by Andy McNab
Joey threw his cigar butt onto the floor, trod on it and then stood up. ‘Think I’ll take a ride. I’m not specially keen on watching medical operations either.’ He was already on his way to the stairs. ‘I’ll go see Joyce – we’ve got a lot of catching up to do and-’
‘Wait!’ said Fergus. ‘I want you nearby; we’ll need you to drive later. Go find those things I asked you to get me, but move the car first. Park it outside the square, across the road where we can see it. And keep it there from now on – we don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention after dark.’
‘These things you want Joey to find?’ said Danny. ‘I thought we’d bought everything you wanted.’
‘Just a few extras. For defence. Come on, let’s move. Elena, what about your school?’
‘School?
‘Won’t they be worried if you don’t turn up?’
Elena shrugged. ‘I’m sixth form. Sometimes I don’t go.’
Fergus nodded. ‘I need your computer bag, and Joey, leave me your lighter.’
‘My computer bag?’
Joey looked equally bewildered. ‘My lighter? Just what sort of operation is this?’
Fergus smiled. ‘They’re for after the operation.’
The 21b-breaking-strain length of nylon fishing line was threaded through the small needle and was balanced on Fergus’s good leg. He’d pushed his tracksuit bottoms down around his ankles and now slowly eased off the last of the bloodstained dressings from the GSW to expose the entry and exit wounds.
It didn’t look good: the pus spots were getting bigger. One had burst and was oozing into the torn, scabby flesh. Fergus poured the last bottle of antiseptic liquid over the gaping wounds and doused the needle and fishing line as well. He held his breath and took the pain as the fluid attacked the exposed muscle. It wasn’t going to help much – the wounds were far too infected – but the thought that it might at least stop them from getting any worse made Fergus feel a little better.
Fergus had performed this sort of emergency operation before, in the field; but never on himself. It was going to hurt, but there was no other option: the wounds had to be stitched up if they were ever going to heal. He could worry about fighting the infection when, and if, he managed to get some proper medical attention.
He took a deep breath, clenched his teeth and pushed the needle in at the start of the exit wound, tensing his muscles to absorb the pain. The needle penetrated the top layer of skin and slid through muscle until it pierced the raw flesh on the inside of the wound. It hurt like hell, but that was a good sign – at least the muscle hadn’t gone dead and blood was still flowing around the wound.
With his left hand Fergus squeezed the two sides of the wound together, and pushed again until the needle broke through the skin on the other side. He took another breath and held it, pulled on the needle and watched as the fishing line slid through the two sides of the wound and slowly closed them together. He kept the needle held high in his right hand and his left continued to squeeze the wound together. The best way to combat the pain was to get on with it, so he moved the needle across and pushed it in again.
Gradually he stitched up the exit wound; nothing fancy or pretty, he just looped his way along, with the pain getting worse all the time. He couldn’t allow himself to pass out. He could hear Danny and Elena speaking to each other downstairs. He focused on their voices, forcing himself to try to hear what they were saying, as he watched his skin being pulled up like a small volcano, with pus oozing from the top each time he tightened the fishing line.
Finally the exit wound was stitched. It would hold for now. The entry wound was smaller: stitching it would be easier. Fergus gritted his teeth and began again.
There were plenty of firms and individuals operating their own hotzones in the area, and as Elena had told Fergus, she just had to find one that didn’t need a password for access.
She went onto her wifi network and a whole list of names appeared.
‘A lot of people are lazy,’ she said, scrolling down to the first name. ‘Either they don’t care who uses their hotzone and let anyone on, or they give it a name and then use the name as the password, so no one logging on has to remember anything different.’
But Elena’s confidence was dented slightly when she was unsuccessful with the first few names she tried. Each time she typed in a password matching the name, she was denied access.
‘Maybe they’re more security conscious around here,’ said Danny, wondering if they would have to go out and legitimately log onto a publicly accessible hotzone somewhere in the area.
‘We’ll find one,’ said Elena. ‘Just be patient.’
Before she could try the next name on the list, the metal shutter at the front of the building opened noisily and Joey appeared clutching an empty five-litre paint can. He held it up. ‘You think this will do?’
‘For what, Dad?’
Joey shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me, darling. Fergus said he wanted a paint can. Found this one in the skip outside, and the nuts and bolts he wants.’ He shook the can and the rattling sound proved to Danny and Elena that it did indeed contain pieces of metal. ‘I’ll leave this here while I go get some cardboard. There’s plenty in one of the other skips, but I got no idea where I’ll get the electric plug and lead he wants.’
Danny and Elena exchanged a look. They had no idea what Joey was talking about but they could easily solve one problem for him.
‘Dad, what is this place full of?’
Joey glanced around. ‘Fridges, darling. And freezers, and washing machines.’
‘And what have most of them got dangling from the back?’
Joey looked at the closest fridge and saw the length of electrical lead and the plug still attached to the machine. He smiled. ‘Darling, you’re a genius.’
He placed the paint can on the floor, stepped outside and rolled down the shutter, and with a shrug to Danny, Elena went back to her computer.
