Special Deception

by Special Deception (retail) (epub)

  ‘Why not wait for sunset, Hafiz?’

  ‘Because the people I have here can’t be kept indefinitely. They’re not here officially, it’s only the unit commander who happens to be one of us. The army commander knows nothing, battalion commander knows nothing. These men will happen to be on hand, by chance, because they’re here on exercises on the unit commander’s own initiative. As it was planned, he’d achieve a coup, get nothing but praise, but—’ Hafiz spread his arms, let them flop against his sides. ‘Leo, you persuade us to risk our lives and futures, and—’

  ‘I persuaded nobody to do anything. And I was late because that woman — your woman — lost her nerve and landed us in the wrong place… But all right: yes, all right—’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘I’ve got the answer. I can handle it.’ The solution had come to him just at that moment, and it was so simple he wished he’d thought of it before, avoided the argument and the threats, the appearance of surrender to threats now. All he had to tell them was that the hostage was about to be moved — today… ‘So listen, now.‘ Putting his mind to the nuts and bolts of it. ‘I go down there. They’re five hundred metres above the camp — that side, I left them there because I was trying to cut corners and save time… Now, we’ll move over, I’ll put Swale where he has to be, tell him he’s there to cover us while we get the prisoner out and withdraw — because we’ll be withdrawing that way, I’ll explain, across the road and up into the high ground on the other side.’

  ‘What you tell him is your own affair.’

  ‘It has to make sense to him, so it has to make sense to you and me, I’m checking it out as I would’ve done during the day – all right?’

  ‘Don’t shout at me, Leo.’

  ‘Is your side of it ready?’

  ‘Well, of course –’

  ‘The Doppelgangers?’

  ‘All set up.’ He put a hand on Leo’s arm. ‘Come, let’s get down there… But yes, they’re at the camp. Dressed—’ he glanced down at Leo’s fatigues, and nodded — ‘as you are. I’ve had them play-acting, keeping guard on that cabin.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For your men to see. You could’ve been lying-up here all yesterday, it had to look right to them, didn’t it? I sent those four down there two days ago, I couldn’t sit here with them for days on end!’

  ‘But Leila must have telephoned, say this past midnight?’

  ‘For us to meet, yes. But a cautious man would have been here with a good margin of time, I’d have thought.’

  Leo bit back a caustic answer: there’d have been no mileage in it. Hafiz said, ‘I’ll alert them now. They know exactly what to do.’

  Leo had given Smotrenko, in London, a note of Tait’s and Denham’s heights and weights. This information would have been passed to Vetrov in Moscow, and from there it would have gone to Vorontsev, the GRU Resident in Damascus. Vorontsev in turn would have informed Hafiz Al-Jubran, who’d have arranged for the two Doppelgangers plus two others (heights and weights immaterial) to be hired from one of Fatah-Abu Mussa’s training camps. The requirement had been for two trained men of roughly the same height and build as the two mercenaries. At a distance, dressed similarly and most likely in bad light, Swale would see them as Pete and Smiley.

  He’d know that was who they were.

  ‘So — you’ll have them hidden near the stone building. I bring my two along — quietly, of course, we’ll be creeping up. When we’re out of Swale’s sight, your gunmen kill them from ambush. No warning, close range, in the back, no chance of mishap. Swale will hear the shots, and then I’ll be waving and calling to him to join me. As he comes rushing, he’ll see the Doppelgangers —and me too — shooting into the tents and killing the refugees who run out. Shooting, killing, tent after tent… He’ll be like a madman, won’t believe what he’s seeing — and before he reaches us, those same two get him. From behind, with a stun grenade before they shoot him — in the legs, a whole clip if they want but only in the legs, that’s vital — huh?’

  ‘I said — they know exactly what to do. He’ll get worse than that, in fact, he’s got to be unconscious for a while, has he not.’

