by Angus McLean
No expense spared; thanks Matt.
Except somebody like him would never be called Matt; that just wouldn’t be proper. Surprising he didn’t have a double barrelled last name. Archer put the jug on and booted up his laptop. He opened up his email to himself with the details taken from phones of the American crew. It was only a handful of numbers that had been called, and he quickly realised they had mostly called each other. The texts between themselves were brief and meaningless.
He forwarded the email to Jedi with a short explanation of what had happened then shut the laptop down and flopped onto the bed. No matter how he tried to push it aside, Tracy’s mood bugged him. Something about her had got under his skin and it bothered him that she was annoyed.
Twice he got up and went to the door before cursing himself for acting like a fawning schoolboy. Finally he caved and opened the door, striding across the hall and raising his hand to knock. He paused and decided again he was being foolish, and was turning to retreat when he heard movement and the door opened.
Tracy stood and arched an eyebrow at him. She wore striped pyjama pants and a plain white singlet that did nothing to hide her protruding nipples. Archer glanced down automatically then flushed as he looked up and caught her eye.
‘Is this a social visit or what?’ she asked pointedly.
‘Ahh...I just...what time are we heading off in the morning? I just...I’ll go for a run, that’s all.’ It sounded lame and he knew it.
‘I’ll meet you for breakfast at seven,’ she said abruptly, and made to shut the door.
He stayed where he was, and she paused.
‘Was there something else?’
Archer shook his head and turned away, hearing the door close behind him. Once inside his own room he mentally gave himself a swift uppercut before bed.
He’d barely closed his eyes when his cell phone rang. It was Jedi.
‘Have you gone off the fucking reservation?’ the former RSM demanded.
Archer sat up and fumbled for the bedside light, trying to gather himself. He’d been bollocked once before by Jedi-WO1’s were allowed to do that to officers-and he had the immediate impression this was about to be number two.
‘No, but I think they did.’
‘They’re not on the books. Moore checked.’ Jedi’s tone was terse and edgy. ‘Our friends don’t tend to bullshit us about that sort of thing, not when two of their countrymen are dead and a third is found with the murder weapon and saying nothing.’
‘I tried to get hold of Rob…’
‘He was meeting a high level source. And yes, this line is secure, by the way.’
Archer was tired and getting sick of being jerked about. ‘I can’t change the facts, Jedi. They called the play and I responded appropriately. Would you rather it was a Kiwi found with a shed load of explosives and some bullshit story? It’d be me down at Paddington Green getting grilled right now, and probably all over the papers tomorrow.’
Jedi was silent and Archer could almost feel the heat down the phone line. He decided to push his case home.
‘Instead of getting into me, why not ask the Yanks why they don’t have their dogs on a fucken leash? It’s all very well saying they’re not on the books, but they were in London for a reason and it crosses into this job. They wanted me out of the way, so if their Government wasn’t calling the shots then who was? It was somebody in the know.’
‘That’s a pretty short list,’ Jedi responded. Some of the sting had gone out of his voice and Archer knew he was hitting the mark.
‘So it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out then. Besides, the Agency or whoever already bailed those pricks out once, so why not again? They’re obviously important assets.’
‘I made those checks. I take it you realise you’ve met these guys before.’ It wasn’t a question but Archer nodded to himself anyway.
‘I do,’ he said curtly.
‘Carl Miller, Terence Wheeler, Thad Sychak. Miller and Wheeler are ex-Airborne, served with distinction but were busted for stealing weapons and selling them on the black market. Went private after that. Sychak did about a year as a grunt and was dishonourably discharged, apparently for general shit kicker behaviour. Assaulted a black officer and threatened to lynch him.’
Archer snorted but wasn’t surprised. ‘And this is who the Yanks get to do their dirty work?’
Jedi was silent again and Archer waited. He had nothing else to say and was ready to fight his corner. The silence last almost a minute and Archer wondered if he’d lost the connection, until Jedi came back on.
