The Hit List

by Chris Ryan

  'Too noisy without special equipment,' said Slater I immediately. 'And takes for ever. I've been involved in jobs like that - you need fibre-optic lenses and all sorts if it's going to work. Even with the right kit it would take all night to pick our way through. There isj

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  ler way, though. And that's straight in through jnt door.' le others fell silent.

  ic main trouble with an assault through a tion or roof is that it's a kill-em-all option. The ' way to get Eve out if we assault the place is to kill able all of them. Whatever happened there'd be jath, and it's a probability that a fair amount of blood would be ours. Plus there's a good chance ^wouldn't survive anyway.' /e've got to give it a go,' said Andreas, although could tell from the tone of his voice that he had ae misgivings. 'We can't just leave her there.' not suggesting we leave her there,' said Slater. I think we ought to do is snatch Branca, and ige an exchange of hostages. My suggestion is Mneone from the RDB rings Branca, asks for a meet, and we jump her.' : others stared at him.

  aeone from the RDB?' said Leon, incredulous. r do we arrange that?'

  ; Ridley,' said Slater. 'Tell him to get on to the i desk and find a native Serbian speaker and to go the files for the names of a couple of senior i officers. At a given time, the Serbian guy rings �'s mobile from London - I got the number I'Pasquale rang her this morning - and says he's ordered to contact her. He drops a couple of |ed names, just to show he is who he says he is. �of the men with her, he says, is working

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  undercover for the Americans, or the Albanians, or whoever. She must come alone and in secret to such and-such a place, where she will be told what to do.'

  'And once she arrives we grab her, drag her back to where she's got Eve, and arrange an exchange,' said Leon. 'I like it!'

  'It avoids a shoot-out.' Slater shrugged. 'A shootout that we might well lose, as things stand.'

  Terry, who had been listening in silence, helped himself to one of Andreas's cigarettes. 'Why don't we go through it point by point?' he said.

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  7.30pm Slater went with Leon to pick up the his. Chris had spoken to Manderson several in the course of the afternoon, and the Cadre had approved the plan to kidnap Branca and ige her for Eve. P4, the head of Balkan

  Jtions, had agreed to help Manderson out without ig on knowing the precise circumstances. This

  | unconventional, but as Manderson had gently ed out, it was at P4's request that the Cadre had ic involved in the first place. It had been the i desk, not to put too fine a point on it, who had Fanon-Khayat dead.

  ie time agreed for the fake call from Belgrade was it French time - any earlier and there would people on the streets, any later and there was

  fern that Branca's mobile might be switched off.

  fccision had been made in London that a twenty -year-old Serbian-speaking MI6 agent was to the call. Until recently Pavel Djukic had been a

  .'World Service employee, and had only joined

  I Balkan desk six weeks earlier. His time behind a i-studio microphone had given him a vocal

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  authority beyond his years, however, and he was confident of his ability to bamboozle Branca Nikolic. The service had amassed a fair volume of information on the Serbian secret service, and Djukic was swotting up the files on individual RDB officers in preparation for a heavy bout of name-dropping.

  Once again, Leon and Slater swiftly threw off their Serbian tails. The weapons contact was an Algerian named Schafa, who fronted a business in used small arms with a bicycle repair shop in Belleville in the twentieth arrondissement. Leon and Schafa had done hard time together at Clairvaux prison, and since joining the Cadre Leon had brought a fair amount of business the Algerian's way.

  On their arrival in Belleville, Schafa insisted that they join him in a glass of mint tea. The tiny grease stained office attached to his workshop smelt pleasantly of cycle oil and tyre-rubber, and Slater resolved to buy a bicycle when - and if- he got back to London. He had never owned one as a child; now was the time to put that right.

  As he looked round, fingering chains, wingnuts, spokes and drop-handlebars, Schafa and Leon chattered away in rapid-fire French. As most of the language that they used was underworld slang, Slater could barely understand a word of it but he gathered from their expressions that Schafa had managed to pull something special out of the hat for his old Clairvaux cellmate.

  Eventually the Algerian led them through the

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  lop and up a grimed and narrow flight of stairs stockroom. At the end, beyond a plastic-strip i, was the locked entrance to the next-door unit. Leon murmured to Slater, was also owned by i, but under the front of a mail-order company : DIY tools.

