by Andy McNab
Fergus was being held there. At Heathrow he had been bundled into a windowless white transit van and then taken directly to Paddington Green. There, the wagon was driven through an archway and into a lift, which slowly descended into the bowels of the building.
No charges were made, no explanations were given, but Fergus didn't expect any. He knew the routine. All the way from Heathrow he had been silently cursing himself for not anticipating this move. Deveraux had stitched him up good and proper and there was nothing he could do about it. But that didn't bother him; not being in New York to protect Danny and Elena did.
Fergus had read every one of Deveraux's sit reps for Dudley, and almost every one had reiterated that she wanted them dead. Danny and Elena were aware of the danger, but Fergus had reckoned on being there to get them out when the moment came.
But he wasn't there. Instead he was stuck in a London cell with no chance of escape.
Years earlier, Fergus had been incarcerated in a Colombian prison and had organized and led a mass breakout. That had been difficult; breaking out of Paddington Green was impossible.
His possessions had been taken away and he was ordered to change into garish yellow overalls and to put on a pair of thin slip-on shoes with elasticated sides. He did so without complaint; there was no point in complaining.
Then he was locked in a small purpose-built SSU. It wasn't a home from home. Despite government legislation that all cells should have some form of natural light, this place had none. It couldn't have – it was deep underground. The electric lights were recessed into the ceiling with thick wire running through the glass.
There was a single bed, fitted to the wall, and a stainless steel toilet with a push button flush system, also set into the wall. There was nothing for any prisoner to rip away for use as a weapon. The cell was the ultimate holding pen. Even if a prisoner scratched paint from the wall, the guards would be alerted by the cell's hi-tech alarm system.
With no natural light as an aid, Fergus was finding it difficult to keep track of time. The guards wore no watches when they came in with bread and water. And when food did arrive, Fergus knew it wasn't at normal meal times – that could also have been a guide to the time. It was all part of the process of keeping a prisoner disorientated.
Fergus had eaten everything given to him apart from one small corner from a slice of bread. Bread usually goes a little hard around the edges after an hour and completely hard within twenty-four. It was Fergus's rough guide to the passing hours.
He was desperately worried, not for himself, but for Danny and Elena. He was tired now, but he had to stay alert and try to figure out some new tactic.
As he turned over on the uncomfortable bed, he heard the cell door being unlocked. Fergus got up, expecting to see at least two police officers entering.
It was Dudley.
They looked at each other for a few moments before Fergus spoke. 'Come to gloat? Or do you want to tell me what you've got in store for me? Don't bother, I know.'
Dudley looked around the cell as if he was expecting to see somewhere to sit down. The bed was the only option so he remained standing. 'This is unfortunate, Mr Watts, I agree, but it was considered necessary.'
'Yeah, I bet it was. Your idea, was it, or Miss Deveraux's?'
Dudley shrugged his shoulders. 'That isn't particularly relevant now. There have been developments, Mr Watts.'
Fergus felt a surge of panic. 'Danny – something's happened. Is he hurt? Or Elena . . . what is it?'
Dudley reached into the left pocket of his overcoat. 'They're safe for the moment,' he said as he drew out the now crumpled envelope containing Elena's letter. 'But I want you to read this.'
Fergus grabbed the envelope and pulled out the letter. He read it through; Dudley waited in silence until Fergus looked up at him. 'Where did you get this?'
'It was hidden in Elena's computer. Dr Jacobson is of the opinion that Elena may be considering—'
'Going through with what Black Star's telling her to do,' said Fergus quickly. He gripped the letter tightly, crumpling the paper even more. 'I should have seen this. I should have known what was happening to her.'
'Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Mr Watts, but that doesn't help us now. You know her better than we do. Could she go through with it? Dr Jacobson feels that the letter – and Elena's recent mood – suggests—'
'It doesn't matter whether she could – we've got to make sure that she doesn't.' Fergus stared hard at Dudley. 'I can stop her.'
Dudley raised his eyebrows. 'You can? How?'
'Elena will never trust Deveraux, never. If she's really thinking of going through with this, then Deveraux won't even get near her. Elena trusts me, just me and Danny, and you can't expect Danny to do this. I can do it, so get me out there.'
Dudley considered for a moment. 'Dr Jacobson concurs, which is why I'm here. I have found her opinions remarkably accurate in the past and I see no reason to doubt them now.'
He paused. 'Miss Deveraux disagrees, naturally.'
'Who gives a shit what she thinks! Look, all you care about is the mission, and not having American body parts flying around if Elena detonates the explosive. I'll stop that, and you'll still get Black Star.' Fergus glanced at Elena's letter again and then held it up to Dudley. 'And this – it was a waste of time. Joey's dead, isn't he?'