The next name on the list was OfficeHelp. Elena typed the name into the password box and suddenly she was online. She grinned at Danny. ‘Must be one of the firms around here. Very helpful they are too.’
She logged onto her e-mail and the message they had half expected was waiting.
You do not reply. This is NOT GOOD. Where are they, and where are you? Report IMMEDIATELY!!!
‘Think she’s getting a little bit touchy,’ said Danny.
‘Good.’
Elena hit the reply box and typed in exactly what Fergus had told her to write:
All alive and safe.
She logged off just as the metal shutter rolled up again and Joey appeared holding a selection of cardboard in various shapes and sizes. He pushed down the shutter and picked up the empty paint can.
‘Looks like Fergus wants to make something for Blue Peter,’ said Elena with a smile.
‘Somehow I doubt it,’ said Danny quietly. ‘Let’s go up.’
As they climbed the stairs, the smell of burning wafted down towards them. Elena was first up, and as she glanced over at the sofa she saw Fergus blowing on one smouldering end of her laptop bag.
‘That’s my bag!’ she shouted.
‘Yeah, sorry, but you’ll need this for the CTR. And I’ll buy you a new one if we manage to get out of this alive.’
Fergus had burned a small hole in one end of the laptop bag. He blew on the hole again, and when he was certain it was no longer smouldering, he dropped the bag on the floor.
He was looking pale and drawn and was obviously in agony from stitching up the GSW. But there was still much to be done before he could rest. ‘Sit down, all of you, and I’ll run through the plan for the CTR.’
Elena sat on one of the bentwood chairs and Joey claimed the other, placing the items rescued from the rubbish skips on the floor.
‘Get everything?’ asked Fergus.
‘Everything you asked for.’
Danny perched on one arm of the sofa and stared at his grandfather. His face was almost grey an
d there were dark shadows beneath both his eyes. ‘You all right?’
Fergus fended off the question with a shrug. ‘Now listen. You’ve got to realize that’s it’s not just the third party you have to worry about when you do the walk past at Northwood. This is a secure location and the security is good – the best – and with these bombings going on they’ll be on a heightened state of alert. If they see anything suspicious, even outside the camp, they’ll come and check it out.’
They listened as Fergus gave them his orders for the CTR. He went through everything twice and then asked if there were any questions.
‘Yeah, one,’ said Danny. ‘The CTR sounds fine, but what about me actually getting into Northwood? How do I do that?’
‘I’m not sure yet,’ answered Fergus. ‘But I’m working on it, and I’ll have a better idea when I see what you come up with after the
CTR.’
35
The red MoD sign pointed up the road and said simply: NORTHWOOD HEADQUARTERS. Joey pulled the hire car into the kerb, just past the junction.
They all knew the importance of third party awareness from the moment the operation began, so as Danny clambered from the back seat and out onto the pavement he called a cheery ‘Thanks for the lift. Bye.’
Joey and Elena came back with equally casual and natural farewells, and Danny closed the door and waved as the car continued on down the road. With his grandfather’s warning of the tight security surrounding Northwood still fresh in his mind, Danny made a final check of the contents of Elena’s computer bag, which hung from one shoulder, and then went back to the junction to begin the half-mile trek to the start of his CTR.
He walked along the leafy street dotted with large detached houses with long drives and signs bearing names like Chestnut House and The Paddocks. As he strode purposefully along, he reflected that there were a lot of what ifs to consider, ranging from ‘What if I check the camcorder after the walk past and there’s nothing on the screen?’ to ‘What if Joey isn’t there for the pick-up?’
He would tackle those situations if they happened, but for now he had to be prepared for the ‘What if I’m stopped and asked what I’m doing?’ scenario. He ran through his cover story. It should be good enough to satisfy the curiosity of any MoD policeman, and it was the truth, anyway; he was on his way to meet his friend Elena. The only problem would come if he were asked to reveal what was inside the computer bag. Then the game would be up.
The whole country was nervous since the third suicide bombing. Fergus had heard enough in radio reports to know that it was a complication they could have done without. He had insisted that Danny wear no jacket, just a sweatshirt, so that it was perfectly clear that there were no explosives strapped to his body, hidden beneath a bulky coat.
The houses gradually gave way to woodland and Danny knew from his briefing that he had almost reached his destination. He unzipped the computer bag, reached inside to power up the camcorder nestling at the bottom and then zipped up the bag again as he continued walking.
He reached a four-metre-high fence on the other side of the road. Beyond that, a gravel path followed its perimeter, stretching all the way round the Northwood complex. Soon afterwards an MoD police car, two up, slowly cruised by. Danny glimpsed the MP5s strapped across the officers’ chests as the one in the passenger seat gave him the once over. But the vehicle didn’t stop.
Danny made sure the small hole Fergus had burned in the slim laptop bag was facing towards the target to ensure that the camcorder filmed everything he could see. The camcorder had been the most expensive item on Danny and Elena’s shopping list earlier in the day, but Fergus had told them that the video was essential as it would give him the vital information he needed to devise a way of getting Danny inside Northwood.
