by Andy McNab
Deveraux smiled. ‘Does that mean I get the go-ahead, sir?’
The smile was not returned as Dudley replied. ‘I will give you this chance to conclude matters. But remember this, Marcie: I can be ruthless too. Extremely ruthless.’
The car phone began to sound. As the shaven-headed driver lifted it from the hands-free cradle and put it to his left ear, Deveraux noticed that half the ear was missing. It didn’t seem to affect his hearing: he listened for a short while without speaking and then ended the call. With the phone still in his hand, he reached for the switch on the car radio. ‘I think you’ll want to hear this, sir.’
The radio was tuned to Five Live, but the football commentator’s voice held no trace of the usual excitement associated with a Premiership match coming direct from Stamford Bridge. His quavering tones betrayed a mixture of bewilderment and fear as he tried to describe to the listeners the horrific scenes he was witnessing. ‘The players from both teams are standing in the centre circle. Hundreds of supporters are pouring onto the pitch – they’re desperately trying to escape the wreckage of the stand away to my right. Police and marshals are in the stand, but-’
He broke off for a moment as another voice was heard shouting, but the words were muffled and unclear amid the panic and confusion. Then the commentator came back. ‘I’m going to have to hand you back to the studio. The police have ordered us to clear the stadium immediately in case there’s a second explosion.’
8
Danny saw the figure approaching long before he knew exactly who it was, but he soon recognized his grandfather’s distinctive limp. Then, when Fergus was still more than a hundred metres away, he held out both arms on either side of his body. He kept walking, arms outstretched in a crucifix position to make it absolutely clear to Danny that it was him.
When Fergus walked into the copse his eyes quickly took in the day sacks lying ready and the fact that the site had been restored to its original state. He nodded, satisfied that Danny had carried out his orders. ‘Any problems?’
‘No. What about you?’
Fergus reached into a deep inside pocket of the canvas jacket he was wearing and brought out the plastic Tupperware box. ‘No problems – and I brought along the little present they left us.’ He opened the box so that Danny could peer inside. ‘Semtex. And don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe now.’
Danny had been waiting four hours to ask his next question. ‘How did you know it was there? I’ve been trying to work it out – I just don’t see it.’
‘The slats in the garage door,’ said Fergus, carefully looking out from the hide in every direction. ‘When I pull down the door at night I slam it really hard so that the slats close tightly on each other. That’s my tell-tale.’
‘But the door was down to the ground, just like it always is.’
‘No, not like it always is, Danny,’ said Fergus. ‘Our visitors couldn’t make any noise when they were leaving. They couldn’t slam the door down, so there was no way the slats could be tightly closed. I spotted that as soon as I looked at the door, that’s how I knew there was something wrong.’
Danny shook his head. ‘If you hadn’t seen it-’
‘I did, Danny, that’s all that matters. But it means we’re finished here. I stuck around to see if anyone came back when the device didn’t go off.’
‘Did they?’ asked Danny.
His grandfather nodded. ‘Three of them. Did a walk past a couple of hours ago. They didn’t see me but I got a perfect view of them. Our friends the builders.’
‘Paul and Benny?’
Fergus went to one of the day sacks and pushed the box of Semtex inside. ‘I must be losing it – I should have spotted them. They were with the woman who killed Eddie. It means that bastard Fincham’s found us.’
Danny’s heart sank as the prospect of one day returning to Britain seemed further away than ever. And then an even more terrifying thought struck him. ‘What about Elena?’ he almost shouted, expecting his grandfather to come back at him with an earful about concentrating on their own problems. He didn’t.
‘Just because Fincham’s found us, it doesn’t mean that Elena’s in danger. As far as we know, he’s not aware of her involvement. But we should let her know what’s happened, just in case we can’t make contact for a while. You can go online to her as soon as it’s safe.’
Fergus delved into a day sack and took out some tins. ‘First we eat and get some rest. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.’
