Crisis Four ns-2

by Andy McNab

  All I had to do now was prepare the food. I folded the big sections of pizza in on each other and wrapped them in plastic wrap. I ripped the Mars bars out of their wrappers and wrapped them together in pairs. Then I opened the tins of Spam and also plastic wrapped the contents, and the whole lot went into the bergen. Peeling the labels from my hand, I stuck one on top of the other and then both over the small battery light on my phone. Then I went into the menu and turned off all the sound facilities.

  It was then down to a good smearing of insect repellent. I didn't know if I'd need it or not, but better safe than scratching. I got back into the car and headed for the lake. The rain had died down, at least for the moment.

  Flicking through the radio channels, I found myself listening to a woman who was talking about Southern females spending more time and money on their hair than those from any other area of the U.S.A.

  "That's why we should buy this magical mousse that " I hit the seek button.

  There was someone else explaining the reason why the weather was all screwed up: El Nino.

  "We're lucky here in North Carolina, unlike the main areas hit, like Alabama; they had twisters." I hit the switch and landed on a Christian station. This one was telling me that it was God, not El Nino, who was responsible for climate changes. Apparently the good Lord was not best pleased with all our sinning and was sending us a warning.

  However, the first step toward salvation might be to buy one of the channel's leather bound Holy Bibles, available for only $98.99. All major credit cards accepted.

  I was back in the woods. It was just past seven o'clock and nearing last light, especially under the canopy of high trees. That was absolutely fine by me; I wanted the maximum amount of dark to get on target and sort myself out before first light, then find out whether or not she was in the house. I hoped she was, otherwise it was back to D.C. and a great big empty drawing board.

  I hadn't had time to think about a good drop-off point for the car, but maybe the lake attracted families in the evenings, and the car park had looked a very likely lovers' lane. Either way it meant other vehicles and my car would blend in.

  I was about half a K. short of the car park when I finally had to turn my lights on. I had a quick spin around; there were a few lights in the tent area, but only one other car, which presumably belonged to the young couple I could see having a romantic interlude under the canopy. Well, they were until my headlights hit them and they had to hold their hands up to shield their eyes.

  I parked as near as possible to the barbecue area, but not so close to the young couple that I was going to have to go "Hi" when I got out. Not that they would have noticed me; from what I could see he seemed totally engrossed in trying to get his hand up her skirt, though unfortunately for him she appeared to be more interested in the food they were cooking.

  Looking across the lake, I could see lights on in both houses. I was still gagging for a shit, so I decided to walk over to the toilets with my new boots and ring-lace them while I relieved myself. The weather was still warmish, and the crickets were really going for it, drowning the noise of my footsteps on the mud and wet gravel. The stars were trying to break though the clouds, and the surface of the lake was as flat as a mirror. I I' hoped it stayed that way and didn't rain.

  ^ The toilets were molded, all-in-one, stainless steel units, with just a handle sticking out of the wall, so nothing could be vandalized. It was hot, dark and muggy in the cubicle, the only light coming from outside the main door. Swarms of buzzing things had been waiting on the ceiling for some poor unsuspecting ass to show up on the radar. As the first two or three dived in I heard a laugh from the girl by the barbecue. Maybe he'd found his target as well.

  I pulled out a few sheets of toilet paper from the container and its hard texture gave me a flashback to twenty-odd years ago, and the juvenile detention center: "Three squares only," the staff had barked.

  "One up, one down, one shine."

  That reminded me, I needed to bung myself up; I'd better take some Imodium. With my Timberlands in my hand and my shiny new boots on my feet, I trogged back to the car. The lovers were nowhere to be seen, but their car was still there and the barbecue was glowing. He must have scored and they'd moved somewhere more secluded; it's amazing what you can get away with if you make a woman laugh.

  I opened the trunk and got out the bergen and bow, checking that I hadn't left anything I'd be needing for the job or that would compromise what was going on if the car got nicked. In went the Timberlands; I wasn't going to fuck them up, I'd only just broken them in. I opened a foil pack of Imodium and swallowed four capsules. The instructions said two, but that was a problem I'd had all my life: I never listened to advice.

  Slinging the bergen, which now had the bow strapped onto it, over my right shoulder, I had a last study of the lake and the target houses to get my bearings, and set off. My plan was to follow the shore, cross the creek, then follow the shoreline again to the target that way I avoided the track.

  There was too much risk of transport going up and down it, and I didn't know how aware anyone in the buildings would be. I might compromise myself before I'd even reached the target. Do it properly and then you don't have to worry about those sorts of things.

  I passed the lovers' car. The windows were very steamed up, but I could see some strange movement going on inside.

  A few paces farther on, nailed to the barbecue canopy, was a large sign with "warning" stamped on the top. I stopped to read it; the more information, the better.

  "Caution Hikers," it said, "Hunting activities involving the use of firearms and other legal weapons may take place on the Wildlife Resources Commission Gamelands immediately adjacent to the park during hunting season." It further warned, "Please stay on the marked trail during hunting season to avoid the danger of possible serious injury or death. Wearing an item of bright-orange clothing is strongly suggested."

