by Andy McNab
But despite everything, and no matter how hard she tried, Elena had always found it impossible to actually dislike Joey. There was too much about him that was likeable. He was charming, funny, confident, good-looking. True, he could drive you crazy one minute, but then he’d have you holding your sides and rocking with laughter the next. Joey was a one-off, a larger-than-life character. Or at least he had been, until going into Brixton prison.
As Elena sat in the taxi and watched her dad emerge from the prison gate, she was struck by the thought that Joey had suddenly become smaller. Shrunken somehow. He stood there clutching a plastic bag containing his few possessions, looking bewildered and disorientated.
Elena wound down the window and called, ‘Dad,’ and Joey gazed across the road, gave a little wave of recognition and a half smile and came shuffling towards the cab. He stepped off the kerb and immediately leaped back as a car horn sounded and a vehicle went hurtling by.
The cab driver laughed. ‘That’s not unusual when they first come out. I saw a bloke get knocked down once. One minute of freedom and he walked straight under a bus.’ He nodded towards Joey. ‘Been in long, has he?’
‘Mind your own business,’ snapped Elena as she threw open the taxi door and went hurrying across the road towards her dad.
Joey had been held in prison for four months while the prosecution case against him was prepared. Each time Elena had visited, he was sadder, more depressed and more resigned to spending many years behind bars. At first he had protested his innocence to Elena; when that didn’t work he said his so-called partner had set him up. Elena was having none of it: ‘You did it, didn’t you, Dad? You’re guilty,’ she said. And eventually Joey had just nodded.
What Joey didn’t do was say he was sorry for attempting to smuggle cocaine into the country. He was saving that for the trial because he was terrified by the thought of a long prison stretch. Joey valued freedom more than anything else in life; the freedom to come and go where he wanted whenever he wanted. He’d spent his whole life doing exactly that.
Now he was walking to freedom, thanks to his daughter, and Elena thought he’d be elated, despite those first few tentative steps. But he didn’t look elated.
‘All right, Dad?’ she asked, grabbing the plastic bag and taking Joey by the arm to lead him over to the taxi.
‘Yeah, fine, babe,’ he answered half-heartedly. ‘I’m good.’ He didn’t look good. He looked scared.
‘So you’re going home,’ said Elena brightly. ‘Back to Nigeria.’
Joey just nodded.
‘Bet you’re glad about that, eh?’ Elena suddenly realized that she was talking to her dad like he was the kid in the conversation. She was confused; this wasn’t what she’d expected.
They got into the cab and the driver pulled away. Joey stared morosely out of the window as the vehicle moved steadily through the early morning streets. ‘Someone came this morning, first thing,’ he said softly. ‘Just gave me a plane ticket and said they didn’t want to see me back in the UK.’ He turned to look at his daughter. ‘But no one told me why they were letting me go, or why there would be no trial. Do you know what’s going on?’
‘No,’ lied Elena. ‘They just said you were leaving this morning and the cab would be picking me up so I could see you off.’
‘They? Who are they? I don’t understand any of this.’
Elena said nothing and they slipped into a gloomy silence as the cab moved out through the suburbs towards Heathrow. When they reached the terminal, armed police were watching at the drop-off point. The driver caught Elena’s eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘Want me to wait? It’s all paid for, but I can’t hang around long – the police are moving everyone on. It’s this bombing business.’
‘I’m seeing my dad off. I’ll find my own way back.’
Joey already had his hand on the door handle. ‘No, darling, you go back. You know I’m no good at long goodbyes.’
‘But Dad-’
‘No, Elena. There’s two hours until my flight. You don’t want to see your poor old dad in tears, do you?’
Elena could already feel tears beginning to well up in her own eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand and looked at the cab driver. ‘Two minutes?’
The driver smiled sympathetically and nodded. ‘Sure.’
Joey got out of the cab and waited while Elena walked round to join him. She couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around him and hugging him.
