Red Notice

by Andy McNab

  He stepped over to the mirror and examined himself and his new disguise. Satisfied, he listened at the door for a few moments, then opened it and stepped outside.

  As he looked up, he saw a couple hurrying towards him. Their urgency, the deathly pallor of the woman’s face and the fact that she was totally unaware of anything but her own discomfort left him in no doubt about where she was heading.

  He stepped in front of them. ‘Sorry,’ he said, with an ingratiating smile. ‘This toilet is flooded. Please use the one in the next coach.’ He turned his back on them, fumbled with the keys and locked the door.

  As the attendant turned back, Tom held his gaze.

  Delphine shuddered, covering her mouth with her hand, and walked on. Tom stared at him for a few more moments, frowning, then hurried after her. When he got there, the toilet door at the far end of the aisle was already locked.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  He was answered by a groan, the sound of retching and vomiting and, finally, the flushing of the toilet.

  The train swept into Ebbsfleet station. The doors opened, a handful of passengers got off and many more boarded. Tom rapped on the toilet door. ‘Delphine? If we hurry we can get off here.’

  Even as he said it, he heard the beeps signalling that the doors were about to close. By the time Delphine emerged, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a tissue, they were already picking up speed.

  ‘Looks like I’m going to Paris after all.’ Tom helped her clean herself up.

  But by then it wasn’t Delphine who had kept him on the train.

  33

  DELPHINE WAS STILL as pale as a ghost as Tom steered her back through the carriages. ‘Just wait here,’ he said, as he helped her into her seat. ‘There’s something I need to check. I’ll be right back.’

  ‘Why? What is it? Where are you going? What are you doing?’

  ‘You’re not going to like this.’ He bent down to kiss her cheek. ‘But something just came up.’

  She stared at him, anger flaring in her eyes. ‘So the great romantic gesture of pursuing me to London, and to Paris if necessary, was just a sham, was it? And to think for a moment I almost believed you.’

  He didn’t hear any of it. He was already moving away from her, back along the carriage.

  He hurried to the Disabled toilet. Too many people disregarded things they thought weren’t right because it wasn’t worth the embarrassment to check them out. Thieves and terrorists melted away because passers-by, particularly of the British variety, were too heads-down, not wanting to make a fuss. But Tom wasn’t one of those people. He’d check things out. It didn’t matter that he was out of Hereford when he shouldn’t be; it didn’t matter if Delphine thought even less of him. It was the right thing to do.

  Even if he got binned for calling in a possible on a train he shouldn’t be on, so what? It would just bring on the next stage of his life more quickly than he’d planned. That was nothing compared to the nightmare of not taking action and discovering later that he’d let Laszlo slip through his fingers.

  And there was another, even more important, reason why he needed to check out the possible: Delphine’s life, and the lives of hundreds of other innocents on the train. The smell of death followed Laszlo wherever he went, and Tom didn’t want it anywhere near the woman he loved.

  The red ‘Occupied’ sign was still illuminated, but Tom ignored it and banged on the door. There was no response from inside. He banged again, harder, then took a pace back and booted the door just below the lock. He heard a shout and the head steward, anger written across his face, surged up to him. How dare someone try to damage his train? ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing? Can’t you see it’s occupied? Stop it now, or I’m going to have to call the police. I’ll have you arrested and removed from the train.’

  Tom ignored him, shrugged off his restraining hand and booted the door once more. There was a splintering sound and, after another vicious kick, it was dangling uselessly from its frame. There was an obstacle behind it, but Tom forced his way through the gap.

  The toilet bowl was splattered with blood. On the floor next to it lay the body, stripped to its underwear. Tom didn’t have to check the man’s pulse to know that he was dead. The colour of the flesh around the neck wound had already told him that. As he stared at the body, his mind racing, Tom heard a gasp.

  ‘Derek!’ The head steward was peering round the door, staring wide-eyed.

  ‘You know him?’ Tom had to repeat the question before the man could stammer out a reply.

