoing interest in Fergus. But what he couldn't figure out was the total silence ever since. Why no official announcement that a dangerous fugitive was on the run? Eddie's reporter's nose smelled cover-up. And if that was true it made an even better story.
Tomorrow he would talk to Meacher, even though Mrs Meacher had given no guarantees that her husband would agree to an interview. But Eddie was confident that his skills at flattery and persuasion would win through. He reckoned that everyone liked to see their name in print, as long as they were talking about someone else.
According to Mrs Meacher, the colonel was due back on tomorrow morning's tide, but Eddie had changed his mind about telephoning before turning up at their home. That would give Meacher time to think about things and maybe refuse to talk. Eddie's new plan was to be waiting on the quayside when the colonel arrived.
The pub was pleasantly crowded and Eddie was seated on a stool at one end of the bar with his back resting against the wall. He preferred to drink at the bar until his food was ready.
A youngish man walked up to the bar with two empty glasses and ordered two halves of lager. Eddie was in the mood for conversation. 'Nice place, eh?'
The man smiled. 'Very nice. Local, are you?'
Eddie laughed. 'Me? No, I'm up from London on business for a couple of days.' He picked up the bedroom key with its large wooden fob that had been resting on the bar. 'I'm staying here, though. Lovely room they've given me. Ensuite bathroom, double bed, view over the garden, the lot.'
'Sounds tempting.' The man paid for his drinks, nodded a goodbye and went over to a table on the other side of the bar where a second man was already seated. 'Room three. It's just a two-lever key. Easy.'
Fincham's team had followed Eddie from the moment he'd left his flat that morning.
The night air was thick as the oncoming storm slowly built. Danny was sitting on the sand in the darkness. He could just make out the shoreline as the heavy swell relentlessly lifted and turned against the shingle.
Fergus was in the shed, checking the kit and the route for the morning trek to Meacher's house.
From further along the beach the sound of voices and laughter drifted up from the hippy encampment. Four figures sat hunched around the bonfire. The kids had obviously been p
acked off to their beds. The firelight was inviting and Danny watched for a moment and then stood up.
At first he thought all four people huddled around the fire were women, but as they heard his approaching footsteps and turned towards him, he saw that two of the fire-gazers had beards as well as long hair.
'Hey, man, welcome,' said the closest hippy. 'Come and join us.'
Danny mumbled a 'thanks' and sank down on the sand, close by the fire.
'We saw you arrive earlier,' said the one of the woman. 'I'm Columbine and that's Rosemary. And those two layabouts are Rupert and Clive.'
They were all smiling, waiting for him to reveal his own name. 'Oh, oh yeah. I'm Da- I'm Dean.'
'Nice to meet you, Dean.' They all said it together, and it sounded like they all meant it sincerely.
'Is your dad not coming over?' asked Rosemary.
'He's not my dad,' said Danny, 'he's my uncle Frankie. He's a bit tired – probably turned in by now.'
'We're making a stew,' said the smiling Rosemary. A huge pot was suspended on four metal rods over the open fire. 'Will you join us?'
'Yeah, thanks,' answered Danny. 'It smells good.'
'It's vegetarian,' said Columbine.
'Great. I love vegetarian.'
Danny had never eaten a vegetarian meal in his life, but he was hungry and the stew did smell good. A few minutes later he was tucking in as heartily as the others.
He told them he and his uncle were taking a walking trip along the coast and then listened as the hippies explained how they worked during the winter so that they could spend their summers travelling and 'chilling'.
'None of us particularly like working,' said Rupert as he replenished Danny's bowl from the steaming pot. 'We see it as a necessary evil.'
'An evil that earned us enough to go all the way to northern Spain last year, but only as far as East Anglia this summer,' added Clive. He smiled. 'We didn't work so hard.'
They were friendly, gentle people. 'How long have you been camping here?' asked Danny.