  That was all well and good, but when was the hunting season?

  I carried on and got level with the tented area, encountering a two meter-high wooden fence that seemed to surround the site. I followed it until I got to the grandly named Recycling Center, which, in fact, was three galvanized dustbins for plastic bottles, glass and aluminium cans, and clambered over. A swathe about ten yards wide had been cut into the forest from the water's edge. Tree stumps an inch or two high jutted from the sandy ground, and I kept stubbing the toe of my boots as I took the beach route.

  After five minutes or so, when my night vision kicked in, the going got easier. It takes a long time to adjust to darkness. The cones in your eyes enable you to see in the daytime, giving color and perception, but they're no good at night. What takes over then are the rods on the edge of your irises. They are angled at forty-five degrees, because of the convex shape of the eye, so if you look straight at something at night you don't really see it, it's a haze. You have to look above it or around it so you can line up the rods, which will then give you a picture. It takes forty minutes or so for them to become fully effective, but you can start to see better after five.

  Every now and then I could hear the clinking and clanking of people in tents doing their evening stuff; I couldn't really make out what they were saying, but I was sure it would be something along the lines of "Whose idea was it to come camping anyway?" I also heard a portable TV being tuned in, and the sound of jingles.

  I was hardly behind enemy lines here, but all the time I was thinking, What if? What if I bump into someone? Answer, I'm on holiday, I'm hiking. I'd play the dickhead Brit abroad on holiday thinking he's having fun, and try to turn it to my advantage and learn as much as possible about the houses. You've always got to have a reason for being somewhere, so that if you're challenged, you won't be fumbling around trying to come up with boneheaded excuses. It also gives you a mind-set, and you can then do whatever you're doing with more confidence.

  I moved off the lake shore as it petered out, and into the wood between the water and the fence. It was
hardly secondary jungle; the larger trees were five or six feet apart, with smaller saplings scattered in between. It was wet and muddy, but being flat it was easy enough to negotiate.

  I was just coming level with the end of the tented area when, from very close quarters, I heard a young woman's voice.

  "Jimmy! Jimmy!" Before I knew it I'd stumbled on the couple from the barbecue, and from the way their clothing was rearranged, she'd forgotten what was on the barbecue entirely. It confused me; I'd thought they were in the car.

  This sort of thing can go one of two ways--either they're embarrassed, so they make their excuses and move on, or if you're unlucky, the guy decides he's got to demonstrate what a big man he is.

  I checked my stride and moved to the right to go around them. I tried to make it look as if I was concentrating on my footing as I passed, but without losing him from vision. He shouted, "Who the fuck are you, man?"

  and it was obvious which way this one was going to go. He stopped me in my tracks with his hand on my shoulder and held me there. I had my head down in order to look confused and unthreatening, but also to protect my face in case this kicked off.

  I stuttered, "I'm sorry to disturb you."

  He went, "What? You some kind of sicko stalker, or what?"

  "Jimmy!" The girl was trying to look as if she were brushing sand off her skirt. I couldn't see her face in the darkness, but it was obvious from her tone that she was embarrassed and wanted to get away. He had managed to pull up his Levis and fasten the top button, but there was a big gaping hole where the rest of his fly was still undone. The white of his underwear glowed in the dark and I had to try hard not to laugh.

  My voice was my normal really bad American one, but at the same time trying to sound scared and submissive. I said, "Nothing like that, I'm just going to see some of the turtles." Hopefully that would be enough to make him satisfied that he was the tough guy around here, so I could move on. It would hardly square with having a bow, but I was hoping he couldn't see that, wedged between my back and the bergen.

  "Turtles? Who are you, Mr. Nature from the fucking Discovery Channel?"

  He liked that one; he guffawed and turned to his girlfriend for approval.

  I said, "On the other side of the lake, they're making their nests. This is the only time of year they do it." Unlike your good selves, I added to myself. I carried on waffling about turtles coming onto the beach and digging and laying their eggs--something that, ironically, I had in fact learned from the Discovery Channel. Plus, my bird guidebook told me they were here.

  Lover Boy laughed; honor had been satisfied. I wasn't a weirdo, just an anorak. Now he didn't really know what to do, so he laughed again.

  "Turtles, man, turtles." And with that he put his arm around the girl and they walked off toward the beach.

  I'd got away with it, but it was annoying that it had happened, because two people might now be able to identify me. It didn't mean anything at the moment, but if there was a drama at a later date they might remember the encounter. It could have been worse: at least he wasn't a nature fan himself.

  It was nine twenty-seven and it had taken two hours and getting my trousers wet up to my ass crossing the creek, but I'd eventually got to within maybe sixty meters of the target. I was right on the lake shore, which was the only way I'd been able to get a decent view of the house because the ground was so undulating. The terrain was different here; the National Parks people hadn't cleared a swathe, and the tree line extended almost to the water's edge.

