by Damien Lewis
Then, as the men chatted away, an Iraqi airport guard came up to them.
‘Excuse me, sirs,’ the Iraqi began politely. ‘I just have few questions for you, sirs.’
‘Sure,’ Mick replied. ‘Fire away, mate.’
‘If you please follow me?’ said the Iraqi. ‘It will only take one moment.’
The four men looked at each other. Maybe it was just routine questioning? In any case, they had little choice but to do as the Iraqi asked. The airport was bristling with armed security guards. Silently, they followed him off to a side room. As soon as they were inside the door, Mick froze. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There in the centre of the room was the unmistakable figure of ‘Major Wanker’. He was flanked on either side by several Iraqi security guards.
‘What the fuck?!’ Mick blurted out.
‘Gentlemen,’ the Major began, smiling broadly. ‘So nice to see you all again. Congratulations. A successful mission, I hear.’
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Mick replied.
‘Simple. A change of plan, Mick,’ the Major replied. ‘The Kuwaiti prince is so pleased he wants the painting flown direct to Kuwait. That’s why I’m here. To meet his request. Everyone is very pleased. You have all done very well. You’ll be rewarded accordingly.’
‘Why didn’t you come and meet us at Bill’s villa, Major?’ Mick asked. ‘Why pull this little stunt at the airport?’
‘What stunt, Mick?’ the Major beamed. ‘Plans change all the time. Surely you know that. Being ex-SAS and all that. So, which one of you has the painting?’
The Major’s eyes darted around the four men. No one answered.
‘ ’Old on one effing minute,’ Eddie said. ‘Why ain’t we invited to deliver it in person to his Royal Highness? We just risked our necks rescuing it, didn’t we?’
‘Good idea. We’ll come with you, Major,’ Mick added. ‘You’ll be needing a security escort on the journey. Don’t want the painting going missing again, do we?’
‘Stop playing silly buggers,’ the Major snapped. ‘You’re not invited. And if you hadn’t noticed, I have my own security with me.’ The Major nodded at the Iraqi guards on either side of him. ‘Now, I’m not messing around. Hand over the painting.’
Mick glanced around the room. They clearly had no option. There were half a dozen Iraqi guards. Each had an AK47 assault rifle pointed in their direction.
‘Best you do as the fucker says,’ Mick growled.
‘ ’Ave a load of this, then,’ said Eddie. He slipped off his combat jacket and tossed it to the Major.
‘It’s the damn painting I’m after,’ the Major snarled. ‘What the hell do I want with this stinking rag?’
‘Take it easy,’ Eddie replied. ‘No need to be like that. You got the effing painting. It’s sewn into the lining of me jacket.’
‘What?!’ the Major yelled. He stared at the combat jacket. ‘You stupid idiot. You better not have damaged it, let me tell you.’
‘Getting a bit worked up, aren’t you, mate?’ Kiwi Jim said. ‘Over a worthless painting and all?’
‘Just take it easy,’ Eddie added. ‘I may not talk posh but I ain’t totally effing stupid. It’s in there and it’s safe as houses. Take a look.’
The Major snapped his fingers and muttered a command in Arabic. One of the Iraqi guards produced a knife. Carefully, the Major inserted the blade into the jacket. He cut open a section of the lining, revealing one corner of the canvas. It was sewn neatly into the jacket, the stitches only touching the outer edges. The Major looked up from the jacket and broke into a broad smile.
‘That’s better,’ he purred. ‘Now we can all be friends again. You men have a plane to catch, I believe. As do I. Once the prince has his painting, you’ll get the rest of your money. So, no hard feelings, eh? I think it’s time we all were on our way.’
‘We’ll be seeing you, Major,’ Mick replied icily.
‘Not if I see you first,’ said the Major, as he turned to leave.
‘Just you take care of that Van Gogh now,’ Eddie called after him. ‘Wouldn’t want to see it going missing again, would we?’
The Major froze in his tracks. He turned to face Eddie. His face had drained of all its colour. And Mick, Kiwi Jim and Jock were all staring at Eddie in surprise.
