Capture or Kill

by Tom Marcus

  I dodge and weave my way through the traffic, driving at the limit, daring any copper to pull me over. As I overtake a startled Porsche driver on the inside, a thought strikes me and suddenly I laugh out loud. I slap my hand on the steering wheel. Of course! What if the DG has summoned me to this secret meeting to fire me? That would solve all my problems at a stroke. No more frustration because I wasn’t being allowed to do my job properly. And no more rows with Sarah. We could spend as much time together as we liked, go to the zoo every day of the week until we’re sick of the fucking sight of elephants! Of course, that was leaving out the question of how I was going to earn any money to support my family, but what the hell, I’d think of something. I laugh like an insane man. Zookeeper maybe? How about looking after the elephants? I’m good at clearing up shit.

  After another ten minutes of slightly calmer driving, the idea of losing my job doesn’t seem so hysterically funny anymore. I don’t want some crappy job that anyone could do. I want to make a difference. But I’ll just have to see what the DG has in mind. What will be will be.

  I hear my phone vibrating on the passenger seat and pull over to check it. A text from Sarah:

  Don’t worry about rushing back. Going to zoo this morning with Janie and Leo. Take your time. Love S.

  Damn! After all that, they’re going without me. That is typical Sarah: now her anger has cooled, she’s trying to do what’s best for everyone else – for me, for Joseph – without thinking of herself. She knows how hard it is for me to balance work and family, and she doesn’t want me to feel guilty. For the millionth time, I tell myself I don’t deserve her.

  The barracks come into sight and I scan the fence, trying to see how many guards there are on the perimeter. The place was only manned by a skeleton force the last time I was here, and even they were really only there for our benefit. Being a Tuesday, there are also no weekend warriors about today, so the place looks practically deserted. The DG obviously wanted somewhere that was secure but where the chances of us being observed were practically zero.

  I follow the fence line to the main gates. There’s a Military Provost Guard Service guy on the gate, and I can see from his spotless uniform and the way he moves and holds his rifle that he’s keen as mustard, even though he won’t have a clue about the garages he’s guarding. No chance of just cruising through the gates then. I’ll have to show my civilian cover ID. Slowly coming to a stop, I morph into a slightly stumbling civil servant.

  ‘Hello, sorry, bear with me. I have my identification card here somewhere . . .’

  ‘No problem, sir. You’re a civilian I take it?’

  ‘For my sins, yes. Civil Service. I think my office have left some files in one of the buildings over there. Ah, here it is.’

  As he checks the photo ID, he clearly recognizes the type; a Civilian All Access card that has just the basics: photo, hologram crest and expiry date. Defence contractors and ex-military advisors use ID cards like this to get onto military bases. I have a lanyard attached to mine that has ‘Defence Contractor’ printed on it, so I should be able to slide in without creating a fuss. Internet forums are full of geeks speculating about what these sorts of barracks are for, so the last thing you want is to march in like you own the place, shouting ‘We’re MI5!’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ The MPGS man hands the card back to me with a courteous smile. ‘I take it you know which building you’re going to?’

  ‘Yes, I won’t be long, I’m sure.’

  He raises the barrier and I give him a wave and drive through, nice and slow, the way an anonymous pen-pusher would drive. It takes a full minute to cross the camp to the garages, an unmanned, windowless block with two massive shutter doors covering the entrance and exit. I enter my pass code into the keypad and the shutters roll up smoothly, revealing a pitch-dark interior. I can feel my heart rate starting to climb.

  I creep into the garages in first gear, then wait for the roller door to shut behind me. Standard practice. We used to keep a lot of specialist vehicles here, and I don’t want to be responsible for letting a curious guard or squaddie in to have a look around. Flicking my lights on, I move slowly down to the first lower level. I recognize some of the older vehicles from old boys’ descriptions; some of these look like the ones they used back in the day. On the next level down I spot an old situation awareness car we used during our training with Special Forces, its windows still broken. The deeper I go, the more evident it is that this place hasn’t seen any life for a long time, almost like I was driving back in time. Vehicles getting older, filled with technology I’ve never used, probably dating back to the Cold War. I just hope I’m not about to be consigned to the history books too.