Dudley shrugged again with a gesture that said it was something that could not have been avoided. 'That last night. . . He was taken. A little later and it might have been different.'
Fergus nodded. He knew the realities of the business they were in and the rules by which they operated. 'And Deveraux did it?'
'You know I can't tell you that, Mr Watts.'
'You don't need to.'
'And you don't need me to tell you, Mr Watts, that ours is not one of the caring professions. But it's a necessary one, vital for the security of our nation and the world. And had you been in the same position as the person who carried out the act we're discussing, then you know perfectly well that you, as a professional, would have done exactly the same thing.'
Dudley was right. Joey had been just another innocent victim of the game they all played. It had happened before and it would happen again.
Fergus nodded. 'Then it's even more important that you get me out there now. Don't you realize what will happen if Elena does detonate the IED? To you?'
Dudley's eyebrows rose again. 'Me?'
'You! The man who authorized a British covert operation in the USA that the Americans didn't know a thing about, which went completely wrong and resulted in the deaths of maybe hundreds of US citizens! Oh, I know it's Deveraux's mission, and it's deniable. I've been there, remember? But the Americans won't be letting you walk away from this, Dudley. They're no fools, they won't swallow the deniable line for something this big. This will come all the way down from the President, and he'll want more than Deveraux. You're her boss. They'll have your bollocks on a plate.'
Dudley swallowed hard as the image was conjured up in his mind.
'Before agreeing to let you go, I want your absolute assurance that you will not attempt any acts of revenge, or tell Elena that her father is dead. That information could initiate the very thing we're attempting to avoid. Do I have that assurance?'
Fergus nodded once. 'Like you said, I'm a professional.'
'What do you want?'
'The operation is deniable, right?'
'Under the circumstances, it has to be.'
'Then I'll need a Tornado to get me there quickly and some RAF cover. I need a small dip bag and I'll have to go back to Oxford to pick up some kit. You can organize a fast car to take me there and then on to Marham.'
'Kit, Mr Watts?' said Dudley. 'Can't we supply you with what you want?'
'Not with what I need. I have to go to the hotel.'
'If you're talking about a weapon—'
'I don't need a weapon; I'm going to save her, not kill her. Now let's stop talking and get on with it.'
29
Elena had hardly slept. The thought that Black Star might be watching made dropping off to sleep difficult. At around two in the morning she finally realized that Black Star himself must have to sleep at some time, and after that she dozed fitfully.
She was up early. She switched the TV to C-SPAN and watched the news for a while, then hauled herself wearily out of bed and went into the bathroom, washing and dressing quickly. The thought that Black Star could be watching her even there was not pleasant. She left the TV on when she left the room.
Hanging the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the handle of her door, Elena wondered briefly how far Black Star's surveillance reached. There was no one in the corridor, but could he be watching her there as well? All the training she and Danny had had from Fergus meant that she knew she could not afford to relax, to be herself, for a moment. She had a part to play and had to play it one hundred per cent – everywhere. A single slip could blow the operation. So much relied on her to get it right.
As Elena walked along the airless corridor towards the lift, the enormity of the task hit her. Her heart began to race and she felt she could hardly breathe. The trip down to the lobby seemed to take ages. She felt sick and tired and her head was throbbing, and at that moment she would have given anything to be back home at Foxcroft with Dave and Jane.
The fresh air coming into the lobby from the street revived her a little. She was sitting in the coffee shop at the front of the hotel with a latte and an untouched blueberry muffin twelve minutes before the contact time Danny had stipulated in the instructions she had found at the DLB.
Sipping the latte, Elena had a moment of panic: she suddenly realized she should have left a message of her own at the DLB that morning, giving Danny details of Black Star's orders. But she had forgotten. Black Star had given her the first of her shopping locations, the time she was meant to be there and details of what she was to buy. That information should have been passed on.
How could she have forgotten? If this had been a test, she would have failed. But this was no test – it was for real. Elena realized that there was no time now for her to find somewhere private to write a note, go back up to the eighth floor, leave it at the DLB and get back down to stick a marker outside for Danny before he turned up at the coffee shop.
Her mind was racing. She had at least remembered Danny's instruction to pick up a giveaway magazine on her way into the coffee shop. She opened Welcome to New York, the Big Apple at a random page and attempted to look as though she was casually flicking through as she enjoyed her breakfast. Then she closed the magazine, took a pencil from her jacket pocket and began to write on the front cover, hoping it looked like she was just making a note of something of interest within its glossy pages.