‘What did you say?’ the Major snarled.
‘I’m a bit of an art buff, see,’ Eddie replied. ‘I reckon that’s Vincent’s work, if ever I effing saw it. Worth a tidy packet it is, an’ all.’
‘Is it?’ the Major sneered. ‘Well, let me tell you something. You’re no art buff, Eddie. You’re a sorry, has-been soldier. You were the best once. But you’re a hired killer these days. Doing the dirty work for others.’
‘Yeah, and you’re full of shit, mate,’ Eddie replied. ‘Never was no Government mission, was there? Nor no effing prince, neither. It was a private operation all along, wasn’t it, Major? Painting’s worth a mint, ain’t it? Most of Vincent’s stuff is, so I’m told.’
‘Is that so?’ the Major replied. ‘Thinking of changing careers, are we, Eddie? From hired gun to art expert in one easy step, is that it? Somehow, I don’t think so. Stick to killing, Eddie. It’s the only thing you do even half well.’
‘It was all to benefit your effing bank account, wasn’t it, Major?’ said Eddie. You got the painting, mate. That’s what you wanted. You can admit it now, can’t you?’
‘You’d better watch what you say,’ said the Major, smiling coldly. ‘Making accusations like that could land you in a lot of trouble.’
‘No worries, mate,’ Kiwi cut in. ‘You’re a dead man already. Wherever you go. Wherever you hide. I’ll still find you.’
‘Don’t threaten me,’ the Major shot back. ‘With a painting like this, I’m rich enough to afford the best. The best security money can buy. Maybe I’d even have considered using your services once. But not now. Now it’s goodbye. Goodbye and thanks, gentlemen. You’ve done an excellent job.’
‘So, it’s bloody true?’ Mick gasped. ‘You bastard—’
‘Of course it’s true,’ said the Major, bursting into laughter. ‘It’s all true. Are you really only starting to grasp that now, Mick? Seems the only one of you wise enough to realise it was Eddie. And he’s hardly Einstein, is he?’
‘So who the fuck paid?’ Mick growled. ‘The hundred and fifty grand was in our accounts. I checked—’
‘I did, Mickey,’ the Major replied. ‘I paid. Or rather, the Lloyd-Barrier family money did. Two million dollars invested. For a priceless Van Gogh. Quite a good return, wouldn’t you agree? Or a nice little earner, as you gentlemen might say.’
‘We just gassed a load of Iraqis,’ Mick spat out. ’Wiped ‘em out. All so you could get your hands on that painting. On the money. You dirty, murdering bastard.’
‘You watch your mouth,’ the Major snapped. ‘Poor bleeding heart. Feel sorry for them, do you? They were low life. Scum. Iraq and the world is a better place without them.’
The Major turned to one of the guards. He barked a few orders at him in Arabic. The guard turned back to Mick and his team with cold eyes.
‘The guards have orders to hold you here until I’m long gone,’ said the Major. ‘So don’t try anything stupid. And just remember. You have all been involved in an illegal operation. You just murdered a bunch of petty thieves using Sarin gas. That is a very serious crime. You breathe a word of this to anyone and we all go down. We’re all in this together, now. So, I’d stay quiet if I were you. Dead quiet. For a very long time.’
The Major turned and headed for the rear exit.
‘Just one more thing, Major,’ Mick called after him. ‘Why didn’t you level with us? You could have told us from the start it was a private job. Why the need to double-cross us?’
‘Because you wouldn’t have done it, that’s why,’ the Major replied. ‘You needed to believe it was for Queen and Country, as well as the money. You still believe in loyalty, Mick. Decency. Patriotism. Honour. Maybe
one day you’ll wise up. It’s every man for himself, Mick. Always has been. Always will be. Honest, decent people like you don’t get ahead.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Mick replied. ‘We’d have done it just for the cash.’
He was lying. But he was trying to provoke the Major. Trying to get him to reveal as much of the truth as possible. The more Mick could find out now, the easier it would be to hunt the Major down. For there was no doubt in Mick’s mind. Even if it took him the rest of his life. He was going to track that bastard down and get his revenge.
