“No, because your dad would have me shot!” We both laughed. It was fun hanging around with a young boy. He seemed quite funny, and he had a great sense of humour.
“You can drop me here, Michael.” We arrived at school. The headmaster soon came running over to us with a few young female teachers by his side, (which I did not mind at all!)
“Good morning, Pierre, and you must be Mr Fox. How lovely to meet you. Please follow me.”
“How is your father, Pierre? Come; mind that step, Mr Fox.” His beauties followed on.
Soon we arrived in his plush office, full of decorations and old army pictures of himself.
“Right, Headmaster, you obviously know what’s going on. My job is to keep young Pierre here alive, and that I will do. I will shadow him constantly throughout the day. I will be watching his every move. If, and I mean IF something should spook me, then I will be pulling Pierre immediately from school, ok?”
“Yes, that is fine by me, Mr Fox.”
“Good.” I’m offered a cup of tea.
“So tell me, Headmaster, about your days in the forces!” I was intrigued.
“Yes, of course Michael. I was in the French Special Forces for nine years. They were very good times.”
“So why did you leave?”
“Family, Michael, family! The love of a good woman, who gave me better attention than my Sergeant Major.” I totally agreed.
“Right, Pierre! It’s time we got you to class. If Madame Pevreall asks of your whereabouts this morning, then tell her to contact me in my office directly. Ok, Pierre?”
I followed Pierre into his classroom, where I met his teacher. She seemed ok; she was safe enough for me. The first lesson today was Maths! I had forgotten how boring maths was. No wonder I failed maths as a kid. I felt so sorry for these poor little sods. Most of the kids looked half asleep.
“Mr Fox?” She seemed cross!
“If you wish to stay in class, then maybe you could help us out and answer my question!” I had no idea what she was talking about. I was rather red-faced. Her English, though, was excellent!
“Sorry, Miss! What question was that?” The kids laughed.
“What is the answer to the question on the board, Mr Fox?” I sat there like a plank.
“Eighteen, Miss.” The sour faced old bat!
“No, the answer is 21” That’s why I hated maths at school.
She continued to teach the class, but it wasn’t long before the lunch bell rang. I was as relieved as the kids as I followed Pierre into the playground where he met his friends each day for lunch and football games.
“You can come and sit next to me if you like, Michael.” He smiled over to me.
“I don’t mind if I do, Pierre! That’s very kind of you.” We sat down and talked for half an hour about friends, family and life. It was very interesting to learn, from a kid, I mean.
“Come on, Michael! It’s time for PE. Come on, let’s go, or we’ll miss out on the best spot in the changing rooms!” Ten minutes later we were all out on the sports field waiting to play football.
Pierre ran from one end of the ground to the other.
“Go on, Pierre, head it in the net!” He missed the shot and head butted a kid who started crying.
“Good lad!” I shouted. Everyone seemed shocked by the incident! I, on the other hand, felt excited by it. Pierre needed to harden up. I learnt as a kid that you had to defend yourself from an early age, or people would walk all over you.
“Come on, Pierre! Do it again! Get that ball in the back of the net, lad!”
The head teacher was standing next to me.
“He’s a bright boy, isn’t he Mr Fox?”
“Yes, indeed he is, Headmaster.” He turned to look at me.
“Look after him won’t you, Michael, look after him! How terrible the way the world has changed so that even children get affected by war and terrorism”.
“Come on, Pierre! Strike the ball, run as fast as you can!” I could see his little legs go for it, and I couldn’t beat him for trying. He gave it his all.
There were fifteen minutes of the match left to play. My legs relaxed and I sat down on the grass bank overlooking the pitch, where I had a clear view of Pierre. I looked behind me to where the headmaster was talking to a female member of staff and the caretaker was sweeping up some leaves near the kitchens. I was thinking about what I would be having for tea tonight.
