by Ray Carole
‘So the Ilyushin pilot agrees to our request. Also they would be the team’s exit strategy. They do a number of direct South Pole flights to drop equipment off though never take personnel back. The US C130 aircraft do this for South Pole base logistical operations but are of no use to us. The Yanks are the last people who need to know about this… As the Ilyushin can dictate its dates for dropping off equipment we could create a flexible window for the extraction from the South Pole. The beauty of the South Pole pick-up is that the manifests are loose. No one checks what gets on, or who gets off down there. It’s the South Pole for fuck’s sake, who gives a shit. It is not Cartagena in the epicentre of the cocaine industry.
‘Team 1 infiltration and extraction was looking good. Team 2 Documentary Team plans were cool. Upon arrival they met up with ALE who arrange the insertion flight with Ilyushin into Union Glacier. This is Base Camp, the place where WHITEOUT reports to every night. The Team was given a clam shell tent to live in. They provide beds, washrooms and all dining facilities. From here the team set up all of our Electronic Counter Measures (ECM) equipment to monitor all traffic between WHITEOUT and Base Camp along with tracking WHITEOUT’s beacon signal to locate his exact position when the beacon checks in. The other ECM equipment could also blanket jam ALE’s communications infrastructure when needed. Communications would then be established between the teams once Team 1 infiltrated by parachute the following day behind WHITEOUT.
‘Team 2 can then inform Team 1 of all WHITEOUT’s positions and check in information when they monitor his Iridium traffic to base camp. If Team 1 is seen by WHITEOUT and he is suspicious then this will be highlighted in his daily sit-rep in the evening. Team 2 also has the capability to reroute WHITEOUT’s daily call to base camp, straight to their satellite phone. This will be critical if Team 1 know they have definitely been compromised. This gave Team 2 direct contact with WHITEOUT to inform him the two following are a last 2-degree team, the usual lightweight adventurers turning up for the last leg of 120NM. Normally charity types, looking for a South Pole legacy to share down the pub. No threat to reassure him. It could have actually worked in our favour. We could inform him before and set it up but there were a number of risk factors involved with that.
‘So Team 2 have deployed into Union Glacier bedded in and set up the communications platform and proceeded with their cover story.
‘In Punta, Team 1 deployed the next day under the guise of a free-fall record reconnaissance. The insertion was successful and they are in pursuit of WHITEOUT.
‘Meanwhile Team 2 monitored all the traffic at base camp, along with all WHITEOUT’s blogs and personal calls back to friends and relatives.
‘Once Team 1 was within a tactical bound of WHITEOUT, around 3-4 miles, they were wearing camouflage whites and moving cautiously of course. Team 2 will inform them once WHITEOUT has checked in that evening. From here WHITEOUT’s routine involved a 4-hour window before he went to sleep – he’s shared his routine in his blogs.
‘Closing in whilst WHITEOUT was asleep. Team 1 executed him, quick, clean and concise. They knew then they had 36 hours from 1800 that night to RV with Team 2. They took his beacon and reset the pulse to 12 hours so the first location position will be away from his tent so it appears WHITEOUT was still on the move to base camp preventing any panic or concern.
‘Team 2, whilst this was happening, arrived at the South Pole and continued with their cover story, of documenting Tom Crean. On a skidoo they headed out to pick up Team 1 and returned to Ilyushin aircraft. No suspicion was aroused, as it’s just the crazy Russian crew out for a little jolly on the skidoos to any observers at the South Pole station.
‘They liaised with Team 1 and returned safely to the Ilyushin that was waiting on the airstrip after dropping off stores. Engines were on, props were turning and burning so the extraction plan was complete back to Punta, then to the UK.
‘From executing WHITEOUT to returning to Punta they took 16 hours. It was 20 hours post killing WHITEOUT before a rescue mission was launched. They went to the last beacon location and obviously found nothing bar the beacon. It took a further two days to locate WHITEOUT’s body.