‘Would you?’ the Major sneered. ‘Just for the money, eh? And how would that have worked, I wonder? I would have told you the truth, would I? That the painting was worth forty million dollars. And then I would have trusted you to go get it for me. Is that it? D’you really think I’m that stupid?’
‘It was you who set the ambush for us, wasn’t it, Major?’ said Mick. His voice was like murder now. ‘You set the ambush. So there would be no witnesses. And to save paying us the rest of the money.’
‘What ambush?’ the Major replied, smiling. ‘What money? Iraq’s a very dangerous place, Mick. You should know that by now. You should thank your lucky stars you got out alive. I should be careful from now on. Best you behave. Never know who might be after you. Bye-bye, gentlemen. It’s been a wonderful adventure. But now it’s over. And time I was leaving you.’
‘Let the fucker go, Mickey,’ Eddie said, placing a hand on Mick’s arm. ‘He ain’t worth the grief. Let ’im go.’
CHAPTER TEN
MICK SLAMMED THE land Rover into reverse and spun her out of the parking space. Two weeks parked at Heathrow Airport had cost him a fortune, as always. He gunned the engine and headed for the exit. Needless to say, none of the lads had spoken much on the flight home. They’d been exhausted. They’d slept most of the journey.
‘Right, now the real fucking mission begins,’ Mick snarled. He pulled out onto the tarmac road. ‘Tracking down Major fucking Wanker. I want that bastard real bad.’
‘Not as much as me, mate,’ Kiwi added.
‘Why effing bother?’ said Eddie. ‘He’s a tosser. Who’d want to spend time in his company?’
‘If I was torturing him with a hot iron – that’d be all right,’ Kiwi cut in.
‘Nah. Fuck ’im,’ Eddie replied, laughing. ‘Forget it. Life’s all right. Never been better, if you ask me.’
‘What the hell is it with you?’ Mick snapped. ‘We’ve all just been buggered big time. And you’re sounding positively fucking joyful. You cracked up or something?’
‘Not me, mate,’ Eddie replied, with a grin. ‘I got every reason to be a very happy boy, I ’ave.’
‘Like fucking what?’ Mick snapped.
‘Like pass me me bag, Kiwi,’ Eddie said. ‘That’s it. That one. Pass it over ’ere. Now, what do we ’ave in ’ere? Me Paraclete body armour, that’s what we ’ave. Best body armour money can buy. Cor blimey, heavy, ain’t it? Pity to have to ruin it.’
‘Will you shut the fuck up, Eddie,’ said Mick, skidding to a halt on the roadside. ‘Or d’you want out of the Land Rover and fucking walking home?’
‘Whatever, mate,’ Eddie replied. He pulled a knife out of his bag. ‘But I don’t reckon you’d want to miss this little show. Not for the world, mate.’
‘What bloody show?’ Mick snapped.
‘Patience, dear boy,’ Eddie replied, in a mock posh accent. ‘Patience.’
He began slicing open the lining of his body armour. As he did so he whistled a jolly tune to himself. Mick was about to smack him, he was getting so angry. But he also had to see what the crazy bastard was up to now. Mick watched the blade slicing through the tough material. Suddenly, he caught sight of the corner of something sticking out from the green lining. For a second, Mick couldn’t believe his eyes. Eddie carried on whistling, and slicing away at the lining. Soon the bottom edge of a sheet of canvas was visible.
‘What the fuck?’ said Mick. ‘It can’t be!’
‘Can’t be what, mate?’ Eddie replied. Van Gogh’s ‘Vase with Irises Against a Yellow Background? Well it is if I’m not mistaken. And an original it is, too, old boy.’
‘But you handed Major Wanker the bloody painting,’ Mick blurted out. ‘Back in Baghdad. I saw it. I saw you do it. I saw him check it. Then leave the room.’
‘Indeed I did,’ Eddie replied. ‘But did Major Wanker check that it was an original Van Gogh? No he didn’t, did he?’