  ; door swung open to reveal ceiling-to-floor

  of cheaply finished tyre-jacks, pipe-cutters,

  ^driver and spanner sets and adjustable monkey

  ches. The casing indicated that these goods

  ated in a variety of countries, including China,

  a, Romania, Israel and Byelorussia, am beneath a bench Schafa slid a metal case with characters sprayed on to it. Opened, a tray ig a display set of variously sized Maglite-style was revealed. Beneath this, however, nestling ense black bed of foam-rubber, was a 9mm Uzi chine gun, and three twenty-five-round ics. Reaching down, Schafa pulled the weapon an an affectionate hand over its square, riveted,

  d outline, and handed it to Leon. e!' said Leon. thought you said he had FAMAS rifles,' aured Slater.

  iey've gone,' said Leon. 'Probably Corsican ; - apparently they're quite good customers.' the fatter-than-normal barrel Slater could tell ic Uzi was one of the suppressed models built for and urban use. You could cheerfully blast off t rounds outside a police station with one of these

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  and no one would hear a thing. Given a close-quarters firefight Slater would have preferred the MP5s that the RDB carried, but the Israeli-designed Uzis were an acceptable alternative.

  'I've got three of these altogether,' said Schafa reverently. 'Licence-built by FN in Belgium. They came up from Marseilles this afternoon.'

  Leon nodded and translated for Slater.

  'These would be great,' Slater agreed. 'Apart from anything else they're small, which will help when we're carrying them in the streets. Has he got the subsonic ammunition to go with them?'

  Schafa nodded. 'I have nine-mil subsonic. I also have this - la piece de resistance.' Ducking down, he reached another flat steel case from below the bench, opened it, and removed a layer of plug-spanner sets. Beneath, embedded as the Uzi had been, was a black matt-finished rifle, luminated sniper-scope, compensator, magazine and cleaning kit.

  'A Dragunov sniper rifle,' said Leon thoughtfully. 'Not bad. Not bad at all.'

  'A Romak-3,' said Schafa. 'Takes ten rounds of 7.62.'

  'And if you need all of those,' added Slater, 'then you're well and truly fucked. This is the Romanian made model, isn't it?'

  Schafa nodded.

  Slater drew Leon aside. 'This could be useful. Who's the best shot out of the four of us?'

  'Hard to say. What about you?'

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  fell, I led an SAS sniper team a couple of years but I'm probably the rustiest in terms of recent 2-hours. How are Chris and Terry?' ; good as any of us.'

  scause whatever happens we're going to need to an OP or possibly two OPs on the rooftops. If lone could get this Dragunov up there and a clear line of fire it could just swing things if scomes on top.' that case, I should go,' Leon said. 'I'm not a shot than Chris and Terry but I'm pretty sure I'm a better climber. Anyone firing an unsilenced 3n from the roofs around there is going to have ppear very fast indeed.' i how do you think the rest of us should deploy?' t's hash that one out later. But we're agreed we I the three Uzis and the Dra
gunov?' link so, aren't we?'

  have body-armour,' said Schafa. at do you think?' Leon asked Slater, ling bulky,' said Slater. 'It'll show in the street 1 the PvDB that we're ready for trouble. It'll just te things.'

  I'the end they settled for 'second chance' vests. t, much less bulky and heavy than conventional ckets, incorporated a layer of Kevlar-over'trauma-packs'. The Kevlar slowed the bullets , while the Perspex panels dispersed their impact. I go down, but with any luck you wouldn't die. had half a dozen of these in a packing-case.

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  None showed signs of having taken bullets, but all were sweat-marked and had the sour smell of fear and stress about them.

  'We'll take three,' said Leon.

  On the way back to the hotel, he dropped Slater off at the Rue de Lappe. Pulling on his gloves and undoing Pasquale's front door with keys stolen from the apartment earlier, Slater checked the drug-dealer's condition.

  Pasquale was half-awake, and feeling very sorry for himself indeed. His wrists were badly chafed from the plasticuffs and a strong smell of urine rose from his bed. Seeing Skter he narrowed his eyes, as if struggling to remember in what context he had met the former SAS man.

