Black Ops Bundle: Volume One

by Allan Leverone

  "Take care of him,” he said, as he walked towards the front door. “When he wakes up tell him he's a brave man. I hope that someday soon you'll both be able to know that I'm not a bad guy. You've done a good thing by helping me. Hopefully you've helped me save a lot of lives."

  Taking the keys Hannah had placed in the basket beside the door, he left the house and got into the Peugeot. He didn't like the idea of stealing from them after they'd helped him, but there was no other way that he'd be able to move fast enough to avoid the police, whom Hannah was probably already calling. He started the vehicle and drove away, the thought of having hurt an innocent person already haunting him.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  7:36 a.m. Local Time – Friday

  Havens Head Business Park

  Milford Haven, Pembrokeshire – Wales

  Declan zipped the black hooded raincoat up to his neck and pulled the navy blue baseball cap, bearing the logo of the Esso oil company, down over his forehead, hoping to hide as much of his facial features as possible. It went without saying that the Sawyers had called the local police in Marloes and that word would soon spread to the larger towns of Haverfordwest, Swansea, Carmarthen, and then further inland. It would take a few hours, but soon every police force in the United Kingdom would know that he had been spotted and would be keeping a look out for anyone matching his description. For that reason he had left the most obvious evidence, the Sawyers' red Peugeot, parked in the busy lot of the same Tesco supermarket where he'd purchased the coat and hat, along with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of soda. With any luck it would take several hours or even longer for the police to locate it among the many vehicles of the other shoppers.

  Walking around the side of the last building in the plaza containing the supermarket and a host of other smaller retailers, he scanned the parking lot of the Milford Haven Tourist Information Center. His next move would likely be the most important and most critical since he'd arrived on British soil. If he made a mistake here, his capture would be almost certain within a few hours.

  Stopping at one of the plaza's several loading docks he jumped up on the edge and took a seat, allowing his legs to dangle over the side as he sat looking across the road at the tourist center. While he would have preferred the parking lot of a busy hotel in the middle of tourist season shortly before nightfall, the tourist center would have to do. The time of year and time of day of his visit just wasn't something he'd been able to control. Hopefully the center would get some visitors despite tourist season still being a few months off. Thumping the pack of cigarettes against his palm, he pulled one loose and lit up. Though he wasn't a smoker he hoped that between the smokes, the soda and the cap with the Esso logo, no one would think of him as anything other than an employee of one of the nearby oil refineries, whose night shift had just ended. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to wait long.

  He reached into the duffel bag and withdrew the satphone. Thankfully modern satellite phones looked enough like cell phones to not draw any extra attention. He looked over the black Thuraya XT model device, pressed the red power button and waited as the device came to life. Once the phone had found a signal, a series of beeps and the appearance of a white envelope on the screen indicated a message was waiting. Declan used the phone's circular navigation tab to open it.

  Landing complete and guards dealt with. All are safe and en route. Contact the number saved as “Unit #2” in the phone's memory when you're able. – DL

  Declan deleted the message and opened the contacts list. On the list were four numbers marked Units #1, #2 and #4. Realizing that the numbers obviously corresponded with the number of parachute rigs aboard Fintan's plane, he knew that he must be holding Unit #3 and that Lynch had taken Unit #2 when they'd exited the aircraft. He hit the send button when he'd highlighted Unit #2 with the navigation tab, and waited. He heard an audible clicking as the call connected and then an electronic ring sounded several times before the line was answered.

  "It's about time. Someone's been waiting to hear from you, old son."

  Declan smiled. “Ended up trying my sea legs on, but it all worked out in the end."

  "Grand. So what's the plan?"

  "I need to meet up with Shane, but we have to be careful how we contact him. Thames House is probably the most watched place in Britain."

  "Aye, but he's not at Thames House. He's out and about for a few days to go and meet with his informers. He sent word this morning that he'd meet you at your old contingency location at noon today. Do you remember where that is? Because I don't have a clue what he's talking about."

  "Aye, I remember."

  "Grand. Keep me posted as much as you can. Your missus would like to have a word or two with you now."

  "Aye, put her on."

  "Phone call for you, love," Declan heard Fintan say with a smile in his voice after he knocked on a door.

  An hour and a half later Declan was beginning to think he would have to come up with a backup plan. Having watched and listened as only a few people had entered the Tourist Center, which also contained a museum dedicated to the area, he was encouraged by the fact that none of them had come out again. Whatever was inside was obviously worth taking the time to see, but it wouldn't help him unless someone else visited, and soon. He'd yet to see any police patrols but knew that it was only a matter of time with one of the two main roads from Marloes less than a hundred yards to his left. He turned his head at the sound of a vehicle approaching and watched as a black; four door Nissan Versa turned the corner next to the supermarket and drove towards him. With his hat pulled low over his eyes, he followed the vehicle until it came to a stop in the parking lot of the tourist center. He knew that one way or another, this would be the vehicle he'd been waiting for. He didn't have time to wait any longer.

  Extinguishing his fifth cigarette against the concrete dock, he slid off and hurried across the road towards the vehicle. When he was within ten yards an older man stepped out of the driver's side of the car and turned to speak with his female passenger, who was also exiting the vehicle.

