by Andy McNab
Eddie Moyes was no fool, he'd been around far too long for that. He was trying to track down Fergus Watts and he knew he wasn't alone in that. The others, whoever they were – and he suspected MI5 or MI6 – might well know by now that he was also on the hunt. Nothing escaped the security services for very long.
So just in case, Eddie was being careful. This call was important: better to make it from a public box than use his home phone or mobile. And Eddie had struck lucky – not quite the result he wanted, but he was making definite progress. He was writing quickly. 'Sailing? . . . No, you wouldn't even get me on a rowing boat in the park . . . Yes, I've got that, the morning tide . . . You've been very helpful, Mrs Meacher, thank you . . . The day after tomorrow, then . . . Yes, I'll call first . . . Goodbye.'
He replaced the receiver with a satisfied smile. And then his breakfast arrived. He was chewing slowly on his favourite combination of egg yolk and sausage when the door opened and a young woman walked in. Eddie noticed the cuts and bruises on her face but paid her little more attention. It was a busy café, used by all sorts of people, and they usually had a story to tell if anyone was prepared to listen. All the tables were in use, so it was no surprise when Eddie glanced up from his plate a few minutes later and saw the young woman standing there with a mug of tea in one hand.
She smiled. 'You look as though you're enjoying that.'
Eddie swallowed the final mouthful of sausage. 'Always get a good breakfast here.'
'D'you mind if I sit down?'
'Be my guest,' said Eddie, picking up the last slice of bread and butter and commencing the mopping-up operation. It didn't take long, and the young woman was polite enough not to look until it was all over.
Eddie had enjoyed his meal. He was full – replete, as he liked to call it. He picked up his mug and drained the last of the tea. As he put it down he saw that the young woman was looking at him. He smiled. 'You not eating?'
The young woman returned the smile and gently touched her face. 'Bit difficult at the moment.'
'Oh, yeah, sorry, I, er . . . well, I couldn't help noticing the bruises. Accident, was it?'
'Mmm, I walked into a door.'
Of course you did, thought Eddie. I've heard that one a thousand times. But it was nothing to do with him. If she had an abusive boyfriend – Eddie had already clocked that there was no wedding ring – and chose to let him get away with it, that was up to her.
'Actually,' said the woman softly, 'it was my boyfriend. I dunno why I should protect him.'
Oh no, thought Eddie, a talker. Still, he was in a good mood and in no great rush. If she had something she needed to say, Eddie was prepared to sit and listen. 'You shouldn't stay with him, love. In my line of work I've seen this sort of thing happen too many times.'
'Really? What, are you a social worker or something?'
Eddie smiled. 'Hardly. I'm a reporter.'
The young woman was wide-eyed. 'Honest? Oh, that must be so exciting. D'you do murders and things?'
'Well, I don't actually do them,' said Eddie with a laugh. 'I report them. I report all sorts of things.'
The notebook Eddie had been using was on the table-top and the young woman glanced towards it. 'Do you know, I wondered why you had a notebook with you.'
Eddie picked up the notebook and slipped it into his coat pocket. 'You're very observant,' he said with a smile. 'Make a good reporter yourself.'
Forty minutes later the woman was sitting in her car, dialling a number on her mobile. It rang three times.
'Yes?'
'You were right, he's got the missing notebook with him. It's got July '97 – SAS Traitor Watts written on the front.'
'Well done, Fran. Good work. Where is he now?'
'Back at his flat with all the dailies. Looks like he's settled in for a while.'
'And how are the bruises, and the nose?'
'Painful. I can't wait to meet up with our friend Watts again. Did Mick call in?'
'Yes. He'll join you later, once the swelling goes down a bit.'
Fran smiled. 'It's his own fault – should have kept his legs together. How about the governor? Has he got over us losing Watts for a second time?'
'He's not happy, Fran, but this should convince him that last night's CTR wasn't a complete waste of time. Wait out and I'll come back to you.'
She hung up. It was true, George Fincham wasn't happy, and wouldn't be until Fergus Watts had been eliminated.
Marcie Deveraux, on the other hand, was not unhappy with the way the operation was progressing.
23
'This girlfriend of yours—'
'She's my friend. Can't you just accept that?'
'All right, friend. She was the one who located my phone?'
'Yeah, and it was her idea.'
'Could she do more than that? Like . . . like listen in on calls?'
'I doubt it. Why?'
