by Duncan James
***
By now, Major Bill Clayton and his team, ably supported by Lieutenant Commander Nick Marsden and his SAS colleagues scattered around the Province, were working flat out. They had beds in the office, and most meals, if you could call them that were delivered from the canteen and eaten in snatches, having mostly gone cold. They had spent considerable time and effort in planning, and now needed every bit of energy to keep track of events as they unfolded. It would be only too easy now for someone to slip through the net.
“Those weapons you borrowed from the police are proving valuable, aren’t they?” commented Marsden.
“I knew they would,” replied Clayton. “That’s why I wanted them.”
“Talking of weapons, the new IRA arms consignment left Libya on schedule,” reported Marsden, “and I’ve arranged for it to be met in international waters in two days’ time.”
“Good,” said Clayton. “And what about the UVF Quartermaster, Connor Keenan and his wife? They are supposed to be leaving for their holiday in Greece tonight, and there’s no way now we can stop them.”
“All sorted”, smiled Marsden. “There happens to be a County Class Frigate on a courtesy visit in Piraeus, and she also happens to have a small SBS unit on board for training. I’ve organised quite a good little exercise for them. Keenan will disappear. How’s your chum getting on at the Bank?”
“Last I heard, making good progress, and almost ready to close a few accounts for us. The US Federal Reserve is ready to move when we say the word, so we should be able to shut down a large part of the IRA operation fairly soon. We’ll try our luck on a couple of small ones first, though, just to make sure this guy’s really on the ball and knows what he’s doing.”
“I wish I knew how he’s doing it,” said Marsden. “With my mortgage, I could do with that sort of knowledge.”
“You’ve got to be a real wizard to crack bank security encryption codes, and that’s after you’ve hacked into their computers without leaving any trace of who you are or where you are. The 4758 crypto-processor the banks use was thought to be impregnable until he came along, and they weren’t amused when he got into it. The military uses it too, as it happens. The damn thing took ten years to develop, too”
“Perhaps I’ll offer your man a job after you’ve finished with him. By the way, since you’ve insisted that I don’t go down to the fireworks in Cashel, I’ve decided to send ‘The Cat’ instead.”
Clayton suddenly looked concerned.
“Is that wise?” he asked.
“Perfectly safe, so don’t worry. Done plenty of Close Target Reconnaissance work before, and only used two of the legendry nine lives. Both those went in Iraq.”
“I know The Cat is legendry within the SAS, after what happened in Iraq. Escaping captivity with those injuries, and then making it back to our own lines took more guts than most people could have mustered, and I also know that it was rare - almost unique, - for the Regiment to keep someone on its books who is no longer fit for combat. But I’m still not sure this is a wise decision.”
“Look,” said Marsden. “Combat training within the Regiment is one thing, but now it’s high time The Cat got away from behind a desk and did something practical again. It doesn’t do SAS people much good, shoving paper around, and a CTR will make a break. I can tell you, if you don’t already know, that in spite of all the injuries inflicted during capture, The Cat is perfectly fit enough for a job like this, and well able to spend a few days in a ditch without being discovered, if that’s what’s necessary. I’ll do the briefing myself, if you’d prefer.”
“Thanks,” said Bill Clayton. “I’d rather you did. But I still don’t like the idea.”
“Good. That’s agreed then.”
