by Andy McNab
I’d registered the device as ‘cat’. I decided that my cat was lost now, and the community was going to help me find it. If any of them was in Bluetooth range of Tiddles, had registered a device and had opted to join the worldwide team, a location alert would be sent to me automatically. The phone’s owner wouldn’t even know it had happened. The community was all about helping one another find stuff.
A girl in a hijab stood up from a corner screen. I jumped into her place before anyone decided they needed as much privacy as I did, and slipped in the USB.
The screen came to life once I’d double-clicked the attachment, and in front of me were a couple of pictures of a young woman. The first showed a page from a Belarus passport, which in itself meant nothing. It could be false, and no one ever looks the same on their passport photo anyway.
The name on the passport was Yulia Zyk. She had been born in ’97, so I did a quick count on my fingers to work out her age. Her skin was white as porcelain, stretched over prominent cheekbones and framed by a mop of wavy, shoulder-length dark hair. I couldn’t work out if the picture was a washed-out mugshot from an arrest folder, her pallor was genetic or if she just needed to get out into the sun a bit more. She could have done with lightening up in other ways, too. She certainly didn’t look like a fellow citizen of the country’s ever-beaming dictator, Aleksandr Lukashenko.
I understood enough about Belarus to know that no one should be fooled by the blow-dried hair and granddad perma-smile. Lukashenko ruled what the US called Europe’s only remaining ‘outpost of tyranny’ with iron fists. The continent’s last dictatorship had all the trappings you would expect: outrageous corruption; state control of the media; no social media; opponents disappearing; lavish spending on official residences and blow-dries while the population lived in shit. Russia had changed the name of their secret police to FSB to make them sound more cuddly, but their neighbour’s lot were still called the KGB.
The country declared independence after the fall of the USSR, but Lukashenko made sure it was still joined at the hip to Russia. Just like Putin, he wasn’t keen on gays so no one else in Belarus was either. The same went for beards. The country also had a problem with Islamic fundamentalism, and to add even more drama, Afghanistan was one of its neighbours. So, if the beloved dictator didn’t like face hair, your passport photo had better show the most clean-shaven chin possible. Not that Yulia needed to worry about that.
The second picture had been taken on a beach, and showed Yulia with a bunch of lads about the same age. They were all standing with surfboards, but Yulia was so skinny that the one she was holding was twice as wide as she was. She needed a few plates of fish and chips but it was good to see that she’d got out in the sun at least once in her life.
I photographed both pictures with my mobile, and double-clicked the Word document. It held very little information to add to what the Owl had already given me. Yulia was currently in Cornwall, surfing in the Sennen Cove region, and our job was to lift her. Once we’d got her, we’d contain her, contact the Owl, and arrange for her to be collected. Job done. A piece of piss at any other time, but not now, not today.
I could have lived with the possibility that the Owl really had thought of us working for him at exactly the same time as I did. After all, it was a perfectly reasonable idea, and hardly unique. Maybe this really could be the trial run for a beautiful relationship. But the thought of a snide turned all that on its head, and the hate bubbled up once more. I wasn’t sure how, or why, or when, but it changed the way I needed to think about the job. We still had to prove we could be trusted and we still needed the money, but now I also needed to know if there was a snide. I had to find him.
So why not do the job, get paid, and when I found the snide, even let the Owl know his man had been exposed? Let him know that even though he’d been trying to fuck us up, we still wanted to work for him. Now, that was commitment to being in the same tent – and, on top of that, he might let us take the snide outside the tent and do whatever we wanted with him. No one liked them.
I called Gabe’s safe phone, bending and snapping the data USB into pieces. It was answered in two rings by Jack. I didn’t give him time to start waffling: I wanted to transmit information and get off the phone. There were things I had to do.
‘Listen, we’re on. We’ve got a job – he came up with the same idea before I got a chance to pitch him ours. As soon as I know what time I’ll be at the station, I’ll call so I can get a lift, okay? Here’s a quick warning order. You’ll all need passports and hand luggage for a temperate climate. Talk to you soon, mate.’
I closed down and headed towards the tube station, then back to CeX for some more smartphones and other bits. Boring stuff, but important. Detail mattered.
At the first ATM I saw, I maxed out on each Visa card. We would deal only in cash.
I’d wait and see if any of the team said anything about needing passports. If they knew the job was in Cornwall, maybe they’d slip up.
I tried hard not to wonder who the snide might be – who would be the one to slip up.
24
Pangbourne Station
The rain had followed me from London and thumped onto the station roof as I watched the headlights crawling up the narrow approach road and stopping to collect commuters who weren’t going to get wet until they had to. It was a difficult recognition task: every set belonged to either a Range Rover, Volvo or BMW.
Jack’s Beamer pulled up and I jumped in beside him with my plastic bag full of mobiles and cables. The interior was warm and stank of fat furry brown things. They weren’t with him this time but had been recently. Dog-biscuit crumbs filled the leather seat stitching.
Jack was full of questions. ‘It sounds like they’ve given you an off-the-shelf job. What do you think? Maybe it’s a test. Or a trap. I mean, coming out with the same idea at the same time?’
