‘That’s why you’re here, my boy,’ Jervis said. ‘Syria. Or to be precise, the information you came upon.’
Simons returned to his seat at the table and logged into a keyboard.
‘Mustafa Lamardi,’ Jervis said. ‘Know who he is?’
The third time in a week Gunnymede had been asked that. ‘Yes.’
Simons brought up a picture of Lamardi on a monitor.
‘You know he’s deceased?’ Jervis said.
‘I heard.’
‘Any thoughts as to why Lamardi was killed?’
Gunnymede shrugged. ‘Revenge for the deaths of our operators in Afghanistan. Or something to do with his drug connections.’
‘Indeed. Several possibilities. Lamardi knew he was on someone’s death list,’ Jervis said. ‘He contacted us the day before he was killed. He believed it was us who wanted to kill him. I told him we don’t have an assassination program. He didn’t believe me of course. He couldn’t begin to comprehend why on earth we wouldn’t have one. Do you want your tea freshened up?’
‘No thanks,’ Gunnymede replied.
Jervis topped up his own.
‘Lamardi said that if it wasn’t us who wanted to kill him, could we protect him? He had something to offer us. If we ensured his safety, he said he’d supply us with information about a significant Daesh attack on the UK. Obviously that was of great interest to us and so we immediately put gears into motion to get him to a safe location. But sadly we weren’t quick enough.’
Jervis paused to finish off his tea. ‘That’s a nice cuppa that, don’t you think? Problem with having it in flasks is it quickly stews.’
‘That’s because they sometimes leave the tea bags in,’ Simons said.
‘Really? I didn’t know that,’ Jervis said. ‘This one’s still pretty fresh.’
He put his cup down and wiped his mouth with a napkin before continuing. ‘We can’t find a connection between Lamardi and your Daesh friend, Saleem. There probably isn’t a direct one. But we believe they both refer to the same attack. Hours before Lamardi was killed, he sent us a message. A good will gesture. A teaser. A snippet he hoped would give us incentive to move our backsides and give him sanctuary. You’re familiar with the Nouvelle Route de la Soie?’
‘Yes,’ Gunnymede said. The New Silk Road. French military intelligence was the first to map it out a few years back. It wasn’t a road exactly. Not all of it. Not like the ancient silk roads. This was primarily a modern drug trade route consisting of planes, trains, boats, mules, tracks and roads linking Afghanistan, China, India, various Stans and Eastern Europe into the West.
Simons brought up a map showing the New Silk Road routes, varied and intertwining across Central Asia.
‘Lamardi gave us a name,’ Jervis said. ‘Taz Yon. An Afghan Silk Road ferrymen. Looks like Taz Yon is bringing something west other than the usual shipment of heroin. And we need to find out what that is. Saleem’s still in Turkey as far as we know, no doubt preparing to move West to the UK.’ He got to his feet. ‘I must fly. Good to see you again, Mr Gunnymede. Stay out of trouble. Enjoy your trip.’
Jervis left the room, the door sealing shut behind him.
Gunnymede looked at Simons who was pouring himself a fresh cup of tea. ‘Enjoy what trip?’
‘Taz Yon left Kabul two days ago,’ Simons said. ‘He’s on the Silk Road with cargo as we speak and heading west. It’s the cargo we’re interested in. Heroin for sure. But what else? We know where he is at present because he’s carrying three cellular phones and we have their MINs. But his MO is to ditch his phones along the route and pick up new ones. If we don’t get the MINs of the new phones we risk losing track of him and therefore his cargo handover which could be anywhere in Russia, the Ukraine, Turkey or even further west.’
‘Don’t you need to be within a few K to get the MIN?’
‘From the air, yes. But on the ground, one must be closer. He’s heading through Kazakhstan, which means he’s going to cross the border into Russia here. It’s the last predictable point of his route west. After that, he could go anywhere. Which is why we need to be in this bottleneck here, just inside Russia.’ He pointed to an area on the map between Volgograd and the Kazakhstan border.
‘We can’t risk putting up a drone. The Russians will detect it. It’s a good location for us because of its remoteness. All we need to do is get within sight of this road, identify Taz’s convoy, record every MIN and get the info to GCHQ who’ll do the rest.’
So this is Jervis’s trip. Gunnymede looked at Simons who was looking back at him with a thin, knowing smile.
‘Easy enough, don’t you think,’ Simons said.
Gunnymede almost said that if Simons had any operational experience he’d know that was a stupid thing to say but he just about managed to hold his tongue. ‘Is the kit already in country?’ he asked.
‘No. We have to take it in.’
‘Which means avoiding a legitimate border crossing or entry port.’
‘Correct.’
‘When are you expecting Taz at the border?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon.’
Gunnymede’s look of surprise was instant and unguarded.
‘Which means we’d like to be in position by early tomorrow morning,’ Simons added.
‘Tomorrow?! That’s ridiculous. The only way to get there by tomorrow is to fly and you can’t fly into that area without being detected.’
‘Correct. An air drop is the only way in at such short notice.’
‘You just agreed nothing can fly in there. So how can you do a drop?’
