by Andy McNab
She cradled Tom’s head in her lap, gently smoothing his blood-caked hair away from his forehead. It was the only thing she could think to do; it was the only thing that didn’t appear to hurt him.
Tom had his good eye focused on her. A smile gradually took shape around his bruised and battered lips. He peeled them back, painfully slowly, displaying chipped and blood-stained teeth. ‘Delphine . . . we’re going to have a son!’
She felt tears well in her eyes and begin to fall. They splashed down onto Tom’s face. ‘You told me you didn’t want children while you were in the SAS,’ she blurted. ‘You said that it wasn’t the right time . . .’ She wiped some of her tears from his forehead, making a smear in the encrusted dirt. ‘I should have told you, my darling. I tried to tell you – but you didn’t make it easy for me, you stupid, stupid man. The mistress . . . Yemen . . . the team . . . your work life always seemed so much more important—’
Tom wrenched himself upright and brushed his fingers against her trembling lips, but she carried on, wanting to explain: ‘I was scared, Tom. So scared. I was afraid you wouldn’t want our child. I panicked. I thought . . . I thought I had to leave . . .’
With infinite care, Tom caressed her cheek, then held her against his chest. Delphine tilted her head so she could gaze into his eyes. There were tears there too.
‘It’s not your fault, Delphine. I’m so sorry. You’re right. You’re right. But not about everything. I want to be a father. I’m ready to be a father. We’re going to have a son!’ He kissed her gently on the temple and whispered in her ear, ‘You kept asking what I wanted from you.’ He didn’t wait for her answer. ‘I finally worked it out. I want you to be my wife.’
‘I’ve fantasized for so long about this moment.’ Delphine’s smile felt as if it filled her whole face. ‘Somehow I imagined it would be a little more romantic . . .’
‘I’ll make it up to you, Delphine. I promise.’
She nodded slowly. ‘And I will make sure you do. But right now I need you to do something. I need you to get me and your child off this horrible train.’
99
COBRA WAS NOT a happy place to be right now. Each department affected by the emergency had its own communications set up on the desk. The lines were hot.
The military were receiving rolling sit-reps about their casualties and what options could be laid on the table. Alderson listened intently to his ground commander as he broke the latest on the hostage reception he was organizing. It wasn’t just about the number of escapees they might have to cater for: they had to try to find out if they’d seen anyone fall and get left behind on the track, and how many might still be running around in the tunnel.
The Foreign Office staff liaised with the French to let them know there might be runners heading their way.
Sarah Garvey watched the clock on the wall facing her. She’d given everyone an extra five minutes to talk to their departments before she’d have their full attention. When those five minutes were up, they were going to have to move on with whatever they knew. She made a mental note: she needed to reshuffle COBRA. Each department needed leadership in place on the ground, capable of concentrating on the unfolding situation, instead of sitting in the committee room, trying to command from a distance. The people in this room had to be big-picture, but not necessarily the biggest hitters.
She looked at the clock again and started to fume. She wasn’t happy with Clements. Where was that slippery snake?
Brookdale paced up and down the corridor outside the briefing room, a mobile phone stuck to his ear, briefing his boss. Clements was out there too, but well out of earshot of anyone else as he listened to his mobile ring. Whoever was at the other end didn’t sound remotely impressed when they finally answered. ‘What the fuck do you want?’
Clements never gave anyone the satisfaction of replying in kind. Power came with control. ‘The same as you, I presume. Antonov’s head on a stick. So I suggest you put a little more effort into making that happen. All the indications here are that she plans to submit to his demands.’
The voice exploded: ‘What?’
Clements always liked listening to other people losing control. He’d never experienced the feeling himself, and it fed his conviction of his own superiority.
‘He should have been fucking dead by now!’
Clements shrugged. ‘Well, you need to make every effort to ensure he doesn’t come out of the tunnel alive. Is that soldier still on the train?’
Sarah Garvey watched the second hand count down. The committee had three minutes left to sort out their different chains of command. And she had three minutes to sort out Clements. She looked around. He still wasn’t back. Was he deliberately avoiding her?