‘We’ll look into it further,’ he said, ‘and I’ll come back to you. In the meantime, watch your back.’
27
The next morning Archer hit the floor at 5:30am and threw on his running gear.
After a warm up he ran hard for twenty minutes through Southsea, before returning to the hotel sweaty and breathing hard.
He rinsed off in his room and changed into togs, detecting no movement from Tracy’s room as he padded his way silently down to the leisure centre. The pool was empty and still and he barely made a ripple as he dived smoothly in. He didn’t count his lengths but just kept going, strong and rhythmic, until the G-Shock told him it had been half an hour.
He touched the wall for the last time and hauled himself up onto the side, his chest heaving as he wiped his face clear and sucked in air. He could hear the clank of weights through in the gym, and wondered who else would be up this early. Grabbing his towel he quickly rubbed himself down before circling the pool to the gym door. He peered through the head height window.
The only occupant was Tracy, using a machine for lat pulldowns. From where he stood he could see the muscles working in her shoulders and back as she smoothly pulled the bar down behind her head, paused, let it raise slightly and paused once more before slowly releasing it up again. She wore a black Lycra crop top and shorts that revealed plenty of firm, toned flesh. She was totally focussed on her set and he stepped away before he got caught staring again.
Archer shook his head at himself as he headed back to his room. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered, ‘get a fucken grip.’
Tracy didn’t show at the restaurant until he was nearly finished his second bowl of muesli and fruit. She threw him a quick smile as she helped herself to coffee and porridge, and once she sat down he felt a change in the dynamics from the previous night.
She told him in a whisper that they were meeting Matthew at 8:00am and would deploy from there. Her skin glowed with the recent exercise, and as she raised her spoon to eat he noticed she had a faint white scar between the middle two knuckles on her right hand.
She saw him looking. ‘A misplaced punch,’ she explained. ‘Top left incisor of a drunk squaddie who tried his luck one night.’
‘Ouch.’
‘More ouch for him when my eighteen stone partner lifted him off the ground and threw him across the barroom.’ She smiled. ‘It’s an effective way of scaring the crap out of a bunch of raw recruits.’
Archer drained his cup and set it down. There was nobody sitting near them and it seemed like an appropriate time. ‘So, ten years as a “Red Cap.” Must’ve been a pretty tough life for a young chick.’
‘It had its moments,’ she acknowledged, finishing her porridge and pushing the bowl aside. ‘There’re no shortage of stupid young blokes who need to be pulled into line, that’s for sure.’
‘See any combat though?’ Archer replied, with more of an edge than he’d intended. ‘Ever killed anyone? Been under fire?’
Tracy’s eyes flashed angrily and she paused before replying.
‘I did two tours in Iraq,’ she said coldly, ‘I came under fire, I returned fire, I had mates killed and I made it out alive. So don’t talk down to me like some school kid, you arrogant fucken prick.’
Archer raised his hands in surrender. ‘Alright, alright, calm down. I didn’t know, okay? You never said.’
‘Well, you never asked either, did you?’ Her tone was still angry. ‘What
else do you want to know?’
‘Have you killed before?’ He held her gaze, and picked up the tiny flicker of a tell. ‘That’s a no, then.’
She opened her mouth to retort and he cut her off.
‘It’s okay, I just needed to know.’
She visibly relented slightly, without properly backing up.
‘It’s not such a big deal, it may not even get to that. Hopefully, anyway.’
Tracy watched him critically. ‘You’re obviously new to this game yourself, so I’m guessing you’re probably fresh out the black pyjama outfit.’ Her eyes crinkled as he inclined his head to acknowledge the truth of her assessment. ‘It’s written all over you, you can almost still smell the cordite leaking out your pores.’
Archer shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He wasn’t used to being under the spotlight like this.
‘Obviously an officer,’ she continued, ‘because you have that arrogance about you.’
‘Which makes you an NCO,’ he replied evenly, ‘I’m guessing probably still a Corporal after ten years, meaning you were frustrated at being overlooked for promotion for less-competent blokes, and ultimately left before your time.’