‘By using a plane that has a legitimate reason to fly over the area.’
‘What plane do we have has a legitimate reason to fly over Russian airspace, other than a commercial flight?’
Simons smiled knowingly, raising an eyebrow.
Gunnymede looked at him as if he was crazy. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. How does that work?’
‘There’s a new technique we’ve been working on,’ Simons explained.
‘A technique?’
‘It’s not entirely new. There was a similar program in the seventies. It wasn’t successful for various reasons. The important thing is the Russians won’t be expecting it.’
‘I’ve got to hear this,’ Gunnymede mumbled.
‘Oh, you’ll do more than just hear it.’
‘You’re talking about me doing this?’
‘Why do you think you and I are discussing it?’
‘And I’m going to use a regular commercial flight to drop into Russia?’
‘Correct.’
‘A parachute drop.’
‘Correct.’
‘So I catch a regular flight and, at the designated time, I get out of my seat, pull on a parachute, open a door, wave farewell to the passengers, who by this time are doing their best not to get sucked out with me, and leave?’
‘Of course not. We’re not idiots. We have thought it through. It’s been tested.’
‘What’s been tested?’
‘You won’t be in the cabin with the passengers. They won’t even know you’re on the plane. You’ll be in the front landing gear compartment. The doors will be opened at the appropriate location and you’ll ... drop out. You’ll be wearing the latest stealth fabric to hide your signature – your size actually. Your chute will pop below radar and you’ll land and get on with the task. It’s a damned good plan.’
‘It’s been done?’
‘Of course.’
‘In Russia?’
‘No. We’ve done simulations here. We’ve only got one pop at this for real. The Russians will figure it out eventually but you’ll be long gone.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you.’
‘You’ve done over twenty HALO jumps with the SAS. This is the same thing. The only unconventional bit is the drop out of the wheel housing. Otherwise it’s an ordinary jump.’
Gunnymede pushed his fingers through his hair as he struggled with the concept. �
��That’s not ordinary.’
‘What’s the problem?’ Simons asked, getting testy. ‘If you’re not up to it, it would put us in a bit of a bind. We went to a lot of trouble to divert you from jail and get you on this task.’
‘My task is to find Spangle.’
‘Which is why you’re doing this and no one else.’
‘This is a simple MINs check. Anyone could do it.’
‘You’re forgetting the other reason you were selected. This needs to be kept tight.’
‘Bollocks. You could send an SF operator and he wouldn’t need to know why he was there.’
‘This requires someone who knows why he’s there. Things could change. It needs to be you – what is it you’re so worried about?’
‘All of it. How confident are you the Russians won’t detect the free-fall?’
‘At their best they won’t understand the anomaly in the time it will take you to complete the task and get out of there.’
‘And if you’re wrong, I’ll end up in a Russian prison.’
‘If you don’t go, you’ll end up in a British one.’
‘I’ll take the British one, thanks.’
Simons was about to lose his temper when he managed to hold onto himself. He forced a smile. ‘Gunny ... this is an extremely important task. We have to get to that convoy. It’s highly likely there’s a WMD on it. All evidence points to that. This could be our only chance. Thousands of dead Londoners. Isn’t that what Saleem said?’
Gunnymede sighed heavily. He was trapped. He got to his feet. Simons watched him for any signs. Gunnymede changed his gaze to the ceiling. Simons sensed he was cracking.
Gunnymede finally looked at him wearing the frown of the defeated.
Simons smiled. ‘Good man.’
Saleem stood in darkness on the side of the road at the Kazakhstan border checkpoint while he waited for Taz to complete his dealings with the captain of the guard post. It was an isolated crossing point situated on high open ground miles from the nearest human habitation. A perfect place to cross and not just because of its isolation. The guards were corrupt and looked forward to illegals as a way of adding a bonus to their meagre salaries. In this case, a healthy bonus.
An icy Siberian wind blew from the north east. Saleem was chilled to the bone despite the thick sheepskin jacket, heavy wool jumper and pakol he’d been given on his arrival in Toragundi, northern Afghanistan. In fact, he’d been cold since leaving Syria. Taz told him the desert had thinned his blood. Saleem was cold but he didn’t fancy returning to Syria in order to get warm again. He would never be that cold.
They’d been travelling in a convoy by road for eight days since leaving Toragundi. Over two and a half thousand kilometres to the Kazakhstan Russian border. It was as if the powers that be in ISIS wanted to remove all scent of his trail from Syria by finding a starting point to the UK that was as isolated as possible. You couldn’t get much more isolated than where he was. The convoy had begun the journey with eight vehicles; five Toyotas, an old British four ton Bedford lorry and two Renault vans. The lorry lost its axle the second day crossing Turkmenistan. The initial roads were pretty bad and the lorry, which must’ve been fifty years old at least, had finally given in to the hateful terrain. The roads markedly improved halfway across Turkmenistan. The two vans left them on entering Kazakhstan, diverting to the east of the country on their way to Astana. Two Toyotas headed north into Russia leaving Saleem with the remaining three. The plan was for Saleem to stay with Taz until they reached Kiev, where they’d unload their cargo. Saleem would then make his way to the Belgian coast. The final leg was a boat to England. And then on to the task.
