Firewall

by Andy McNab

  The fact that people would be on target gave this job a high chance of compromise, but I couldn't let it affect the way I thought about what I needed to do, just the way I planned it. I'd been successful on similar jobs in the past, so why should this one be any different?

  Thinking about making entry reminded me to charge up the electric toothbrush. I went into my bathroom and plugged it into the outlet.

  Back in the living room, I picked up the set of Alien keys. A large metal ring held about twenty of the things, in order of size. I chose the smallest one and eased it off the ring.

  The room was beginning to look like Santa's workshop, with sawdust, ripped packaging, plastic bags, clothes tags, and me sitting in the middle of it all.

  The Alien key had a right-angle bend about half an inch from the end.

  With the pliers and hammer I straightened it out until the angle was more like forty-five degrees than ninety, being careful not to snap the soft steel. Then, having ripped the metal file from its shrinkwrap, I started to round off the end of the shorter section. It only took about ten minutes. Going downstairs to the main door, I slipped it into the cylinder lock to check. It fitted perfectly.

  Back in Santa's workshop I opened the pack of Isopon and mixed equal amounts of resin and hardener from both tubes on a piece of cardboard.

  I took it and the Alien key back to the bathroom. Not many minutes later the key was fixed firmly to the oscillating steel shaft of the toothbrush, the bit the brush head would normally fit onto. When I'd watched the door of the target house being kicked closed, no keys had been turned, it had just been shut and left, which suggested that the lock was a Yale-type cylinder. This gadget should do the trick.

  Bringing back two white hand towels I sat on the floor and started to file another Alien key the same way. What I had made with the toothbrush and first Alien key was a makeshift Yale gun, a device that simulates a key by manipulating the pins inside a lock. The oscillation of the toothbrush shaft would move the Alien key tip up and down strongly onto the pins. With any luck it would displace them long enough for the lock to be opened. If not, it would be down to the old way. Still using the Alien key on the toothbrush, but with no oscillation this time, I would have to push up one pin at a time, then hold it there while I attacked the next one in line. For this a second Alien key was needed, and that was what I was busy filing down. Once I had attacked the second pin I would simply move the other Alien key along, so that it held both pins up, then keep on going until, in theory, I could open the door that was if it wasn't bolted on the inside, of course. Which it probably would be if they had even one brain cell allocated to security.

  It took me another hour to finish preparing the kit and packing it into a medium-sized dark-blue backpack. Everything was wrapped in my nice white towels, so as not to make any noise, or get smashed by the bolt cutters, the handles of which were sticking out each side of the top flap.

  Tom wouldn't be needing a backpack. The only kit he'd have with him was the Think Pad and cables in their carry bag.

  Liv emerged from her hallway. By now the jumper was off, and she was in her tight jeans and a white T-shirt no bra. That would have been interesting a couple of nights ago, but now I was getting on with the job. The circumstances had changed.

  She surveyed the mess as coolly as ever. "Having fun?"

  I nodded. "Want to get Tom in to see what toys I've made for him?"

  She walked past me to the main room and I got to my feet. I was still brushing off sawdust when they both reappeared.

  Tom laughed. "Tell you what, mate. Lego would have been easier!"

  I smiled my yes-very-funny smile. "Tom, I'm going to show you how to use this stuff." I pointed at the hooks and straps by the sofa.

  Tom watched Liv disappear into the kitchen.

  "There's your clothes, mate. You're going to need a bit more on than you bought yesterday."

  He picked up the contact gloves and tried them on. "Hey, Nick, I'll wear my silk stuff underneath and be a bit kinky, eh?"

  I smiled. As far as I was concerned silk thermals were about as much use as paper lifejackets. Mr. Helly Hansen's stuff was the one for me.

  He pointed down at the hooks and straps. "Go on then, what are they for?"

  When I explained, he looked a bit taken aback. "We'll be like fucking Spiderman, or what?" His head jutted, but not as confidently as normal.

  "You sure you'll be all right doing this, Tom? Have you climbed before?"

  "Sure I have." He thought about that for a second. "Can I have a practice?"

  " "Fraid not, mate. There isn't anywhere."

  He picked up one of the hooks and twanged a rubber band. "Is this the only way, Nick? I mean "

  "Listen, this is the only thing you've got to do for yourself.

  Everything else I'll do for you." I broke into a whisper, as if we were in a conspiracy that I didn't want Liv to join. "Remember, we're in for a lot of money here."

  He seemed to spark up a bit and I felt quite proud of my little speech.

  The coffee arrived well, for Liv and me. The string of one of Tom's newly purchased herbal tea bags was hanging over the rim of the third mug. We sat down, Tom at my side.

  "Okay," I said, "what I want to do now is explain exactly how we're going to get into, and out of, this place with your" I looked at Liv as she pulled her feet up onto the sofa "box of tricks."

  There was no need to set out the various phases military style, as if I was briefing an orders group, running through all the actions-on for each phase. It would be counterproductive: I didn't want Tom to have so much stuff floating around in his head that I ended up confusing him. If he got muddled he might get even more scared. He didn't have to know why, just how.

