by Chris Ryan
He started to tap a series of commands into the computer, looking at the screen pensively as it responded to the request.
‘What’s the big one?’ said Jed.
Laura smiled, but there was little warmth in her expression. ‘Officially, the police are only supposed to collect and record the DNA data on people who’ve been arrested. That’s not much use to us most of the time. We’re not interested in the drunks and the burglars who get nicked by the local coppers. The people we want to find are too clever to get picked up for shoplifting. So the NHS have been helping us out. Every person who goes to the doctor for any kind of test, even when they give a urine sample to register with a GP, gets a DNA sample taken from them, and it gets stored on this network. The ordinary police don’t have access to it. But Special Branch do, so do the murder squad boys. And, of course, us. We’ve got about 70 per cent of the population on it, and it’s going up all the time. Pretty soon we’ll have the whole country.’
‘Here,’ interrupted Jones, his finger pointing at the screen. ‘Your man.’
Jed leant forward. He could feel his pulse racing as he did so.
‘Keith Merton,’ said Jones, reading the words from the screen. ‘Male. Caucasian. Thirty-seven. Sample taken at the A&E department, Cheltenham, three years ago.’
Jed toyed with the name. Keith Merton. Common enough name, he thought. There could be dozens of them out there. I’ve certainly never heard of him.
‘Irish, by any chance?’ he said.
He remembered Nick telling him that one of the men had an Irish accent, the other a German one.
‘The database just gives names, not nationalities or ethnic groups.’
‘Does it mean anything to you?’ he said, turning to Laura.
She shrugged, then sat down at the computer next to Jones’s. Her fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, playing it the way a pianist might play her instrument. Jed could see that she was tapping into some kind of database, but over her shoulder he couldn’t see what it was.
‘Who’s your friend?’ she said, suddenly turning away from the computer and looking straight at Jed.
He could feel the coldness in her eyes.
‘Just a mate who got into a fight.’
‘I asked you a question,’ she snapped, shutting down the database. ‘Who’s your friend? Where’d you get this DNA?’
‘That’s my bloody business,’ said Jed, his voice rising. ‘Who the hell is he?’
‘I’ve no fucking idea,’ said Laura. ‘There’s no record of the man on our files.’
‘You know.’
Laura folded her arms.
‘You know,’ repeated Jed, trying to suppress the anger in his voice. ‘I could see it. The database found the guy’s name.’
‘Who’s your friend who gave you those hairs?’ repeated Laura.
From the corner of his eye, Jed could see Jones anxiously backing away.
‘Just tell me who Keith Merton is,’ said Jed, taking a step closer.
Laura started walking towards the door. ‘There’s nothing on the database,’ she said. ‘We have to get back to Hereford. There’s a mission to run.’
Jed had already walked past her, and was jangling the keys to the Ford in his hand. ‘Find your own way back,’ he said.
NINE
Nick was standing by the bed when Jed stepped into the room. He was wearing the jeans and black sweatshirt he’d had on when Jed found him. ‘I’m out of here,’ he said, looking across at Jed.
Merrill was standing next to him, with the stern, long-suffering expression doctors adopt when patients aren’t behaving themselves. ‘I can’t recommend it,’ he said.
‘He’ll be OK,’ said Jed. ‘He’s as tough as old boots.’
‘You lost blood, and you’ve taken a series of nasty cuts,’ said Merrill. ‘You need antibiotics and you need rest.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ growled Nick.
‘Are you going to vouch for him?’ said Merrill, looking at Jed. ‘You checked him in here.’
Jed nodded.
‘Then you’re both a pair of idiots, with a death wish,’ said Merrill turning around, and walking back towards his own office. ‘You fit right into this place.’
