by Matt Johnson
There were very few spaces to sit, an empty place on the back row presenting my only chance. I took my seat and found that I could just see Bob Bridges’ wife, Gayle, standing at the front. Gayle was tall and slender with short blonde hair. I hadn’t seen her in a very long time. A black lace veil covered her face but from the angle of her head and the movement of her shoulders I could see that she was crying. It brought a lump to my throat.
The Chief Superintendent from Marylebone gave the address. He commended the speedy promotion that Bob had achieved. He mentioned the family and friends that such a popular man had blessed with his presence and condemned the cruel way in which his life had been taken. It was a good speech but predictable. But what else could a Chief Superintendent say in such circumstances?
I felt quite emotional, but despite Bob Bridges having been a friend I was doing OK. That was until Bob’s eldest son got up to speak.
I hadn’t seen the lad for more years than I cared to think about. I kicked myself that I couldn’t remember his name. He had certainly changed from the scrawny kid that had kicked a football through the Sergeant’s mess window at Hereford. Now he wore the uniform of a Royal Artillery Gunner.
It was as a young soldier that he stood up straight and started to speak. His dad would have been proud.
With tears in his eyes and shaking from the effort, he spoke without notes, thanking his dad for giving him a good start in life, for his love and care. Then, as is often the way at such times, he broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. His mother and the vicar walked across to him, took his arms and helped him to a seat on the front row.
The vicar took over the eulogy.
That was when it really hit me. I felt my eyes welling up and my chest tightening. It could so easily have been me lying in that wooden box. Monaghan claimed there might be people out there who intended that soon it would be. The emotions of the last few days chose that moment to surface.
Somehow, I had to keep myself safe and protect my family. But everything had become so confused; fear was preventing me from getting things straight in my mind. Fear for the safety of the things I held most precious. I could protect myself easily. Protecting my family was quite another matter – and it was ground I had never trodden before. I just didn’t know what to do.
The vicar returned to the pulpit and introduced the final hymn. It was a Welsh one, ‘Cwm Rhondda’, a special request from Gayle as a mark of Bob’s Welsh ancestry. The church echoed to the effort put into the singing. It was a fitting good-bye to a fallen comrade. I sang along with the chorus. The effort stopped my tears.
With the service over, the pallbearers lifted the coffin back onto their shoulders and made their way slowly down the central aisle towards the church doors. Gayle Bridges held the arm of her son as they followed her husband’s last journey. She kept her head low and facing forward. I figured there were a lot of people here she knew, people she would be pleased to see, but she just couldn’t look up.
As the church emptied, I waited. The soldiers had turned to see the cortege away and I could now see their faces. Some I recognised, most were new. ‘Trapper’ John Hodges was there, Lofty Hales, Chris De’Ath and Billy Hart. At the end nearest the central aisle stood their colonel, the only man in uniform. I didn’t know him personally but guessed he must be the legendary ‘Boxer’ Harris. Ex-paras and highly decorated during the Falklands war, a choice new boss for the regiment.
As the soldiers walked down the aisle and approached, a sheepish smile crossed my face. Lofty Hales was the first to reach me.
‘Hello boss, been a long time.’
‘You could say that, Lofty, how are you?’ The others were close now and they all reached forward to greet me. Their handshakes were strong and warm. It was an incongruous meeting of old friends. The sadness of loss coupled with the pleasure of re-uniting. It served to explain why so many wakes turn into parties. For me, it produced an immense sensation of comradeship, a feeling of belonging. To know that these hardest of men had shared experiences of life and death with me and that now they felt the same grief that I was experiencing. There were few words. Just looks that said we all understood each other.
The last man to take my outstretched hand was the Colonel. ‘I don’t believe that I have had the pleasure. You must be Bob Finlay.’
The new commanding officer’s grip was strong, his hands calloused and hard. I immediately sensed that this was a man to respect, a man who had earned his current posting.
‘And you must be Colonel Harris,’ I said. ‘Sad that we should meet on an occasion such as this.’
‘Yes, I didn’t know Sergeant Bridges but I am told he was a fine soldier.’ The Colonel turned to the waiting soldiers. ‘If you would excuse us, gentlemen, I need to speak to Mr Finlay in private.’
Several pats on the back and promises of drinks later and we were alone.
The Colonel guided me back into the centre of the church where he indicated that we should sit. I remained standing.
‘I understand that Colonel Monaghan has been in contact with you concerning the circumstances of Bridges’ death.’
I was stunned for a moment. ‘He has. How did you know?’ I asked the question although it was already dawning on me that as the officer commanding the SAS Regiment, Harris would certainly know Monaghan well.
‘We keep in contact. Sad news about his wife.’
‘Is there something wrong with her?’
‘I’m sorry, I thought you would have known. She committed suicide last year.’
Weakened by the emotion of the funeral, I felt as if someone had drained all strength from my legs.
‘What happened?’ I asked, as I sat down.
‘Seems she took an overdose. It was all dealt with very discreetly, which probably explains how you didn’t know.’