She got up and walked out into the corridor. There seemed to be more people out here than in the committee room, all of them busy in their own little worlds, protecting their minister or department boss and blaming everybody else – especially, no doubt, the home secretary – for the cock-up so far.
She saw Clements in the distance, and ploughed her way through the Amandas and Gileses to get to him. Clements quickly closed down his mobile when he saw her coming.
She squared up to the civil servant as if she was trying to provoke a pub brawl. ‘I’ve had enough of your bullshit, Clements. I want to know what this kill-the-country thing is all about. Is it revenge, or is it about ransom? I saw your face when Woolf told us. I want to know.’ She poked her finger into his chest. ‘Why is Laszlo trying to destroy us?’
Clements looked as shocked as if he’d just been mugged in the parliamentary lobby. ‘How dare— Home Secretary!’
She wasn’t having any of it. She kept on jabbing. ‘Tell me what you know. I want anything you have that will help me. I’ve got a negotiator down in Folkestone who has nothing, absolutely nothing, to work with. I have nothing to work with. I don’t know if this is some kind of suicide mission, or if he just wants to take the gold and disappear. I want to know all that you know.’
Clements was still on the back foot. But he had regained his composure. ‘Home Secretary, I should think that whatever I may or may not—’
She leaned into his face and shouted, ‘I don’t give a shit what you may or may not! Tell me what you know.’
The corridor fell silent. The Amandas and Gileses swapped glances. It would make a fantastic diary piece in one of the Sundays. Juicy gossip endeared them to the news corps, and they constantly had to hedge their bets in case they were thrown out at the next election.
The fact that this display was so public would be even more brutal for Clements than the chest poking. His face reddened. He guided Sarah Garvey into one of the side rooms. ‘Home Secretary, do not ever address me in that manner again. I have a position to maintain.’
She didn’t even bother to look up. She checked her watch. ‘Listen to me.’ She pointed her index finger at him. ‘I have no more time for this. If I don’t get answers, I’ll be going direct to the PM and telling him that you’ve been a complete liability throughout, and have personally endangered the lives of those passengers. I’ll also tell him about the shoddy history with this Antonov.’
At a stroke, Clements felt he was back in the driver’s seat. He knew that the PM wouldn’t want to hear about anything that might embarrass the government, especially as his party had been in power at the time. If that was her best shot, then Clements was bulletproof. The smile returned to his face. ‘Sarah, don’t be so naïve. We’re dealing with important matters of state here, not wheelchair access to libraries.’
‘Exactly.’
Clements knew at once that he had seriously underestimated her. She’d sensed she had him at his smuggest, and therefore most vulnerable.
‘So therefore I will resign on principle if you do not tell me – the principle being that I cannot work alongside a civil service that condones rape and murder. Yours will be the first name I use as an example.’ She gave him no more than three seconds to register what she had said. ‘S
o tell me what I need to know. Is this revenge? Is he going to blow himself up inside the tunnel? Or is he going to come out, escape, and still blow the tunnel up? Or is he just going to fly away? For God’s sake, man, can’t you see the danger this country is in? Tell me what I need to know!’
Clements grimaced. A cabinet minister resigning on principle was a nightmare for any government. He was a smart man. He had taken less than one of those three seconds to understand. ‘I agree, Home Secretary. There is a lot at stake.’ For himself as much as for the country, but he chose not to mention that. ‘What I know is that the Antonov parents were killed by Georgian military units that we financed and trained. The Antonovs are aware of the facts, Home Secretary. I should imagine he will detonate at some stage.’
Sarah Garvey’s arms dropped to her sides. Her eyes rolled like those of a two-year-old in a strop; she stared up at the false ceiling and the air-conditioning ducts and lighting. She took a deep breath, composing herself. ‘You people and your fucking games. We’re facing a national disaster now because you thought it would be a “jolly good idea” if we backed both sides in some grubby little bygone war.’ She finally looked at him. ‘Is that what you’re telling me, Clements? Have I got it right?’