  Finally, I reach the deepest level. A dusty sign tells me I’m in the basement, eight floors underground. There’s just one vehicle down here, its engine on, vapour pouring out of the exhausts. I pull alongside and I can see the DG behind the wheel. There’s no one else in the car. This isn’t right. As far as I’m aware, he never goes anywhere without a protection detail, one of whom would always be doing the driving. I kill the lights and get out. Trying to appear professional, I walk round towards his passenger door before I realize he’s already climbing out, holding out a hand.

  ‘Logan, thanks for making the time to meet. You recognize me, I take it?’

  ‘Of course, sir. Your face is all over the walls of Thames House, talking about equal opportunities and health and safety . . .’

  My attempt to lighten the tension washes over him. He doesn’t smile.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse the setting, Logan. This is the first time we’ve met, but it needs to be the last, too.’

  I nod as if I understand, but I don’t. I can’t believe the DG would be taking all these operational risks just to tell me I’m out. So what the fuck is going on?

  I wait for him to speak. He maintains eye contact, and his steady gaze starts to make me uncomfortable. It’s as if he’s weighing me up, deciding whether he can trust me. You don’t get to be in his position without having years of operational experience. After what seems like minutes, he clears his throat.

  ‘Logan, how would you say we were doing in the war against terror, if I can use that media phrase? Are we winning?’

  I reply without hesitation. ‘Look at how many attacks we’ve stopped. I’d say we’re the best in the world at what we’re doing.’

  ‘I dare say we are. I’d certainly like to think so. But that doesn’t answer my question, does it? Maybe we’ve just been lucky up to now. What if our luck runs out?’

  Instinctively I want to defend my team, assure him that we can do it. ‘We can win, sir, I’m sure of it. If we can just—’ I stop myself, realizing I’m about to stray into dangerous territory.

  The DG smiles thinly as his eyes sharpen. ‘If we can just be allowed to do our job properly? Is that what you were going to say?’

  ‘Well, I . . .’

  ‘Look, Logan, I know what happened yesterday. I know you weren’t too happy we let two important targets slip out of our grasp. And frankly I’m not happy about it, either. It’s not the first time we’ve let rules and regulations get in the way of our work, and I’m sorry to say it won’t be the last.’

  I don’t know what to say. I’d openly criticized the team leader for not bending the rules. Now the DG seems to be encouraging me to go even further. Is it a trap? Is he trying to get me to incriminate myself even further?

  He keeps looking at me with those steely eyes. I know he can see through any attempt I make to cover up what I really think.

  ‘Yes, sir. I think we screwed up. Those two could be planning to kill hundreds of innocent people, but either lack of planning – like failing to request armed police – or not having the balls to keep us on the ground has let us down. We are good enough to beat these guys, but if we have our hands tied behind our backs, we can’t do it.’

  The DG nods. ‘So what’s the answer? How can we give ourselves the best chance of winning the
game?’

  The tension in my body starts to ease off. He’s giving me the green light to tell him what I really think. The floodgates are opening. ‘What we need is the freedom to do whatever’s needed in the circumstances, to make the call on the ground. Not having to worry about conflicting operations, support from the police. I don’t care about someone back at Thames House shitting their pants over health and safety. We need the ability to do exactly what’s needed within the confines of our own team.’ I swallow hard. I’ve already gone too far. Now I’m about to put the cherry on the top. ‘And, if there’s no other way, then a hard stop. Take the bastards out.’

  I wait. The earth doesn’t swallow me up. A gang of military police fail to rush out from behind a pillar to arrest me. Instead, the DG grins broadly.

  ‘A deniable team. Not bound by the usual rules. You decide how far you need to go to counter the threat. Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Yes, sir. That’s exactly what I’m saying. But obviously that wouldn’t be—’

  He holds up a gloved hand. ‘Don’t try to sugar-coat it. We both know exactly what we’re talking about. What if I was to say that I propose setting up just such a team, and I’m inviting you to join it?’