I looked down at Pierre. He kicked the ball high up into the air, and as it fell downwards I caught sight of a figure on the opposite side of the fence. He was about three hundred metres away on the outer school grounds. His hands were above his shoulders. He seemed to be looking through a pair of binoculars. I stood up, continuing to stare at the figure across the field.
There was a small hut across the way, about one hundred metres from the fence, I sprinted over, hopefully without being seen, trying to catch him off guard. I used the huts as cover, and trying to get as close as I could, I cocked my pistol, placing a 9mm round into the chamber. I released the safety catch and held it with a firm grip, ready to fire at any threat! Before I got that far, the figure clocked me and legged it, and I heard a car squealing, accelerating up the road. I quickly called Smithy and gave him an update. He told me to grab the boy and get back to the house.
Legging it straight across the pitch I grabbed hold of Pierre as I ran, throwing him in the back of the car as quickly as possible.
“Pierre, get your seat belt on now!” He did as he was told.
“What is going on, Michael?”
“Bad people, Pierre – like the ones I told you about. Remember?”
I hit the gas and then made my way back through the maze of roads.
“Have you got your seat belt on, Pierre?”
“Yes Sir, just like you said.”
“Good boy, Pierre. We’ll be ok: please, don’t worry!”
We drove like mad men down through the country lanes. My phone vibrated: it was our Smithy.
“What have you got for me, mate?
Smithy was excited. “You’ve got someone tailing you, buddy. He’s about four hundred metres to your rear. Can you see him in your mirror, Michael?”
“No! That is a negative.”
“We’ve been watching all points on the school and clocked him just after you rang it in. Continue your path to the house and we’ll pick you up. Do you receive me Michael?”
“That’s a positive, mate.” I drove like a lunatic through the back roads, narrowly missing hedges, tractors. Taking the Browning 9mm pistol, I rested it down by my crutch.
“Pierre, I want you to do something for me: and please don’t be afraid, ok?”
He looked convinced. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to undo your seat belt and lie across the back seat, so you’re then face down. Then, I want you to clip each belt over your body so you’re held in nice and tightly. Have you got that, Pierre?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good boy!”
I rang Smithy.
“The boy is secure. I have a round in the chamber; there is still no sign of that motor, Smithy.”
“Just keep focused and continue onwards.” I hung up the phone.
“Hold on now, Pierre, things will get a little bumpy, ok! Don’t be scared. I will get you home in one piece.”
When I looked in the mirror I could see a red car approaching fast from behind. It remained at a distance of no more than fifty metres. My eyes were constantly focusing on the three men occupying the vehicle.
I slowed down a little, giving them scope to catch up, and as they pulled alongside I looked over to the passenger. He told me to pull over calmly, at which I stuck my 9mm out the window and let off a shot through his window, catching the bastard in the arm. Their car swerved off to one side, but it wasn’t long before they hit me up the arse. Pierre was screaming in the back: I told him to calm down.
I started thrashing the motor all over the road, h
itting the car a further three times with rounds from my 9mm Pistol, and just narrowly missing the driver. He accelerated into my back end again. By this time Pierre was screaming for his mother. To add to our problems, my mobile phone fell in the foot well, and I couldn’t get to it without smashing my head on the steering wheel.
The target hit me right up the arse again, trying to knock me off the road, but I kept a firm hold of the steering wheel. If I misjudged this, we’d be in the hedge.
The car bounced off the bank and onto the road. The engine was smoking, so I slowed down a little and tried for a clean shot on the driver. I let the vehicle pull up slowly, holding my hand out to bargain with the driver. They stopped attacking me and pulled alongside, but just before they reached my window the passenger opened up on me with an automatic machine gun. He riddled the side of our motor with bullets, narrowly missing young Pierre. I returned fire, killing the passenger with a lucky shot.