Clements shrugged. ‘We – UK plc – will of course give support to anyone who can further our national interest. The BTC pipeline . . . that oil was, and still is, our total focus in the region.’
She was now so close that her nose almost touched his. ‘Well, you have not been fucking focused enough. Your unprofessional work has got us into this position. Even I would have had him dealt with somehow after we finished laying that pipeline. Shoddy work, Clements. Shoddy.’
The door burst open. Brookdale dashed over the threshold, BlackBerry and notebook in hand. He’d been rushing about trying to find them after he’d got word the pair were fighting in the corridor.
Sarah Garvey reacted before Clements did. She raised a palm. ‘You – shut up.’ She started towards the door. She didn’t bother to wait for Brookdale to move out of the way for her. She looked as if she was going to walk through him.
Clements watched her storm down the corridor and into the committee room.
Alderson was still talking to Folkestone. Everybody else was just waiting.
Sarah sat down, not waiting for Clements or the others to resume their places. ‘Right – the tunnel. If Antonov does blow the pipeline, what’s the damage?’
The junior minister from the Department of Energy checked his notes. ‘Home Secretary . . .’ He flicked through the pages. ‘The economic consequences would be absolutely catastrophic. Aside from the gas pipeline, electricity comes into this country down that conduit, as well as communications – both Internet and landline.’ The junior minister coughed, more from embarrassment than anything else. ‘Much of London’s electricity, including Number Ten’s, comes from French power stations via these cables.’
She watched Brookdale scribble furiously as the junior minister continued: ‘The cost to the British economy would be measured in the hundreds of billions.’ He checked through another couple of pages of his notebook. He didn’t look up this time. ‘The fact is, Home Secretary, the Channel Tunnel is pretty much a one-way street. Most of the traffic in that conduit comes into the UK. We have very little going out, apart from the Eurostar passengers. If we lose the conduit, it really does go a way to severing the umbilical cord . . .’
She didn’t acknowledge what had been said. There wasn’t enough time. She turned to the Department of Transport under-secretary. ‘Could the pipeline exploding cause the tunnel to fracture?’
The guy nearly jumped out of his seat, as if this had been suddenly sprung on him. When he had turned up at COBRA this morning, he had probably thought he’d be home within a couple of hours. Wasn’t the train going to become a French responsibility? Weren’t they just going to arrest Antonov? ‘Ah, no, Home Secretary. However, we know nothing of the dev—’
‘Yes, yes, enough of your insurance cover note from the Department of Transport. Chief Constable Alderson, give me an update.’
Alderson checked his notes, then left them where they were. She was pleased that he at least focused on the senior person in the room. ‘Home Secretary, as of two minutes ago, we still do not have any contact with the hostages. If they are in the tunnel and on foot, it will take a while longer for them to reach the military in the service tunnel. Once we do make contact, the hostages will be taken out of the tunnel. They will receive medical aid and be debriefed immediately. Anything we learn of value will be with us as soon as possible.’
‘And how’s the media story standing up?’
Alderson shrugged. ‘So far, so good. But that will only last until the hostages get access to their mobiles. We’ll confiscate them as soon as they’re within reach, of course, but as soon as the injured start going through the medical care system, we’ll lose control.’
Sarah Garvey nodded. ‘Thank you, Chief Constable. The hostages will not be released from the service tunnel until I give you the express order to do so. Give medical care, whatever they need, but not one of those hostages must have access to the world until I am ready to let them.’
She prodded a finger in the direction of Brookdale. ‘Do something useful and get the PM to make some calls to the French. We need their co-operation on this.’
Brookdale looked conflicted. He was probably happy for the excuse to talk to his boss, but he didn’t want to miss anything in the meeting room.
‘Go on. Tell him it’s all right. The helicopter will never take off with Antonov on board. The PM can appear on this evening’s news with a smile. Go.’
