by Powell, Mark
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Stowe decided to use the driver’s knowledge to plot his route. ‘Where are we heading, my friend?’
The driver turned his head slightly. ‘We are heading north, boss, towards the docks. I will follow the car, okay?’
‘Okay, thanks. Yes, keep following, but not too close.’ Stowe had no idea where the docks were, but at least he knew which direction he was heading, and docks were docks. He had been to a few in his time and he knew that they were usually dark, dirty and consisted of a maze of buildings and cranes.
The driver shook his head, which Stowe took as meaning ‘yes’
in Indian. In fact, Stowe observed that the taxi driver seemed to be enjoying himself.
As McCabe entered the British High Commission, he was shown directly into a small meeting room. As he stepped in, he couldn’t believe his eyes. There, sitting on a chair which looked like it would collapse at any moment, was the imposing fi gure of Mooney, with at least two days’ growth of beard on his face.
‘Good God alive, I don’t bloody believe it!’ McCabe grabbed Mooney and gave him a hug, whilst slapping him hard on the back.
‘Hey up, old mate. Miss me, did you?’ Mooney quipped.
McCabe was almost lost for words. ‘How in hell did you pull this?
What … how?’ McCabe just let his words stumble out.
‘Sykes said you boys needed some professional help, something about being low key. He was going to send another lad, but when I heard it was you and Stowe, I pulled rank.’
‘Great to see you.’ McCabe then looked at the other man. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Mark, this is Chaz. A good lad. Taught him all I know.’
‘Good to meet you, Chaz. Welcome aboard.’ McCabe shook his hand.
‘Pleasure’s all mine. Heard all about you,’ Chaz replied.
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‘Pleasure? Don’t be soft, boy. McCabe here couldn’t hit a barn door with his own piss,’ Mooney quipped.
‘Up yours!’ McCabe replied.
The three of them, now having been joined by the two MI6 offi cers Sooty and Sweep, sat around a table as McCabe started to fi ll them all in. After about 20 minutes, they all sat back and, for a few minutes, digested the information.
‘Okay, be ready to leave in ten minutes,’ McCabe instructed. ‘Stowe is tailing our target.’
With that, the team members rallied to and started to retrieve several large bags that had been slung in the corner of the room. Sykes had managed to get them sent over from the UK as diplomatic mail. The process of kitting up had begun. The operation was ‘dark’, meaning there was no offi cial cover. In reality, it would be denied, put down to a local gangland event. Too many political embarrassments would result if the real truth ever leaked out.
Mooney had requested that his entire ‘black kit’ be sent over. As he started to strip down, pull off his jeans and ease his bulk into a pair of dark blue, almost black overalls, McCabe shot him a glance.
‘You may as well paint “SAS” on your fat forehead,’ McCabe quipped. ‘Tone it down, big fella; we have to at least blend in a bit.’
Mooney just looked at McCabe and grunted. As he continued to get dressed, he used one of his arms to toss a large black canvas bag over at McCabe. ‘Brought this for you, mate. For old time’s sake.’
McCabe unzipped the bag and saw that Mooney had arranged some kit for him: various bits of body armour, black overalls, balaclavas and his favoured MP5.
‘Cool. I can sweat my balls off,’ McCabe laughed.
As Stowe eased out of the taxi, about 100 yards in front of him was the black Mercedes, now parked up a few yards away from a row of old dockside warehouses. He had observed the two occupants of the quantum breach 290709.indd 224
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car get out and walk in through a small door on the front. Stowe waited for a couple of minutes and then proceeded on foot towards the warehouse. A few people were milling about, so he casually walked as if he would walk directly past the warehouse. He had to assume they would have a lookout. He had taken an old baseball cap from the taxi (having paid the driver 100 rupees for it) which he now pulled down in front of his face, the best attempt he could manage to disguise his all too obvious Western looks.
As he sauntered past, his eyes slightly raised towards his right side, he could just make out a fi gure sitting in the doorway. Stowe had to assume he was the lookout.
Stowe continued on past, his fi gure fading away into the shadows, his fi ngers now dialling up McCabe. ‘It’s me. Stand by. Princess Naval Docks, warehouse opposite building site, red steel doors. I will investigate and let you know. If I text “GO!” you know what to do.’ He then hung up.
McCabe looked at Mooney, who instantly knew the look: it said
‘Stand by!’
‘Okay, team, we move in three minutes.’ McCabe then pointed to one of the MI6 offi cers. ‘You: get the van ready after our briefi ng.’ One of the High Commission staff had obtained a large van from the Indian Defence Force. McCabe had decided that ‘Sooty’ would drive it.
As the fi ve men, all now kitted up, assembled, McCabe spoke out, standard practice, to recount the basic details. ‘Okay, gentlemen, we have one hostage—Asian, female, name Ying Lee, believed alive. We need her to stay that way. One MI5 offi cer on site, Brian Stowe. We have any number of players, not yet confi rmed, assumed armed and dangerous. We will divide into pairs of two: Red, Blue and Green teams.
With me so far?’
The team all nodded, aside from Mooney, who just stared at McCabe. ‘Okay, check your weapons and kit. Meet outside in the van in fi ve minutes. Jump to it!’