  They were climbing down to the plateau, then, to get to the track. Leo still running the scenario through his mind. Swale would have no doubt that his attackers were Stillgoe’s guards. Nor could he doubt that he’d witnessed a mass-murder of old people by Bob Knox, Smiley Tait and Pete Denham, all of the Special Boat Squadron of the Royal Marines. That would be the horror-picture in his mind when he regained consciousness — strapped to a stretcher, badly wounded and no doubt in a lot of pain, and either in or about to be loaded into the Mi-24 helicopter which he’d believe had rushed Syrian troops in just too late to prevent the atrocity.

  The helicopter would transfer him to a prison hospital in Damascus. Denham’s and Tait’s bodies would be amongst those of slaughtered refugees, but they’d have been stripped of their green fatigues before the incoming troops saw them. And the four militiamen would be on their way to remote camps in Libya within hours.

  ‘All right.’ Hafiz reappeared, brushing dirt off his leather jacket. Moonlight didn’t touch this plateau, which was shaded by the peak above it. ‘Thought Yusuf might have been down here. He’s got some troubles coming his way, believe me.’

  ‘I believe you…’ Leo asked him, ‘D’you have to go to the camp now to warn them?’

  ‘No. A signal. My car’s on the hill, they’ll have been watching for two flashes on the headlights. Then when it’s all finished — and when I’m ready for them — three flashes will bring the helicopter down. Simple, eh?’

  Mention of the helicopter prompted another question… ‘When it’s finished — I can’t afford to be seen by Swale. If he’s conscious. So I can’t go in the helicopter, can I. But I have to be on the first available flight out of Damascus. So — how?’

  ‘Well.’ Hafiz had stumbled… ‘Well, that’s simple, too. I’ll drive you, in my car.’

  Like stating the obvious: but somehow as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him until Leo raised the question.

  *

  Ducky Teal saw them separate, one turning off westward and the other continuing down the track. It was the one who’d be returning to the Swale party who mattered. He let him get a head start, and then followed.

  It wasn’t difficult. The guy was hurrying, and about as agile as a camel. But he was covering the ground quite fast. Within a few minutes he was crawling up that central spine; on its other side he’d be not only in moonlight but also in Sticks Kelso’s field of view.

  Sticks would that start moving down, Ducky thought. Another guess was that by this time there’d be others in that chaos of moonlight and shadow, crags and fissures.

  He watched him clamber over the spine: moonlight full on him for a moment, then he’d gone over, out of sight. Ducky could move fast then, on fingertips and the torn remains of trainers…

  Over the ridge: over very smartly, horizontal and rolling over, avoiding that guy’s compulsion for self-exposure… He’d picked him up again — acoustically, then visually — within two minutes of having lost him. Real clown: but clearly in a hurry… A low shelf of rock, throwing out about as much shadow as a snake might need, came in useful now, enabling him to cross what was otherwise an open, brightly moonlit area and bringing him slightly downslope of the man he was following. He could afford to pause here: the guy had changed his direction, also downward.

  Waiting, watching. It would surely come to a head soon now. There would be others in the vicinity, and they might even have the Swale party pinpointed by this time. Ducky used the time to drag up his right trouser-leg and push its cuff under the haft of his diver’s knife, which was holstered on that leg, so he could get at it quickly when he needed to. It had a wooden haft shaped to his palm, and a nine-inch carbon-steel blade a quarter of an inch thick with both edges serrated, sharp as a Gurkha’s kukri.

  *

  Fifty metres on Ducky’s le
ft, Doc Laker wormed forward another metre and then stopped again, having achieved the object of being able to raise his head while still having it in shadow. He thought the Swale group couldn’t be very far in front of him. But the guy he’d been watching — up to the right, slanting down now, hurrying and thus making himself easy to see and hear — would no doubt locate them shortly, thus saving further efforts and the attendant risk of alerting them. He was all right here, but ahead of him the ground was less well endowed with cover, as well as moonlit.

  Patience was therefore called for. Despite frustration: and knowing Kelso was up there with his starscope and caustic comments as applied recently to Geoff Hosegood. Who would no doubt be somewhere ahead there, maybe beyond the Swale group… Laker moved cautiously, adjusting first the position of his SA80 and then the bag containing his medical equipment, making these adjustments so he’d have unimpeded right-hand access to his knife.