‘Job done. Questions?’ Everyone had been absorbed in the story, and what a story it was, Sully thought, hoping Sean would try and take a big bite of the cake with a typical arrogant South African macho attitude.
Sitting up straight, stroking his chin with his hand Sean made his move.
‘Yeah a sound operation well done Sully, a few things I might have done differently but that’s the way it is in this line of work as we well know.’
‘Really Sean, so exactly what would you have done differently?’
‘What’s it matter now, that part of the gig is done so let’s just concentrate on what you want us to do?’ Sean asks.
‘Well it’s not as simple as that Sean.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You’re going to get your chance to do things a little differently if you have the balls.’
‘What exactly does that mean?’ Gerry had realised immediately that Sully was priming Sean and could see what Sully was setting him up for so couldn’t help but snigger internally at the predicament Sean had just walked himself straight into.
Enjoying his roleplay Sully continued with his dramatics. ‘This USB Sean,’ holding it between his thumb and finger, ‘is the operation I just described.’
Sean was slightly confused but the pause from Sully purposely waiting for Sean to digest the grim reality wasn’t far off. A few more seconds, Sully thought, before he gets it.
Sean let out a dismayed shot of laughter as the penny dropped. He had just listened to a blockbuster movie from hell the way Sully had described it, and now he knew his team would be the main cast.
‘So is everything covered Sully, does that USB contain every possible scenario, every last planning contingency and a way to get us out if it all goes south, excuse the pun?’ Sean immediately asked.
‘You know me Sean no stone left unturned, this contains the fucking job lot. If I’m honest, I would want to be on this one and we have planned it that way. Everything to enable success is in play, all stops are out with every favour being pulled in. Are you ready for the next level of this game Sean?’
Look here’s a quick schematic of the rough timelines we have for you. Sully showed it to him on the iPad.
Everyone was deadpan. Whether this was a delayed shock from the other two Icarus lads contemplating the magnitude of the task just thrown out, or the stunned reaction of how they knew Sean would accept the offering without their consultation. For the first time in 20 minutes they could all actually hear the M25 traffic screaming past them. Finally the business end had been reached with the proposal on the table scripted beautifully by Sully.
‘What’s the go, no-go criteria?’ Sean asked.
‘The no-go is simple. If the Ilyushin crew refuses to cooperate then all bets are off. The beauty for you guys is this: we will know this before you leave the UK. In fact you won’t leave the UK if we can’t bribe the crew.’
‘So what will happen to WHITEOUT if we don’t get the go-ahead? When will he be taken down?’ Sean follows up.
‘We have a contingency for this primary option not going ahead. I am not going to disclose that until the no-go is called by myself.’ Yet again Sully was not being strictly true in his disclosures, his go or no-go criteria was slightly more extreme than the Russian’s saying, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’
‘Will we be a part of that contingency?’ Sean enquired.
‘Of course, you’re in the loop now and I have no reason to bring in another asset Sean.’
‘Okay Sully,’ Sean took a moment to glance at the team around him to gauge the level of interest. They looked convinced by Sully’s perfectly pitched short story. There were no signs of skepticism or resistance in their eyes, just a blan
k look that was passed off as a non-emotional show of masculinity in the face of such a compelling mission.
That was good enough for Sean.
Sean nodded whilst scratching his head and pursing his lips to indicate this was a tall order. Almost like a rogue builder pricing up a simple job but indicating it would be a lot bigger than first thought that would have financial ramifications.
Looking straight at Sully he said simply: ‘We’re on.’
Chapter 16
Icarus was not the only part of OP IGNITION catching a flight out of the UK this evening. Gerry was already ensconced in the club lounge at Terminal 5 browsing through a condensed biography of Tom Crean, the iconic Irish explorer.