‘I’m sorry, babe,’ whispered Joey, his voice choking with emotion.
Elena held onto him tightly; she didn’t want him to see her cry. And she was crying, even though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. ‘I’ll miss you, Dad. Take care – write to me.’
‘Course I will, darling.’
She laughed, even though she was still crying. ‘You won’t; you never do.’
Tears were rolling down Elena’s face. She kissed her dad on the cheek and then turned away. She didn’t look back as she walked to the cab. She didn’t look back as the driver pulled away. She didn’t see Joey watching the cab until it disappeared from view.
14
Danny looked down over London as the Cessna eased into its landing approach. The lights across the city and suburbs seemed to stretch away endlessly in every direction.
It had been a long and gruelling flight of over one thousand nautical miles. They flew virtually the whole length of Spain and then skirted the Pyrenees and crossed into French air space for another long haul northward, and then finally across the English Channel. Three times they landed to refuel, first in Spain and then twice more in France. But not once were they permitted to leave the cockpit; not even the pilot got out.
At each brief stop, air force personnel silently and efficiently approached the aircraft to carry out the refuel. No paperwork was completed, no words were exchanged; whoever was responsible for organizing the operation was high up in the food chain. Everything had been considered and prepared, right down to the bottles for peeing in. The pilot gave them each a small square cardboard box, packed with vacuum-sealed bags of food and drink – twenty-four-hour army ration packs.
Fergus grinned as he opened his. ‘Brings back memories,’ he said, delving into the box and examining the contents. ‘Lancashire hot pot for dinner. What you got?’
‘The same,’ said Danny, reading the blue words printed on the bag. ‘And bacon and beans, and fruit dumplings and custard.’
Fergus ripped open a packet of chocolate. ‘This used to be pretty good. But watch out for the biscuits, they’re like iron.’
An incredible amount was packed into the boxes. As well as the main food rations there was soup, chewing gum, boiled sweets, sugar, hot chocolate and carefully packed essentials like matches. There was even a small metal tub of turkey and herb pate.
‘Yanks always used to be jealous of our rations,’ said Fergus. ‘Much better than theirs.’
It was the first time Danny had flown in a small plane, but the initial excitement soon turned to boredom as hour followed tedious hour. A couple of times he attempted to engage the pilot in conversation. He needn’t have bothered; this was no pleasure trip, and the man at the controls was totally focused on the job in hand and was not going to be distracted.
Fergus was quiet too; his thoughts were centred on what was awaiting them when they eventually touched down in the UK.
So Danny had to settle for talking to himself or keeping his mouth shut. He chose the latter, listening to the constant drone of the engine, occasionally dipping into his rations and worrying about Elena.
They dozed for a while, but Danny was woken suddenly as the small aircraft neared the Pyrenees and was tossed about in the updraughts of air. He was scared at first, but when he saw that both Fergus and the pilot looked completely unperturbed, he sat back and enjoyed the rollercoaster ride. It was better than boredom.
They went from darkness to light and back to darkness with hardly a word spoken. But at last they were m
aking their final descent.
Fergus knew exactly where they were headed as he looked down at the A40 streetlights burning their way west towards Oxford. ‘We’re going into Northolt,’ he said quietly. ‘West London.’
His grandson just nodded. Suddenly, with Fergus finally prepared to start a conversation, Danny had nothing to say. He was nervous; more than that, frightened. They were taking a massive gamble on coming back and had no idea what awaited them the moment they stepped out of the plane.
Fergus knew RAF Northolt well from his years in the Regiment. He had landed there many times, before being driven the last few miles to what is known simply as ‘Northwood’, the top-secret MoD control centre used to conduct operations all over the world. It was at Northwood that Fergus had been given his final briefing before being sent out to Colombia as a K.
Both Gulf wars were monitored and controlled from the high security location. From the outside, all the public get to see through the high wire fences are a few old buildings and some satellite dishes. But inside, and mostly underground in the three levels of bunkers, the complex was the closest thing Fergus had seen to the set of a James Bond movie. He remembered watching the large screens showing real-time pictures of operations in the world’s trouble spots as government officials and high-ranking officers directed personnel hunched over computers.