  I unfolded the map and pointed at the key locations with a pen. "This is where we're going to park. Then we're going to walk down here." I ran my pen down the marked track as he took small, sharp sips of his tea. "Once we get to the area of the house, we climb the fence using the hooks and straps. Then I'll get us into the house and you can do your stuff. After that, it's out of there the same way. I'll tell you exactly what to do and when to do it. If you see or hear anything different, or there's a drama, stop doing whatever it is you're up to and stay exactly where you are. I'll be there to tell you what to do.

  Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "I want to leave dead on nine, so you need to be ready fifteen minutes before. If the weather's good, we'll be in Helsinki before first light. Then we'll organize the exchange."

  This time they both nodded.

  "Okay, now I'm going to get something to eat and then crash out for a couple of hours, and I suggest you do the same."

  I was going to treat him like an ET (escort to target), telling him only what he needed to know, and if there was a drama, all he had to do was stand still, I would be there to take action and tell him what to do. The less the person you're looking after has to think about, the better.

  I stood up and nodded a see-you-later to them both as I went to the kitchen for some of the cheese and cold cuts in the fridge. Tom left for his room.

  As well as not telling Tom too much to save confusing him, I also didn't want to scare him by suggesting anything about dramas, let alone the problems we were likely to have with the snow. Once people get negative thoughts into their heads their imaginations go into hyper drive and they start to panic. Every noise or shadow becomes a major event, which slows down the job and also increases the chance of a compromise. Tom already knew what to do if we got split up, without realizing it: get himself to Helsinki train station. He had enough money in that bag to charter a private jet home.

  I started to pull the fridge to bits, throwing all sorts onto a plate.

  I'd have loved to have left right away and be on target before it had a chance to snow, but what was the point, we couldn't get in until people were asleep. I knew better than to worry any more about the job; it only gets you all keyed up, too keen to get on with
it, then you hit the target before the time is right and fuck up.

  I headed for my bedroom with the food, picking at it as I went. Liv had gone. Once on my bed, I started visualizing again exactly what I was going to do, with some more what-ifs, except that now in my film it had started to snow.

  There was a knock on the door. I looked at Baby G. I must have been asleep for three hours.

  The door opened and Tom appeared, his long hair dangling over his shoulders. "Got a minute, mate?"

  "Sure, come in." As if I was going anywhere.

  He came and sat on the bed, looking down and chewing his bottom lip.

  "I'm worried about this hook thing. Look, to tell you the truth, I ain't never done anything like that before, know what I mean? What happens if I can't do it? You know if I get it all wrong?"

  I sat up. His shoulders were hunched and his hair covered his face.

  "Tom, no drama. Don't worry about it; it's all in the legs." I stood up. "This is how easy it is." Putting my hands above my head, I bent my knees and slowly lowered myself all my ass was level with the floor, then lifted up again. "Not exactly difficult, is it? Can you do that?"

  He nodded. "S'pose so."

  "Come on, let's see you, then."

  As he lowered himself toward the floor, knees cracking and creaking, he looked and sounded very uncertain, but he managed to do it.

  I gave an encouraging smile. "That's all you need to do. If your legs can do that later on, we're home free. But remember, small movements.

  No more than a foot at a time, okay?"

  "Small movements. Gotcha." He didn't look convinced.

  "Just do what I do. Like I said, no drama."

  "You sure?"

  "Positive."

  He bit his lip again. "I don't want to mess things up you know, get caught or whatever. You know, what we talked about last night."

  "You won't. Fucking hell, kids do this for fun. I used to do it when I was a kid, trying to skip school." The school I was talking about was reform school, and I only wished I'd known this little trick at the time. I would have been out of that shithole lickety-split. "Tom, relax. Have a bath, do anything you want. Try your clothes on. Just don't worry about it. The only time to worry is when I look worried, okay?"

  He hesitated in the doorway. I waited for him to speak, but he changed his mind and turned to go.

  "And hey, Tom?"

  His body stayed facing out and he just turned his head. "Yep?"

  "Don't have anything to eat when you get up, mate. I'll explain later."

  He nodded, and left with a nervous laugh as he closed the door behind him.

  I stretched out on the bed and went back to visualizing each phase of the job. I wasn't happy about the prospect of snow and I wasn't happy about not having a weapon. The vegetable knife I'd used to cut the cheese with wasn't much of a substitute.

  * * *

  20

  I got up groggily just after eight and took a shower. I hadn't slept since Tom's visit, but because I'd been trying so hard I now wanted to.

  Dragging myself to the kitchen for a coffee, I found Liv and Tom in bathrobes sitting on the sofa with mugs in hand. They both looked as tired as I felt, and we exchanged only mumbled greetings. I still had one more thing to do with the kit before I double-checked the lot, so I took my coffee with me to my room and got dressed properly.

  At just before nine o'clock I took everything down to the car. Tom was on parade, showered, and dressed. Liv didn't follow us down; she would be emptying the house tonight and was probably already busy getting it sterile. She'd take our bags with her, handing them back with the money in them.