Nick laughed, and started walking towards the door, but Jed could see that the guy was struggling. Blood loss weakened a man, particularly by the time he got to fifty. You had to be young to make a swift recovery from combat. As he stepped outside, Nick noticed how much the Regiment had changed since he’d left. The new Credon Hill base looked more like a modern university campus than a military base: it consisted of drab concrete office blocks, interrupted by the odd hangar. Some things never changed, however. There was a smell of war about the place today, he noted: the atmosphere of sweaty, adrenalin-fuelled fear and anticipation you found in any military encampment in the days before a battle started.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Jed. ‘I’ll run you home.’
They checked out of the barracks. Jed was still on leave, officially, until midnight tonight. It was six now. There wasn’t much time, and there was a lot to get sorted before they left for Iraq. Who knows, he reflected grimly, I might not be coming back.
In the Ford Probe, it took just fifteen minutes to speed through the countryside towards the cottage. It was dark already, and the first signs of a wintry frost could be seen crawling down the side of the Black Mountains. As they approached the house, Jed slowed the car down. He put the full beams on and steered the car carefully along the path. ‘Think the bastards might still be here?’ he said.
Nick was looking into the darkness. ‘They’ll be out there somewhere,’ he said. ‘They didn’t look like they were about to give up.’
They climbed out of the car. Jed walked over to the field where he’d found Nick the previous night but it was empty. He checked the next one, then the next one. Nothing. Maybe they realised there was nothing worth watching.
By the time he got back to the cottage, Nick had already brewed up two mugs of tea. One of the light bulbs in the kitchen had blown, and the room was only half lit. Nick looked at Jed through the murky light. ‘The place has been searched,’ he said sourly.
Jed could see the anger written into his face. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes intense. It was one thing to be watched. It was another to have your house searched. It was a violation of a man’s territory.
‘You sure?’
Nick nodded. ‘I put a single hair between the door and the frame, fixed in with superglue,’ he replied. ‘It’s been broken.’ He gripped his mug of tea between both hands, and Jed could see the steam rising up on to a face already flushed red with anger. ‘The bastards.’
‘They’re looking for Sarah,’ said Jed. ‘They must be.’
‘You have any luck with that hair I took from the bugger in the field?’
Jed sat down at the table, sipping on his own mug of tea. ‘The guy’s name is Keith Merton.’
‘Any idea who he is?’
Jed shook his head. ‘Means nothing to me. How about you?’
‘Never heard of the sod.’
‘The Firm know him,’ said Jed. His tone was soft and controlled. ‘The woman who’s organising my mission took me down to Cardiff to get the DNA tested. She put the name into their database, and then she clammed up.’
‘She recognised the name … ?’
‘I’m certain of it. It’s just that the bitch didn’t want to tell me anything.’
Nick ground his fists together. ‘I’d have forced it out of her.’
‘Right, I’m going to start slapping around an officer from the Firm in police headquarters.’ Jed laughed. ‘Even I’m not that stupid.’
Nick took a sip of his tea. He was glancing towards the window as if he might see something outside. The rain was starting to fall harder, beating against the window. ‘If the Firm know who he is, then he must be on the circuit, a villain, something like that,’ said Nick. ‘If they can find him, then so can I.’
It was only when he spoke the words that Jed realised how desperate he was to see her again. He glanced at the staircase. When they first started knocking around together, they’d come to this cottage when Nick was away, and make out on the sofa, or go up to her bedroom and crawl under the duvet together. Sarah wasn’t the first girl Jed had slept with, but she was the first one he’d cared about. What the hell am I doing flying off to Iraq to fight for my country? he thought. I should be fighting for her.
‘I’ll find her,’ said Nick looking back up at Jed.
‘I wish I could stay to help.’
‘You’re a soldier,’ said Nick gruffly. ‘You don’t quit on the eve of a battle.’
‘Let me know if you find out anything about Sarah.’
‘Right, I’ll just patch a call through to the Baghdad exchange and ask to be put through to the SAS blokes. That should work.’
Both men laughed.