That was in the past, when Fergus was part of it all. Now it was different. He was returning to the very nerve centre of British military operations as a fugitive from the law, a wanted man.
‘If there’s a drama, I’ll try to give you some time,’ he said to Danny as the aircraft lined up on two rows of runway lights that had just started to flash. ‘Run towards the lights on the main road, get over the fence somehow and head left. There’s a tube station about half a mile away.’
‘But… but I’ve only got euros.’
Fergus stared at his grandson and then shook his head. ‘Work something out.’
The wheels screeched on tarmac and the aircraft bounced along the runway. Fergus checked the Semtex he had shoved down his sweatshirt. He had kept only the plastic-like high explosive and the detonator, its two wires tightly twisted together. Left free, the wires could act like an antenna, pick up radio frequencies and set off the detonator. Fergus was ensuring that the det and the HE were kept well apart at all times.
Headlights flashed in the distance and the pilot turned the aircraft away from the A40 and towards the lights. He kept the aircraft moving quickly; too fast for his passengers to attempt to jump out and make a run for it.
As they neared the vehicle, two figures could be seen silhouetted in the headlights.
Danny gripped his grandfather’s arms. ‘They’re carrying.’
Fergus had already spotted the Heckler and Koch MP5s – small 9mm machine guns: a weapon he had used himself in the Regiment. He knew that one option was already closed to them. No one outruns a Heckler and Koch.
He looked at Danny. ‘Forget what I said about making a run for it. You wouldn’t get more than twenty metres.’
The aircraft came to a standstill but the pilot kept the engine running as one of the men came towards the cockpit door. With his shaven head and most of his left ear missing, he looked almost as menacing as the machine gun he was carrying. He kept the MP5 pointed at Danny and Fergus as they climbed out of the aircraft. The second man was standing midway between the aircraft and the vehicle, a Chrysler Voyager.
One Ear nodded towards the wagon, and the aircraft turned back to the runway. After the long flight in the cramped aircraft, Danny and Fergus walked slowly and unsteadily to the vehicle. As they approached, the side door slid back and Danny stooped to get in.
He stopped as he saw who was waiting inside. ‘Elena!’
George Fincham had a lot on his mind. As a high-ranking IB, he was rarely asked to explain his actions by a superior officer; when it did happen, it wasn’t pleasant.
It had happened that day, and in a way it was hardly surprising. The teenage suicide bombers had thrown government, police and all the Security Services into a state of high alert. Manpower was at a premium and Fincham had been called in to explain why four of his most experienced operatives were apparently running around Spain ‘like headless chickens’.
Fincham had no alternative but to admit that they were following up a lead regarding the wanted ex-SAS traitor, Fergus Watts. He knew he was on shaky ground: the recapture of traitors did not come into his remit and he had good reasons for not disclosing his personal interest in Fergus Watts.
He argued that he had acted swiftly and on his own initiative, but it didn’t wash, particularly after he admitted that Watts had evaded his team and was believed to be ‘somewhere in Spain’. Fincham was ordered, in no uncertain terms, to get the team back to the UK immediately.
He left his boss’s office with the words ‘In future, just forget about showing initiative and stick to your own job’ ringing in his ears.
Fincham was back in his own office, using his mobile to call Fran in Spain. ‘I am well aware of what I told you yesterday. There’s been a change of plan – that’s all you need to know. I want you and the others back here tomorrow. Be on the first plane!’
In the safe house in Pimlico, the night shift had taken over, but the two fresh operators were just as efficient at monitoring and recording every word that Fincham had spoken.
‘Marcie’s not gonna like this,’ said one as he removed his headphones and switched off the recording gear. ‘She wanted them out of the way.’
‘No bother,’ said his partner. ‘Deveraux’s got it all worked out. And she’s no lady to mess with.’
