Boy Soldier

by Andy McNab

  Joey sighed. At the end of the driveway he turned right onto the narrow road. The car crossed a small bridge across the river and a few minutes later they passed a derelict brick and flint barn set well back from the road.

  'Where are you, Danny?' whispered Elena.

  Danny was in the barn, his back pressed against the wall as he glanced out through a broken window and watched the car as it passed. That was all that mattered to Danny. The vehicle kept going. It didn't stop. No one jumped out to check the barn.

  They'd been at the ERV for over three hours and Danny was determined to stay there, as instructed, for three more. He knew there was little chance of his grandfather having escaped, but he was going to stick to SOPs. His body was battered and bruised; he hurt everywhere, but he ignored the pain. He knew it would go.

  Somehow, and it was purely down to luck and had nothing to do with Eddie's driving skills, they had shaken off their pursuers. At the first T junction Danny had shouted, 'Left!' Minutes later, Fran skidded to a halt at the junction, instantly weighed up the fifty-fifty choice and chose to turn right. It was a crucial error and gave Eddie and Danny the time they needed to twist and turn their way through the countryside and eventually reach the ERV.

  They hid the car out of sight of the road and then staggered, exhausted, into the barn.

  Eddie was a total wreck. Shaking and sweating and pacing around and blurting out that they had to go to the police for protection.

  Danny told him that if he wanted to stay alive he'd better sit down and shut up.

  'Don't tell me what to do!' yelled Eddie. 'You nearly got me killed back there! I'm just a reporter, this is nothing to do with me.'

  'That's what I said at first,' said Danny calmly. 'But you're in it now, Eddie, and believe me, there's no way we can go to the police. My granddad made a plan, we have to stick to it. We wait for him here for six hours. If he doesn't turn up, then I tell you everything.'

  'Six hours,' groaned Eddie, glancing around the derelict building, 'but—'

  'You don't have a choice,' said Danny. 'I promise you, if you leave here now, you're dead.'

  The safe-house compound was like a concrete island, enclosed on all sides by a tight-mesh steel fence, seven metres high. It was surrounded by an open area of ferns and drainage ditches; about eight hundred metres further out in every direction, the dark mass of Thetford Forest blotted out the skyline.

  The compound was in the MoD training area, but no squaddies ever went inside and it wasn't marked on any map. It was reached via a mud track leading from the main road into the training area. The track forked to the left and then went through the forest before breaking out into the open area, where the first of many signs gave the stark warning: DANGER KEEP OUT. MOD PROPERTY. DANGEROUS BUILDING.

  Eight hundred metres away, along a cracked concrete roadway, were the imposing double gates to the compound. They were as tall as the fence itself. More signs, on the gates and on every side of the towering fence, warned off unwelcome visitors. These ones read: DANGER. UNSTABLE BUILDING – KEEP OUT.

  The compound was entirely surfaced with concrete. Straggling weeds grew from the cracks. A drainage ditch ran along the right-hand side of the compound, outside the fence. It cut across the open ground and went back towards the forest.

  The safe house sat at the centre of the concrete island. Every window of the two-storey building was covered by the same tight-mesh steel. There was only one door into the building, in the centre, at the front. Behind the main building, and to the right, was a large Nissen hut where the vehicles were hidden.

  The steel door opened and Marcie Deveraux emerged, just as a pair of American fighter jets passed overhead as they made their landing approach to the base at Lakenheath.

  Deveraux pulled the door shut and stood for a moment breathing deeply. Then she walked behind the Nissen hut and made sure she was out of sight of any of the windows. She took out her mobile phone, checked again that she wasn't being watched, and then punched in a number. It was answered almost instantly.

  Deveraux spoke softly. 'Fincham doesn't like the sight of blood so Fran and Mick have had the first crack at Watts. He's not talking yet, sir. It's a pity he was taken this early on in the operation.'

  Another pair of jets passed overhead and Deveraux waited until the noise of their engines had died away. 'No, I haven't seen him myself, but Fincham's going to speak to him before he goes back to London for the MPs' reception at the House. He's as determined as we are to find out who else outside the Firm knows that Watts was operating as a K. But if Watts doesn't talk I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep him alive, sir, not without compromising my own situation.'

  She checked out the windows and door as she listened to the voice at the other end of the line. Then she nodded. 'Yes, sir, that was my thought too. At this stage it's worth trying.'

  Deveraux ended the call and then took a piece of paper from her jacket pocket. A mobile phone number was written on it.

  The six hours were almost up. Danny was outside the barn and Eddie was reading through his notebook when his mobile rang. There was no number displayed on the screen, and without thinking he answered the call.

  'Mr Moyes, don't speak, just listen and write this down. Do you have a pen?'

  'What? Who is this?'

