by Geoff Wolak
* * *
Kirkpatrick arrived five minutes late, his watch showing 7.05am. He quickly stepped down and into the boat’s galley, the rope lines creaking as it rocked gently at its moorings.
‘You look … harassed,’ Henry quietly noted.
‘And for good reason.’ Kirkpatrick caught his breath after jogging across the huge Pentagon car park. He opened his case and handed his guest a report.
‘What’s this?’
The boat’s owner took off his brown coat, throwing it onto one of the wooden benches that ran parallel to the galley table. ‘Updated appraisal of K2’s offensive and defensive capabilities.’
‘You … authorised this?’ Henry questioned, clearly concerned. ‘It could have tipped them off!’
‘I had close observation on our friend withdrawn,’ Kirkpatrick explained as he sat, still breathing hard.
Henry’s eyes widened. ‘Why?’
‘Their boys turned up with sniper rifles with night sights, dog patrols, Israeli laser motion detectors - twenty five grand a piece!’
Henry leant forwards across the table, staring hard. ‘What does the appraisal say?’
‘That they’re about twelve times bigger than anyone thought, armed to the teeth with the latest sophisticated equipment.’
Henry stared. ‘And their facility in Switzerland, that secret place?’
‘It would take a battalion of Delta Force guys to crack it, all the interesting stuff is underground! They’ve bought a lot of kit from the Israelis; air filters, water purifiers, gas detectors. That place could withstand a direct nuke attack. Talk about paranoid.’
‘How many men at this … facility?’ Henry quietly pressed, staring out of focus.
The analyst offered a concern look. ‘Three hundred plus.’
‘Three hundred staff?’
‘No, three hundred guards! Staff estimates are two thousand plus! Two of our assets in Switzerland have gone over to their side, two are missing and those still in service are terrified of K2.’
Henry straightened. ‘Just when the hell did all this happen?’
‘Seems that K2 has been built up on the quiet in the last few years. Official Swiss description of it is deliberately misleading, Swiss Government seems to be happy for them to grow.’
‘This alters things. I’ll be arranging to remove our project assets and investments in Switzerland - they’re exposed. And I have a bad feeling as to why the Swiss have allowed them to grow.’
‘Which is…?’
‘I can’t say.’
Kirkpatrick blinked. ‘You can’t say … even to me?’
‘I’ll need to do some research first. And some things… are more dangerous than others.’
He left Kirkpatrick wondering about that as he left.
2
Colonel Milward, current operational Commanding Officer of the SAS, sounded confused as he sat at his desk, phone in hand. ‘Am I in my office? Of course I’m in my office, because this phone has a piece of wire that goes into the wall of my office, a landline, which you have just dialled.’
‘Actually, old chap, I’m using a satellite phone, and this call is being re-directed by my operations staff in Switzerland,’ Beesely pointed out. ‘I would hate for there to be any confusion.’ He waited.
Milward gave it some thought. ‘Of course, my apologies for being brusque. How exactly can I help you, Sir Morris?’
‘I have some gifts for your guys. There will be several large lorries arriving at your main gate in a few minutes time. Be so kind as to let them in and find a practical use for the contents.’
‘Gifts? Who for? And what for?’
‘I’ll call you back tomorrow, have to run, just enjoy the goodies.’ Beesely hung up.
Milward held his phone halfway between ear and desk as it buzzed the confirmation of a dead line. He pressed zero.
‘Sir?’
‘Front gate.’
A moment later came, ‘Guardroom, Sir.’
‘If you see some large lorries –’
‘They’re here now, Sir. What do you want done with them?’
‘Direct them to the parade ground, then get twenty men to help with unloading.’
‘Unloading what, Sir? We need a forklift?’
‘Don’t know, we’ll see when we get there.’
Milward stepped to the window of this new, two-storey building, a commanding view over the rest of the single storey prefabs and metal huts. His view over the uniform collection of buildings led off to gentle green hills in the distance. ‘Old man Beesely. What’s he up to?’
The parade ground appeared after a short walk along concrete paths, squarely navigating around several single storey buildings with green-painted metal roofs. Several senior officers and adjutants trailed along after Milward’s cryptic mumblings.
‘What the hell?’ he protested as an eighteen-wheeler slowed to a crawl across the parade ground. Three smaller trucks followed it in and parked up as inquisitive soldiers started to see what was up.
The juggernaut hissed to a stop and the driver clambered out, wearing neat blue overalls. ‘Morning,’ he offered as he jumped down, stepping immediately to the rear. A powered loading ramp started to descend.
Milward looked to his officers. They looked back expectantly. ‘Don’t look at me, I just work here.’ He marched to where he could view the unloading.
