Then Tchéky handed me and Bang-Bang some pistols. We didn’t say anything this time. We didn’t need to.
After that they handed me the receiver pack in its heavy black bag, and a digital endoscope for the slight chance that I could get to the rear doors of a container and get the scope inside to view the contents. I looked inside the bag for the controls. The receiver was already turned on. Good to go. Finally I showed Tchéky the mobile phone we’d rigged and explained our plan. He shrugged. ‘Good. Backup is always good. If this cargo reaches England you may need that, as we will have to switch off our transmitter when it reaches English territory. Or any territory outside France.’
‘Really? Tchéky, that’s ridiculous mate!’
He just looked at me. ‘Yes. And it is what we deal with.’
Around us the teams got into character. All of them checked their pistols. If it went wonky inside and the Nazis were still in there, we’d have to shoot our way back out. Some bright spark handed Bang-Bang an armband reading “Police Nationale” and she put it on her left arm with a huge grin. They’d probably come to regret that. And then we all walked down the road behind Tchéky, towards the target, as bold as brass.
30
We poured into the brightly-lit garage like the Untouchables, with Tchéky as our very own Elliot Ness. He was holding an ID card in the air and shouting and Marianne was pointing at the shocked garage owner and yelling at him. Rico and I eased our way past in the confusion and clocked the two trucks. OK. To my left, Bang-Bang had already taken advantage of the chaos and had run over to the overalls guy, smashed him against the drinks machine, grabbed him by the lapels and started shouting ‘MINKY! I want to see your liceunse for your MINKY!’
The poor bloke looked like he was going to be sick.
‘Minky???’
In my peripheral vision I could see Marianne pulling Bang-Bang away to more useful duties, back into the chaos of uniforms and people demanding documents. Rico and I walked down the ramp to the trucks. We had precious minutes to do this. Rico spoke in my earpiece. ‘Doucement. First truck. Walk slowly forwards and I say what I see on the display.’
‘OK Rico. Moving now. See OK?’
We shuffled forwards up both sides of the truck container, into the darkness and stink of diesel. ‘I see OK… OK Riz. Stop please. Wait.’
I waited. Behind us I could hear raised voices at the kiosk. Overalls guy sounded really upset now and Marianne was trying to stop Bang-Bang going back over to deck him. Good. We needed the chaos.
A whispered voice in my earpiece. ‘No. Sorry. Nothing in this. Empty.’
We moved further into the darkness and then turned left. I joined Rico at the front of the first truck. He shrugged apologetically. I clapped his shoulder. ‘Rico. It doesn’t matter. Next target, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
We moved slowly and carefully to the next truck. Which was a Volvo. I ran my thumbnail across the paintwork. It came away in flakes.
‘Rico, this could be…’
‘I know. Let’s go.’
Rico softly called in the truck’s license plate details. ‘Oui. India Papa 501 Alpha Kilo. Moving.’
We moved forward down each side of the anonymous, rust-brown container. Back at the garage entrance a minor fight seemed to have broken out. Someone from our lot had taken a load of files from the kiosk and dumped them all over the loading bay. Keep it going…
We walked, slowly, like ghosts. The receiver was starting to get heavy.
‘Riz stop. STOP.’
I froze. ‘Stopping.’
‘Back two steps please.’
I carefully retraced my last two paces.
‘Rico. Talk to me. What is it?’
Nothing.
‘Riz for Rico. Come back please over.’
‘This is Rico. Can you lift the receiver up please?’
Jesus Christ. I lifted the heavy pack and held it with aching arms.
‘Good. OK. Forward?’
How conspicuous we looked I didn’t dare imagine. I walked forward, very slowly. Any minute now this was all going to come crashing in…
‘OK Riz. I have it. It’s there.’
‘What’s there?’
‘The guns, Riz. Rifles. Pistols, landmines, grenades. Everything.’
I quickly got the tracker mobile out of my cargo pants pocket, stripped the vinyl off the glue pads, and stuck it under the nearest wheel arch. I heard a soft metallic sound as Rico placed his own department’s tracking device underneath the other side of the truck.
A new voice hashed in our earpieces. ‘Tchéky to Riz and Rico, go for the rear fire exits to your left, NOW. GO!’