  ‘He’s one of our attendants.’ His knees gave way beneath him.

  Tom caught him before he fell and manoeuvred him into the cubicle. ‘There’s nothing you can do for him now. Just get a grip on yourself. Calm down. Come on, deep breaths . . .’

  The head steward was trying to do as he was told. But Tom knew it wasn’t only shock that had got to him. It was fear.

  ‘Deep breaths, don’t look down, just look at me. That’s it. No one’s going to hurt you.’

  Tom flashed his MoD ID card. The head steward barely registered it. Shaking with fright, he was unable to tear his eyes away from the dead man. Tom took his arm and turned him around, so that he was facing the small wall mirror above the sink. ‘Don’t look down. Come on, just watch me.’

  Tom peered over the head steward’s shoulder, trying to make eye contact. The steward’s eyeballs were rotating faster than the display on a one-armed bandit. It was if he was being tasered.

  ‘Listen . . .’ Tom checked the man’s name badge. ‘Listen, Colin. The man who murdered Derek . . . Did you see the TV news last night? You know those explosions in Hampstead? It wasn’t a gas leak. It was an attempt to arrest the man who’s just killed your mate. He’s a wanted war criminal. He’s killed over six hundred civilians – innocent people. And, trust me, he won’t hesitate to do it again. I need your help. Are you going to help me, Colin?’

  ‘Should . . . should we stop the train?’

  ‘No. He’s smart. If you do that, he’ll know he’s been spotted. Then we’ll have a real drama on our hands. All I need you to do for the moment is to stand outside this toilet and keep the passengers away from here, OK? Just tell them it’s out of order and they’ll have to use the one in the next coach – and keep this quiet. All of our lives depend on that. I need your help, mate, do you understand?’

  The head steward nodded again.

  ‘Say it,’ Tom said, waiting until he got an answer before releasing the man’s arms.

  ‘I understand,’ the head steward said at last.

  ‘Good. I’ll be back soon.’

  Tom looked round as someone outside tried to push the door open. Delphine had followed him down the carriage and was now staring, horror-struck, at the body. She opened her mouth to scream but Tom grabbed her, covered her lips with his hand, and brought her into the toilet as well. He hugged her to him. ‘Sssh . . . It’s all right, Delphine, it’s all right.’ He stroked her hair. ‘Everything’s OK . . . I’m here . . .’ He waited a moment for her sobbing to subside, then carefully released her and wiped away her tears. He steered her away, with her back to the scene she had just witnessed. ‘I have to call this in.’

  He glanced up and down the carriage, took out his iPhone and speed-dialled.

  Gavin answered on the first ring. The caller ID might be in the Lines but Tom still wasn’t. ‘Mate, the boss is about ten metres away from me at the moment, and it’s only a matter of time before he asks me where the fuck you are. So, with or without Delphine – and don’t get me wrong, I hope it’s with – I need you back here soon as.’

  ‘I’m afraid there may be a bit of a delay.’ Tom turned to check on Delphine and Colin. He stopped talking long enough for Gavin to hear what he’d been dreading.

  ‘Shit, I told you not to get stuck on the train . . .’ Another thought hit him. ‘Mate? You're still in the UK, aren’t you?’

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t get off at Ebbsfleet. Next st
op’s Paris.’

  ‘What? You gone fucking mad? It’s not just you that’s going to be in the shit. My arse is one hundred per cent grass if you get caught. It’s worse than—’

  ‘Shut up and listen.’ Tom cut through his complaints. ‘I’ve just pinged X-ray One. Beard, short hair, almost a number-three cut, thinning on top. He’s dressed in a grey Eurostar uniform.’

  ‘You taking the piss? Trying to play hero won’t get us out of the shit, mate. I know bullshit baffles brains but you shouldn’t be on the fucking train in the first place, remember?’

  Tom’s voice was suddenly cold, clear and slow. ‘This is no bullshit. I’ve also got a dead Eurostar attendant with no uniform. That makes it definitely X-ray One, don’t you think? You need to call it in. You know the train number. We’ll be in Paris in about two hours. Call it in, Gav, for fuck’s sake. We’ve got to tell the French. Don’t let them stop this thing or we’ll have a nightmare. I’ll call with a sit-rep the other side of the tunnel.’