I sped off up the road with the driver chasing after me. We were nudging one another all the way, until we reached the carriageway beside a pond, at which point I quickly slammed the motor into third and spun the car around. He followed suit and we sped off up the road. My mobile phone was buzzing but I couldn’t quite see or find it. Then I reached down beneath my seat and grabbed it, with one quick, lucky move. I noticed Smithy had been constantly ringing me, and I read his text message.
“Ring me ASAP – are you ok?” I dialled his number, my hands shaking frantically, the gun down on my lap. They continued to open up with a hail of bullets. Three to four rounds emerged from nowhere and took out my front windscreen.
“Where the hell have you been?” Smithy was not very happy!
“I couldn’t get to my phone. They’re serious, Smithy: I need help, and I mean now, Smithy! I’m out of ammo!”
“We have you already, Michael; just carry on driving and we’ll pick it up from there.” I threw the phone on the back seat.
“Are you ok, Pierre?” He was crying. His breathing was fast, and I thought he might have gone into shock. I needed help fast!
I carried on up the road. This bastard motor would not go any faster and I was flat out doing seventy. My targets had stopped firing, though – they seemed to have backed off. We drove into a wooded area with large chunky pine trees either side of the road.
Yes, the target really had backed off. There must have been more than ninety metres between us now. I clocked them from my rear view mirror, my eyes stinging from the dirt coming in through the smashed windscreen.
“Pierre, will you stop crying, lad, for five minutes! We’re safe. I told you I’d get us home didn’t I, Pierre!”
As I passed an opening on my right my phone was buzzing again, but I ignored it. I needed to lose these buggers fast.
A van pulled out across my path, and I came to a grinding halt. Soldiers jumped out of the van in front of me.
“Get out of the car now! Move it!” The soldiers shouted.
The soldiers grabbed Pierre from the back seat and me from the driver’s seat and moved us to behind the van in the road.
Whilst all this was happening, the car following, closed in. Suddenly from behind it a white van appeared out of the bush and stopped – blocking the road. The side door opened and suddenly a high calibre machine gun opened up on the car. There was no taking of prisoners or time for negotiations. The occupants of the car were torn to shreds in seconds. A full belt was unloaded and suddenly the air was silent again.
I had to sit down: I was exhausted. My adrenaline was pumping, and I was now on the come-down. My hand was shaking. All I wanted to know was if my little mate Pierre was ok. If he was alright, then so was I: my job was done!
Smithy was happy. As he said to me before I made my way back to Paris, you don’t take on an assignment for someone like Claude without feeling the full force of man who lives for power. He wanted any threat to his family terminated, and that was what we had achieved.
It was over a week until we found out that they were Al-Qaeda. The passenger was found a hundred metres up the road with three bullet holes in him. I must have got a lucky shot off because I swore I only fired two rounds at him! The repercussions from this went widespread across the world. Al-Qaeda was now running like their former IRA counterparts, grabbing quick cash for the cause!
The driver and the other back seat passenger were both Al-Qaeda too. The mess was cleaned up and brushed under the carpet within a week, and by the end of that same week I had a guard force the size of the British Army patrolling the grounds. Pierre continued his schooling at home with a private tutor.
Chapter Three: Sabre Six – File 51
Twenty-Eight Days Later! 2013 London
That morning Jack, our local postie, knocked on our door with a Recorded Delivery for me. He handed me an electronic pad and I scribbled something on the screen: it’s not my signature, it’s a scribble! I could hear the whistle on the wife’s new kettle she bought over the weekend, so I dumped the letter on the side and made myself a hot brew. Reaching under the cupboard, I grabbed myself a packet of chocolate biscuits, dipping the first one in and then sucking the chocolate off. God it tasted good! My wife’s reaction after my beating had changed me a little. It was the first time I had felt her pain. My girl had been through so much in the last few years: she was my rock. When I got out of hospital, she looked after me day and night. Sometimes I could hear her crying downstairs by herself, and it was a horrible feeling.