  *

  Geoff Hosegood heard the wally coming. Couldn’t see him, and it wasn’t safe to raise his head. He — Geoff — was within forty or fifty feet of them, he reckoned; and one of ‘them’ had surely to be Swale. For whom one had come about two thousand miles and through various exertions and privations.

  If he’d been licensed to use his SA80 Individual Weapon he could have cleaned them up in approximately ten seconds, he thought — if his guess was right and that was where they were holed up — but Ben didn’t want any advertising of the SBS presence. Dead right, too: with troops and a helo in the village, and a long yomp over mountains between here and the next square meal. The SBS motto was By Stealth, By Guile, not ‘fix bayonets and charge’… Meanwhile it was a step forward to have them even roughly located: he’d heard low voices — not recently, they’d gone silent since, and he’d only heard it for a second, just long enough to freeze and cock his ears. But whoever’d been that close was still that close.

  Maybe. You couldn’t ever be completely certain. Sound-effects could be deceptive, and some guys were incredibly adept at the silent movement bit. Swale might be one of them…

  Over to Geoff’s right, the Citroën started up. Brief whirr of the starter, then the engine fired and revved before it settled to a smooth purr. Lights then — sidelights and a red glow astern, and movement: out into the road and turning right, downhill. Then it had stopped again. Headlights up: dipped. Then the same again. A double flash, could have been a signal.

  To the village?

  *

  Sixty yards upslope, Sticks Kelso heard and saw that performance too. But after flashing its lights the Citroën reversed into the track again, then came out swinging left — and away, towards Homs.

  He whispered, ‘Ali Baba’s pissing off.’

  The man who’d met ‘Ali Baba’ at the qal’at was clambering straight down the fall-line now. Homing in on his chums, no doubt, on Swale…

  Ben had gone down the west slope from the qal’at fast enough to have joined Kelso and for both of them to have been watching for that one when he’d come over the rock spine with the moon on him like stage lighting. Obviously thinking he had the place to himself: which made for a promising situation. Ben knew (from Sticks) that both Hosegood and Laker must by now be somewhere close to Swale; and Teal would have tailed this one over from the track so he’d be somewhere at hand too. Then there were three at the wall, and himself and Sticks moving down now to close the box — with a swathe of moonlight, unfortunately, streaming across the slope in front and below them.

  The temptation to use the SA80s had clearly to be resisted. Because of that helo up at the village. He was half expecting movement from up there now, anyway, reaction to the light-signals from that bloody car. If there was any such move, OK, you’d use the guns, and fast…

  *

  Leo stopped. crouching. ‘Charlie?’

  ‘To your left, Bob.’

  He was on top of them before he saw them: they were in a cleft of rock, extraordinarily well hidden. Leo slid in, crowding them: Charlie whispered, ‘Car just drove off?’

  ‘The guy I met. Listen, we’re going to do it now, right away, so—’

  ‘With an hour to sunrise?’

  ‘No option. Simple reason the guy won’t be here tonight, they’re moving him — today.’

  ‘Fucking hell, Bob –’

  ‘Hold it, Smiley… Tell us, Bob.’

  Leo pointed. ‘Start-point’s east of the camp, hundred metres above the road. Straight there, now. You stay there, Charlie, watch our backs while we move in quietly and get him. Then you withdraw with us but covering us in case there’s any reaction — we don’t know what shape he’ll be in, we may have our hands full. Over the road, up into the high ground up there, lie-up all day then split off west, whole night for travel… all right?’

  ‘Yeah… Yeah, I’d—’

  ‘Right, let’s go…’

  *

  Ben saw them moving — and the thought in his mind was that the Syrian had signalled to them, not to the village. From right to left, a huddle of men covering the ground quite fast — the going was probably not too bad down there, less rugged than it was up here. In patchy moonlight the group was indistinct and bunched up, they were running crouched, no individual separable from the others. Tense with frustration at that moment, he realised soon afterwards that anyway there’d been nothing he could have done about it; even if it had been possible to identify Swale and even if the range had been three hundred metres or less he wouldn’t have used his SA80. Several of the others would have been in range, but one shot and you’d have had those troops deploying from the village. He’d warned them about it, collectively and individually, stressing that there’d be no dividend in killing Swale and then having the whole team trapped here. He was on his feet — so was Kelso, off to his left — getting down the hill as fast as the broken ground could be covered. Not knowing exactly where Doc Laker or Geoff might be: they could be right in those people’s path, in which case they might have a chance.