Danny reached behind the drinks dispenser on the eighth floor and found there was nothing attached to the Velcro. Elena had obviously taken his message last night, but for some reason had not left one of her own with Black Star's latest orders.
He had begun to worry when he went out early, bought a pretzel and a coffee from a stall on the street corner as a cover for checking the rubbish bin, and saw that there was no new 'DLB live' marker.
But he was still checking the DLB, assuming that Elena had gone off SOPs and had left a message without leaving a marker. But there was nothing. He was starting to flap as he checked his watch. It was 08:20 – ten minutes until his scheduled contact – and he had no idea if she would be there.
At 08:00, exactly on schedule, he had taken a call from Deveraux, who prevented him from asking about Fergus by giving him a string of orders about where to deliver the BlackBerry once it was in his hands. The ear-bashing he'd had from her about his activities at Columbus Circle the previous evening still smarting, Danny listened in silence.
'And there's something else,' she went on before Danny could mention his grandfather. 'You are to take over surveillance of Elena today; I need the other two for something else. I want to know where Elena is, what she's doing and who she meets. Surveillance, Danny, that's all. Report to me.'
She hung up without mentioning Fergus. The morning had not begun well.
Danny decided to risk going off SOPs and walked past Elena's room to see if there were clues to whether or not she had followed any of his instructions from last night. He began to feel a little better as he approached the door. The DO NOT DISTURB sign was plainly visible.
As he passed by, he stopped and went down on one knee, pretending to retie his trainer laces. The sound of droning voices just filtered through the door. It had to be C-SPAN; politicians always sounded boring.
So Elena had acted on his instructions. But why hadn't she left a message of her own? Maybe she had; maybe the container had slipped away from the Velcro and fallen on the floor behind the vending machine.
Danny got up and went back to the DLB. He pushed himself up against the wall and attempted to look behind the machine. All he could see was electrical wiring and the casing for the dispenser's cooling system.
'Come on, Elena, where is it?' he whispered. He dropped to his knees and reached as far as he could along the gap between the wall and the back of the machine, but still found nothing.
He crawled around to the side and slid his right hand underneath the machine. Still nothing. Gradually he moved round to the front, each time sliding his hand as far as he could beneath the dispenser in the increasingly vain hope of finding the plastic film canister.
And then the door opened and a middle-aged man walked in. He stared at Danny, looking puzzled. 'Lost something?'
Danny smiled weakly; his hand was pushed in so hard it was almost jammed under the machine. 'I dropped my money – a quarter.'
'A whole quarter?' said the man, feigning horror. 'And you can't find it?'
Danny shook his head, feeling as stupid as he looked, and pulled his hand out from under the machine. 'I don't have any more cash, not until I go to a cash point.'
'Well, it's lucky I was passing and saw you scrambling about on the floor,' said the man, reaching into a pocket. 'We can't have you going thirsty, can we? You look as though you need a drink after all that effort.' He held out a coin.
'No. No, I couldn't,' said Danny, scrambling to his feet. 'It's really nice of you, but—'
'Look, I insist,' said the man firmly. 'We Americans pride ourselves on being hospitable to our overseas visitors.' He grinned. 'Specially our poor relations from across the pond.'
He pressed the coin into Danny's hand. 'You Brits just kill me,' he said with a smile, then turned and headed back into the corridor. Danny had no alternative but to slip the money into the machine while he waited for the man to reach the elevators. He checked his watch again: 08:26 – only four minutes until he was meant to make the contact.
Quickly he ran to the fire escape and hurtled down the stairs, taking three or four at a time, desperately hoping that Elena would be waiting for him in the coffee shop. If she wasn't, none of Deveraux's orders of last night could be carried out, and Danny had a pretty good idea who would be getting the blame for the cock-up.
But as he ran down towards the lobby, it wasn't Deveraux he was worried about, or even himself. It was Elena; he had promised he would be there for her at all times.
In the coffee shop Elena was kicking herself for being so dumb, and mentally running through her options. But so much relied on everyone following SOPs, sticking to the training, following the practised moves. And she'd blown it right at the beginning. She started to feel sick again. Perhaps, she thought, if Danny turned up, everything would be sorted. She checked her watch; it was 08:31. Danny was late.
Elena's breakfast things had been cleared away. She couldn't sit around for much longer; Black Star had given her precise instructions on the timing of her first shopping venture. She glanced towards the entrance of the crowded coffee shop and almost smiled: Danny was there, with a bottle of water in one hand. He was breathing deeply and Elena saw a bead of sweat trickle down one side of his face.