The argument had obviously got out of hand. And then I ran as fast as I could for the fire exit, the receiver banging awkwardly on my leg. I checked the pistol was secure in my waistband.
Another voice hashed in my ear. ‘Broadsword calling Danny Boy, over.’
And then a mad giggle. Christ, they’d given her a radio as well. ‘Holly, just get back to our vehicles and make sure they have the take. And be careful with that armband.’
‘But of course. OK listen.’ I heard the rustle of a map and some conferring in French. ‘Go through the fire exit and head left, there’s a service tunnel. Go down it.’
‘Got that.’ We jogged down the tunnel.
‘See the double doors? Through them, there’s an underground park for cars. See the ramp? That takes you back onto the other side of the road.’
We ran up the ramp and back up onto Rue d’Abbeville, and slowed to a walk. I glanced left to the brightly-lit garage ramp. The staff were arguing amongst themselves, probably pissed-off at being turned over so badly. Trying to control our breathing, we made our way back up the street to our vehicles.
‘Thanks, Holly. We’re on our way back.’
‘See you in a bit babe.’
31
We convened in the back of one of the black people carriers and Rico got the console linked up to the monitors inside. We crowded round to look and he ran the take. ‘OK, first camion. Empty.’
And it was. The file slowed, fuzzed, wobbled and went out of focus as me and Rico’s separate units made their way down each side. The screen clearly showed an x-ray style image of a totally empty container.
‘Next camion. Rolling…’
Again the file slowed, then jittered… moved up as I’d raised the receiver unit. Rico froze the movie and started using the digital zoom. I could hear soft swearing around me, and I didn’t blame them. There were enough small arms, grenades and mines in there to start a civil war. I could even recognise the weapons. AKs. PPSHs. AKSUs. Skorpions. This was bad.
Tchéky spoke. ‘Putain de Merde! And to think that they want this to run on, to find who it’s going to. Idiocy.’
He turned to us. ‘OK. Riz. Holly. We have the trackers on, we wait. I think you should get back to the hotel and get some sleep. I will call if things change.’
We left our new car with the parking attendants and got to work tidying the suite. I’d brought a roll of binliners up from reception and started clearing all the rubbish away while Bang-Bang packed away the techy kit. The wall display would have to stay for now. We packed our go-bags, and then slumped on the bed and flicked through the channels. I got some beers from the fridge. Bang-Bang had found a news channel, full of Front National people moaning about the raid.
On the writing desk nearby the Vaio laptop was charging and Google Latitude was showing no movement from our phone tracker.
By the time Prisunique came on we were asleep.
At 7.05am my BlackBerry buzzed. It was Colonel Mahoney.
‘Morning Riz. Tchéky just called me. You two had better get on the road. Two men have just collected the truck and they’re heading north out of Paris.’
I blearily checked the laptop display. Sure enough, there went the tracker symbol, north out of town on the A14.
32
October 5th
Out in the morni
ng air a valet had helpfully brought the service car round to the parking bay. We placed our bags and kit into the boot. Stevie was there to see us off. I shook his hand and Bang-Bang gave him a kiss. He was all smiles. Obviously he didn’t mind the mess we’d made. ‘This car has a device to go through the tolls on the autoroute, so don’t worry. I hope… the hotel hopes… to see you both again.’
I nodded. ‘Definitely, Stevie. Thanks for everything.’
Bang-Bang sparked up. ‘Yeah Stevie, we got a honeymoon coming!’
And we were into the car and gone. I got the satnav working and Bang-Bang already had the laptop fixing the position of the tracker. ‘Thirty klicks ahead of us, babes, heading northwest on the A14/A13.’ She zoomed the map outwards. ‘I reckon they’re heading for a port… Saint-Malo; Cherbourg. Le Havre? Dieppe? I hope they go to Saint-Malo, I went there on a school exchange trip... ’
‘Could be any of ‘em Holly, but the minute we’re sure, we call it in. We’re going with them.’
She nodded. ‘OK. I’ll run the phones and make the calls. Let me know when you want me to take over driving.’
‘Cool.’ I hit the A14 and accelerated. Our phones were already going. Bang-Bang answered hers. ‘Allo Tchéky… Did they? Hmpfh. Alright, I’ll tell him. A bientôt.’