  Gavin had got the message loud and clear. ‘Roger that. Mate, keep both of you safe.’

  The last thing Tom heard before he cut the call was Gavin turning towards the team office where Ashton must have been at his desk. ‘Boss! We got shit on!’

  34

  TOM TOOK DELPHINE’S hand. ‘Colin, remember, I need you to stay right where you are, mate.’

  ‘Wait! Wh-where are you going?’ The chief steward’s voice was a strangulated whisper.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be long. You’ll be fine here. Just do what I asked you, OK?’

  Tom led Delphine towards the back of the train. Though his expression and body language showed no outward sign of tension, his gaze was never still, scanning the faces of the passengers they passed, alert for any sign of threat.

  ‘Do you think he knows you know?’ Delphine’s nausea had been overridden by the adrenalin rush of fear.

  Tom raised his hand. ‘No.’

  His voice was low. Delphine had never heard it like that. Tom was in work mode, and this was her worst nightmare, but she suddenly knew with absolute certainty that he would die rather than see her harmed. And that dying was not part of his plan.

  ‘OK.’ She fell silent, but couldn’t stop her eyes straying to the other passengers as she passed them. With her imagination in overdrive, she saw potential enemies wherever she looked. She hesitated as she reached the seats where Grace, Rose and Daniel were sitting, then hurried by without speaking or catching their eye.

  Tom led her to an empty window seat, right at the back of the end coach. ‘Sit there. And don’t move unless I come for you.’

  Without waiting for a reply, he walked back to where she’d been sitting and collected her bags. When he returned, instead of putting them in the rack, he put them on the table in front of her.

  She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Won’t this seem a little odd?’

  ‘No, it’ll just look like you’re paranoid about losing sight of your luggage. And if things go to rat shit, it’ll act as a barricade. Keep low behind the luggage. It’ll give you some protection.’

  ‘Rat shit?’ she said, unable to keep the fear from her voice.

  He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘It’s just a precaution,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure everything’s OK.’

  ‘Tom.’ She held out an arm. ‘It’s not me I’m worried about.’

  ‘This is what I do, remember.’ Tom gripped her hand within both of his and kissed it gently before letting it drop onto her lap. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  He headed back the way they’d come. If he was right, Laszlo would now keep his head down until he reached Paris. Or maybe he’d stop the train somehow and make a jump for it once they were on the other side of the tunnel.

  That didn’t matter for now. What did was that if Laszlo passed the toilet and saw the damage, he would know immediately that he was compromised.

  And if that happened, Tom would have to take him on there and then, and hold him until the Brits, French – anyone – came and helped him.

  35

  ASHTON HAD SENT the call about Laszlo Antonov up the chain of command, and within fifteen minutes Woolf had been briefed. The home secretary was alerted and she, in turn, alerted her French counterpart. Woolf was given permission by the rapidly assembling COBRA to put the counter-terrorist team on standby. They needed a contingency plan this side of the tunnel.

  Within a few minutes of their beepers going off, the first members of Blue team were arriving in the Lines. Inside twenty-five the full crew had assembled and were busy moaning about being called away from much more important business.

  ‘I had a fucking full house, kings on sevens.’ Jockey was the unofficial president of the poker club, the horseracing club and the snooker club. He had it as bad as a Premiership player. He’d bet on where a fly would land, or which drop of rain running down a window would be first to the sill. ‘The only decent hand I’ve had and I had to fucking fold it.’

  ‘You think you’ve got problems?’ Keenan was busy texting his disappointment. ‘I got numbers off a couple of the cutest joggers you’ve ever seen in your life while I was out running this morning. Well, the daughter, anyway. They were both coming round to my place later on. I tell you, I was a racing certainty for a threesome.’

