by Andy McNab
Elena nodded and smiled and eventually agreed to go and speak with Sonny. There was no way that Joey or his friend were going to get their hands on a single penny of her savings, but at that moment she was too tired, disappointed and disillusioned to even argue.
'We'll go now then, shall we, darling?' said Joey with a huge grin. 'No time like the present.'
'Yeah, all right.' Elena just wanted the whole thing over and done with.
They set off with Joey convinced he was at last on the way to the fortune he deserved, and with Elena wishing that he would go home and never come back.
She liked Sonny exactly as much as she had expected to – not at all. He was loud and self-important and dripping with chunky gold. And he spent most of their visit telling them how lucky they were to have the opportunity of coming in on his moneymaking scheme.
They wandered around his lock-up, staring at old fridges, freezers and washing machines that looked as though they should have been carted off to the rubbish dump instead of taking up valuable cargo space on a freighter to Africa.
And as far as Sonny was concerned it wasn't just Joey and Elena who were benefiting from his benevolence. 'The people back home in Africa are fortunate I can provide this service for them. Of course I make money, I'm a businessman, but I also consider I'm doing my bit for the third-world countries.'
'Yeah, you're all heart, Sonny,' whispered Elena to herself. After nearly an hour she couldn't take any more. She tugged at Joey's sleeve and spoke quietly to him. 'Dad, I'd like to go now. Tell him we'll think about it.'
'Sure, darling,' answered Joey. 'But you sure you learned enough?'
'Yeah, more than enough.'
Sonny wasn't pleased about them leaving; he'd obviously been expecting a quick and easy kill. 'Don't be too long making your mind up,' he called as they went. 'There are other investors looking to get in on this.'
The north Norfolk coastline stretches away from the resorts of Cromer and Sheringham in a long semicircle of flat beaches of fine sand or shingle. The wind blows in from the Russian Steppes, driving away many of the bucket-and-spade brigade.
Serious hikers stride along the shingle banks to catch a glimpse of the seals basking in the sunshine off Blakeney Point. And birdwatchers gaze out through powerful binoculars, hoping for a sighting of some rare feathered visitor to British shores.
But most visitors leave as the sunlight starts to fade. That's what Fergus was counting on. Darkness was approaching as he and Danny walked down the narrow road leading to the isolated stretch of beach he had chosen for their overnight stop. At the bottom of the road was a small deserted car park.
Danny was tired. They'd had a long walk since getting off the train at its end-of-the-line halt. 'There's nothing here,' he said irritably.
'That's the idea,' replied Fergus. 'We won't be disturbed and we're close enough to Meacher's place to get there early in the morning.'
But they weren't quite alone. As they reached the top of the sandy bank that met the beach they spotted two vehicles that had been driven through a gap in the bank onto the beach itself. One was an old Transit, its sides painted with multi-coloured flowers. The other was an even more battered-looking VW camper van, with curtained windows and a roof that opened to give standing room inside.
Near the vans, straggle-haired children played in the sand and a ponytailed guy threw bits of driftwood onto a bonfire.
'Hippies,' said Fergus. 'They won't bother us.'
Fergus led Danny further down the beach where three salt-stained, dark wooden sheds stood. 'Fishermen use these to keep their gear in. It'll do for the night.'
Danny looked at the three doors, each one protected by a heavy padlock. 'And what about the locks?'
His grandfather went to the door of the last shed. The lock was a large round combination with a black disc on the front and numbers from one to a hundred. 'Take off one of your trainers.'
Danny was learning not to question his grandfather's orders, however weird they might sound. As he slipped off one of his Nike Airs, Fergus twisted the lock to expose the shiny steel back. 'Now hit the lock with the heel of your trainer.'
Danny slapped down the trainer, hitting his grandfather's hand as much as the lock. 'Go on, keep hitting it.'
The trainer thumped down on the lock a second and then a third time, and as Danny lifted his arm for a fourth attempt, Fergus unhooked the lock and handed it to his grandson. 'The springs inside these things shake about if you hit them with something soft, like a rubber mallet. Or the soles of trainers.'
Inside, the shed was dark and gloomy. It smelled of fish and looked as though it was rarely used. There were curled lengths of rope, fishing nets, buoyancy floats and a rusting anchor on the floor. But there was plenty of room for Fergus and Danny to spread out their sleeping bags. It would be a reasonably comfortable night.
26
Eddie Moyes was enjoying himself. He'd taken a slow and leisurely drive up to north Norfolk and was comfortably settled in for the night at a pub with a reputation for good beds and great food.