  Shit. So that’s what all the cloak and dagger’s about. No wonder the DG didn’t want anyone knowing about this meeting, let alone being within earshot. What we’re talking about is way outside our legal framework.

  ‘It would still be MI5; still surveillance, with some added skill sets according to your background. But you’d be in a completely deniable team. You wouldn’t set foot in Thames House. You’d be working harder and for the same pay, but when it came down to it, you’d have the freedom to do what’s needed. With your military background, I believe you’d be perfect for the team. What do you say?’

  My mind is spinning. On one hand, this is exactly what I wanted. A chance to even out the playing field. To maximize our chances of stopping every terrorist plot that we could uncover. Stopping them hard. I’ve dreamed about something like this, never thinking it would actually happen. And now the director general of MI5 is offering it to me on a plate.

  But what about Sarah and Joseph? I’m barely managing to keep my family together as it is. If I take on this new job, I know exactly what will happen. They’d see me even less than they did now. We’d fall apart.

  ‘Boss, we need this, this absolutely needs to happen, but—’

  ‘But?’ The DG’s face changes, his encouraging expression replaced by a look of icy determination. This isn’t a man who people say ‘no’ to. ‘A surveillance team of people like you, stopping the ones the normal teams struggle with. Look how long it took to get that hate preacher Green Moss out of the country. Without this new team, the bad ones, the really dangerous ones, will continue to use our own justice system against us. We can’t afford to let that fucking happen.’

  Hearing him swear is shocking. It’s like the first time you see a teacher out of school, having a drink or going into a bookies. But it makes the point.

  ‘Boss, I can’t. My family. I already don’t see them enough.’ A knot in my stomach tightens. This might be the first time I’ve genuinely put my family first. I feel sick, but I know it’s the right thing to do.

  The DG looks like he’s going to explode, but after a moment he just nods, like he understands. ‘Logan, I’ve made the same sacrifices. I had a son. Have. I have a son. All grown up now, I suppose. I haven’t seen or heard from him in years.’ He reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a card. It’s blank except for a handwritten phone number. ‘People like us, Logan, make sacrifices. So no one else has to. Think about it. Give me an answer by the end of the week. This is my personal number, active until this coming Friday.’ He leans closer. ‘Obviously, this discussion goes no further.’

  I’ve got three days to change my mind. Fuck, he’s clever. The DG had done his homework, and knows that with my personality I will obsess over this decision. I stare blankly at the card as he gets into his car and drives up the ramp to the higher levels. I get into mine and sit behind the wheel, waiting for my heart rate to slow and giving the DG enough time to clear the building. I slide the card into my wallet and drive slowly back up to the exit.

  As the shutters roll down behind me and the first spots of rain start to hit the windscreen, it feels like an exciting new part of my life is being closed off before I have the chance to explore it. But my family comes first. It has to. I put my foot on the brake and the car comes to a complete stop. I take my phone out of my coat pocket and start typing out a text message.

  Hope you guys are having fun at the zoo. I’m on my way home. Love you both.

  I press send, then take a moment to change back into civil servant mode again before driving slowly towards the guard on the gate, who waves me through without a thought. The DG’s car is nowhere to be seen.

  Back on the road, I have to stop myself from driving too fast. I know I’ve got plenty of time to get back now, but I’m desperate to see Sarah and Joseph. I know as soon as I hold them both in my arms, the temptation of the DG’s offer will lose its power over me. The job is all about protecting people just like them, but what’s the point if you have to sacrifice your own loved ones to do it? I just need to see, feel, smell and touch them, then I’ll know for sure.

  I drive on through the rain, through anonymous city streets, then out into gently rolling countryside, everything grey and wet under dark clouds. I wonder if Joseph and Sarah got caught in the rain at the zoo. Would she have remembered to bring the rain cover for the buggy? I smile to myself. Of course she would. Sarah remembers everything. She’s the best. And I’m not going to lose her.