  ‘Never mind.’ Bryce seemed to be the only happy member of the team this morning. ‘I’ll give my mate in A Squadron a call – he can pop round and fill in for you.’

  ‘Just try it,’ Keenan growled, ‘and you’ll be the one getting filled in.’

  Bryce laughed. ‘I don’t know what you’re all moaning about. I for one am fucking delighted we got called in. The missus dragged me around a furniture shop last night. Today was going to be one long nightmare session with a hammer, a screwdriver, an Allen key and a shedload of flat-pack cupboards that won’t fit together. Now she’s going to have to do it all on her jack. The longer this job lasts the better.’ He gave a broad smile and let rip a huge fart for emphasis.

  ‘Right.’ Gavin entered the crew room and the team fell silent. ‘Let’s brief and get the show on the road. Posh Lad is on Eurostar to Paris and X-ray One is on the same train.’

  There was a general murmur as the team looked about and realized Tom wasn’t with them.

  ‘Why the stupid fucking idiot is on the train will be explained after the job. The fact is they should be in the tunnel by now. The French will hit it in Paris, or maybe before it reaches the city. I don’t know and don’t care. That’s their problem.

  ‘However, we’ve got to have a contingency plan in place at Folkestone just in case things go tits up. As far as we know, X-ray One is not aware that he’s been pinged, but he’s already left one body on the train and he won’t hesitate to add a few more to his tally if he thinks he’s cornered. Tom is sending a sit-rep once he’s out of the tunnel, so we might know more then.’

  ‘Fuck me.’ Jockey looked about him, making sure he had an audience. ‘How did Posh Lad know Laszlo was on the train? Do they teach psychic powers at Eton as well as how to use a fish knife and be prime minister?’

  Jockey got the laughs he was after. Even Gavin gave it a couple of seconds before he reasserted control. ‘OK, listen in. I’m leaving in the heli now, with the advance party for the holding area. The whole team is to fast-drive to the Folkestone hangar. The grid reference and satnav co-ordinates are on the office board.’

  All key locations were regularly recced by the Regiment in case of an incident. The past twenty years’ construction of new locations – airports, ferry ports, important government buildings – had all included a holding area for the Regiment, or what was known in the real world as UKSF. In other locations, holding areas had been identified for use when needed.

  ‘OK, Blue team, any questions?’ There shouldn’t have been. Call-outs were continually rehearsed. All kit would have been packed in the vehicles and the men ready to move. If not, they shouldn’t have been in the Regiment.

  Gavin w
aited two seconds before continuing. ‘If all goes well on the train, and Tom hasn’t fucked up by the time you get to Folkestone, the French will have lifted Laszlo. Remember to make your blues visible and drive safely. I don’t give a shit about you lot, but I want those wagons back in one piece. I signed for them.’

  They ran out of the crew room and towards their vehicles. Gavin and the three signallers who were attached to the team threw their ready-bags and comms kit onto a Transit that would take them to the helipad where a Dauphin was waiting with its rotors turning.

  Also on his way from Regimental HQ to the heli pad was a member of ‘the Slime’. Intelligence Corps personnel were referred to as Green Slime because of the unfortunate colour of their berets. The Slime set-up in Hereford was an integral part of any operation.

  The Prince’s Gate siege in 1982 had demonstrated the value of good and accurate intelligence. During the lead-up to the actual assault, specialists from MI5 had been tasked with drilling holes in the walls and inserting tiny microphones and cameras to gain a detailed picture of who was where inside the building. But the information about the construction of the place was piss-poor, and the walls turned out to be too thick for the probes to penetrate. The result was that, although the team had a model of the construction of the building, they did not know exactly where the X-rays or Yankees were located.

  Since then, the Regiment had collated a massive database that included such essential information as the thickness of walls and doors in every building that was a possible terrorist target, and the designs of all military and civilian aircraft and shipping. The database was portable, so wherever an incident occurred they could take it with them and access the information. If they called up a certain hotel, for example, the Slime were able to pull up 3D images of the interior on screen, or do 360-degree pans from any given point.