‘You crafty fucker …’ Mick began. ‘That dodgy art thief mate of yours? You cooked up some deal with him, didn’t you?’
‘At this moment Major effing Wanker is in possession of a painting,’ Eddie announced. ‘A picture of a vase of flowers. It’s signed “Vincent”. But the real painter is Timmy Brown. A mate of a mate of mine and the best forger in all London town.’
‘You bastard!’ Mick yelled, grabbing Eddie’s head in an armlock. ‘You lovely, lovely fuckin’ bastard. And you didn’t bloody tell us one word about it, did you? I’m going to murder you.’
The four men in the Land Rover burst into wild cheering. They hugged and punched each other. They couldn’t believe it. East End Eddie had got the better of Major Lloyd-Barrier, the world’s biggest bastard. And they’d got their hands on a 45-million dollar painting.
Just at that moment, a police car drew up beside Mick’s Land Rover. A uniformed officer approached the vehicle’s passenger door. There was a tap on the window. Just as Eddie went to wind it down, Mick stopped him.
‘Hide the bloody painting first, mate,’ said Mick.
‘What?’ Eddie said. ‘It’s just effing Billy blue hat, mate. What you worried about?’
‘Maybe the fucking Major’s reported us,’ said Mick. ‘Dobbed us in to the coppers.’
‘You hide it, then, mate,’ Eddie said. He handed Mick the body armour and wound down the window.
‘Excuse me, lads,’ the officer said. ‘But you’re parked in a restricted area. This is Heathrow Airport. Can I see some ID?’
‘Officer, let me let you into a little secret,’ Eddie announced. ‘We’re on a secret mission. Just back from Baghdad. Having a little celebration, that’s all. Here’s me badge.’
Eddie fished around in his bag and pulled out his beige SAS beret. He still carried it on all his missions. He flashed the officer his SAS cap badge.
‘I got the code word if you want it, mate,’ Eddie added. ‘You know, the little secret word that lets us go on our way.’
‘You boys SAS?’ the officer asked. He seemed a little in awe of them now. ‘Erm, sorry to have troubled you, lads. Good luck with whatever mission you’re on. But I guess if you’re SAS you won’t be needing too much luck, will you?’
‘Who dares, wins,’ Eddie replied. ‘You got it. But don’t worry, mate. It’s mission accomplished already. We’re on our way home. Wouldn’t you say so, lads?’
GLOSSARY:
50-cal – common name for the .50 calibre Browning heavy machine-gun
AK47 – Soviet bloc assault rifle
Atropine – nerve agent antidote
Delta Force – US military elite special forces unit
Desert Claw – name of the mission to seize Van Gogh painting
Eagle Claw – name of the 1980 abortive US mission to rescue American hostage held in Iran
Geneva Convention – international treaty governing the rules of war
GPMG – General Purpose Machine Gun, heavy machine-gun popular with UK and US military
GPS – global positioning system
HMG – Her Majesty’s Government
HQ – headquarters
LAW – light anti-armour weapon, a hand held rocket launcher used by British and US military
M16 – main type of assault rifle in use with US military forces
MP – military police
MP5 – Heckler & Koch sub-machine-gun popular with elite special forces units
NAPS – Nerve Agent Pre-treatment Set, drugs used to prote
ct against chemical and biological weapons
Sarin – a type of nerve gas developed by the German military during World War Two
SAS – Special Air Service, Britain’s foremost elite special forces unit
SBS – Special Boat Service, sister special forces regiment to the SAS
SCUD – medium range missiles of Soviet origin used by Iraqi military under Saddam
SEAL – Sea Air Land, US military elite special forces and sister unit to Delta Force
SIG-Sauer – Swiss weapons manufacturer whose pistol is popular with UK special forces
WMD – weapons of mass destruction
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781448165674
Version 1.0
Published in the United Kingdom by Arrow Books in 2006
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Copyright © Damien Lewis, 2006
Front cover illustration by Larry Rostant
Damien Lewis has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is certainly coincidental.