I gave a bit of a shrug. ‘One of those two – or maybe he just thought of it at the same time we did. Like the sheep learning to roll over cattle grids in New Zealand at exactly the same time sheep were learning to do it in Yorkshire. Maybe there’s a cosmic force out there. Who knows?’
Jack nodded hard. ‘My mother’s a birdwatcher. She told me it happened with blue tits, too. All within the same few days, all over Britain, they discovered how to peck open the top of a milk bottle, without any bird having done it before. They were too far away from each other to have communicated. Apparently it’s called morphic resonance.’
‘Yup, mate, that’s the one. Sheep both sides of the planet came to the same conclusion at the same time. Weird, eh?’
He kept his eyes on the road as the automatic jumped gears, and the wipers kept the screen clear. He filled in the silent phase: ‘I’m not going to ask what it is, because you’ll just tell me to shut up and wait till we get back to the others. But what do you think? Are we good for it?’ He tapped his empty leg.
‘I think so, but only you lot can answer that one. So long as we keep away from any bang-bang. The more arms and legs you have, the better with that shit. But so what? We are where we are. We have a job.’
The indicators clicked as he slowed to take the last junction to the barn, though there wasn’t another vehicle in sight. Maybe he wanted to warn the rabbits he was hanging a left.
At the solid wooden gates, he hit a fob and they swung open, the headlights penetrating the widening gap between.
If there was a snide, Jack was the most vulnerable. Betraying friends was seldom about cash, certainly over any length of time. If it was cash in Jack’s case, he could easily dispose of it, maybe in a new roof to save having to donate the family seat to the National Trust.
But the cash thing just didn’t feel right for Jack: he would have needed a stronger motive, an ideology, perhaps, or revenge, as a thank-you for something done on behalf of a loved one, maybe getting them medical care or out of trouble – or even into trouble. Maybe Jack just wanted the promise of freedom from his miserable situation. With l
uck, he wasn’t that naive and would understand that if they got rid of us three they wouldn’t just let their snide go, but when people are desperate, they’ll latch onto anything. Rio was right: when people are in a shit situation, it’s always good to hear the comforting lie, rather than face the hard truth.
We drove through the gates and the headlights cast their arc over the gravel. I cut away from all that thinking.
I had to continue as if all was good in Camp SNS. I was going to brief them, give them a plan of sorts, and we’d be gone by the morning. Whether the Owl was listening via the TV, watching remotely via a laptop camera, or the snide was going to tell him later, it didn’t matter. He would expect to see and hear what was going to happen.
As we drove up towards the barn on full beam, two sets of eyes reflected demonically and I soon saw the fat brown things waddling from side to side as fast as they could towards us. If they tried any harder, they’d topple over and die.
25
The barn
We sat around Jack’s desk, the pictures he’d printed out from the phone spread in front of us. Every other spare inch of glass was covered with his entire collection of mugs, and islands of biscuit crumbs – Gabe had pressured him to stock up on the way to pick me up.
As I gathered up four dirties and took them to the sink, Gabe asked what else the Owl had told me.
‘That’s the lot. It’s simple but, like everything that looks simple, it won’t be. Never is, is it? We’ve got to get a plan together, but we’re going to do it differently from your Green Army experience. It’s going to be democratic … sort of. The way I need us to work is the only way the SNS is going to have any future. And at forty grand a pop it better had.’
Their faces had been a picture when I’d told them the size of our payday. Rio was looking even more pleased with himself now that his SNS creation had a life.
I filled the kettle and let the tap run onto the mugs in the sink while I turned and leant against the counter top.
‘First, remember, we are just platforms to perform the mission, nothing more – and nothing matters but the mission. So, what is it? The mission is to lift the target, Yulia Zyk, and hand her over to the Owl. Got it?’
There were general nods, but I was going to say it again anyway. The mission is always repeated. ‘To lift the target, Yulia Zyk, and hand her over to the Owl.
‘We’re in a safe area now. We’ve got time to plan and prepare. Now’s the time for a Chinese parliament.’
I turned off the tap and grabbed a handful of teabags as the kettle started to bubble. It was strange going through the planning process with others, instead of just in my head. But now that others were involved I had to do it old-school.
The idea of a Chinese parliament was to come up with a plan. Everybody could contribute their ideas and rip to shreds those of others. Once there was a plan, we’d think of all the possible scenarios, which meant the ways that the plan could go wrong.
I carried on: ‘Once we’ve all put in our twopence-worth, there will be a final decision – and that final decision will come from me.’
The kettle gave a mega-bubble and clicked off as I continued.
‘There has to be a time when we stop waffling and get on with the mission. Otherwise, we’re going to be walking round like all the fucking pencil necks out there, with their fingers up their arses and no idea what they’re doing. You may not agree with what I come up with, but you’ve got to go with it. If you don’t, we lose the integrity of the team – and that’s when things get fucked up.’
I turned and jabbed the spoon at them. ‘Because those fuckers out there, the pencil necks, their bottom line is their company’s money, or their job, or they don’t make it to Waitrose on time. For us, we might get our bodies fucked up.’ I paused. ‘Well, what’s left of yours, anyway.’