  *

  Laker saw Charlie Swale clearly for about two seconds. The moon had been on him — one tall guy in a group of four, the other three like peas in a pod. The difference was obvious even when they were bounding away stooped like apes: just as you’d notice a big baboon loping along in a family of standard-sized ones.

  Cursing, mentally, at seeing them go, after that long stalk… But even if his reactions had been unbelievably fast — faster than anyone’s could have been, in the circumstances — he couldn’t have used his gun. It was slightly mollifying to remember this now; his first reaction when the chance had seemed to have come and then gone had been to ask himself Christ, what’s the matter with you?

  *

  Geoff saw them go: he’d heard a snatch of voices before that, just as the guy who’d joined them had stopped: and like the Doc he’d been close enough — initially — to have noted Swale’s height in comparison with the others, close enough to have cut him down — cut all of them down, but in that space of about one second he could have picked off Swale with a snap-shot in the back.

  He was thinking now that maybe he should have, should have turned a deaf ear to Ben’s orders. One squeeze of the trigger and it would have been over, Swale dead, withdrawal the only remaining problem.

  A major problem, maybe, if one had stirred up the locals. Starting across the slope, more or less on those people’s tracks, he accepted this point, and that he could not possibly have been justified in disobeying that clear and very necessary instruction. Although soon — very soon — he’d find himself wishing to God that he had snapped off that single round and finished it.

  *

  ‘This’ll do. All right, Charlie?’

  ‘Sure. Go ahead.’

  Settling himself between two rocks and checking on the terrain around him, fields of fire, line of sight to the camp and the way they’d come out of it — where he’d converge with them, covering their withdrawal.

  He hadn’t argued about Bob’s decision to put him here while t
he three of them went in to get Stillgoe. He didn’t much care what job they gave him, and if they, the SBS, wanted to spring the guy on their own — OK, let them.

  He focussed his glasses on them. They were keeping low, advancing cautiously and slowly towards the camp. So Bob was capable of moving quietly. You wouldn’t have known it, earlier.

  They’d need to move fast, though, when they’d got this guy: there was a hint of dawn in the sky already. He was looking up that way, guessing at how long they might have before sunrise, when he saw the car coming back, over the rise from the Homs direction.

  It stopped, just this side of the crest, and its sidelights went out. Bob’s pal would be getting a grandstand view.

  Except there shouldn’t be anything for him to see. Barring accidents, if they did the job the way it ought to be done. Charlie unslung his Uzi, checked that it was ready to fire and put it down beside him. Then lifted his binos again, focussing them on the stone hut this side of the camp.

  16

  Leo blew it, by looking back. Smiley Tait saw him do it, and was warned; Smiley was doomed in any case, but he took the PLO killer with him, and the carefully planned drill was ruptured from that moment on.

  There was a depression in the rock slope on that side of the camp. And it was in this dead ground, out of sign from Charlie’s position, that Smiley and Pete Denham were to be killed. The two gunmen — not Doppelgangers, whose start-line was to be the stone hut, but the other pair — were hiding among the rocks, and were to shoot Smiley and Pete from behind and at close range as they passed. Leo had almost passed through the dip, was climbing the far slope, looked back to see it happen. Smiley saw his turn, maybe saw something more than that in his posture, and with the instant reactions of a highly trained commando he was diving sideways as those two stood up and opened fire. Tait’s Uzi blasted out one short, accurate burst even before he’d hit the ground; Denham had gone down on his face, killed by a single shot in the back of the head, bullets were screaming off the rocks where Tait had been a second earlier, and Tait’s second blip of three or four rounds killed Denham’s murderer. The other was on his knees, solidly hit but groping for his dropped gun, and Smiley finished him with calm precision before he was killed himself, by Leo. Leo’s gun-barrel had been an inch from Smiley’s head when he’d squeezed the trigger.