Nick reached out and patted Jed on the shoulder. ‘You look after yourself out there,’ he said, his expression turning serious. ‘Don’t let the buggers capture you. You’d be better off dead.’
Jed paused. ‘I’m scared,’ he said finally. ‘I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but you’ve been there so you know what it’s like. One slip, and you’re done for.’
‘All soldiers are scared,’ said Nick. ‘The good ones anyway. The one’s who aren’t scared are just nutters and you’re better off without them.’
‘What happened to you out there?’ said Jed.
He was looking straight at Nick. The light was murky, and the rain was beating against the glass of the window behind them. He could see the man’s brow furrow, as if he was still wrestling with his own memories. ‘There were four of us,’ he said slowly. ‘It was dark and cold. Really bloody cold, as bad as these mountains out here. You don’t expect that in the desert. We were out tracking Scuds, although it was a sodding thankless task. The head shed didn’t have a clue where the buggers were, and neither did we. Our patrol was hunkered down in a wadi for the night, and we’d brewed up some tea. Ed heard a noise coming from the main road, and went out for a recce. Andy and I stayed behind in the bunker. The next thing, we heard a shot. Ed had gone down on the tarmac. I looked up from our OP, and I could see the poor sod rolling around on the ground. He’d taken a couple of bullets straight into the spine, and the pain was driving him crazy. There was no sign of the guys who’d shot him. We could hear him screaming. After a couple of minutes, Andy and I couldn’t take it any more. We had to try and get him to safety. We figured maybe it was just an Iraqi patrol who’d taken a shot at him, then moved swiftly on. The Iraqis did that all the time. Most of them were too scared to do any proper fighting. Andy and I rushed out. I put Ed over my shoulder, while Andy covered us. There was blood pouring out of the bugger, down on to my shoulders and shirt. Next thing, we were surrounded. Must have been thirty of them, rising up out of the desert like bloody sandworms. They told me to put Ed back down. As soon as I did, their commanding officer stepped up, and shot the guy in the head. Next thing we know, Andy and I have been stripped bare bloody naked, our weapons taken off us, and we’re thrown into the back of their truck. They knocked me out with a rifle butt. When I woke up, I was in the dungeons of the Republican Palace. Forget the Bangkok Hilton, we called this place the Baghdad Ritz. Nastiest fucking place you could ever imagine.’
‘They tortured you, didn’t they?’
Jed could see Nick’s eyes glinting in the darkness. ‘The bastards torture everyone, it’s a local speciality,’ he said, steel entering his voice. ‘That’s the fucking Iraqis for you. They can’t cook, can’t build stuff, and some of them don’t even know how to crap. But they know how to inflict pain.’
‘You survived it.’
‘Maybe …’
‘How?’
‘Everybody deals with torture in their own way,’ said Nick slowly. ‘They think they can teach you about it, but they can’t. You’re on your own, just you and the bugger plugging your balls into the wall sockets.’
‘But you must have learnt something …’
‘Just take one lesson,’ said Nick, suddenly turning round and staring out of the window. His back was to Jed, and his voice had turned cold. ‘Looking back, after that Iraqi bastard gave Ed the double tap, I wish I’d fought him. They’d have killed me, but I could have taken down four or five of them. Anything’s better than being captured alive. Even if you get out, it’s a living death. You’d rather you hadn’t.’
Daniel Sutton, the Rupert in charge of inserting the unit into Iraq, was standing near the door to the room. There was a map on the wall, portraying a shape that was already imprinted on Jed’s mind: the square, blocked outline of Iraq. ‘Thanks for joining us, Mr Bradley,’ said Sutton. ‘Next time we’ll ask Mr Saddam to hold up the whole bloody war, shall we? Just so you can get a bit more kip.’
Jed remained silent, taking his seat next to Steve, Rob and Matt. He could feel their hostility as he sat down. He should have been here ten minutes ago, but he had been so transfixed by Nick’s story he’d lost track of time. In the Regiment, there were few worse sins than lateness: when a time was set for a rendezvous, the life of your mates could depend on it being met.