The lorry driver wheeled an off-road motorbike down the ramp, carefully applying the brakes and pushing it toward the first soldier. ‘Grab this mate, keys are in it.’
The soldier took the handlebars, threw a leg over and a few seconds later sped along a track. Twenty more bikes came off the back, followed by a dozen quad bikes and fifty mountain bikes. In short order, the buzz of engines filled the air and several near misses were eliciting a lot of shouting. Milward and his officers were puzzled, the parade ground noise now attracting more onlookers. Fifty canoes were unloaded, laid out and inspected as troopers jumped into the trucks en masse.
A hundred and fifty garden barbecue sets were soon laid out on the edge of the grass. As the front of the line grew the back of the line began to disappear, as if a creeping snake.
A Captain stepped up to Milward. ‘They’re nicking the bloody barbecue sets!’ Milward did not reply. ‘Do you want one?’ the Captain whispered.
‘Please.’
The Captain retrieved two as the din grew, bikes and quads flittering about the base.
‘Sir,’ a soldier called. ‘There are thousand cans of lager coming out of that one.’
‘Couple of hundred in the Officers’ Mess, same in the NAAFI, rest split equally. And I want some left for staff on ops!’
‘OK, Boss. What about the spirits?’
‘Same deal.’ He clicked a finger at an officer who had been close enough to hear. ‘Make sure.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘What’s that?’ Milward asked no one in particular, pointing to dozens of long thin boxes being unloaded.
‘Fishing rods!’
‘Fishing rods?’ Milward quietly repeated. Then louder, ‘And those boxes?’
‘Trainers. Hundreds of ‘em, all sizes, Boss. I got some for my kids.’
‘Sir,’ an officer called from his left. ‘Combat binoculars. Expensive stuff - good Swiss stuff.’
‘Make sure they all go under lock and key!’ Milward ordered. ‘Do not let them out of your sight!’
‘Sir, these boxes have laptops in.’
‘Laptops? God’s sake, laptops?’ They had to be inspected. ‘My office. All of them.’
‘Satellite phones, Boss, couple of hundred.’
‘GPS position finders, Boss.’
‘Gents’ fleeces, Boss.’
‘Waterproofs here.’
‘Box of a thousand tampons?’ The soldier scratched his head and frowned.
‘Scuba gear coming out.’
‘Lawn mowers, Boss.’
‘Excellent. I want one at my house before end of work today.
Start clearing this stuff away.’
‘Ropes, Boss. Helmets.’
‘Frozen barbecue steaks, Boss.’
Milward smiled. ‘Guess they are supposed to be used up today. Staff Sergeant!’
‘Sir.’
‘Dozen barbecue sets over there. Beer and steaks, you’re in charge of the lawn party.’
‘Right, Boss.’
His adjutant laughed to himself as he walked past, carrying way too much of whatever was in the boxes, Milward shaking his head.
3
Otto brought the TV news to Beesely’s attention, Johno told to sit and observe.
NEWS ON THE HOUR.
BREASTS, BREASTS AND MORE BREASTS. NO, NOT A BAR ROOM JOKE, BUT THE SCENE TODAY OUTSIDE THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT AS MORE THAN ONE THOUSAND ACTIVISTS AND SUPPORTERS OF A BREAST CANCER RESEARCH CHARITY STRIPPED OFF AND BARED THEIR BOSOMS IN PROTEST AT THE LACK OF GOVERNMENT SUPPORT - PARDON THE PUN - FOR BREAST SCREENING ISSUES.
THERE WERE SEVERAL MINOR CAR ACCIDENTS AS STARTLED MOTORISTS CAUGHT AN EYEFUL OF HUNDREDS OF WOMEN OF ALL AGES, MANY MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS, BARING THEMSELVES. TOURISTS PHOTOGRAPHING BIG BEN HAD SOMETHING MORE INTERESTING TO PHOTOGRAPH AND THE ROADS WERE BLOCKED FOR ALMOST THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE VANS OF POLICEWOMEN ARRIVED. APPARENTLY THE POLICE DID NOT WANT MEN HANDLING THE ARRESTS AND CROWD CLEARANCE.
DOWNING STREET LATER SAID THAT THE PRIME MINISTER WAS KEEPING ABREAST OF THINGS. AND NO DOUBT KEEPING AN EYE ON THINGS AS WELL.’
‘We organize that?’ Johno asked, smiling.
Otto smiled and nodded.
‘I wonder,’ Beesely began, ‘how Gunter would react if he knew how we were spending his money?’
‘I think, maybe, he would turn in his grave - if he had one,’ Otto replied.
Beesely turned his head. ‘Cremated?’
‘Chopped up and fed to a field of pigs.’
‘Crikey!’ Beesely let out, making eye contact with a stunned Johno.