He was well pleased with his accommodation. Now it was time for dinner. As he sipped his second pint of real ale, there was only one important decision to make: whether to go for the steak or the seafood platter.
The menu informed him that the seafood was locally caught and famed throughout the county. It was tempting, very tempting, but then there was nothing Eddie liked more than a thick, juicy steak, rare to medium and served with onion rings, chips and just a little salad. He didn't like too much green stuff getting in the way of his steak. Eventually he decided to ask for a smaller version of the seafood platter as a starter. Not too much smaller, of course.
During the long drive up Eddie had thought a lot about his recent night out in the country, when Watts's cottage had been hit. He reckoned the hit team were most likely MI6: they were the ones with the ongoing interest in Fergus. But what he couldn't figure out was the total silence ever since. Why no official announcement that a dangerous fugitive was on the run? Eddie's reporter's nose smelled cover-up. And if that was true it made an even better story.
Tomorrow he would talk to Meacher, even though Mrs Meacher had given no guarantees that her husband would agree to an interview. But Eddie was confident that his skills at flattery and persuasion would win through. He reckoned that everyone liked to see their name in print, as long as they were talking about someone else.
According to Mrs Meacher, the colonel was due back on tomorrow morning's tide, but Eddie had changed his mind about telephoning before turning up at their home. That would give Meacher time to think about things and maybe refuse to talk. Eddie's new plan was to be waiting on the quayside when the colonel arrived.
The pub was pleasantly crowded and Eddie was seated on a stool at one end of the bar with his back resting against the wall. He preferred to drink at the bar until his food was ready.
A youngish man walked up to the bar with two empty glasses and ordered two halves of lager. Eddie was in the mood for conversation. 'Nice place, eh?'
The man smiled. 'Very nice. Local, are you?'
Eddie laughed. 'Me? No, I'm up from London on business for a couple of days.' He picked up the bedroom key with its large wooden fob that had been resting on the bar. 'I'm staying here, though. Lovely room they've given me. Ensuite bathroom, double bed, view over the garden, the lot.'
'Sounds tempting.' The man paid for his drinks, nodded a goodbye and went over to a table on the other side of the bar where a second man was already seated. 'Room three. It's just a two-lever key. Easy.'
Fincham's team had followed Eddie from the moment he'd left his flat that morning.
The night air was thick as the oncoming storm slowly built. Danny was sitting on the sand in the darkness. He could just make out the shoreline as the heavy swell relentlessly lifted and turned against the shingle.
Fergus was in the shed, checking the kit and the route for the morning trek to Meacher's house.
Fr
om further along the beach the sound of voices and laughter drifted up from the hippy encampment. Four figures sat hunched around the bonfire. The kids had obviously been packed off to their beds. The firelight was inviting and Danny watched for a moment and then stood up.
At first he thought all four people huddled around the fire were women, but as they heard his approaching footsteps and turned towards him, he saw that two of the fire-gazers had beards as well as long hair.
'Hey, man, welcome,' said the closest hippy. 'Come and join us.'
Danny mumbled a 'thanks' and sank down on the sand, close by the fire.
'We saw you arrive earlier,' said the one of the woman. 'I'm Columbine and that's Rosemary. And those two layabouts are Rupert and Clive.'
They were all smiling, waiting for him to reveal his own name. 'Oh, oh yeah. I'm Da— I'm Dean.'
'Nice to meet you, Dean.' They all said it together, and it sounded like they all meant it sincerely.
'Is your dad not coming over?' asked Rosemary.
'He's not my dad,' said Danny, 'he's my uncle Frankie. He's a bit tired – probably turned in by now.'
'We're making a stew,' said the smiling Rosemary. A huge pot was suspended on four metal rods over the open fire. 'Will you join us?'
'Yeah, thanks,' answered Danny. 'It smells good.'
'It's vegetarian,' said Columbine.
'Great. I love vegetarian.'
Danny had never eaten a vegetarian meal in his life, but he was hungry and the stew did smell good. A few minutes later he was tucking in as heartily as the others.
He told them he and his uncle were taking a walking trip along the coast and then listened as the hippies explained how they worked during the winter so that they could spend their summers travelling and 'chilling'.
'None of us particularly like working,' said Rupert as he replenished Danny's bowl from the steaming pot. 'We see it as a necessary evil.'
'An evil that earned us enough to go all the way to northern Spain last year, but only as far as East Anglia this summer,' added Clive. He smiled. 'We didn't work so hard.'
They were friendly, gentle people. 'How long have you been camping here?' asked Danny.
'Four days,' replied Columbine. Danny didn't notice the slight change in her voice as she glanced at the others before continuing. 'It's probably time to move on tomorrow though. The summer's almost over.'
