Avenger

by Andy McNab

  He saw Elena's eyes widen, and a brief look of panic crossed her face. However, she didn't hesitate as she made her way to the vending machine room, and Fergus stood to one side as the three Italian woman nodded their thanks and continued down the corridor. Fergus didn't look back. He went straight on to the lifts and pressed the button to go up.

  As the lift doors opened and Fergus stepped inside, he was praying that giving the cocaine to Elena would be enough until they could get her out. And at least now there was a chance that no one would die.

  40

  The explosive was made. The pale yellow, waxy mix was drying and hardening. Pointer watched as Elena removed a khaki-coloured fisherman's vest from one of the carrier bags. The vest had been her final purchase during the shopping expedition.

  He'd allowed Elena to turn down the air conditioning now that the cooking was over, and the room temperature had returned to normal.

  He watched carefully as she gingerly formed the semi-dry explosive into small slabs, which she gradually packed into the long rear pocket of the close-fitting vest.

  Many of his instructions to Elena had been given directly to her via the TV, while others had been sent over on the website. Pointer wanted to keep Marcie exactly where she was while Elena completed the IED preparation.

  Much of what he sent over only hinted at what Elena was doing, leaving Marcie to assume that additional instructions had been sent previously.

  He would then speak directly to Elena through the television in her room, but Marcie, in her suite at the Four Seasons, heard nothing of that.

  Fergus and Danny were behind the fire escape door, keeping a trigger through the small window. Each time a hotel guest passed they would duck down out of sight, grateful that no one, so far, had decided they wanted the exercise of a walk down the stairs.

  Fergus had given Danny a quick briefing on what had happened following his arrest at Heathrow, and Danny was growing more anxious by the minute. He checked his watch and then looked at Fergus. 'Not long now, surely.'

  Fergus was on stag, staring through the window towards Elena's room. 'Soon as we hear from Deveraux, we get Elena out of that room. I'll make the device safe and you take her away from here. We'll RV at the entrance to Madison Square Garden, over the road. Then it's out of the city and out of Deveraux's way.' He gently kicked Danny with his good leg. 'Your turn on stag.'

  As Danny took over at the window, Fergus slid down the wall and gingerly stretched out his injured leg.

  He pulled out his mobile phone and started dialling Deveraux's number. 'What's happening?' he asked as soon as she answered. 'Have they dropped him yet? The IED has got to be made safe and the room made sterile. I need to know what's going on!'

  'You will,' hissed Deveraux. 'They know exactly what they're doing!

  'But it's taking too long! She hasn't been out for more ice, which means she's making the PE. She could leave for the target at any moment. I need to know the minute it's safe to get her out of there!'

  'Then get off the phone and wait for my call!' yelled Deveraux. She cut the call dead.

  Danny moved away from the window as an elderly British couple approached along the corridor and walked slowly past, muttering to each other about the confusing American purchase tax they seemed to be paying on everything they bought.

  Danny had been listening to Fergus's call. 'Elena is safe with the cocaine in the mix, right?'

  'If she's managed to add it, yes. But Deveraux's a problem too. I want us out of her reach the second Black Star is dropped. I don't care about making the room sterile; Deveraux can do that. All I'm interested in is keeping the three of us alive.' He looked at Danny. 'You know how Deveraux likes to clean house.'

  41

  Fran and Mick were about ten miles from their destination. They had made their plans and knew full well they had no time to refine an intricate scheme to take down Black Star. They would carry out what was known as an Emergency Response, which comprised the three elements of the Fergus Watts version of SAS: Speed, Aggression and Surprise.

  They had long ago left the towering skyline of Manhattan behind them and kept to the fast lane of Highway 495, heading east towards Long Island, land of the rich and famous.

  Their headlights illuminated the exit highway signs displaying a strange mix of locations: names like Patchogue and Lake Ronkonkoma from the rich Native American past mingled with others such as Smithtown and Kings Park, which had been bequeathed to the area by the first English settlers.

  Fran and Mick were again wearing two pairs of surgical rubber gloves, just as they had when they broke into the Winnebagos, and for the attack on the East 96th Street apartment. As before, they had to ensure that they left no identifying traces during the operation.

  Mick was checking Fran's Pll as the hire car's headlights pierced the darkening evening. He made sure the barrel was firmly connected into the pistol grip as he wiped it clean of any prints. He pressed the small tester button on the back of the grip: a small pinprick of red light appeared in the centre of the button to show that the battery still had power and the chunky five-round barrel was still in place.