‘It does.’ I looked down at my feet. I’d been close to Victoria Monaghan, ever since the immediate aftermath of the Iranian Embassy when she had been so supportive of Kevin Jones. At a time when he had gone through emotional problems and had come close to losing his place in the regiment, she had been the one who had persuaded her husband to allow Kevin time to recover.
The Colonel drew breath, breaking my reverie. ‘There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, however, Finlay. I am aware that Monaghan may ask you to do a job for him in the near future. I suggest that you resist his request.’
‘You know what went missing from the Irish SB office then?’ I said.
‘Monaghan told me, yes. I find it appalling.’
I wanted to know more. ‘What’s being done to warn everyone? What about some protection for a start?’
Harris wouldn’t be drawn. ‘Everything that can be done is being done. My understanding is that no serving personnel are affected. Only those such as yourself.’ He was starting to sound like a politician.
‘Well, for what it’s worth, Monaghan has already been in touch. I turned him down flat. But what I’d like to know is what the regiment is going to do about it?’
‘Not much we can do. We are not investigators, Finlay. You know that. If I were you I’d leave it to the police and the Security Services.’
‘And meanwhile, what am I supposed to do?’
‘Pray?’
‘That’s helpful,’ I replied, sarcastically. ‘Hide might be better.’ I glanced about the now empty church, not wanting to look at Harris any more. I hoped our brief conversation would soon be at an end.
‘Very wise. A safe house, possibly?’ he suggested.
‘But that doesn’t give me much idea about what the hell I am going to do long term.’
Harris changed tack. ‘You were on the embassy job with Bridges, weren’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘In many ways I wish that had never happened, put us in the public eye too much.’
‘That and Bravo Two Zero.’
‘Yes … but that’s another story. Mark my words, Finlay. Don’t get involved. Monaghan’s had so
me problems since the death of his wife. He took it very badly.’
I didn’t bother to pry into what the ‘problems’ were. Harris wouldn’t have told me anyway. We stood up and I made that promise to mark Harris’s words.
As we reached the church gates most of the mourners had already left. I slipped an anorak over my uniform and headed towards the side street where I had parked the car.
Chapter 28
Costello sat watching the road.
Dominic was tapping an erratic beat on the handlebars of the bike. It was starting to become annoying.
They were waiting for the blue Ford Sierra to appear. The previous day, the target had led them from the police station at Ilford up as far as the Gants Hill roundabout before they had decided to break off. On that occasion, they had used an old Escort van Costello had bought; today they used another moped. Dominic was up front, Costello on the pillion.
With any luck the policeman would use the same route and pass by at about the same time.
‘What’s the time, Dominic?’ he asked.
Dominic rolled back the sleeve of his jacket. ‘A quarter past two, he should be here by now.’
As Dominic finished, Costello saw the car.
‘There he is,’ he said. ‘Give him a few seconds and then pull out behind him.’
Dominic kicked the motorcycle into gear, waited for the Sierra to pass and then eased out into the traffic.
The target car was moving more quickly than the previous day. Costello guessed that the policeman was hurrying home to watch the rugby on television.
‘Don’t bloody lose him,’ he said.
They made steady progress though the traffic. At traffic lights and junctions, Dominic was careful to keep out of sight of the car’s mirrors. Finally, their target slowed as he pulled into a cul-de-sac off New North Road and into his driveway.
He was parking.
They had located his home.
Next day, they returned.
This time, Costello drove. They used the Escort van. It was a good choice. Dirty and bearing all the dents and scratches of a trader’s vehicle, it gave them the appearance of moonlighting builders on a job.
Inside the van, Costello and Dominic now wore light anoraks over cheap overalls and plimsolls. Experience had taught them how the police forensic science laboratory worked. They would destroy all clothing after a job and wash their skin and hair thoroughly. Traces of explosive residue and nitro powder from firearms had been used to convict many a volunteer. Science continually improved but there was no sense in making it easy for them.
Both of them were now armed. Dominic sat in the passenger seat with a folding-stock Kalashnikov AK47 nestled between his feet and both men carried Browning 9mm pistols hidden in shoulder holsters. Today was to be for final reconnaissance but they were tooled up in case they were stopped. The real job would be done tomorrow, just as the target arrived home.
‘If he runs true to form he should have been home about two-thirty.’ Dominic scanned the A–Z as they turned into New North Road.
‘What’s the time now?’ Costello asked.
‘Three.’
‘We’ll drive past the house and take a wee look, then.’
As they drove slowly down the cul-de-sac, the target was in the driveway washing the blue Sierra.
‘That’s him,’ said Costello.
The target glanced up from his car washing and watched them as they drove past.
‘He’s seen us,’ said Dominic.
A small boy ran across the road and shouted at the target. As they cruised past, Costello slowly wound down his window.
‘Uncle Rod,’ the boy called out, ‘can you fix the brake on my bike?’
The man that he called Uncle Rod looked down on the little lad. ‘What’s wrong with it then, Tommy?’
‘It keeps falling off.’
Costello pulled the van into the side of the narrow street and stopped. As he watched in his rear-view mirror, the target disappeared into his house and returned with some tools.