  Checking the time on the dashboard clock, I figure they might not be home yet when I get back. I’ve got time to stop off at the shops and get some flowers for Sarah. Maybe find a cuddly toy for Joseph. Not that he needs any more. And he only really likes his toy elephant anyway. I wonder what he made of the real elephants. Did he even know they were the same thing? At that age, it’s hard to know what they can understand. I smile to myself. He has so many amazing things to learn. So many experiences to look forward to.

  I turn on the radio, looking for some music to carry me home. Instead I get the middle of a newsflash.

  ‘. . . so far, we have two confirmed dead and at least six people severely injured in the frenzied attack. Unverified eyewitness reports from the scene suggest that two of the victims are a mother and her young child. We can confirm that a man was arrested at the scene, and a weapon has been recovered, believed to be a knife. Eyewitness reports have suggested the man, who’s believed to be local and known to the police, was under the influence of drugs. Police have sealed off the area around the zoo but it’s believed to be an isolated incident . . .’

  For a moment, everything goes black. I can’t breathe. A horn blares as I veer into the next lane.

  I hear a voice screaming. It’s my own. ‘No, no! Please God, don’t let it be them.’

  4

  Move! As I make my way through traffic, I still can’t get through on the phone. Come on, Sarah, pick up, answer your phone!

  It rings out again, switching to voicemail for the seventh time. It’s probably on silent in her bag, I tell myself. It doesn’t necessarily mean . . . Dropping down from fourth gear to third, I swing onto the hard shoulder to accelerate past a long line of traffic, then suddenly realize I don’t know whether to go home or to the zoo. Shit – which? Fuck, you’re panicking, calm yourself. Ring Lee.

  After what seems like an age, the call connects.

  ‘Lee, the attack at the zoo on the news. My wife and son are there. Can you find out who the mother and child were that got injured? I can’t get hold of Sarah.’

  Lee’s answer is rock-steady, professional. ‘Yeah, mate, let me ring Ops now. I’ll ring you back straight away. Head home, don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be fine.’

  I’m not that far away from either the zoo or home, maybe th
irty minutes to either if I can keep picking my way through traffic. I just need Sarah to answer her phone. Jesus, what’s the point of having a mobile phone if you don’t answer it? I remember the tracking app on my phone; I can see where she is through the family locator we have. I snatch up the handset. Come on, come on, find Sarah’s phone.

  As I wait for the app to finish its buffering cycle and provide a result, I get clear of traffic and put my foot down. Then the dash screen flashes with another call.

  ‘Logan, it’s Lee.’ His voice isn’t quite so steady this time. ‘Mate, go to Luton and Dunstable Hospital. Intelligence coming in so far is suggesting your wife and son could have been injured. I don’t have any other details yet. I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘What? Are they injured or not? Is Joseph OK?’

  ‘I don’t have any more information. Don’t go home, though. The Ops officers are taking precautions to protect you just in case this was a specific attack on your family. Until we know more, we need to keep you safe. Thames House have sent armed police and Special Branch to the hospital, too. Go to the main entrance. Me and Special Branch will meet you there. I’ll be twenty minutes.’

  While one part of my brain is desperately trying to digest what all this means, another part is just focusing on getting me to the hospital. Spotting signs for Luton, I pile on the revs, flashing the headlights constantly to force the traffic on the other side of the road out of the way.

  Doing surveillance work, your mind can be the worst enemy you’ll ever have. Sometimes you’ll spend hours at a time sitting still, with nothing to do but think. So you learn to shut your mind down, just focus on your cover. But right now, my thoughts are racing as fast as my driving. And I can’t stop them.

  A specific attack on your family. Meaning what? What sort of an attack? I have to know what’s happened to Sarah and Joseph. I don’t give a damn about the who or the why. Then another thought hits me. Lee said they could be targeting me, which means I’m doubly responsible. Not only was I not there to protect them, but it was because of me they were attacked. Attacked? Fuck. Visions of Sarah and Joseph, screaming, covered in blood, fill my head.