The team immediately mobilised into action. An atmosphere of quantum breach 290709.indd 225
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excitement began to percolate. McCabe felt his entire body energised.
As they piled into the waiting van, the sound of weapons locking and loading could be heard. Chaz sat next to Mooney, his mouth chewing gum like a grazing cow. Mooney, his gaze still, was getting his mind ready to react to the pending situation. McCabe was last in, the doors closing behind him. The van then pulled away and started to head for the docks. Sooty, one of the MI6 offi cers was at the wheel.
McCabe wanted at least one of the MI6 offi cers driving, just in case things turned nasty and they had to evacuate fast.
His navigator was one of the embassy offi cials. Dr Tan, the assigned Singaporean medic, sat in the middle of the van, his eyes looking around at the various team members. Perhaps he was wondering how many would need his attention. Either way, McCabe thought he had guts coming along. It certainly took guts for this guy to put himself in play for Ying. The other civilian was an offi cial from the Singapore Government, sent along to take account of the rescue attempt.
As they all prepared their heads for what may happen, silence fell upon the van as it now darted its way through the Mumbai traffi c towards the docks.
Stowe, who had crossed the narrow street, had begun to edge himself very slowly along the front of the warehouses, inch by inch, keeping his body as fl at to the wall as he could. The darkness would help to provide cover: the street lighting was very poor, only the faintest of shadows could be seen, almost ghost-like shivering in the occasional pool of water that lay on the bumpy road in front of him. His Sig was clasped in his right hand. It gave him comfort. Over the years, such a weapon had been his best friend, always there for him, never letting him down. As he leant forward, he could see that a few yards ahead, the warehouses were divided by a small gap.
‘That will provide good cover,’ he thought.
As he edged along, he could see the sil
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across the road, stopping every so often to sample what must have been scraps of food or rubbish.
He soon reached the gap, which was no more than four feet wide, and slid himself artfully around the corner. Less than a minute or two later as he stood in the gap thinking about his next move, he froze. A fl icker of light had caught his eye as it danced across a puddle of dirty water just off to the front edge of the next warehouse. A man’s back now came into view as he puffed on a cigarette, the plumes of white smoke dissipating into the cooling night air.
Stowe held fast, almost trying to sink into the wall of the warehouse. He could also see that the man had an AK-47 hanging off his right shoulder.
Overkill for hunting rats, he thought. Luckily for Stowe, the man had turned swiftly just before the gap. Had he not, he might have caught sight of Stowe partially hidden in the gap.
Then a second man joined him. Both were now talking in what Stowe instantly recognised as Arabic. Stowe inched himself further back down the gap. He had to; if not, one of the men could have very easily seen his shadow. Stowe was now, in effect, trapped. As he looked further down the narrow gap, trying to see if he could escape out the other end, he could just make out in the dark that it was blocked by what seemed to be old truck wheels and rusty junk. Stowe then turned his head back towards the men who were chatting. Stowe could just make out via his limited understanding of Arabic that they were talking about home and their wives. Funny, he thought, and he wondered if their wives knew what employment their husbands had.
The men started laughing. One of the men was now standing right by the gap. Stowe thought of dropping him right there and then with a single shot, be done with it, but how many more players lay around the corner armed with automatic weapons? His Sig would be no match for them if he exposed himself now. Then he suddenly realised that Ying may be inside, within a few yards of him. He felt his adrenaline rush through his veins. He knew he had to get in there, but he also knew he quantum breach 290709.indd 227
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needed McCabe—and fast.
As the van drew up softly at one end of the street of warehouses, the team slipped out and into the shadows. They all knew what to do, each one having been trained in hostage recovery. Mooney paired with McCabe; Sweep and Chaz made up the second pair. Sooty, the other MI6 offi cer, remained with the van. He would cover Doctor Tan and the Singapore offi cial and bring the van up when required for an immediate evacuation.
McCabe typed in the words ‘Stand by’ and sent the text. As the message came in, Stowe felt his pocket vibrate. Given he had no communication set on him, this was the only way McCabe could communicate with him. As Stowe read the SMS, he knew instantly what it meant: the team were now somewhere very near him.
McCabe, with Mooney almost glued to his back, edged sideways up the street. One hundred yards or so in front of him on the right-hand side, he could now also see the two men, both smoking. Scanning the rest of the street and warehouse, he noted that no one else seemed to be about. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a man wearing only a loincloth darted out on a rickety bike and rode off up the street, passing the warehouse. The two players barely gave him a glance.
‘Two players in view.’ McCabe sent off the SMS. When Stowe read this, he knew that McCabe had a good line of sight over his somewhat treacherous position. As such, he would know who else was about; he had to be just opposite the men.
Stowe then replied, ‘Can you take them out?’
McCabe read the SMS, and then carefully passed the phone to Mooney. Mooney read the message, looked at McCabe and nodded.
McCabe sent back the message, ‘Yes, stand by,’ to Stowe.
As Mooney perched the barrel of his L96 AW suppressed sniper rifl e on McCabe’s right shoulder, the two men came into clear sight.