  "Sind Sie bereit?" the man said in German. Are you ready?

  Declan couldn't believe his luck. As part of his training with Vympel, he'd been encouraged to learn three languages in addition to the two he spoke natively, English and Irish. He had learned Russian, French and German from the men in the unit. While he was out of practice having not used any of them much during the last twenty years, the environment he'd learned in was such that it made forgetting impossible.

  "Excuse me," he called loudly in English. "Excuse me?"

  Both the man and the woman turned to look at him as they left the vehicle and moved towards the front doors of the tourist center, having previously been unaware of his presence. They looked back and forth at each other before responding. Instead of speaking, the man shrugged and made a confused expression.

  "Entschuldigen sie," Declan said, causing them to stop in their tracks. Excuse me, sir.

  "Ja?" the man said, as he turned around to look at Declan, his expression clearly indicating that he was surprised to hear his native language.

  "I'm so glad I found you," Declan said, continuing to speak in German. "I'm a tourist here, like you, and just had the most horrible thing happen!"

  The couple looked at him with worried expressions as he motioned towards the supermarket behind him. "A man just stole my rental car and I need someone to help me call the police. I speak very little English. Can you help me? Do you have a cell phone?"

  "Ja, ja!" the man said, as he started moving back towards the black Nissan, the woman following.

  Declan walked slowly behind them as they both approached the driver's side of the car and unlocked the door. He scanned the area and took a quick look towards the entrance of the tourist center. Satisfied that no one was watching and that there was no line of sight from the building, he pulled his Glock pistol from under his coat; keeping it at waist level as he aimed it.

  "Steigen sie ins auto!" he
yelled. Get in the car!

  The couple turned their heads and looked at him with horrified expressions.

  "Get in the car now! You drive," he said to the man, "and you, in the passenger side!"

  The man hurriedly got into the driver's seat and the woman moved quickly around the front of the car and got in next to him. Declan pulled open the back driver's side door and slid onto the seat. "Now drive!"

  The man started the car, shifted it into gear and backed out of the parking spot.

  Twenty minutes later after ordering them to drive east on the A477 and crossing the Cleddau Bridge over the Milford Haven Waterway, the old man looked over his shoulder at Declan and said, "We are approaching a toll booth."

  Declan looked ahead to see that the man was correct. How could he have forgotten the bridge had a toll? He hadn't traveled in the United Kingdom for nearly twenty years, that's how. He cursed under his breath and craned his neck to look behind them. Having already crossed the bridge, there was no way of turning back without passing through the booths.

  "Nice and easy," he said, as he moved his pistol from one hand to another so it would be hidden from the toll booth attendant's view by the door panel. "Use the booth furthest to the left, smile and pay the man, but don't say a word."

  "Ja," the old man said nervously, as he slowed the car and approached the booth.

  Declan knew the Germans telling the toll attendant that they'd been carjacked was the least of his worries. His main concern was that the attendants could easily have been told by the police to be on the lookout for anyone matching his description and, by now, may even have been given pictures. In addition, the United Kingdom was infamous for its use of CCTV cameras and the toll booths would surely be equipped with them. That's why he had elected to carjack the couple instead of simply stealing their rental car once they were inside the tourist center. It was much harder to film someone from overhead while they were sitting in the back seat of a vehicle.

  Declan pulled his cap as low as he could over his eyes and leaned his head back against the window to pretend he was sleeping. "Keep calm," he ordered as he felt the car stop and heard the old man lowering the window.

  "Good day, sir, that's 75p," the toll attendant said. He sounded bored. "Thank you, sir. Enjoy your day."

  Declan breathed easy as he felt the car speed up again. Righting himself in the seat as soon as they were past the booth, he froze as he saw a white Ford Focus with a blue light bar on its roof that had been hidden behind the toll booth infrastructure. The yellow and blue logos on the side of the car clearly identified it as a squad car belonging to the Dyfed-Powys police. Declan turned his head to the left and pretended to read the banners attached to the waist high fence that divided the road from the property beyond, hoping the Nissan's tinted rear windows would hide his face as they passed within a few yards of the officer sitting in the vehicle. Sensing the tension in the car, the old man driving placed his hands at the ten and two positions and stared straight ahead.

  "Stay on the A477 until it meets the A48 and the M4 motorway," Declan said, his eyes fixed on the passenger side wing mirror as the police car retreated into the distance and finally out of sight, as they entered a roundabout.

  Three hours later he ordered the Germans to pull off the M4 onto the A346 towards the village of Marlborough.

  "Get out of the car," he said in English, after directing them to pull up in an empty lot a few miles south of the motorway. The couple glanced at each other uncertainly. "Get out of the car," he repeated again in English. "I'm going to shoot you both in the kneecaps."

  He watched as the couple exchanged the same confused look, despite the threat. It was clear that they couldn't understand what he was saying. Nearly having to stifle a laugh, he returned to speaking in German. "Leave the vehicle running and get out."