  Tom and I faced each other as I checked him out, first his pockets to make sure the only stuff in them was the equipment he needed: daps, spare hook, nylon loop, and money. He didn't need 100 marks in change rattling around in his pockets, just the paper money in a plastic bag tucked into his boot to get food and transportation if he was in the shit. Most important was the Think Pad and cables, jammed into the nylon carry bag hanging over his shoulder but under his coat. I didn't want the battery getting too cold and slow on target. I then had to make sure that none of it fell out, especially his spare hook.

  I got him to jump up and down. There were no noises and everything stayed in place in his large, padded blue-check coat. Finally I made sure he had his gloves and hat. "All right, mate?"

  "No drama." He sounded convincing.

  I put the backpack on over my coat. We looked like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. "Okay, you check me now."

  "Why?"

  "Because I might have fucked up. Go on."

  He checked me over from the front first, then I turned so he could check the backpack was securely fastened. Everything was fine until I jumped up and down. There was a noise coming from the pocket my spare hook was in. Tom looked almost embarrassed as he reached in and brought out the two nails that had been raiding around.

  "These things happen," I said. "That's why everyone needs to be checked. Thanks, mate."

  He was very pleased with himself. It's amazing what a couple of well-placed nails can do to boost someone's confidence and make them feel they're contributing to things.

  Tom and I got into the car and wheels turned just after nine o'clock.

  Liv hadn't made an appearance to say goodbye.

  He was pretty quiet for the first twenty minutes or so. As I drove, I talked him through each phase again, from stopping the car when we got there, to entering the house and finding what we were looking for, to me turning the ignition back on once I had the Think Pad securely in my possession. I concentrated on being relentlessly positive, not even beginning to suggest that things could go wrong.

  We got to the drop-off point after three and a half hours, with me stressing every time I'd had to turn the wipers on to clear the windshield of shit thrown up by cars in front, thinking that the snowfall had started.

  Once in the firebreak near the target I killed the lights, but I left th e engine running as I looked over at my passenger. "You all right, Tom?"

  When we'd done the drive-past a couple of minutes earlier I'd pointed out the driveway we were going to go down. He took a deep breath.

  "Ready to roll, mate. Ready to rock 'n' roll." I could sense his apprehension.

  "Right then, let's do it." I got out of the car, closing the door gently onto the first click, just enough for the interior light to go out. Then I unzipped my fly.

  Tom was on the other side of the car doing the same, exactly as I'd told him. I could only manage a little dribble as I checked the skies for even the slightest sign of snow. I couldn't see a thing in the darkness, of course, but somehow it made me feel better.

  I got the backpack and my coat out of the car and rested them against one of the wheels. It was bitterly cold and the wind was getting up, each gust biting at the flesh of my face. At least we should be out of it as we moved down the driveway, protected by the forest, and the noise of the swaying treetops would help cover any sound we made. The bad news was that the same wind would be bringing the snow.

  I put my coat on and watched Tom do the same as the backpack went on my back. So far so good. He even remembered to close his door slowly to keep the noise down.

  After fully closing mine, I pressed the key chain. The lights flashed as I walked round to Tom and made sure he watched me as I placed the key behind the front wheel, covering it with snow. Getting back up, I went to his exposed ear and whispered, "Remember, no flaps." I wanted him to keep his ears exposed two sets were better than one, and I still wanted him to think I needed his help, though I wasn't holding my breath on that one.

  He nodded as our vapor clouds billowed together in front of us.

  "We're going to have to keep quiet now." I had to force myself to keep my mouth against his ear. This boy needed to do something about his earwax. "Remember, if you want me, don't call, just touch me, then whisper right in my ear. Okay on that?"

  "Got it."

&n
bsp; "Do you remember what to do if a vehicle comes?"

  "Yeah, yeah, make like Superman." His shoulders heaved up and down as he tried to suppress a nervous laugh.

  "Okay, mate, ready?"

  He nodded and I clapped him on the shoulder. "Right, let's go then." I felt like an old sweat in the First World War trying to coax a young bayonet over the top.

  I set off slowly, my ears exposed to the night, with Tom two or three paces behind. When we were about fifteen feet down the driveway I had a check of Baby G. It was just before a quarter to one; hopefully Friends was crap tonight and they'd gone to bed.

  We were going down the gentle incline, coming toward the bend that would take us into line of sight of the house, when I stopped, and so did Tom, just as he'd been told to. If I stopped, he stopped; if I then lay down, so must he.

  Moving back to him, I put my mouth to his ear. "Can you hear that?" I backed my head away so he could listen.

  He nodded.

  "Generator. We're nearly there, mate. Need another piss?"

  He shook his head and I slapped him on the head in my best what-good-fun-this-is sort of way and started to walk on.

  Keeping in the left-hand tire rut, the compacted snow solid beneath our feet, we slowly rounded the bend. All I could hear was the wind high above us, whipping the tops of the pines; the sound of Tom moving behind, and the generator, its throbbing getting louder as we closed in. I looked up at the sky. Fuck it, it didn't matter if it snowed now or not; I was totally focused on doing the job. Even my nose and ears didn't feel as cold as they had last night. There was nothing I could do about the weather and nothing I could do about the conditions of the contract: It was tonight or nothing, and I was desperate for the money.