It was her turn to give the slightest of nods, accompanied by a twitch of a smile. ‘It’s still a boy’s club, and always will be.’
They both went silent as they absorbed the information they’d just gleaned from each other.
‘I’m picking you as a committed bachelor,’ Tracy added. ‘No sign of a ring, no tan line where you’ve removed it-and you obviously fancy yourself as something of a ladies’ man anyway.’
Archer cocked his eyebrow again. ‘Glad you noticed. For a single mum, you work in a dangerous game.’
Tracy looked surprised. ‘Really? A single mum?’
He nodded. ‘I’m not claiming to be a detective like you, but I know things about people.’ He ran an eye over her. ‘I can see it in you.’ He thought, but kept it to himself, and you probably bat for the other team as well.
‘My boy is nine,’ she told him, and added nothing further.
Archer took the hint and didn’t mind. He didn’t know a lot about kids and had little interest in discussing them. ‘Right, so that’s that then,’ he smiled. ‘Glad we cleared the air. Let’s go meet with your illustrious leader.’
28
The meeting place turned out to be an annex building at the Royal Navy base in Portsmouth. They were ushered inside by a couple of goons in suits, who closed the meeting room doors behind them and took up sentry outside.
Matthew Livingstone sat at a conference table, working on a laptop connected to a projector. A young female in a business suit sat off to one side with a tablet on her knee. She nodded but said nothing. Livingstone gave a cursory greeting as they sat down, before jumping straight into a briefing.
The young female dimmed the lights and an area map showed on the wall. Using a laser pointer, Livingstone highlighted areas of interest. Despite disliking the man Archer had to admit he gave a good briefing, which was largely a rehash of what Tracy had told him the night before, augmented with a few finer details.
‘Now,’ Livingstone finally said, hitting a button to change the map view. It shifted to an aerial shot of farmland with a road running along near the bottom, and what looked like a rough farm track meandering through it. ‘Let’s talk tactics.’
Archer sat up and paid attention. This was the nitty-gritty of it.
‘This paddock here is where we know Boyle lands his plane. It is basically level and makes an ideal makeshift landing strip. The track here’-he indicated with the laser pointer-‘leads from the strip to the road, and from there he makes his way to St Ives. He stashes his car somewhere around here’-another indication with the laser pointer, this time to the wooded area immediately beside the paddock-‘and returns it later.’
‘How do we know this?’ Archer inquired and Livingstone paused. He seemed to be considering his answer.
‘Aerial reconnaissance has revealed the track to be well used, and has also located a car stashed in the woods there. An old Peugeot, actually.’
He turned back towards the image on the wall to continue.
‘How do we know it’s his car?’ Archer persisted.
Livingstone looked at him again, his lips pursing. ‘Our CHIS has told us that’s what he drives.’
Archer knew what he was referring to but feigned confusion. ‘CHIS?’
‘Covert Human Intelligence Source,’ Tracy explained. ‘An informer.’
Archer nodded his understanding and Livingstone gave him an enquiring look.
‘Anything else Mr Archer, or can I continue?’
Archer smiled irritatingly. ‘Please do.’
‘So, tactics. The plan is to capture Boyle as soon as he hits the ground. We don’t want him going mobile, either in the aircraft or in the car. If that happens we have a real issue on our hands. We need to be in quickly, overpowering him and getting him away before he knows which way is up.’
Archer listened silently.
‘This will be a simple two-person snatch and grab. You’ll locate the vehicle and disable it, eliminating that avenue of escape. You’ll lay-up between his landing area and the vehicle. Once he’s out and away from the aircraft you’ll take him out using distraction devices, and if necessary, bean bag rounds.’
Archer listened, his face impassive.
‘You’ll secure him straight into a vehicle and bring him to an RV where he will be taken off your hands quick smart.’ Livingstone glanced from Archer to Tracy and back again. ‘Any questions so far?’