  The couple obeyed and Declan climbed out of the back seat. Looking over his shoulder in both directions to be sure no traffic was coming; he patted the man down and then the woman. Satisfied that they had nothing on them that they could use to call for help and that their lack of English would further hamper their efforts to attract police attention, he told them to step away from the car as he got in, shifted it into gear and did a U-turn out of the dirt lot, leaving them standing alone in a cloud of dust and surrounded by nothing but miles of countryside.

  Returning to the M4 and driving east for another twenty-nine miles, he exited onto the A34 and drove south towards the town of Newbury, knowing he was nearly an hour late. Hopefully Shane was still waiting.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  12:53 p.m. Local Time – Friday

  West Mills

  Newbury, County Berkshire – England

  Pulling the Nissan into an empty parking spot in front of a terrace of Tudor-era houses next to the River Kennet, Declan shifted the vehicle into neutral, applied the handbrake, and got out. He tossed the keys onto the dashboard and left the doors unlocked. With any luck some opportunist thug would happen by and take the car for a ride. With the amount of CCTV cameras in the United Kingdom he knew he'd been picked up by at least a dozen cameras as he'd driven the vehicle the short distance between where he'd left the Germans and the town of Newbury. When the police finally figured out what had happened and connected him with the Germans' carjacking, a thug riding around in their rental car could be a great distraction.

  Walking a few blocks through the seventeenth century town center, he kept his hands in his pockets and his head down, the chill in the air aiding him in trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Like all British towns of this age, the streets made odd turns and dead ended suddenly, creating a crowded feeling and demonstrating the lack of planning that had accompanied the growth of the area. People walked briskly along each side of the narrow streets. Declan made several lefts and rights, doubling back occasionally to be sure that no one was following him. While he knew the police probably hadn't caught on yet, in the U.K. there were other more dangerous agencies to worry about, starting with the infamous Security Service, and since he was there to meet a man who worked for them, it wasn't impossible to imagine that agents of the service could be present as well.

  Shane's connections to the IRA were known to his superiors, but Declan didn't think that their connection to each other was. Shane had seen to that, he was sure. But the more he thought about it as he walked around the area, the more he realized how wrong he could be. Rumors abounded that the intelligence agencies of Great Britain watched their own people as much or more than they watched everyone else. While he and Shane hadn't had any significant contact in a number of years, the little bit they had had could have easily been documented by his employers.

  As he neared the meeting site, he nearly turned around and headed back to the Nissan. There was still time for him to make it further inland and possibly find a good place to hide out while he considered his next move. But that was the problem. His next move was finding the person within the British Government who had agreed to pass highly classified information to the people who had conspired to kill Abaddon Kafni and aid Ruslan Baktayev in committing an atrocity, and Declan couldn't think of anyone more suited to help him with that than Shane O'Reilly. He walked on towards their meeting spot.

  The spire of Saint Nicholas' Church stood stories above any other building in the center of Newbury and in 1991, as the leader of a four man Active Service Unit of Black Shuck; Declan had chosen it as the third of their four meeting spots in case their primary and alternate sites were compromised. The plan the site had been a part of wasn't something that made him proud and as he approached the church, memories of what could have been flooded his mind. The plot had been the entire reason Eamon McGuire had created and trained Black Shuck, an audacious operation against the capital of Great Britain that involved a multi-level attack on the city's leaders, infrastructure, and military and police installations. If completed, the attack would easily have cost thousands of lives in the city of London. Thankfully the plan hadn't
come to fruition but had instead faded away with the deaths of Eamon McGuire and the other members of Black Shuck.

  Reaching the north side of the churchyard where a large grove of trees was planted, Declan stopped and entered a telephone box at the corner of Bartholomew and West Mills streets. Inserting several coins he'd picked up from the ashtray of the Nissan, he dialed some random numbers and held the receiver to his ear as he inspected the side of the base unit and saw a single line about three inches long that had been made with a blue dry erase marker. He rubbed the mark off with his thumb and looked towards the grove of trees, knowing that Shane was waiting for him.

  It had been nearly two decades since he'd made contact with anyone this way, but the process hadn't changed. With the phone to his ear he pretended to have an animated conversation and turned casually in several directions looking for anyone that appeared to be watching. In the cold and often wet atmosphere of early spring in the United Kingdom, anyone watching should have been relatively easy to spot. While most people would be hurrying from one place to another to avoid the wind and light rain, someone watching would dally here and there and never really leave sight of him. He saw no one exhibiting that behavior. The few people that were out did exactly as he expected, they darted from one building to another. Next he looked for patterns of people leaving and going in case the people watching were part of a team with a more elaborate surveillance routine. Again, he saw no one.

  Satisfied that he was on his own, he hung up the phone and exited the telephone box. He walked to the four foot high wrought iron gate that joined two sections of the nearly six hundred year old rock wall that surrounded the gothic church and pulled. As it squealed open, he casually turned into the churchyard clearing his three, six and nine o'clock positions again as he closed the gate behind him. Stepping briskly over the cracked pavers that formed a walkway around the entire half-acre churchyard, he entered the grove of tall oak trees that shaded the north wall of the church.