‘The drop will be right here,’ continued Sutton, pointing at the map. ‘You’ll fly to Kuwait at dawn, so try and get some kip if you can. It’s going to be a tough few days. When you get there, you’ll pick up your gear, then we’ll have a Black Hawk to take you into Iraq. We’ve managed to arrange for one of the locals to meet you, and take you close to the centre of the city where the target is. He’s an agent who is used by both the British and the Americans. After the last dust-up in Iraq, the CIA took his family out of Iraq, and we’ve been using him on and off ever since. The guy is getting paid, and paid well, but he’s also taking a big risk, so try to keep him out of harm’s way. We might want to use him again, so let’s keep him alive if we can.’
Sutton tapped a finger against the map. ‘As you already know, you’re going into some kind of research lab. We don’t really know what the Iraqis are cooking up in there, but the chances are it’s bloody nasty. That’s why you’re going to have a look. The Americans are lending us some of their JSLIST suits – or MOPP suits as the soldiers usually call them. That stands for mission-orientated protective posture. You get charcoal-lined trousers – pants as our allies insist on calling them – a charcoal-lined jacket, two pairs of gloves – one cloth and one rubber – and some thick rubber boots. The whole kit comes with clasps so it’s airtight, Make sure you fix those on securely. Lastly, you get a rubber face mask.’
‘How do we know when it’s safe to breathe?’ asked Rob.
Sutton coughed. ‘Not very technical, I’m afraid. You take the mask off and give the air a bit of a sniff. At each stage of the operation, you have to nominate someone who is “least mission critical”.’
‘And he tests the air …’ said Rob.
‘You just nominated yourself,’ said Steve. ‘Thanks, mate.’
Sutton ignored the remark, and tapped the map again. ‘We’re putting you in two miles to the east of the perimeter of Baghdad. Mr Bradley knows the place, so if you can get him to stay awake, he might be able to help you find your way into the city.’
Steve, Rob and Matt laughed, and Jed smiled weakly. You had to get used to the Ruperts trying to rile you up. It came with the territory.
Jed glanced up. Laura was standing at the entrance to the room. She looked towards him, but there was nothing he could read into her expression.
‘Good luck,’ said Sutton. ‘If you can come back with the pictures we need of some real WMD, then you’ll probably all get a per
sonal phone call from Tony Blair. Get as much information on the place as you can. Pictures, files, anything. When you’ve finished, blow it up.’
‘What happens if the war starts when we’re there?’ said Steve.
Sutton shook his head. ‘It’s not going to,’ he replied. ‘The Americans tell us it is going to be at least another three weeks until they’ve got enough troops in the area for the fun and games to begin. And they’re still trying to persuade the Turks to let them come in from the north. So don’t worry. You’ll be well out of the place before the starting gun gets fired.’
‘Is there an evacuation procedure if we get compromised?’ said Steve.
‘No, if that happens you’re buggered,’ said Sutton. ‘You have to fight your way out the best you can. It’s 120 miles down to the Kuwaiti border, and our boys should be punching their way upcountry pretty quick once the kick-off starts, so your best bet is to head south and hope to break through to our lines.’
‘Are there any Iraqis we can turn to for assistance?’ persisted Steve.
‘Apart from the guy who is going to meet you off the Black Hawk, you’re on your own.’
‘I thought the British and Americans had people on the ground working for us.’
‘They might do,’ said Sutton. ‘But we can’t risk compromising any of them by letting you boys get in touch with them.’
Laura stepped into the room. ‘I know this isn’t the most popular mission you’ve been asked to undertake,’ she said. ‘It probably isn’t the most popular war either. Never will be. But we’ve got a job to do. And, trust me, there are dangerous weapons in that country. If you can get in there and get the evidence, you’ll be doing a great service for your country. Probably greater than you can imagine.’