  'English, yes?'

  Slater nodded.

  'Please, English. Taking off the handcuffs. Je vais . .. I want to vomit, please.'

  'Wait,' said Slater, leaving the room.

  When he returned it was with a tumbler, a carafe of water, and a fresh bottle of malt whisky. Pasquale, who had thrown up on his pillow while Slater was out of the room, groaned at the sight of them.

  'It's called the hair of the dog that bit,' said Slater, his eyes watering at the ammoniac stench.

  'Please,' said Pasquale. 'I piss, OK? Toilette?'

  'I'm sure you piss OK,' said Slater grimly. 'But first you drink OK. It'll make you feel better.'

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  ^Ignoring Pasquale's groans, he mixed a half-pint of ay whisky and water. Casually, he unholstered and

  eked the Sig Sauer. 'Drink,' he ordered. I'Hesitandy, Pasquale drank.

  pWatching him, Slater saw the alcohol take icdiate effect. Colour returned to the sallow cheeks the nauseated look was replaced by an expression ired relief.

  It's better,' admitted Pasquale, struggling to a sitting ition. 'Please, English. I need to piss.' lAnother glass,' ordered Slater.

  iy you do this?' asked Pasquale miserably. Jecause I don't like people who sell drugs,' said st. 'Comprenez?' lasquale shrugged. Ten minutes and a half-bottle r, he slumped into unconsciousness again. As Slater ched, his bladder voided itself copiously into the Short of shooting him, Slater thought, which Id lead to more complications than the man was i, he couldn't do much more to shut him up. hitside, with 40,000 francs' worth of unlicensed jonry in the back of the car, Leon was glad to get ing again. Pointing the nose of the Mercedes tiwards, he joined the traffic on the Boulevard rchais, and twenty-five minutes later pulled up Rue de la Goutte d'Or in Barbes. ic area was unlike anywhere else in the city. As jng-time home of Paris's immigrant community -- and West Africans for the most part - it offered ady mixture of the tawdry and the exotic.

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  Marabouts, or West African ju-ju men, handed out cards advertising their services. Overfilled immigrant hostels spilled their robed Togolais and Beninois occupants on to garish, neon-lit pavements. Hairdressers' shops offering elaborate braided coiffures stood cheek by jowl with halal butchers, couscous joints and small mosques. From the cafes came the click of dominoes. There was the murmur of many languages.

  Leaving Slater in charge of the car, Leon set off on foot to find a hotel in which the team could base itself.

  A quarter of an hour later he was back. 'I've booked three twin rooms in the Hotel Aissa, a couple of streets away,' he told Slater. 'It's not the Ritz but it's out of the way and no one's likely to be asking questions. I played the heavy, paying up front with a fat wad of cash, so they'll almost certainly assume we're here on drug-business.'

  When they arrived, Slater saw what Leon had meant. The Aissa was an unprepossessing one-star flop-joint, and as they watched from the car a fat, middle-aged Arab in a leather-jacket stepped on to the pavement, adjusted his trousers, scratched his balls, hoisted himself into the driver's seat of the taxi parked at the kerb, and drove off. A minute later a bored looking prostitute strolled out, checked her watch, and took her place on the corner.

  Parking where the taxi had been, the two men made their way into the hotel foyer carrying the anonymously cased weapons, their hiking jackets, and

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  sir overnight bags. Of the four men drinking minted and playing dominoes behind the counter none aked up, but the oldest slid three keys towards Leon pointed at the worn and narrow staircase.

  rooms were small, smelt of spiced food, and re grouped together on the first floor. Slater and i moved their kit into the middle of the three. The i and ceilings were not thick, and from above them a muffled groaning and the creaking of jrings.

  Glassy place!' remarked Slater, lowering the case ining the Dragunov to the greasy carpet and

  the thin curtains closed, eon laughed. 'You said you wanted to see the real s! Why don't you get the rest of the Uzis in from r while I call the others?'

  llpm the whole team was assembled except f, who was watching the front of the building in Lue de Coude from a nearby bar. Leon, it had i decided, armed with the Dragunov, would watch |foack of the building - there were more windows ; back than at the front. The kidnap and hostage would be carried out by Slater, Andreas and

  le Slater and Leon had been buying weapons pacifying Miko Pasquale, Andreas had been ig out a discreet recce of the Rue de Coude. and Chris had not yet seen the place, and after

  ; into old clothes they set out with Leon. lie latest intelligence from Terry was that though

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  Branca had left the building earlier for a couple of hours, she had now returned. Terry's guess, having followed her as she trailed round the streets, dropped in and out of cafes and newsagents, smoked cigarettes and drank coffee, was that she had wanted a break from her RDB colleagues.