It sort of got a laugh as I turned back to the kettle and poured.
‘All agreed?’
I turned to see three nods.
If the shit hit the fan, decisions would have to be instant. There had to be a leader to take them and that leader had to know everyone would go with them. With the gift of hindsight, many decisions a leader had made perhaps should have been different. But on the ground all you can do is use your experience, knowledge, training, instinct – and the limited time available. Being in command is not a science: things always go to rat-shit. You’re working against the elements; you’re second-guessing the enemy. You can’t dictate. You just have to do the best you can. But that wasn’t the entirety of what all this leadership business was about. It also needs the followers to understand the system, because only then would they have a chance of success.
I had to assume we were being listened to by geeks who would hand the surveillance log to the Owl. Or maybe he’d get a much more personal report from one of these fuckers. It didn’t matter: he’d still be expecting to hear this stuff and they needed to hear it even more.
‘Lads, when we’re out there and operating, there’ll be no time for parliaments. Decisions have to be made there and then. So everyone needs to agree now that when I make a decision you’ll go with it for the same reason you go with the plan in slow-time. If you don’t, we put ourselves in danger because we lose traction as a team and fuck up. I might fuck it up anyway, but I guarantee there will be three other opinions on what to do if the shit hits the fan. But four people doing four different things? Won’t work, lads. One voice and we carry out what it says.’
I squeezed the teabags against the mugs.
‘Just platforms to fulfil the mission, remember. And that, lads, is the only way it’s going to work. Get the job done, keep safe, get back, and spend our forty grand.’
I let that hang while I poured the milk, then grabbed two mugs in each hand. They could fetch the sugar themselves.
No one had sparked up.
‘I take that as agreement. Any questions?’
Rio, of course, was the first. ‘Yeah, Nick. Where the fuck is Sennen Grove?’
‘It’s Cove – and it’s in Cornwall, south-west, down the bottom, somewhere near Land’s End.’
Jack bent to connect the laptop as Rio reacted. ‘Cornwall? All that pasty-and-Poldark shit?’
Gabe looked at him like he was crazy. He’d have to put in a few thousand more TV hours to catch up with his mate. ‘What’s the girl done or doing?’
I took a testing sip of the brew. It was far too hot. ‘Don’t know, mate. All the Owl said was that we’re keeping the wolves from the door. But who gives a fuck? If we had to damage or even kill her that would be different. But we don’t, so it doesn’t matter.’
Jack had Google Maps up. ‘There. Sennen Cove.’
We all looked at the small town right on the south-western peninsula of Cornwall. If you went any further south-west you’d land up in Massachusetts. That was why the Pilgrim Fathers had left from Plymouth.
Rio reached behind to the arse pocket in his jeans and pulled out his passport. ‘What the fuck do we need these for, then?’
‘It’s part of the safety blanket, mate. You’ve got to carry your passports with you all the time. Always have the facility to get away from any drama.’
I fished mine out from the beige nylon middle-aged neck wallet under my sweatshirt to show I practised what I preached. Then I dipped into my jacket on the back of the chair and pulled out the wad of cash and three of the cash cards and threw it all on the table, along with the mess of chargers and mobiles that tumbled out of the plastic carrier.
‘There’s five hundred each – that’s the twenty-four-hour limit on the prepaid Visas. There’s two grand left on each card and you’ve all got a new mobile. We don’t use the cards to purchase anything, just to withdraw cash. We want to minimize electronic tags.’
Jack picked up the cards, and dealt them like a Las Vegas croupier before starting to divvy up the money on the table.
‘We’ll set the mobiles up once we’re on the move, and dump the old ones. Gabe, can you do tha
t?’
Gabe shrugged and scooped up all the gear in his arms. ‘At last all my years as an REME genius are being put to use.’
Rio glanced at his card and laughed. ‘Melvin Spangler? I don’t want to be Melvin fucking Spangler.’ He grabbed Gabe’s card before he’d had a chance to see it, which was a waste of time, but Rio didn’t know it yet. ‘Another Melvin fucking Spangler!’
I flashed my card at him. ‘Yeah, we’re all the same, mate. That’s another reason I don’t want to use them apart from getting the cash out. From today, we’re all Melvins.’
Maybe the computer that had generated the cover name was in a funny mood.
The three of them started to sort out their cash. ‘Any of you lot know Cornwall?’
They all shook their heads. ‘Right. Does anyone know about her – she been in the news or something like that? Anything? There’s nothing online.’ I jabbed my finger at the printed-out Yulia. More shakes.
‘Has anyone got anything about anything we’re doing?’
Negative.
‘Okay, so let’s get our heads down for a couple of hours, then start driving to the cove. As soon as we can we hit an ATM for another five hundred each. Let’s start checking out the area now, find out what the fuck’s down there in the cove so we can stake the place out. Jack, can you do that?’
Rio picked up his mug and made for the sofa. ‘It’s all right for him, he’s got a bed. I’m claiming this fucker.’
I let him get on with it as I tested the brew once more. ‘We’ll go down with Gabe and Rio in the Jeep, me and Jack in the Beamer.’