WHITEOUT had written extensively about Crean in his blogs and Gerry was skimming the information the book provided to further glean an insight into WHITEOUT’s fascination with this man mountain. In fact it was actually a clever stroke to introduce Crean into the mix. Though he died in 1938, the spirit of his life actually embodied this whole episode that was about to unfold and similarly descend into complete chaos like Crean’s life.
Crean was a man with whom Decker had a fascination, even obsession. WHITEOUT seemed to equally respect but despise the iconic British explorer Captain Scott and his leadership inadequacy, which had deprived Crean of South Pole glory in 1911 by choosing his fellow officers to capture their own historical legacies at the expense of Crean, disregarding the fact he was the most robust for the task. Though this legacy obviously never transpired, a Norwegian team beat them to be first to the South Pole.
WHITEOUT’s fury was conveyed in his blogs about how he had thought that this was a typical officer trait – taking all the glory, writing themselves up for gallantry awards and screwing the other men off when it suited them. This was why he had so much compassion for Crean’s story, it fuelled another bitter streak to WHITEOUT’s arsenal of hate, Gerry surmised. Was this all about unsung heroes? Was this the real reason WHITEOUT was alone so no one else could steal his thunder, deprive him of the opportunity of public recognition?
As Gerry continued to read through the Crean bio on his iPad he naturally glanced above the screen that rested on his lap, legs crossed in his standard pose. Gerry’s unsuspecting glances were disguised with a look that articulates a man in deep thought. Rubbing his stubble chin with his thumb and forefinger to accentuate this thought-provoking look, his eyes seemingly vacant but deadly active, curiously scan the room filtering the normal from the abnormal, the genuine from the bullshit.
The wry grin breaks the look of vacancy and highlights the deep cut laughter lines that had now spread across his cheeks in the latter years. A weathered face that was not acquired through windburn or exposure to the elements, these lines buried deep in his grey stubble were the trophies of the extreme endurance he had acquired during years of counter-espionage followed by source handling, or to be politically correct, handling spies, moles or informers.
The grin he momentarily held was triggered by the huge amount of information he had just absorbed then filtered without thought. Whether a frequent flyer in club class or a former spy, the inert vibe of complete bullshit surrounding the lounge was clear. Gerry always found this highly amusing. The art of pretending you’re not showing off, and equally pretending you’re not being overheard is a natural art that not even the likes of Gerry could naturally spin out. He could see and hear the offenders all around the lounge. Recognising this, and subsequently controlling your inner dialogue to not shout out was one Gerry had mastered. Secretly he thought we’re all at it, a complete web of lies, deception and false promises, life’s a game of bluff that everyone knows that everyone is playing. Yet the game always continued.
His phone vibrated in his pocket breaking his moment of amusement and his crossed-leg pose as he reached for his phone. He knew before looking, it was a message with news of a critical play in Punta…
*****
Gerry had called in a few favours and managed to get a surveillance team down to Punta Arenas.
Their job was to set up the pilots of The Ilyshyn aircraft. The plan was to lure the two men into a honey trap that involved a full blown orgy with underage prostitutes at a hotel room fully rigged with camera equipment.
A bargaining chip if they needed it to get Roman the pilot on board.
Gerry was gutted he couldn’t be on the ground orchestrating the operation, however, the South American guys running it were trained by him years ago.
He was in no doubt what the message would read…
*****
Gerry swiped his phone, entered his pin and swiped the screen, which took him straight to the message feed. Reading the full message, he had a little smirk to himself, promptly deleted the message and placed the phone back in his pocket.
‘Tetras completed’ was all that it had read.
In 24 hours Gerry now knew that he would be able to negotiate on his own terms when he sat with Roman the pilot for the innocent free-fall parachuting reconnaissance meeting. Though he suspected he wouldn’t need it with these dodgy Russian bastards, if he did, he had an Ace card up his sleeve to play.
A huge barrier had been overcome to secure the footage they wanted to get the Team inserted in to Antarctica in exactly the way that they wanted. Gerry’s contact had delivered. Op Ignition was officially live. The Clinic’s first job had just gone past the point of no return in a foreign land, with foreign operators. It was their first home run towards the taking down of WHITEOUT.