  Some lights were still on on the first floor, but the curtains were drawn and I couldn't see any movement. It was a question now of finding a position that would give me cover, but with a good aperture with which to view the target. That could be achieved only by carrying out a 360degree recce of the area around the house.

  I took my time, picking my feet up carefully to avoid making noise by hitting any rocks, stones or fallen branches, then slowly placing the edge of my boot down on the ground first, followed by the rest of the sole. The technique puts quite a strain on your legs, but it's the only way to have any sort of control over the noise you make.

  When I reached the water's edge, I stopped after about ten meters and listened, pointing my ear toward the target and slightly opening my mouth to overcome any body-cavity noises, such as jaw movement. I couldn't hear anything apart from the lake lapping against the shore; certainly nothing from the target house. I had a look at where I wanted to go on my next bound, and started picking my way carefully over the rocks. There were still lights on in the other house as well, but I couldn't make out much detail because it was too far away. At least the rain was holding off.

  I did my next move and got to within about forty meters of the house. I realized that, because the ground was up and down like a yo-yo, it was going to be very difficult to be stood off from the target and watch from any distance. Yet if I went right up on the higher ground behind, all I'd see was the roof. I couldn't site the OP (observation point) between the houses.

  Kids are very inquisitive and by mid-day tomorrow they'd probably be in the OP with me, sharing my Mars bars and pizza. My options were so limited that there was no point doing a 360; it wouldn't achieve anything.

  I went back down to the shore, took off the bergen and left it by a big overhanging tree. That way, even if there was a major drama, I knew I'd find it again; all I'd have to do was run down to the lake, keeping to this side of the house, turn right and I couldn't miss it. What was more, the lighter and less bulky I was, the less noise I made while I found a good hide position. For all I knew at this stage, although I hadn't seen or heard anything, there could be dogs, or even worse, geese--they're food for virtually everything that moves, so they spark up at the slightest noise; the ancient Egyptians used them as an alarm system. I learned this from living in my new house in Norfolk because the guy who lived nearest me kept geese, and the fucking things never failed to wake me up in the middle of the night. I'd had two in my oven so far. Kelly thought that I bought her favorite Sunday roast from the coop.

  I went back toward the house, taking my time, moving slowly; stopping, looking at the target, looking at the area, listening, working out my next bound and then moving off again. With any OP, the closer you are to the target, the better you'll be able to observe what's going on, but the greater the chance of compromise. The farther away you are, the less chance of compromise, but you might see fuck-all. The ideal with this particular target was probably to be stood off miles away, maybe placing a remote, high-powered camera on the house and viewing it from the other side of the lake--but I didn't have the necessary optics. You have to make do with what you've got.

  The sky had cleared and a few more stars were out. I could still hear the lake lapping on the shore, but there was now also a splashing as the turtles came to the surface and dived down again.

  I got to within about twenty-five meters of the house. The tree line stopped and the "garden" began, an area of rough grass with tree stumps that hadn't been pulled out after creating the clearing for the house. From this position I could see the whole of one side of the target, plus the boat and the lake.

  There were three floors, and beneath them a garage, with its doors still slightly open to fit the wagon. There was a light shining on the first floor, toward the lakeside, but only small cracks of light from behind the heavy curtains. I couldn't see any movement. A door was facing me on the ground floor that looked as if it went to the garage.

  A light came on on the second floor. No visible movement.

  A few seconds later a toilet flushed. At least there was movement inside, unless the flush was electronic and on some sort of security timer to operate every hour with the lights. I hardly thought so; in another place, yes, but not here.

  I started to cast around to find somewhere to dig in before first light. I found one possible site--a bush set back a little from the tree line. It came up to about chest height and was four feet or so wide, with other, smaller bushes a
round it. It looked ideal, but first I'd have to check I could see the target while I was lying down in it. Anyone who has ever done OPs has horror stories of digging in under cover of darkness, only to find at first light that all they can see is mud. I got to the bush, taking care not to disturb any of the foliage, then lay down right in front and checked. I could see only the top floor, and that was no good to me.

  I moved farther up the hill. The tree line curved right, bringing me no more than twenty meters from the target, which I didn't really want. I'd be Aable to hear snoring at that distance, but I also stood a good chance of being heard myself. I moved back down the hill, toward the lake.

  There was one other bush, about thirty meters from the house, but this one was only about waist height. Again it was about four feet wide, but the foliage didn't seem as dense as the other one. I was running out of choices. I lay down level to where the aperture would be, and found I could see the whole shebang all three floors, the garage, the side door from the garage and the lake. I could also see the distant lights from the campsite, so I knew that in daylight I'd be able to see movement in the car park. It looked like this was going to be the one.

  I got behind the bush, out of sight from the house. So far, so good. The next thing was to check that there was a mobile-phone signal. If I saw her, London would need to know. Without the mobile phone I'd have to lie concealed all day, leave at last light, and either get to a location with a decent signal or find a public call box, which would not only mean a possible compromise, but also loss of eyes on target.