‘No,’ Tracy replied.
‘Only one, really,’ Archer commented.
Livingstone looked at him impatiently. ‘Yes? Well?’
‘Who was the halfwit who thought up that plan?’
Tracy groaned audibly and tried to cover it with a cough. Livingstone flushed angrily.
‘That plan is ideal for this situation,’ he snapped, jabbing the table top with his finger. ‘It keeps it contained from the public, off the roads and totally within our control. This man is a very dangerous terrorist, he is always armed and he will not hesitate to shoot.’
Archer let him finish his rant and waited. ‘I counted three separate farmhouses within a k or so of that landing strip,’ he said. ‘Presumably all are occupied.’
‘Yes, well, what of it?’
‘That’s three sets of potential hostages if he gets loose and goes on the run. It’s three sets of potential witnesses to a shootout when we slot him and end up in court on murder charges. It’s three sets of star witnesses selling their story to the tabloids if anything goes wrong.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘See what I mean?’
Livingstone snorted. ‘Well if you do it properly, none of that will happen, will it?’
‘We can do everything right and try to minimise the risk, but the potential is always there. If it can go wrong, it will.’ He went for the buddy buy-in. ‘You’ve been around long enough; you know that.’
Livingstone grunted begrudgingly now. Tracy stayed silent, watching the two men verbally parry and thrust.
‘So what do you suggest?’ the senior spy finally said.
‘Leave it with me,’ Archer told him. ‘I’ll get back to you.’
29
Boyle settled behind the wheel of the Peugeot and cranked up the heater.
His fingertips were numb and he had drained the flask of coffee already. Not to mind; Ruth always had a hot breakfast waiting when he got there.
Soon enough, he thought, bumping down the farm track to the road. But no time to think about that just yet. This was the most dangerous time, early hours of the morning when the body was screaming out for sleep. Had to have your wits about you.
He shifted the Browning under his right thigh and checked his mirrors again before easing out onto the road. Six miles to St Ives.
Tracy saw the dirty white Peugeot approaching through the scope on the Heckler and Koch G3/HK79 combo.
She pressed the talk button taped to her thumb.
‘Twenty seconds.’
‘Roger.’ Archer’s voice came through the bud in her ear and she could hear the sound of the engine in the background.
She was positioned flat on a bank with a ghillie over her and a clear line of sight down the route being taken by Boyle. In fifteen seconds he would reach the T-intersection below her position and because of the narrow winding roads, he would have to come to almost a complete stop before turning right and continuing on towards St Ives.
Archer appeared from Tracy’s left, rounding a bend in a hired VW Kombi. It was painted with large multi coloured flowers and peace signs. Streamers flapped from the aerial and the rear windows had the curtains drawn.
He geared down as he approached the intersection, indicating to turn left a few seconds before Boyle’s Peugeot got there.
From her vantage point Tracy watched the impending move unfold just metres away. She was tense with nervous anticipation, but the plan was clear in her mind. She had been impressed with Archer’s planning and decision making, and also impressed with how he sold it to Matthew. The Kiwi seemed to have a chip on his shoulder but he was clearly no fool.
In the distance she heard another noise and glanced up. The beat of rotors from a helicopter, maybe a klick out.
The Irishman saw the van in plenty of time and flicked on his right blinker, glancing left as he slowed for the junction. He glanced back to the right as the Kombi started to turn and he clocked the anti-nuke signs and the small Dutch flag stuck on the dash.
Feckin’ beatniks.
He glanced up and clocked the driver. Chequered cheese cutter, dark Thermo top. Thirties, unshaven.
Tracy realised the heli was on a beeline for them, and at the same time she saw another vehicle approaching from behind Boyle. A maroon Range Rover just coming into sight around the bends, probably half a klick away. No, two maroon Range Rovers. Even from that distance she could see they were both loaded up with passengers.
‘Got company, unsure if they’re friendlies. Two Rangeys at twelve o’clock.’