'We need information, Danny. If we can find out anything, anything at all, about what Fincham's doing, we can maybe stay one step ahead.'
They were on the way back to the LUP. It had been a long day. After the MSN conversation with Elena they couldn't return to the LUP while people were on site, so Fergus said they should split up for a while. Fincham's team were looking for the two of them. Together. Apart they were less conspicuous. He gave Danny some cash, told him to 'keep his head down and not talk to anyone', and arranged to meet later at the usual RV.
Danny followed his instructions. He wandered around, got himself a pizza at lunch time and saw a film during the afternoon.
Fergus drank a lot of coffee and later did a couple of walk-bys of the archway. There wasn't much activity. The first time he saw a man on a fork-lift shifting a few pallets from one place to another while his workmate leaned against a wall and sipped tea from a mug. The second time, just after four thirty, the two men were getting ready to leave.
There was nothing happening at any of the neighbouring arches, so by five thirty Fergus and Danny were making their way back.
'What about e-mail?' said Danny. 'What if she hacked into Fincham's?'
'Could she do it?'
Danny smiled. 'I bet she'd wouldn't mind having a go.'
Elena began counting her steps as she started to walk down Magnis Street. She was exactly on time. Under one arm she carried a black plastic rubbish sack, tightly secured with strong elastic bands.
Inside the sack was an Ordnance Survey map for the area of Norfolk where Meacher lived. His address and telephone number and even his wife's name were written carefully and clearly on a single sheet of paper. Elena had been out and bought the map earlier in the day. Train and bus timetables for the journey to and around the county had been downloaded from the Internet.
She spotted the rubbish skip and the open archway with the stacked wooden pallets long before she finished the count. But she kept counting. As she came alongside the skip she casually tossed the black bag inside and continued walking, wondering where Fergus and Danny were, and if they had seen her.
Before leaving Foxcroft, Elena had checked a London A-Z and worked out the quickest route back to the station. She took a left. Elena didn't scare easily, but the gloomy and dismal street made her uneasy. It was empty. Deserted. A couple of battered cardboard boxes lay in the middle of the road. A door to one building was wide open but as Elena glanced towards it she could see there was no one inside. That was the problem. There was no one around. It was like the place had been abandoned in a big hurry. Elena just wanted to get back amongst the crowds.
Then, ten metres ahead, someone stepped out of a doorway, head down. He turned towards her. Elena tensed but kept walking, ready to leg it if he made a grab at her. He came closer, walking quickly, head still down. They were less than a couple of metres apart and Elena was about to run when he finally lifted his head.
'All right?'
'Danny! You . . . you . . . dork.'
'What's wrong?'
'You had me brickin' it, that's what's wrong!'
<
br /> Danny didn't see what all the fuss was about. 'Did you leave the stuff?'
'Of course – I should have kept it to hit you with.'
'Look, you might have been followed and we couldn't take the chance of someone seeing you make the drop. And he said if you'd spotted me near the skip you might have panicked.'
'He's got a really great opinion of me.'
'You should worry, he treats me like I'm about five. We need you to do something else.'
They stood by a car with a smashed-in windscreen while Danny explained the plan of hacking into Fincham's e-mail.
'D'you think you can do it? It's bound to be a secure site – firewalls, the lot.'
'Danny, I thought you knew by now, nowhere online is secure. I'll give it a go tonight and let you know what I've found when we MSN in the morning.'
They didn't hear the footsteps approaching. They didn't see a thing. The first they knew of the attack was when Danny was roughly shoved in the back and sent sprawling into the road. Elena felt herself being grabbed around her arms and body and held tightly in a bear-like grip. All the breath was squeezed out of her; she couldn't even scream.
Danny had taken the weight of his fall on his left shoulder and it hurt like mad. He rolled over, expecting to see a couple of burly MI6 guys standing there with pistols pointing at his head. But they were kids. Three of them. Younger than him by the look of it, but mean looking all the same. And the one holding Elena was enormous.
Danny tried to get to his feet.
'Stay down!' yelled the closest of the three, kicking out at him. Danny saw it coming and tensed as a trainer thudded into his ribcage. He tried to roll with the kick, but didn't make it. The pain screamed through his body.
'Phone!' shouted the kicker. 'Give us your phone, and anything else in your pockets. Cards. Cash. Quick.'
'I haven't got a phone,' gasped Danny as two of the attackers loomed over him, poised to kick out again.