There was no touching reunion for Danny and Elena.
Marcie Deveraux was sitting next to Elena with her back to the driver’s seat. She glared at Danny and told him to ‘Shut up and get in the car.’
He did, and Fergus followed. One Ear got behind the wheel and the second man took the front passenger seat.
‘Let’s go,’ said Deveraux to One Ear. The vehicle slowly moved off, headlights cutting through the darkness.
She turned on the interior light and fixed her eyes on Fergus. ‘Firstly you need to know that I brought Cinderella here along for two reasons.’
Danny expected Elena to snap back with some remark about not being called Cinderella, but she said nothing. She was obviously scared and had been warned to keep her mouth shut.
‘Reason one is to show you that she is still alive,’ continued Deveraux. ‘Reason two is to remind you that she is only alive because I am allowing it. At the moment. Got that?’
Fergus nodded.
‘Good. Now listen-’
‘Where you taking us?’ said Danny, unable to stop himself from jumping in.
Deveraux ignored him and kept looking at Fergus. ‘Haven’t you taught him that he should only speak when he’s spoken to?’
‘Shut it, Danny,’ said Fergus without looking at his grandson.
‘Whether or not the three of you live or die is of no concern to me,’ said Deveraux coldly. ‘If you help me, you have a chance; it’s as simple as that. But it has to be fast. I’ve saved you from Fincham twice; we’re unlikely to be as fortunate a third time. Agreed?’
Fergus nodded again. He preferred it this way; Deveraux was stating the fact: cold, hard and straight.
She took a thick brown envelope out of her handbag. ‘I know all about your true role as a K in Colombia, and about Fincham’s activities. I aim to expose him for what he is, and you can help me do that. After all, we want the same thing: Fincham where he belongs.’
The vehicle was nearing a gate. Armed MoD policemen waved them through and One Ear eased past the gate and then drew to a halt as he waited to slip into the flow of traffic.
‘It’s time for you to stop running, Watts,’ said Deveraux.
Fergus smiled. ‘I said that myself only last night.’
‘Then get your revenge on Fincham. It’s payback time. Give me the names of anyone el
se who can confirm that you were operating as a K so that I can build my case against Fincham. I need hard proof. Fincham is a clever man – he’s covered his tracks well.’
‘And then what, if you do nail Fincham?’
Deveraux paused as the Voyager slipped into the traffic, heading towards the A40. ‘Then you can start again, a free man. Danny gets his army bursary for university and then officer training at Sandhurst; as for Elena, I’ve already had her father freed from prison.’
Danny looked at Elena and she nodded.
‘Something for everyone, you see,’ said Deveraux.
‘And what about you?’ asked Fergus. ‘What do you get?’
Deveraux smiled. ‘Job satisfaction. Now, are there any questions?’
Fergus needed time to think. He had many questions, but only one he was prepared to ask at that moment. ‘Your name?’
‘This conversation never took place, so you have no need of my name. Elena knows how to make contact, and you will only do so when you have the information I require.’
The meeting was over. Deveraux turned and tapped One Ear on the shoulder and he pulled the Voyager over to the side of the road. The door slid open and she handed Fergus the brown envelope. ‘Think about what I’ve said, Watts, but not for too long. Goodnight.’
‘What about Elena?’ said Danny quickly. ‘Isn’t she coming with us?’
Deveraux laughed. ‘Don’t worry about Cinders. She’s going home before her carriage turns back into a pumpkin. And remember this, Fincham knows nothing about her, so keep it that way.’
Danny hesitated, but Elena gave him a slight reassuring smile. He smiled back, touched one of her hands with his and stepped out of the MPV. Fergus winked at Elena and followed his grandson out onto the roadside.
Seconds later the Voyager had disappeared.
15
They were surrounded by scores of lunch-time shoppers when all they really wanted was to be alone. There was so much to say, but they both knew that now wasn’t the time to say it.