  Once he was satisfied that the weapon was fully functional, he began to check his own Pll.

  'We know yours works,' said Fran with a smile.

  Mick looked at the empty barrel, the one that had taken down Herman Ramirez. 'Yeah, it works fine.'

  They were both carrying an extra barrel in their pockets, giving Fran ten rounds, Mick nine. They worked on the theory that if they needed more than that, they weren't doing their job properly, or were so deep in the shit that even another hundred rounds wouldn't help them.

  Mick picked up the road map that was resting on his knees. 'Nearly there,' he said. 'Three more exits.'

  Pointer knew the hunters were closing in fast. He sent another message to Elena.

  Open the padded envelope now, Gola. U no wots inside. U no wot 2 do with it.

  Before Elena could punch out her reply, Pointer spoke to her directly. 'I know you don't know what to do with what's inside the envelope, Elena, but that message is for the person watching us.'

  He saw Elena's eyes widen and her breath come more quickly. She knew.

  'Who's watching?'

  There was a slight pause before Pointer replied. 'The woman who sent you here to find me, Elena.'

  'You . . . you know about her?' Elena's voice was breathy with panic.

  'Of course I know about her – and everyone else too. I'm curious. Why didn't you tell me about Marcie?'

  He saw Elena looking desperately around the room as if searching for an answer.

  'Elena,' Pointer demanded again. 'Why didn't you tell me? Are you working for them?'

  Elena came close to the TV. She spoke urgently into the speaker.

  'I was – once – at the beginning. But I'm not now. I promise. They're just using me, and I decided to let them . . . I want to do this thing. Nothing else matters to me now. My dad's gone, my friends—' Her voice broke. 'My only friend doesn't care any more, he just wants to be a soldier like his granddad.'

  Pointer didn't say anything. Could this be an act? He saw tears running down Elena's face.

  'Black Star?' she said, the note of desperation rising in her voice. 'Don't leave me! I want to be an Angel!'

  That was enough. Pointer was convinced.

  'Don't worry, Elena,' he said. 'You're still my Angel. My very special Angel.'

  'Thank you!'

  He could hear the relief in her voice and saw the smile as she wiped away her tears.

  'They've lost their battle, Elena. They never really cared for you, just as you said. All they care about is catching me. Marcie is at the Four Seasons Hotel, watching our messages. They know what you are doing and how dangerous it is. But do they do anything about it? No.'

  Elena slumped and nodded. 'I know,' she said wearily. 'But I don't really care. It's not important now. What do we do next?'

  Pointer smiled. He was right. He
knew he was right.

  'We're gonna do something great tonight. Now find the padded envelope I sent you.'

  Elena reached for the envelope. Inside were a small square battery, a wooden clothes peg, some fishing line and a small sliver of plastic. The piece of plastic had a tiny hole close to one edge, and one end of the fishing line had been threaded through and tied securely.

  'There are two drawing pins at the bottom,' Pointer told her. 'Make sure you get those, and the invitation.'

  Elena delved deeper into the envelope and took out the drawing pins and a printed invitation card.

  She read the words on the stylish embossed card and turned back to the TV. 'Is that where I'm going?'

  'Yes,' said Pointer. 'It'll be a grand occasion and I only wish I could be there with you. But tonight it all ends for me too, Elena. I shall be making the ultimate sacrifice as well. After you, I promise. I told you before that when the time was right I would do it. It's only right that we both go tonight.'

  Elena nodded and smiled. 'I'm glad.'

  She placed the invitation on the bed and looked at the bizarre assortment of items she had pulled from the envelope. 'So what do I do now?'

  42

  Fran and Mick had found Pointer's imposing, Gothic-style mansion in The Hamptons.

  As they did a drive past, their car headlights picked out the two-metre-high chain-link fence surrounding the house and gardens. The fence would be no barrier to them.

  The house stood well back in the grounds, and as they drove by, it appeared to be in total darkness. But then, when they were almost past, Mick looked back and saw the slightest chink of light coming from a ground-floor room on the east side of the building.

  'He's in there,' he said as the vehicle moved on. 'Looks just the place for a recluse.'

  A little more than half a mile further along the road, they came to a small shopping parade and Fran parked up close to a Food Lion supermarket. Nearby was a Blockbuster and a scattering of gift shops and galleries packed with souvenirs and scenic water-colours for weekend visitors to the area.