They ate in silence for a few moments. Perhaps it was the sound of the waves against the shore, or perhaps it was the way he moved, but they didn't hear Fergus as he approached. But suddenly he was there, on the edge of the light from the fire, his eyes firmly fixed on Danny. No words were necessary. Danny knew exactly what his grandfather was thinking.
'You must be Frankie,' said Columbine. 'Come and have some stew.'
'No, no, you're all right,' replied Fergus quietly. 'I just came to get Dean.'
'Oh, please stay for a while,' urged Rosemary. 'There's plenty left in the pot. Dean's been telling us about your walking trip.'
Fergus appeared to relax a little, sensing that Danny hadn't given away any secrets.
'Well, all right. It's kind of you.' He sat by the fire and took the bowl of stew that Columbine offered him and smiled as Rosemary made the introductions for a second time.
'On holiday from work, are you?' asked Rupert.
Fergus didn't hesitate. 'No, I don't work. Used to be a mechanic but I took early retirement when I got the chance.'
When they'd finished eating, Rupert and Columbine stood and went to the Transit van. They were back a couple of minutes later. Rupert was carrying an acoustic guitar covered in Greenpeace and Save the Whale stickers and Columbine held a cardboard box. 'We usually have a bit of a sing-song after dinner,' she said as she took a tambourine from the box and gave it to Rosemary.
She delved into the box again, took out what looked like a little tortoise with holes in its shell and offered it to Danny. 'Do you play the ocarina?'
Danny shook his head, relieved to see that the tiny instrument she was holding was actually made of clay. Columbine smiled. 'You just put your fingers over the holes and blow.'
Fergus stood up. 'We ought to be getting back. We're making an early start in the morning.'
The hippies tried to change his mind, but this time Fergus insisted they leave. Back in the gloom of the shed Danny took the bollocking he was expecting. 'What the hell were you playing at? How many times do I have to tell you, we never, ever go off SOPs!'
'I know! I just wanted to be with some normal people for a while.'
'Normal? You think Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme back there are normal?'
'They're a lot more normal than you.'
'Look, Danny,' said Fergus angrily. 'You talked me into this, and I'm glad, because I can't run away for the rest of my life. But we have to do things my way, and that means sticking to SOPs.' He picked up Danny's sleeping bag and unravelled it. 'Now get some sleep. I'll take first shift on stag.'
Danny crawled into his sleeping bag and lay in the darkness. The sounds of the sea mingled with the music of the hippies. One of the men was singing a song that droned on and on, and every so often the others joined in loudly, singing something about the times changing.
They're wrong, thought Danny. The times already have changed.
Getting into Eddie Moyes's room took Mick no more than a few seconds. His MOE wallet was about the size of a Filofax. Inside were basic master keys. The old-fashioned two-lever didn't even resist Mick's first selection as he turned the lock.
Inside the room he used his mini Maglite and found what he was looking for in less than a minute. The notebook was inside Eddie's overnight bag.
Mick put the notebook on the bed. He had plenty of time to work. Downstairs, Brian and Jimmy were keeping an eye on Moyes as he worked his way through his steak. Fran was outside in one of the vehicles.
Hidden beneath the sweatshirt tucked into Mick's jeans was a hand-held digital scanner. It was about half the length of a sheet of A4 paper and a little wider. He pulled out the machine, switched on the power and pressed the scan button. A blue light shone through a semicircle of glass at the bottom of the scanner.
Mick picked up the notebook with his free hand and began the quick and simple operation. He placed the scanner at the top of each page and ran it evenly down the paper. Every word on every page was captured and retained. As he worked, Mick felt twinges of pain from his back and his broken teeth. He managed a smile as he thought of the revenge he planned to take on Fergus Watts when he caught up with him.
He scanned the final page and then carefully replaced the notebook exactly where he'd found it. Then he went on the net.
'That's Mick finished. I'm coming out.'
Eddie had finished his steak. He sat back in his chair, licked his lips and then drained the last of his pint. He was too content for the moment to go to the bar for another.
The bar was getting rowdy. A group of leather-jacketed bikers had turned up earlier and had gradually got louder and more boisterous, especially the big one with the beer-soaked ginger beard. Drops of beer were dripping down onto his grubby Hell's Angels T-shirt.
Eddie heard the sound of a glass breaking as the waitress arrived to take his dessert order. He frowned. 'Not the sort you'd expect in a nice place like this.'
'Bunch of yobs,' replied the waitress. 'They act like they own this village. We've barred them once before and I can see it happening again before the night's out.'