She turned to me. ‘They traced the address the truck was registered to. Some builders’ yard in Seine-Saint-Denis. They just raided it but there was no-one there.’
‘Shit.’
We caught up with our target on the A13 just outside Mantes-la-Jolie. I eased up to one hundred metres behind and read off the license plate. Bang-Bang called it in to Tchéky. ‘Yes. Same as last night. India Papa 501 Alpha Kilo.’
As we hung back, two people carriers swept past and ahead. Tchéky and Marianne’s DPSD teams, keeping eyes on. The truck was doing a steady 70 kilometres per hour. We accelerated away after checking in. I was heading for the first service stop I could find.
We pulled in at the Shell Rosny-sur-Seine Nord. Bang-Bang took over driving duties and I made for the shop to get us some Red Bulls. I’d allowed us ten minutes. I knew that below us on the autoroute, the truck and its little attendant motorcade would be swooshing past and that was fine, we could tuck back in at the rear and watch for where it was headed.
I jumped back in, Bang-Bang floored it and we were back down and onto the autoroute. I checked the laptop screen. Still there, heading northwest at a steady seventy.
My phone rang. The Colonel. ‘Riz, all good on the ground?’
‘Sure boss, we have a nice box round the target.’
‘Riz, I’ve just had COBR on the phone. They want it to run on when it reaches wherever it’s going, and it’s looking like the UK.’
‘Is that wise, boss?’
He laughed. ‘No, I don’t think it is. OK listen in. We’ll meet you at whatever port it arrives in, swap the vehicles over. How you coordinate with the Blackeyes is up to you two but I’m sending E Squadron and some Royal Military Police.’
I checked the map display. ‘If they turn off for Rouen then they’re going for Dieppe. Where do Dieppe ferries go?’
‘Newhaven. We’re ready. Just stick with them and give my compliments to Tchéky. They’ll be on the ferry with you.’
Bang-Bang’s phone rang and I took the call. ‘Riz, it’s Tchéky. We think they’re heading for Le Havre or Dieppe and we have phoned ahead. Pas de probleme, whatever ship they catch, we’ll all be on it.’
‘Nice one Tchéky. Compliments from the Colonel. See you there.’
Bang-Bang grinned at me. ‘Pedal to the metal?’
‘Do it babe.’
Half an hour later the truck turned off at Oissel and we all followed, streaming down the exits and north onto the N338. I looked at the map display. ‘Yeah. It’s Dieppe alright.’
We reached Dieppe just after 10am. The DPSD vehicles and us had the target truck in a loose net, and we followed it down through the town and into the Transmanche Ferries port. We parked up and convened in the car park. We all had eyes-on the truck, and we now had… I checked my watch. ‘Damn. Next ferry ain’t till 6pm. We’ve got eight hours to kill.’
Bang-Bang took my arm. ‘Let’s go see Dieppe. Look, there’s a big church over there. Let’s have a wander.’
Tchéky grinned. ‘Enjoy yourselves you two. We’ll keep watch on…’ he indicated the truck. ‘I’ll be speaking with the Trans-Manche people.’
We looked back at the truck park, and the empty jetty, awaiting the evening ferry. ‘Why d’you reckon they came here and not Calais or something?’
‘Dunno, babes. Maybe because Newhaven ain’t Dover, the security and screenings won’t be as tight. Or so Teacher told me. Anyway. It’s not leaving Tchéky’s sight. Come on, we might as well get some scran.’
After a bit of a wander and a stopoff at a Bureau de Change where I’d changed the rest of my Euro notes to Sterling, we’d ended up in Les Voiles d’Or on the cliff top. Apparently it was the third-best restaurant in Dieppe. We threw caution to the wind and went for the La Peche Du Jour. I’d never been a huge aficionado of seafood as I could never work out what was haraam or not but Bang-Bang was talking me through it and ordering. The waiter had fallen in love with her within about a minute.
I zoned in on my BlackBerry. I was looking at the screenshots Bang-Bang had taken in Second Life. We’d transferred them to our mobiles. I did not like the look of that tanker truck. Something was nagging me about one of the mosques so I zoomed into the photo. Then I had it. It was a mockup of Green Lane Mosque in Birmingham. I showed Bang-Bang. ‘That’s pretty much a combat indicator, then. Aren’t the EDL and Infidels marching in Birmingham?’