The Clinic was active, first operational hurdle overcome.
Chapter 17
Sean squinted his eyes, the dimly lit road sign was half sprayed with snow yet still signified the small Norwegian hamlet was 20km away. He was fully aware this place wouldn’t give them the same exposure or brutality that Antarctica would serve up, but it would be a shock nonetheless. Conrad was the reason they had to come here, and at least Norway would be secluded enough for them all to spend vital time together to get their game heads on and focus completely on the task at hand with no distractions.
His ego had been knocked out of joint slightly due to the limited control he’d had over the events of the last ten hours, which had comprised a series of one-way conversations with Sully, with him being on the receiving end with minimal input. However, these three days in the Norwegian mountains would see this control shift back the way he liked it as he regained ownership over the task. Once they thrashed through the plan on the table, worked out and rehearsed the takedown options of WHITEOUT on the snow, he knew his team would start taking control of Op IGNITION.
Mick and Robby were both competent in cold weather, especially Mick so allowing Conrad to put them all through their paces just cemented the final prep. It was professional practice; though an old and somewhat cheesy cliché, ‘failure to plan, is preparation for failure’ held true. The devil was always in the detail Sean thought to himself as the road once more led into a tunnel of darkness devoid of any roadside lamp posts, Mick steered the vehicle expertly in the dark, using the two-metre-high reflective stakes marking the road edge for early morning snowploughs, to guide him. Sean rested his head against the headrest and thought hard about the last few metres of closing in on WHITEOUT and possible complications. The priority would be practising the simulated killing of WHITEOUT in a number of different scenarios with him play-acting WHITEOUT to eradicate the unknown. This part to some he knew seemed to be the easy stretch, an exhausted unarmed man against two killers with hi-tech weaponry? No contest. But he knew from experience that just a few small variables thrown in at the last moment could propel this whole operation into chaos. In seconds, even with the hardware on their side, things could change rapidly.
As he glanced at his watch trying to figure out what time they would get to sleep tonight after meeting Conrad, he continued to etch out the potential takedown options for WHITEOUT and how to do this out of the
prying eyes of WHITEOUT’s mentor and world-renowned explorer Conrad Dickinson.
Entering a gravel driveway Mick breathed out and swung the vehicle next to another Land Rover Defender. The porch that it was in front of automatically lit up.
*****
Conrad Dickinson placed his laptop down on the coffee table and scratched absent-mindedly at his beard, Harry Decker’s daily blog post blared across the screen. He was tracking his protégé’s progress with a fine toothcomb and thoroughly enjoyed his daily insight into his journey. So far Decker was surpassing what seemed to most to be impossible at first glance. Not one to boast, however Conrad knew that his words had had a profound effect on the man before his do-or-die expedition. Decker had first asked for Conrad’s advice when faced with a seemingly impossible 65 days, instead of 85 days to complete the expedition. He hadn’t hesitated to inform him that if he was prepared to suffer, then it could be possible. No one else encouraged him to proceed, the risk-averse professionals advised against it, totally. Conrad sighed, he’d seen in Decker’s eyes a streak of what he held in his own mind. He knew he could do it. Conrad had met Decker near the North Pole during a race five months earlier. They’d immediately hit it off although only 32 years young to his 57, Conrad had respect for his SAS career. Decker had displayed a contagious attitude of a forward-thinker who possessed extreme focus and would not be shy of suffering to get what he wanted. To Conrad this was refreshing, he had seen all the young hotshots that were desperately trying to be the next Ranulph Fiennes or Bear Grylls have a crack at stardom. Breaking into the Polar exploration world with a documentary team in tow and a well-crafted keynote speech was always their agenda and he found it dismally dull. He always allowed himself a big chuckle when the pompous big timers failed, and most did miserably.