'Don't talk shit, everyone's got a phone! Give us it, quick!'
'It's true!' yelled Danny. 'Someone else beat you to it.'
The attackers were momentarily thrown. They stared at each other, highly pissed off that other muggers had got in before them. 'Cards then, and you must have cash!'
'Give it to them, Danny,' shouted Elena, struggling to free herself from the big guy's grip. She was getting nowhere. He grasped her even more tightly and shouted at Danny, 'Do as she says, dickhead. I'm getting bored with this and if I come over there I'll kick the crap out of you.'
'All right! I'll give it to you! Just don't hurt us.'
'That's better,' smiled the one who'd done the kicking. 'You know it makes sense.'
It did make sense. Everything Danny had ever heard about how to react in this sort of situation told him to do exactly as the attackers demanded.
He didn't do it. He was angry, he was hurting and he wasn't going to give in. Not without a fight. He thought about going for the Leatherman knife in his jacket but forced the idea from his mind. That was a step too far, and anyway, for all he knew his attackers might be carrying weapons of their own.
'My wallet's in my pocket,' he said, moving one hand towards his jacket. The two thugs closest backed off slightly. As they did, Danny drew back his leg and stamped as hard as he could into the kicker's leg, catching him directly below the knee.
He went down, fast, screaming, 'Wanker! Wanker!' as he hit the pavement. Danny swivelled and kicked out at his second target. His foot thudded into his victim's thigh, sending him staggering backwards. Danny leaped to his feet.
'Oh, Danny, no!' yelled Elena. 'No!' But she had to go for it too now. The big bear was holding her off the ground, but his brain obviously wasn't as fast as his hands: he couldn't decide if he should drop Elena and go for Danny. Elena made up his mind for him. She swung her right foot and brought her heel back into his shin.
He let go, squealing like a pig.
'Run, Elena!' screamed Danny. 'Run!'
She was already running. Danny was at her side and two of the attackers were after them. The third was still on the ground, holding his knee and spitting out words of fury. But he wouldn't be running for a long time.
'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' shouted Elena as they hurtled down the road and into the next on the left.
The chasers were close, but not gaining, and up ahead was the main road. And people. Hundreds of people. Exactly what Elena wanted.
They were almost there. Safe among the crowds. Pedestrians passing at the end of the street had turned to stare as the four youngsters came tearing towards them. And then, when they were just metres from the junction, a police officer stepped out from behind the building on the corner of the street.
He saw the four runners. They saw him. The muggers skidded to a halt and turned on their heels. Danny glanced at Elena, shook his head and went tearing off up the main road, away from London Bridge. Elena came to a standstill.
'What's going on?' demanded the police officer.
'They . . . they . . . they tried to mug me.'
The officer looked towards the figures disappearing in two directions and thought about giving chase. Then he reached for the radio at his collar while keeping his eyes fixed on Elena.
'Name?' he said.
Elena shrugged. 'I dunno,' she said with a grin. 'I never met any of them before.'
The officer wasn't amused. 'Your name.'
Danny stopped running as soon as he was safely swallowed up in the crowd. He felt bad about running out on Elena, but he'd had no choice. The last thing he needed was his name and details fed into the police computer. And he knew Elena would give nothing away.
He took a long route back to the LUP, and entered the arch by the ladder at the back. Fergus was pleased about that, but less than delighted when he heard what had happened out on the street. 'Where do you keep your brains?' he snarled. 'Combat should always be your last option. You talk your way out of it, or run away, but you never go looking for a fight.'
'But I couldn't help it, and we did get away.'
'You got away. What about your friend? She's probably sitting in some nick now telling the nice policeman all about you!'
'She won't be, and she wouldn't.'
She wasn't. Elena was on her way back to Foxcroft. She'd given the police officer her name and address, which he confirmed while she waited, and told him a tale about the four boys who'd tried to mug her. She gave accurate descriptions, or as accurate as she could remember, of the real muggers, and then told him the fourth attacker 'looked a bit like that footballer, Will Rooney'.
'I think you mean Wayne Rooney, don't you?'
'Yeah, that's the one. He was just like him. Only shorter. And fatter. I'm not sure, really.'
The officer looked bemused by the description of the fourth mugger, but seemed satisfied that Elena was telling the truth. He warned her of the dangers of young girls going alone into dodgy areas and said they'd be in touch if they found any suspects. Then he let her go.