Mooney carefully adjusted the scope with his deft fi ngers, which for a man of his stature was interesting to observe. The crosshairs of his telescopic sight were now accurately trained on the fi rst man’s head.
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McCabe could feel the adrenaline rush. He then raised his hand, clenched in a fi st.
‘Hold, hold,’ he spat into his mic.
The other team members froze. Another man had come out; a large, powerful man. McCabe recognised him instantly as the man who had been with the Rain Angel at the hotel. He was waving at the men, clearly gesturing for them to come inside.
Stowe heard the shout, and both men quickly dropped their cigarettes into the muddy water and walked off. As they did so, Stowe eased himself up the gap. From there, he could not now see the two men; they seemed to have vanished.
McCabe fl icked off another message. ‘Hold. One man still out front. Where are you?’
Stowe replied, ‘Gap right of main door.’
McCabe then turned his head slightly. ‘Mooney, can you see Stowe, gap, your left of building?’
Hearing this, Mooney moved his sight towards the gap. Just as Stowe popped his head out, Mooney captured it squarely in his sights.
‘Got him, confi rm.’
McCabe sent off, ‘We have you.’
As the man on guard started to pace up and down, McCabe waited for him to walk back towards the gap. Finally, as the man turned and walked almost right up to Stowe, McCabe gave the order: ‘Take the shot.’
As Mooney’s fi nger gently squeezed the hair-sensitive trigger, McCabe felt the jolt of the rifl e on his shoulder. The slight whiff of cordite fi lled his nostrils. It was like a drug: it got his heart pounding.
Stowe, meanwhile, heard the deep hard thud as the round hit, followed by the splash as the half-decapitated body fell in front of him, face down in the puddle of water. The .338 Magnum round had done its job, like a sledgehammer through a watermelon. Whatever brains the man had were now a watery mush.
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Stowe stepped out quickly and dragged the body into the gap with him.
‘Go, go!’ McCabe spat and the four-man team moved out of the shadows in perfect formation and paced on up the street. Once parallel with Stowe, McCabe and Mooney crossed over and into the gap.
Chaz and Sweep replaced the position McCabe and Mooney had left, just across the street. Almost opposite the warehouse main door, they were safely hidden in the dark shadows.
Ying sat hunched-up against the stone wall. The damp air was now making her cough. She felt drained and not very well at all. She only just recalled being placed in the cell after blacking out. As she touched her eye, she winced; it was badly swollen and very sore. Flakes of dried blood now covered her very swollen face. The sound of voices could just be heard in the distance. She wondered now what would happen to her. She just had to sit and wait, she had to stay strong.
The Rain Angel was now somewhat uncomfortably seated at a small wooden table just inside the warehouse. As she fl ipped open the laptop they had retrieved from Ying’s hotel room, her face fl ashed anger upon seeing it required a password to access.
‘Bring her here, now!’ she shouted to Hajj.
Even Ying heard it, followed by the footsteps, now all too familiar, on the stone steps. As the door unlocked and swung open, her eye, the other too swollen to open, winced at the light. She felt herself lifted up and dragged out. As she was once again tied into the chair, she somehow found herself relaxing, as if ready for the impending pain.
‘Clever girl, aren’t you? So, no CD, but we did fi nd your laptop.
Password, now!’ the voice commanded.
‘Go to hell!’ Ying spat,
‘Strike her!’ the woman’s voice screamed.
&nbs
p; That was all Stowe needed to hear. He moved out fast from the gap and along the wall; he now knew Ying was inside and alive.
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‘Damn it, Stowe!’ McCabe responded, not being able to shout.
Stowe moved closer to the open door.
‘Standby, standby,’ McCabe whispered into his radio, as the team tensed and readied their weapons.
Hajj hit Ying square across the face, her head violently jolting back.
She was out, his blow so severe that she had been knocked out.
‘You fool, you will kill her. I need the password!’ The woman screamed. Hajj just looked at her.
As Stowe came in, his Sig pointing directly at Hajj, the Rain Angel saw him fi rst. Her face registered shock at seeing him there. But before Stowe could take his shot, he felt his legs buckle beneath him. He had not seen the man standing just inside the doorway; he was so focused on Ying sitting in the chair, he had ignored all of his training.
‘You bloody fool,’ he said to himself. He knew better than to walk in like it was a damn supermarket. The bullet had struck him in his right leg, almost blowing off the entire kneecap on the other side. The pain surged up through his body.
McCabe heard the shot, as did the other members of the team. This was followed by a barrage of voices.
‘Shit, bloody fool!’ McCabe rattled off, each team member hearing him.
‘What are we doing, boss?’ Mooney came in over the radio.
‘We hold,’ McCabe responded sharply.
Not being completely happy with McCabe’s response, Mooney blurted out, ‘Possible man down, boss. Man down!’
‘Hold! That’s an order,’ McCabe responded. He knew that all hell would be breaking loose in the warehouse. He wanted to escalate a bit more before taking advantage and breaching in.
As Stowe lay on the ground, racked with pain, Hajj delivered a boot to his stomach, sending him rolling on to his back. He then aimed his pistol directly at Stowe’s head.