‘Yes, they are.’
‘Think like a racist. What would you do with a truckload of smallarms and a tanker truck?’
‘Easy. Brass up the counter-demos with the guns, drive the panicked Mozzies into the mosque, and then drive the tanker into the mosque. Kaboom. Loads of dead believers and score one to the Infidels.’
Bang-Bang looked at her Android phone and smiled. ‘Just got a Facebook message from Mo!’
‘You’re kidding. Where is he?’
‘Birmingham. He didn’t hang about. I’ve just Bluetoothed you his number. Oh I also got a Twitter inbox from Tommy Robinson. I took the liberty of pinging him cos I knew you wanted a word. He’s gonna ring you.’
‘Cool. Sooner the better, tell him.’
The day passed. No one in the restaurant seemed in any great hurry, which suited us, and we took our thimble cups of black coffee outside and looked out onto the ferry and the vehicle park. Nothing had moved. India Papa 501 Alpha Kilo was sitting there as dumb as an ox, and the DPSD cars were arranged as casual as you like, conveniently near the exits.
I looked left to the town beach. I found myself seeing old sepia photos in my head and I spoke to myself. ‘The raid.’
‘What was that doll?’ asked Bang-Bang as she took my arm.
‘The Dieppe Raid, 1942. We did a trial run for D-Day here. One lot came in on that beach, mostly Canadian. It was - is - a shingle beach and the tanks couldn’t get traction. The Germans were waiting. It turned into a bloodbath.’
‘Bad omen?’
‘Yeah, maybe, Holly. Did they not teach you about Dieppe and D-Day in school?’
‘No, why?’
‘Kids these days.’
She poked my ribs and grinned. ‘Shut up you, you didn’t even go to school.’
I laughed. ‘Touché.’
The coffee was going cold. She was looking at me in that proprietary manner of hers. ‘You OK? I worry about you.’
‘Hah. I don’t know, Holly babes.’ I told her about the nightmares I’d had before coming to Afghanistan. She hugged me and we looked out to sea. ‘Don’t you ever get them Holly?’
She shrugged. ‘Nah.’
33
The bridge of the Transmanche Ferries Seven Sisters was busy, but after the introductions and some waving of warrant cards
the captain had given us free run. We were all looking at the monitors showing the cargo deck. No movement so far apart from crew members in their fluorescent vests every now and then. The truck was parked among several similar vehicles. India Papa 501 Alpha Kilo and its rusty container, still sitting there like the dumbest of dumb things. Tchéky had been instructed to turn off their transmitter as we left the three-mile line into international waters. He’d phoned both Defence Ministries to try to rearrange some sort of NATO country coverage but no dice so far. That was frustrating. Bang-Bang checked our laptop for our own tracking device. ‘Weak signal but it’s there. Bit worried about the battery though.’
‘OK… where are the driver and his mate?’
‘Truckers’ lounge. Marianne has eyes-on.’
We all looked at each other and did the now-standard Gallic shrug. ‘Tea?’
We went to the driver’s lounge, which was bizarrely called “Brighton Pier”, fell into the seats and kept half an eye on the truck crew. They seemed utterly oblivious. I took a photo of them on my BlackBerry and emailed it to Toots at KTS. Two hours till Newhaven and they weren’t going anywhere. Bang-Bang came over gingerly carrying a tray of tea and paraphernalia from the cafeteria. ‘You be mum, Riz darling, I’m going topside for a fag.’
She gave the laptop on the table a final look. ‘Bollocks. Lost the signal. I think the modem is roaming for the UK side.’ She started tapping furiously on the keyboard. I squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. ‘C’mon babe, if anyone can get a connection out here, you can.’
I looked at the DPSD team. ‘This girl here could get an internet connection on the moon.’
She leant back and raised her hands away from the keyboard like a concert pianist who’d lost the vibe. ‘Yes to an internet connection, no to a phone. Either the battery’s dead or all the bulkheads are getting in the way.’ We all looked at each other. ‘Well like we said, it’s not going over the side. And we can see the drivers.’
I poured the tea for our French colleagues. ‘Anyway. This is proper tea, mes amis. Pay attention.’
Locked and Loaded: A Riz Sabir Thriller Omnibus Page 29