‘We’ll do it now,’ said Costello, as he continued to observe the target working on the child’s bike.
‘There’s a kid … we can’t.’ Dominic reached between his feet and placed the AK47 deeper into the foot well of the van.
‘You’ll do as yer fuckin’ told, Dominic. He’s seen us. If we come back another day he’ll recognise us.’
Dominic kept silent, but lifted the AK47 from between his feet and cocked the firing mechanism.
Costello turned the van around and moved slowly towards the target.
‘Call him over … make it look like we need directions,’ he said.
Dominic wound down his window as they pulled up adjacent to the target’s house.
‘Excuse me,’ called Dominic. ‘Could you tell me the way to the station?’
‘The station? For Christ’s sake, Dom,’ hissed Costello.
As the target walked towards the van, the boy came with him.
‘Shit,’ said Dominic, as he thrust the barrel of the rifle through the open window and flicked off the safety.
The target reacted quickly. He span around, snatched the small boy up in his arms and threw him bodily across the bonnet of the car that sat on the driveway to the house.
It saved the boy’s life.
Even as young Tommy flew across the car, the air was split by the sound of the AK47 on fully automatic. The first rounds hit the concrete between the target’s legs, but Dominic raised his aim, and the next burst caught the man squarely between the shoulders. He flew forward as though punched by an invisible fist.
Costello was about to pull away when he saw that the target was still moving.
‘He’s still alive … finish him off!’ he shouted.
Dominic threw open the passenger door and ran towards the house. The target was crawling towards his home. At close quarters, Dominic fired five more rounds into the back of the prone form that twitched beneath him.
The door to the house was open. As Dominic stopped shooting, Costello saw a woman appear in the doorway. Dominic raised the assault rifle and pointed it at her face.
She started to scream.
Costello guessed her to be the policeman’s wife. To many who followed the IRA cause she was a legitimate target, but not to him and especially not today. This ‘hit’ was target-specific and the target was down.
‘Leave it. Come on. Now!’ he shouted to Dominic.
Dominic dived into the passenger seat as Costello gunned the engine. The tyres skidded on the tarmac as they accelerated hard away from the sound of the screaming woman.
Within twenty minutes, they were leaving Hainault forest, the van was torched, their clothing destroyed and they were on their way back to Hackney in an old Ford Fiesta.
Costello pulled out his telephone, typed M.A. into a text message and pressed ‘send’.
M.A.: Mission Accomplished.
If Yildrim ran true to form, details of the next job would appear on Costello’s phone within a day.
Chapter 29
I was in the garden replacing a broken pane on the old greenhouse when Jenny opened the kitchen window and called out to me.
The aluminium clip slid into place and I stepped back to admire my handiwork before strolling slowly up the garden path to see what the problem was, making sure that I took the time to breathe in the sweet smell of the jasmine that covered the garden shed.
The news that it was Monaghan on the telephone again soured my mood and the smile disappeared from my face. I’d been thinking about what he had said to me for the best part of the day. If he was right, that the stolen files only contained names and new jobs, then I didn’t have to rush. With my home address still unknown, Jenny and Becky were safe for now. I’d removed all my home details from the police station files the previous night. All the station had now was a mobile number on which to contact me. Questions might be asked if they noticed, but I’d deal with those later.
I’d started t
o make some plans. Nothing concrete, just some ideas that I’d been mulling over. First, I thought, I would take some leave. Then, maybe a holiday to get away from the UK, somewhere we would be safer. Given time, the Anti-Terrorist Squad and MI5 would recover the files and eliminate the risk. If they didn’t, then I’d have to re-think my future.
I wondered what Monaghan wanted now. Jenny gave me an odd look as I took the receiver from her, a mix of curiosity and disapproval.
‘Finlay?’
‘Jenny said it was you. I haven’t changed my mind…’
Monaghan interrupted me. ‘Rod Skinner’s been shot.’
He’d done it again. I was stunned. Skinner was another of the old firm.
‘What happened?’
‘Drive-by shooting. Washing his car, I believe; died instantly.’
‘Was Skinner in the job?’ I guessed the answer. This was getting all too predictable.
‘Yes. PC at Ilford. Been out of the army fifteen or so years.’
I had that feeling of being out of control again. Jenny had gone upstairs. I listened for a moment to make sure she was out of earshot and then lowered my voice. ‘How the bloody hell did they find him?’ I demanded.
‘I don’t know. You help me and we might be able to find out.’
‘No way. No way.’ I struggled to keep my voice down. I wanted Monaghan to know that I meant what I said.
‘There are better men than me who can do your dirty work,’ I hissed. ‘Find someone a bit younger, and I suggest that you do it soon before they find you, too.’
‘Finlay, I have found someone else. Stay where you are, I’m bringing him over to see you.’
‘What do you expect to achieve by that?’ I asked.
‘I don’t expect to achieve anything, Finlay. I’d just like you two to have a chat.’
The telephone clattered as I slammed it down. Jenny must have heard. She came into the kitchen just as I was thinking about how I was going to explain the call to her.