9
Elena didn’t bother thinking up a coded screen name; she was too shocked to find Danny waiting there when she logged onto MSN.
She almost hadn’t bothered. A couple of the other girls at Foxcroft were watching a DVD down in the TV room and she’d been tempted to give MSN a miss for once. But at the last moment she decided that if she missed checking in once, it would be far easier to do it a second and then a third time. It was better to stick to her usual routine, and anyway, the girls were only watching a chick flick – the stories were always the same and she’d catch up quickly enough.
Even so, she was a few minutes late logging on. And there he was. Elena speedily typed in her first message.
E says: (8:04:27 pm) wots rong. wots happend. u ok???????????
D says: (8:04:43 pm) don’t panic, all ok
E says: (8:05:02 pm) but uv never come online like this. somefing must b rong
D says: (8:05:13 pm) its ok. honest, anyway, i wanted to surprise u
E says: (8:05:19 pm) u have!!! but y???
D says: (8:05:26 pm) coz im here!!!!!!!!!!!
E says: (8:05:36 pm) wot du mean here?
D says: (8:05:48 pm) i mean HERE. back. very close 2 u
Elena stared at the screen, hardly able to believe what she was reading.
E says: (8:06:09 pm) ur joking, rite?
D says: (8:06:23 pm) its no joke, im here. couldn’t let u no b4, 2 dangerous. can u get out now and I will tell u all
E says: (8:06:35 pm) course I can. where r u? this is amazing!!!!!!
D says: (8:06:57 pm) about 5 minutes away. meet u in 10. u no the alley two streets behind Foxcroft, one with dead end? meet at end, its quiet. go out back gate an be careful, don’t b seen E says: (8:07:10 pm) i wont. going now. CANT WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!
Elena logged off and powered down her computer. As she got up from her chair and rushed to her wardrobe to get a jacket, she saw herself reflected in the mirror on the back of the door. She was smiling, grinning all over her face.
Marcie Deveraux sat in the driver’s seat of a blue Nissan Almera. The vehicle was parked in the street behind Foxcroft, about thirty metres from the building. She had a clear view of the back gate; she would easily be able to trigger Elena as she headed off for her secret meeting.
In one hand Deveraux held her Xda; in the other was the small hard pen for tapping out messages on the screen. She logged off from MSN. She too was smiling, impressed at her ability to chat online like a teenager. She had been monitoring Danny and Elena’s online chats for months; tonight she had played the role of Danny to perfection. Security Service technical experts had hacked into Danny’s Hotmail account, allowing Deveraux to log onto MSN as Danny. She had logged on early, so that if the real Danny had attempted to contact Elena he would simply have got a message saying there were problems with the server.
Deveraux put the Xda into the glove compartment and then felt for the Sig 9mm semi-automatic secured under her seat. She pulled out the pistol and checked there was a round in the chamber, ready to be fired. It felt comfortable in her hand.
She had her hair pulled back in a tight bun. As she tucked it under her baseball cap she saw Elena emerge from the back gate and walk quickly away. She slipped the pistol into a pocket of her bomber jacket, got out of the vehicle and closed the door with hardly a sound. She pulled the baseball cap down over her eyes and turned to follow Elena.
Deveraux had told Dudley that she was going to bring her mission to an end. Tonight was the beginnin
g of the end.
Stamford Bridge looked like a war zone. Dudley had the collar of his overcoat pulled up around his neck to ward off the evening chill as he checked the signal on the secure mobile he held. Hastily erected arc lights illuminated the immediate area of the explosion – the stadium floodlights had been switched off to frustrate the prying television news helicopters. But as Dudley stepped amongst the shattered remains of plastic seating he looked up and watched a police helicopter swooping low to chase away another heli packed with newsmen and -women.
Ambulances had long since taken away the dead and wounded. Those closest had been killed or maimed by the impact of the explosion itself; others by the lethal shards of moulded plastic which had flown through the air like high velocity bullets as the explosive detonated and shattered the seats. Four of the dead were not victims of the blast itself; they had been trampled underfoot as panicking supporters tried to escape the ground.