  'I said don't speak. Are you ready?'

  Eddie fumbled for the pencil in his coat pocket. 'Yeah, I'm ready, but—'

  'Fergus Watts is being held near Thetford. Land-ranger Map, sheet one-four-four. Grid reference eight-two-five-eight-two-five. I'll repeat that once more, Mr Moyes, write it down.'

  Eddie scribbled down the map reference as the words and numbers were repeated.

  'Read that back to me, Mr Moyes.'

  'Landranger Map, sheet one-four-four. Grid reference eight-two-five-eight-two-five.'

  'That's correct. It's unlikely that Watts will be alive tomorrow morning, Mr Moyes. You do understand that this isn't a police matter, don't you?'

  'Yes, I understand,' said Eddie as Danny walked into the barn.

  'Eddie, no. Hang up! Hang up!'

  But the caller had hung up even before Eddie moved the phone from his ear.

  'It was a woman. She told me where they're holding your granddad. She said he'd probably be dead by the morning. Now, I want some answers, Danny. Why do they want to kill him, and what the hell is going on?'

  Danny looked at his watch. The six hours were up. 'Sit down, Eddie. I'll tell you why.'

  He told him everything, exactly as Fergus had ordered. About his grandfather's true role in Colombia and Fincham's treachery, and all that had happened since his first meeting with Fincham at the army RCB board. Eddie listened, incredulously at first, but slowly realizing that it all made too much sense to be a lie. All the missing pieces fell into place.

  'It's got it all,' he murmured, already seeing the headlines and world exclusive by-line blazed across the Sun. Or the Mirror – it didn't matter. 'Drugs, death, cover-ups, corruption in high places. I won't just get a job with this, I'll win awards.'

  'Yeah, but not yet, Eddie. First, we're gonna get my granddad out.'

  'What? Are you mad? That call was a set-up. They can't find us and they're using your granddad as bait. If we go there, they'll kill the lot of us.'

  'No,' said Danny urgently. 'The call must have been from the woman who saw me at Meacher's. She told me to get away. She helped me then, and I think she's trying to help us now.'

  'You think! You think! You're asking me to risk my life again because you think someone is trying to help us? I may look stupid, Danny, but I'm not fucking crazy. Let's get in the car and go back to London before they pick us up.'

  'If they'd wanted to pick us up they could have done it hours ago.'

  'Yeah, how?'

  Danny pointed at the mobile that was still in Eddie's hand. 'I should have thought of that before. They can be located to within a few metres – I did it myself to trace my granddad. Look, Eddie, you'll have a mu
ch better story if you help me rescue Fergus.'

  'You're a brave kid, Danny,' said Eddie, shaking his head. 'But I'm no hero. I'm a coward, son, always have been.'

  Danny sighed. 'Will you at least drive me to Thetford, so I can get close?'

  Eddie delved into his coat pocket for his car keys. 'Yeah, I'll drive you to Thetford. It's on my way.'

  'And can I use your mobile? I need to phone a friend.'

  35

  From the outside the safe house looked derelict, but inside, the building was clean but basic. The concrete floors, walls and ceilings were all painted white. Stairs leading from the entrance door led up to two interrogation rooms situated behind closed steel doors on either side of the stairwell.

  The interrogation rooms were bare, apart from a couple of chairs, a desk and a wooden pallet. In one corner was an exposed toilet.

  The building was not designated purely as a safe house for interrogation; it could also double up as an FOB. The hard-standing outside, with sufficient space to land a helicopter, meant it could be used to house Special Forces in the event of a terrorist incident in the area.

  The entire compound was protected by a sophisticated security system. Along the mud access track, UGSs were buried at hundred-metre intervals. Their warning sensors could be set for vehicles or for people. Those in the track were set for vehicles; the lighter setting could easily lead to them being tripped by forest wildlife.

  More UGSs were buried at fifty-metre intervals in the ditch running alongside the compound. These were set for humans: no deer would walk the length of the ditch, only someone using it as cover to get close to the house.

  The UGS wiring was also buried and ran back to a monitoring system in the ground-floor, left-hand room of the house. The room was equipped with little else – just a sink, a kettle, portable electric heaters, an electric student hob and camp beds. The room opposite had further camp beds, rolled up, and a shower and toilet.

  Fran's team were in this room. Jimmy was preparing an instant meal of Pot Noodles, sliced bread and cheap, thin ham, to be followed by muesli bars.

  Fincham and Deveraux were in the room opposite.

  Jimmy poured boiling water onto the Pot Noodles just as the door opened and Fincham and Deveraux appeared.

  'Grub's up, sir,' said Jimmy to Fincham. 'Sure we can't tempt you to one of these? We usually throw in a dollop of brown sauce and some Branston pickle to spice them up a bit.'