My wife was at work, my little one at school, and there wasn’t much to do around the house. I watched a bit of television but soon get bored, looking out at the garden and wondering if there was something to do. I’m not gardening in this weather, I thought. Bugger that, boyo!
However, I ended up walking the dog in the rain. I had no choice, or the ‘Dragon’ would kill me when she got home. I couldn’t believe it – the only time I got a chance to do something and it was raining! Always the bloody same! But as we say, “If it ain’t raining, it ain’t training.”
On a normal day, I would walk Griffer around the field but as it was pissing it down, we would stay on the path for now. I ended up talking to the dog again. “We need milk, sugar and a loaf of bread, Griffer. Don’t sniff that, you filthy bastard! Come on, move it!” He just carried on trotting down the path. We stopped off at the Spar shop, where I tied Griffer outside. He wagged his tail when I came back out, crying with pleasure. “Christ sake, Dog! I’ve only been away for five minutes.” He was wagging his tail non-stop.
When we got home, I let him out the back for ten minutes. I could hear the bugger barking at the neighbours already! I picked up my recorded mail and walked into the kitchen, looking on the back. No return address – odd! I pulled out a knife from the kitchen drawer and started opening it.
Griffer barked and ran towards the front door. Someone knocked again; I dropped the letter.
“Wait there! I’m just putting the dog away.” Maybe it was the postman again with more mail – this often happened.
“Just coming!” I shut the dog in the living room and opened the door to find two police officers standing there.
“Hello, Sir. Can we confirm that you are Mr Michael Fox, married to a Mrs Hannah Fox?”
My stomach lurched: I stuttered my words. “Yes, that’s right, Officer.”
“May we come in, Michael?”
“Yes, please do.” They showed me their ID cards upon entry. One was a WPC.
“What’s happened, officers?” I sat down in my chair, shaking.
“I am here to tell you that your wife, Hannah, has been involved in a traffic collision and was pronounced dead at the scene. I am so sorry, Michael.”
I don’t know what to do with my hands. I squeeze them into a fist, both of them. I cannot stop shaking. What the hell is happening! Is this a dream?
“What about our daughter, Fran?” They explained that she was still at school.
“How, what, where, did this accident happen?” The female officer sit
s next to me.
“I know this is a big shock, Michael, but we are here to help you, ok! You are not alone.” She was trying to comfort me.
“I must get Fran from school.”
“Are there any relatives that could pick Fran up, Michael? Or even a family friend that could collect her from school?”
“No! Yes!” I’d get them to phone our friend Mary across the street. She would look after Frances for the night until I could figure out what to do.
“Is there anyone that can be with you tonight, Michael?” They called Pete, a good friend of mine who was ex Regiment. Only two hours later every bugger was at my doorstep wanting a piece of me. The police officers left the house. Pete sat opposite me and poured me a whiskey to calm my nerves.
“I don’t know what to say, Michael, I really don’t, mate.” He sipped his whiskey while I sat there numb, speechless. Slowly, everyone started leaving the house.
“I need to get Fran home, Pete.”
“She’ll be just fine where she is, mate, just have time out tonight. I’ll stay here with you.”
“But she needs to know.”
“Just take your time and we’ll tell her together, ok?”
I walked outside to take a leak in the garden. On returning, I poured another whiskey for the both of us.
“Why has this happened to me, Pete, hey?”
“I don’t know, my friend.”
“Have I done something to deserve this? I know I’ve done some awful things in the past to others, but do I deserve this? I’ve only tried to do right by everything and everyone, Pete.”
“Sometimes things happen and there’s nothing you can do to change it. Nothing Michael, ok? So get those crazy thoughts out of your head. If Hannah was here now, she wouldn’t want you moaning about things, would she?”
“No, she would not. She’d give me a bollocking.”
“Yes, that’s right! Now pull your finger out, Michael.”
We drank so much whiskey that we passed out on the sofa. In the morning, Pete opened the door to the police and invited them inside. It was raining hard.
Sabre Six : File 51 Page 4