The spin-doctor got up and left, doing his best to look as if it had been his own decision. Sarah Garvey allowed herself a smile.
She placed her palms on the dark oak table and inspected her nails as she waited for the door to close. ‘Let me explain my perspective on the situation.’ She looked up sharply. ‘And then let me tell you what is going to happen. I will stop between the first and second parts and you may tell me if I’ve got it wrong. But until then, please, be silent.’ She swung round to make sure Clements was within reach, and that he acknowledged what she’d just said.
She continued: ‘We must assume that Antonov has a device and the means to detonate it. We must assume that there will be no negotiations. That is clear. Even if he gets what he wants, and flies away to buy some small African country with his gold, there is no guarantee he won’t detonate the device. And I believe he will detonate. So, to put it bluntly, we are in the shit. Have I summed things up correctly so far?’ She knew she had, but wanted no one to be in any doubt. Minutes might not be taken at COBRA meetings, but that didn’t mean a record wasn’t kept in people’s heads.
Alderson sounded as if he still didn’t understand Antonov. ‘Home Secretary, his demands, the gold, the helicopter – they don’t fit with this chap’s profile. He’s far more intelligent than this, surely. We know nothing of his men, either. We don’t know whether he really does plan to take off in the Chinook. There’s something missing.’
She agreed. ‘But, fortunately for us, we don’t need to know. We don’t need to waste time second-guessing. Because we are going to stop him.
‘First we need to get Antonov out of that tunnel. I will submit to the demands and get that train out into the open.’ She turned back to Clements. ‘Have you organized the bullion?’
Clements nodded. ‘Yes, Home Secretary. But if he’s still alive he may—’
She turned to face the MoD man. ‘The Chinook?’
He nodded. ‘Nearly there, Home Secretary.’
She inspected her nails again and took a deep breath. ‘So, I will get the train out into the open. The bullion and the helicopter will be waiting. Everything will be as he wants it.’ She pointed to the director of Special Forces: ‘From the moment that train is exposed, in the open, until Antonov takes the first step to board that helicopter – that is your window of opportuni
ty. I do not expect him to be able to detonate that device.’
The DSF answered immediately: ‘Yes, Home Secretary.’ But he hadn’t expressly told her he could do it.
‘Can you kill Antonov and minimize the risk to any hostages while you do it?’
‘Yes, Home Secretary, we can, but—’
She lifted both hands from the table. ‘I know, I know. What if he hasn’t got the initiation device? What if hostages get in the way? What if this, what if that . . . what if, what if, what if . . . Give me the percentage chance of Antonov not being able to detonate that device when you attack.’
The DSF didn’t need to think about it. ‘I’m looking at fifty per cent.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll accept those odds. Even if more casualties are taken, it’s going to be worth it. We all understand that the security of the tunnel is of paramount importance. Antonov must be stopped from detonating that device by all means necessary. That, gentlemen, is what we’re going to do. And the military are now going to tell us how they’re going to do it.’
Clements sat back. He didn’t have to listen to a word of the DSF’s plan. It wasn’t going to be needed. Laszlo was going to be killed by that SAS trooper, or whatever they called themselves, while he was still in the tunnel. And a dead man didn’t have even a twenty per cent chance of living.
100
GAVIN WAS STILL making arrangements for the Yankees’ reception. At some stage the hostages were going to be coming down that tunnel and they were going to meet Jockey, with the Blue and Red teams, at the entrance to the service tunnel. They’d be the initial link in the escape chain – if Laszlo was telling the truth.
He glanced up as Ashton strode across to his desk. He pointed at Gavin’s mobile. ‘Is Tom’s phone on that?’
Gavin shook his head. ‘Boss, I want to call him as much as you do. But we can’t. We need to know what the fuck is happening down there, but we can’t risk compromising him. We haven’t a clue where he is. We haven’t a clue what he’s doing. If his iPhone rings, he could be fucked. We have to wait for him to call us. He knows the re-broadcasters are up. In the meantime, I’m not going to be the one to take that risk. We just have to wait.’