  Fincham made little attempt to disguise his look of distaste. 'Thank you, but no. I'll eat later in London.'

  'Won't be anything like this though, sir.'

  Fran and Mick were sitting on camp beds. They shared a smile. Everyone knew exactly how uncomfortable their boss was in these surroundings and Fran couldn't resist joining in the wind-up. 'There's extra camp beds in the other room, sir. You could always doss down with us if you'd rather stay.'

  The suggestion was ignored. 'I'll see Watts now. Brian, bring some of that . . . food. We won't starve our guest to death.'

  Brian grabbed one of the Pot Noodles and followed Fincham up the stairs, winking at Deveraux as he passed.

  Fergus was in the room to the left of the stairs. Mick and Fran had enjoyed themselves interrogating him and he wasn't a pretty sight. His face was a swollen, bloodied mess. Blood that hadn't dried into his stubble had dripped over his shirt and onto the floor. His lips were split and fresh blood ran from his nose into his mouth. He was blindfolded with photographic blackout material and he wore no shoes. Both wrists were plasticuffed to the pallet and his hands were swollen where the cuffs had cut into the skin.

  Fergus heard footsteps on the stairs and the key turning in the lock before the door opened. He felt his legs being dragged sideways and back towards his body and his feet were plasticuffed to the pallet. Only then did Brian free his hands and rip the blackout material away from his eyes. Fergus flinched and then squeezed his eyes tightly together; the glare of the fluorescent light was dazzling.

  The door closed and Fergus heard footsteps going back down the stairs. Slowly he opened his eyes. As they gradually adjusted to the light, a figure sitting on a chair a metre away came into focus.

  Fergus and Fincham were face to face for the first time in years.

  'It's been a long time,' said Fincham quietly.

  Speech came painfully for Fergus. 'Not long enough.'

  Fincham indicated the steaming Pot Noodle on the floor next to Fergus. 'My colleagues assure me that it is edible.'

  Fergus knew the tactics. Fincham in control, relaxed, sitting back in the chair, watching silently while he dug pathetically at the food with his fingers. All meant to increase his sense of despair and humiliation. But he didn't care. He was hungry, despite the beating he'd taken, and he knew he had to eat and keep his strength up to have any chance of survival.

  Fighting back the pain as the hot spices burned into the cuts on his lips, Fergus swallowed the food as quickly as he could, just in case Fincham chose to kick it away and get on with the interrogation. Fincham watched in silence as Fergus tipped the container up to his mouth to make sure every last scrap went down his neck.

  At last Fincham leaned forward in his chair. 'I'm going to ask you this just once. Who else knew you were operating as a K?'

  'Even if I knew I wouldn't tell you,' said Fergus through a mouthful of noodles. He forced a smile. 'Maybe there are others. You'll have to sweat it out, Fincham, like I have for all these years.'

  The room smelled stale and fetid. Fincham got up and walked to the window. The metal frame would open only a few centimetres before hitting the steel mesh fitted on the outside. But Fincham needed what fresh air he could get. The smell of blood offended him just as much as the sight of it. He stared through the mesh towards the forest. 'You're going to die, Watts, you realize that, don't you?'

  When Fergus didn't reply Fincham continued without looking back. 'Of course I should have had you killed in Colombia, but after you'd ruined my little operation I quite enjoyed the thought of you rotting away in squalor. And I didn't anticipate the jailbreak. That was remiss of me.'

  'You won't have the balls to kill me yourself, Fincham,' said Fergus, spitting blood and noodles from his mouth. 'But before your trained monkeys do it, I'll make sure they know what you really did in Colombia.'

  Fincham took a deep breath of fresh air, turned away from the window and went back to the chair. 'The last desperate ramblings of a man who knows he's about die and will say anything to save his life. You'll be wasting your final breaths, Watts. But I am going to give you a chance.'

  He saw Fergus squint at him through bruised and half-closed eyes. 'Oh no, Watts, not to live, your death is inevitable now. No, I'm going to give you the chance to not have to watch your grandson die.'

  Fergus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 'You really are an evil, sadistic bastard, Fincham. But you won't find Danny, he's long gone.'

  'Oh yes, I'll find him,' said Fincham calmly. 'Tomorrow, or the next day. And he will have to be eliminated. But you won't have to watch, Watts, not if you tell me what I need to know.'

  He stood up. 'Think about it. There was Meacher, and he's no longer a problem. Who else was there?'

  When there was no response, Fincham glanced at his watch. 'I'm expected at the House for a reception. Goodnight, Watts. I'm sure my friends will look after you.'

  He left without looking back. A few minutes later the Mercedes purred into life and Fincham drove away from the compound.

  Fergus heard the clang of the gates as they were closed. He glanced towards the window, desperately hoping his grandson had followed his orders.