One thing constantly niggled him, though. It was a private pain. There was one other person outside of the very tight circle of trust who had knowledge of his plan. Someone who shouldn’t know. The enemy. Some British Army Intelligence Corps wanker named Gunnymede who should’ve been hung dead seconds after he learned of the plot. How the man had escaped was a mystery. But escape he did. Still, Gunnymede had no knowledge of timings or location, both of which were essential in preventing the operation. What he did know was Saleem. Saleem had to assume Gunnymede had returned to England with news of the threat. Which meant if the security services knew Saleem had left Syria, they would be on the lookout for him. If Saleem’s bosses knew that, they’d pull him from the operation, there was no doubt of it. It was a risk Saleem shouldn’t take. But he was compelled to. He couldn’t let anyone else have the glory. This show was his. The only fear he had was of failing. What truly fuelled his excitement, and indeed confidence, was the sheer simplicity of the operation. The fundamental rule of planning was to keep it simple. And his plan could not be simpler, considering the mayhem it would cause. The next major obstacle was getting into England.
He looked towards the guard post, hoping Taz would be finished soon. He could then start the engine and get warm. Warmer at least. All Taz had to do was pay the bill for getting the vehicles through and pick up the new phones. But Taz was a great talker and was no doubt enjoying some smokes and a few shots of vodka.
Be patient, Saleem told himself. It would all come together.
Chapter 17
Gunnymede stepped into Legoland’s underground car park where dozens of private and fleet vehicles were parked. Two black 4x4s were waiting to depart. Aristotle, dressed as if he was going to a funeral, stood beside one of them. He nodded on seeing Gunnymede and climbed into the back seat of the lead vehicle. Gunnymede got in beside him.
‘You’ve gone through the equipment?’ Aristotle asked.
‘Yes.’
‘The maps?’
‘Yep.’
‘You are happy with everything?’
‘No.’
Aristotle ignored the answer, as if Gunnymede was a child.
The vehicles made their way through the garage, up a steep ramp and into an alleyway that led onto the main road where they accelerated away.
They passed a flashy black Range Rover parked across from the MI6 headquarters. Inside were the blingy thugs who’d taken Gunnymede’s phone.
The thug leader looked up at the towering MI6 building. ‘This is the address your bloke gave you for that car.’
‘Yes, boss,’ his underling said.
‘This is MI6 headquarters.’
‘Yeh, I know.’
‘You fuckin’ idiot.’
Aristotle unzipped a large holdall on the floor between their feet. Inside was a collection of transparent plastic bags containing various pieces of material and technology. He opened another to reveal a parachute.
‘Did they show you footage?’ Aristotle asked as he pulled out a pair of ski gloves and goggles.
‘Of what?’
‘The test runs.’
‘Someone bailing out of the wheel housing?’
‘There’s footage of the drop and landings.’
‘It wasn’t mentioned.’
‘It shows one of the early jumpers leaving the wheel housing and bouncing along the bottom of the fuselage. He hit it several times and was knocked unconscious.’
Gunnymede looked at him. ‘Are you trying to wind me up?’
‘He was fine. The automatic chute opening worked perfectly.’
‘Otherwise he would’ve creamed in.’
‘What?’
‘Hit the ground at terminal velocity.’
‘Yes. Let’s go through your equipment.’ Aristotle pulled out items from the holdalls. ‘Weapons. Suppressed assault rifle, pistol, ammunition for both. Altitude meter. Oxygen and mask. Helmet. Solar phone charger. Goggles. Earplugs. Water bladder. Snacks. Med-pack. Emergency map and compass. Passport. Travel docs and money. For tracking, we’ll use your phone. And of course the Raptos which you will need to acquire the phone MINs.’ He checked his watch. ‘You should put on the stealth suit now.’
Gunnymede removed it from the bag and unfolded it. It was big. After a struggle to figure out which end was which he managed to manoeuvre himself
into it. When he was finished he looked like a giant caterpillar.
‘Where we flying out of?’ Gunnymede asked.
‘Gatwick.’
Gunnymede sighed and dropped his head back.
‘Are you nervous?’
‘Of course I’m nervous.’
‘It will pass when you are in free-fall.’
‘Why, because I’ll be knocked unconscious after bouncing off the fuselage?’
‘I have done worse than this.’
‘Oh, yeah? Like what?’
‘I had to jump from a plane into a snow drift without a parachute.’
‘Deliberately?’
‘Yes.’
‘I mean, it was a planned drop?’
‘Yes.’
‘You weren’t pushed?’
‘Of course not.’
‘You volunteered?’
‘Yes. It was an operational requirement.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Exactly.’
‘What I mean is, that was more stupid than this jump.’
‘And I survived.’
‘Are you sure?’
Aristotle gave him a cold look.
The vehicles entered the airport perimeter at a private checkpoint and headed along an interior road. Aristotle’s phone buzzed and he checked the message. ‘Taz is at the border.’
The Becket Approval Page 14