  Fran and Mick were in a hurry to get the job done, but that didn't mean cutting corners. SOPs still had to be followed as part of the Emergency Response.

  First they both took a good look at the online photograph of Pointer they had been provided with; they had to make certain they killed the right man. The photograph was more than five years old, taken at the last shareholders meeting Pointer had attended. It was good enough.

  Next they began emptying their pockets: they had to be sterile of anything that might be dropped and discovered later – there must be no traces to lead back to them, or even to the hotel where they were staying. A single fingerprint could link them to Pointer and the house, so short-term precautions had to be taken, just in case they got away with the attack but were then lifted as they tried to leave the country.

  If they were killed – and that was always a possibility – there would be no trace of them on any records; the US police would have two unidentifiable bodies, because Mick and Fran were deniable operators.

  They were ready to leave the vehicle but there was one more thing to do. Fran hit the dial of her Xda and Deveraux answered immediately. 'Yes?'

  'We're sterile,' said Fran, and then gave her the details of the vehicle's location. 'If we don't call within two hours, the vehicle will need a pick-up.'

  It was an SOP. If neither of them made it back to the car, couriers from the British Consulate would come out to collect it.

  'Change of normal procedure,' Deveraux told her. 'Take your mobile and cache it close to the target house. I need to know the second the job is done, and I need it done quickly.' She hung up.

  Mick had shoved his Xda into the glove compartment of the hire car, but Fran's now had to go with them and be cached, just in case they didn't leave the house alive. In that event the Xda would remain hidden and the operation would still be deniable. They couldn't use Black Star's home phone or mobile because calls from those would eventually be traced back to Deveraux.

  Mick saw Fran tucking her Xda into her jeans. 'What you doing? Bad drills, Fran.'

  'She's flapping. Wants to know he's down ASAP.'

  They got out of the car and went round to the boot to collect the ready bag, which Mick slung over his shoulders. It wasn't the normal type of ready bag they would carry back in the UK, which would have been task-orientated and packed by them.

  This was prepacked, the ready-bag version of an oven-ready meal. It was called Packet Oscar, a one-bag-fits-all-jobs kit. There were many other prepacks, such as Packet Tango, a trauma pack, and Packet Victor, which contained safe-cracking equipment.

  They had a trek of half a mile back to the target house. Plls in one jacket pocket and spare barrel in the other, they began to run through the shopping parade and into the darkness, only slowing to a walk when car headlights approached.

  The Emergency Response plan had, of necessity, to be simple. They had decided on what was known as their 'rolling start line', which would begin the moment they climbed the fence surrounding the target house.

  They had no idea what, if any, security measures Black Star had in place and they had no time to find out. If they got over the fence and approached Black Star without tripping alarms or security lights, it would be a bonus. If they did trip an alarm system and lost the element of surprise, they would just push forward with speed and aggression until they reached him and took him down. There wasn't time to faff about.

  They covered the half-mile quickly and walked along the high fence, looking for the best place to climb it. The house sat about two hundred metres back, surrounded by neat lawns and conifers.

  They reached the end of the fence line on the western side of the house. Fran was leading the operation: she was the boss and she would make the decisions. 'We climb here.'

  There was no need for further discussion – it slowed things down, and they both knew exactly what to do.

  Quickly Fran kneeled by the base of the upright post where the fence changed direction and began to pull away the loose topsoil with both hands. She dug a small hole and then slipped her Xda into a couple of spare surgical gloves she had brought from the car. The Xda was covered and hidden within a few seconds and would be waiting for them if the mission was a success. If not, it would hopefully remain underground for many years.

  Fran stood up and began to scramble up the fence. Mick had the bag handles over each shoulder, wearing it like a bergen. As Fran scrambled over the top of the fence, Mick followed her up. They hadn't seen any alarm systems on the fence – no motion detectors or cameras. But it made no real difference now; the attack was on.

  43

  Pointer was looking at Elena, who was dressed in her black designer suit and crisp white shirt. She looked as wonderful as he had imagined. There was absolutely no sign of the fisherman's vest packed with the PE she had made. He had calculated that it would fit perfectly beneath the three-quarter-length jacket. And it was there, ready to detonate the moment Elena tugged on the length of fishing line that dangled from her right sleeve.

  It was a crude but effective device. The small cylindrical detonator was pushed into the PE, which was in the long poacher's pouch at the back of the vest. Coming from the det were two long thin steel wires; each ran to and around a terminal of the slim twelve-volt battery, which was held in one of the many small pockets at the front of the vest.