  As they approached the Rue de Coude, Leon left Chris and Slater to recce the target area together and hurried ahead to search for an effective OP and lying up position. The three agreed to meet thirty minutes later.

  As Leon slipped into the shadows, Chris slipped her arm through Slater's. She was wearing a polo shirt, jeans and_plimsolls, had a sweater knotted round her shoulders, dnd looked subtly, indefinably French.

  'You look as if you were born here,' he told her. 'And I look like some dodgy geezer from Catford.'

  Chris smiled. She had, Slater noticed, a really very attractive smile when she cared to deploy it. 'Disguise is in the mind,' she said, 'not in the trousers. Although you might pull your sleeves up your arms a bit, like these funky Frenchy loverboys do. And stick your cigarettes in your shirt-pocket this is a country with a soft-pack culture. And put your left hand in your pocket rather than letting it swing.'

  'Like an ape.'

  'You said it, not me. And for heaven's sake put your arm round me properly - you're not my father leading me up to the altar.'

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  )bediently, Slater hitched up his sleeves, pushed his hand into his pocket, and slipped his arm around slight, steely body. Beneath her cheap sweater he sld feel the stomach muscles working as she itered slowly along the pavement. Jow, having put your arm possessively around me rani anyone else off, you curl your lip and ignore altogether - yeah! That's the way! Now we're a ich couple!' Jt was never this complicated in the Regiment,'

  observed wryly. Jo snogging during recon exercises, you mean?' fery little.'

  ley walked in silence for a couple of minutes. The ith of the day had all but gone, fe'll get her out,' said Chris, reading Slater's its. 'One way and anot
her we'll get her out.' could get very nasty,' Slater said. 'Those RDB thad an ail-the-way-to-hell look about them.' ie nodded. 'I know. But we're not exactly feats either. This is the place, isn't it?' le Rue de Coude was a narrow street with four ive-storey warehousing on one side and a series | garment-industry showrooms, all apparently it, on the other. The only sign of life among these frontages was the dimly lit portal of Chez i, which is where Slater guessed that Terry had led himself. Loitering on the corner for a ilent he and Chris scoped out the entrance to the ing, some fifty metres away, where they

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  suspected Eve was being held. As the others had reported, a fat little devil with horns and a forked tail had been stencilled in red spray-paint on to the front of the walk-up to the entrance. The door was new, and steel-framed. Slater flicked his eye upwards but the glance told him nothing; the roof was invisible from the corner of the street and the top floor almost invisible.

  'Bad guy,' murmured Chris.

  A distant figure was making its way down the pavement towards them from the direction of the warehouse building. Something about the man's bearing -- some tension or alertness atypical of the time of night, -- indicated that this was a patrolling RDB man. Casually, Slater swung Chris round to face him and lowered his mouth to hers. As their lips touched he felt her flinch, and clamp her mouth shut. Slater had not intended anything except to hide their faces from the passing RDB man but it was immediately clear to him that Chris was not enjoying herself. As the Serb disappeared and he lifted his face from hers, she gasped for breath and dragged her sleeve across her mouth. 'Sorry,' said Slater. 'It wasn't that bad, was it?'

  She avoided his gaze. 'No, sorry, I ... I just wasn't expecting it. I know you weren't, um . . .' She shrugged, embarrassed. 'Did he stop and look at us?'

  'I don't think so,' said Slater. 'No.'

  Two streets further down Leon stepped from the shadows. He too had identified the patrolling Serb. He

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  also identified a potential OP and lying-up ion.

  i a long shot,' he told them, indicating the multi car-park on his right, 'but it's easy to access, easy cape and evade from, and I couldn't ask for a field of fire. I'm going to take the Romak up ; the Mercedes.'