The bag fit was a simple device, but really effective because of the way a camera lens works. The camera was securely taped into position, with its lens hard up against the hole in the computer bag: this was smaller than the lens itself, but because a lens automatically brings the image into its centre to project it into the camera, it could still function perfectly and yet be completely hidden. It meant that Danny would return with a complete, if jerky, record of his walk past of Northwood.
Soon he was almost opposite the main gate. Behind the trees planted to hide as much of the camp as possible, Danny could just see the buildings. They were all close together, and a mix of old brown brick and modern glass and concrete. One was taller than the others – several storeys high – and had flags flying from it.
Just past the gate, and inside the fence line, was a duck pond. Danny smiled; maybe they were trying to appear more people friendly. But his smile vanished as he saw the guardroom. Outside, on stag, were RAF personnel, dressed in DPM uniforms and armed with SA80 assault rifles. Concrete barriers were placed across the entrance to stop any car bomber from crashing into the camp.
Danny could see the tallest building with the flags a lot more clearly now. And so could the camcorder. He figured that the flags meant it was the hub of Northwood. But as a female guard stepped towards the gate, he suddenly realized he was paying a little too much attention to everything on the far side of the road. Danny could feel her eyes on him, and his heart began to pound: from somewhere behind the tree line dogs started barking and then an RAF dog handler appeared by the gate with what had to be the world’s biggest German Shepherd.
The dog bared its fangs and snarled, and Danny wanted to run. He didn’t, but he was thinking quickly. Ignoring this sudden interest in him by both guards and dog felt wrong, especially as Rover looked desperate to be free of his leash and earn his keep by demonstrating what a bad idea it was for anyone to get so close to his domain.
So Danny took a gamble, very glad that his grandfather was not around to see it. He looked across the road towards the dog and handler, and with a smile called, ‘Down, Rover – there’s a good boy!’
The dog let out two loud, short, sharp barks and pulled harder on the leash. The handler said nothing but stared hard at Danny; so did the female guard who was standing close by. But they both seemed satisfied that Danny was just another cheeky kid with a big mouth, and as he walked on, they finally turned away.
Danny was feeling quite pleased with himself as he continued along the road. But then he realized that his little double act with Rover had been captured by the camcorder, which meant he was in for a bollocking when his grandfather saw the footage. He shrugged; tough – it was too late to worry about it now.
He was back in residential land, and five minutes later he saw Elena walking towards him, just as they had arranged. Joey had driven the long way round and dropped her off so that they could meet up. The plan was that they would now continue with the CTR together, while Joey did a recce of his own. He was due to meet them later in a supermarket car park close to the original drop-off point.
‘Hello, stranger, haven’t seen you for ages,’ said the smiling Elena as they met up. It was a good performance for anyone who just happened to be looking out from behind net curtains.
They crossed the road and walked back towards the camp for a little way before turning right into a street lined on both sides with houses. They were working their way round to the back of the camp to complete the CTR. Danny had decided it looked better if Elena joined him after the main part of the walk past. Walking together all the way round the camp might arouse suspicion. This way looked more natural. He had gone to meet a friend and now they were heading off in a different direction.
Elena linked her arm through his as they approached the fence line at the back of the camp. ‘Looks better this way,’ she said, pulling him a little closer.
Danny smiled. He wasn’t complaining.
The Prime Minister was absent from the Commons chamber for the emergency debate on the teenager bombings. The Home Secretary led for the government, explaining that the PM was in discussion with the heads of the Security Services.
For once there was little party polit
icking. Opposition leaders were acutely aware that there was too much anxiety, fear and confusion running through the population for them to attempt any political points scoring. All sides were presenting a united front.
The Prime Minister was in the House, watching and listening to proceedings in the Commons on a monitor in a small office. Other screens in the room showed more disturbing pictures from around the country, as rampaging mobs were shown demonstrating outside mosques and taking out their anger and frustration on those they believed responsible.
An ITN reporter questioned one of the men demonstrating outside the mosque in Regent’s Park, asking him why this was happening when two of the bombers had been white, and not even Muslims.
‘Don’t mean nothing,’ snarled the man angrily. ‘They were converts – must have been – we all know it’s happening all the time. This is a Muslim thing, this is what they do. It’s them all right.’
Dudley was in the room with the Prime Minister. He remained calm and composed as the nation’s leader turned from the screen and stared at him accusingly.
‘Disturbing, Prime Minister, yes, but, however unpalatable, we continue to believe that allowing the people a focus for their anger is the correct course of action for now. The public has concluded that the bombings are the responsibility of Islamic fundamentalists and many of our friends in the media are helping us by perpetuating the myth.’
On one screen, in the packed chamber the Home Secretary was appealing for calm; another showed the scenes outside the Regent’s Park mosque, where bricks were being hurled at the building.
Dudley coughed just loudly enough to regain the Prime Minister’s attention. ‘It is a regrettable situation, sir, of course, but ultimately it’s retrievable. And it gives us the breathing space we need to pursue the real perpetrator, or perpetrators, without them becoming aware that we are closing in.’
‘And are you closing in?’
Dudley’s shrug was non-committal. ‘We learn more after each attack, sir.’