Blue police lights on top of vehicles parked on the pitch flashed around the eerily quiet stadium, catching and then losing white-overalled, plastic-booted forensic officers as they picked flesh and clothing from the killing area and then placed their gruesome finds in evidence bags. Dudley watched them at work, the intermittent, flickering blue light making them look like characters in an old silent movie.
Dudley had no need of the information the forensic team would eventually discover about the explosives used in the attack: he had learned all he needed to know from watching the club’s CCTV.
A teenage boy had taken his seat just before kick-off. He was wearing a black parka, unlike many of the home supporters around him, who wore their bright blue replica Chelsea shirts. The boy didn’t look at the pitch or read the match programme, but kept glancing up at the nearest CCTV camera. And he was smiling.
He was lost for a few moments when the crowd stood up to cheer and chant and applaud as the teams ran out onto the pitch. After everyone around him re-took their seats he was still smiling, and as the whistle for the kick-off sounded he stood up. With his right hand he grabbed the cord held in his left, and pulled.
The monitor screen then went black: the detonation had destroyed the camera.
Dudley was looking at the exact spot where the smiling boy had detonated the IED, and then the mobile he was holding began to ring. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before pressing the phone to his ear. ‘Dudley.’
He waited for a few seconds as the private secretary making the connection passed the call on. The voice that barked out a curt ‘Hello?’ was familiar – not only to Dudley, but to the entire country.
‘Good evening, Prime Minister,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news: Parliament was not a one-off attack. This was also a suicide bombing by a teenage boy, this time a white teenage boy.’
The police helicopter moved across the stadium again, almost drowning out Dudley’s words.
‘Yes, sir, white. I will have a name soon. And the device used was similar, if not identical to the first. I fear the media will have a field day with this once the news gets out.’
He listened to the question he knew was coming next before replying, ‘No, sir, we haven’t discounted that. Islamic militants could still be responsible. After all, there are white Muslims. But at this stage, intelligence points us in no definite direction.’
Deveraux had no need to follow Elena too closely; she knew exactly where she was going.
Elena took a left and then another left to reach the road running parallel to Foxcroft. It was a quiet street; most of the terraced houses on either side had their curtains drawn. People were home from work, settling down for another peaceful evening in front of the TV.
Deveraux gradually closed on Elena during the short walk, stalking her like a tiger waiting to pounce. Both hands were in the pockets of her bomber jacket, but the right was curled around her pistol, lower three fingers and thumb around the grip and trigger finger resting over the guard. She kept her head down as she walked.
The narrow alleyway Elena was heading for led nowhere. Once, it had run all the way through to the next street, but after a Second World War bomb had flattened a couple of houses on the far side, an enterprising builder had cleverly gained a few extra metres of garden for the new houses he erected. Now all there was at the end of the alley was a high brick wall.
As Elena turned from the street into the alley, she was hoping to find Danny waiting there for her. She couldn’t see all the way to the end yet – it was too dark. There were no lights, and the spill from the lamps in the street she had left barely penetrated the gloom. Cautiously, she made her way along.
‘Danny?’ she whispered as she inched her way along, deeper into darkness. ‘Danny, you there?’
There was no answer and Elena felt a twinge of disappointment. She reached the end and then, turning to took back, saw a figure silhouetted by the light from the street at the far end of the alley.
‘Danny?’
The figure gave a left-handed wave and moved silently and swiftly towards her, head still low. Elena waited: it was safer to stay where she was; they could talk there, just as Danny had said. It was only in the last seconds, as the approaching figure looked up and the right hand emerged from the bomber jacket pocket, that Elena realized it was not Danny. She recognized the face, but there wasn’t time to react or even say a word.
With her left hand Deveraux reached up and grabbed Elena by the back of her hair. She yanked her head back and at the same time brought the pistol up and shoved the barrel into Elena’s gaping mouth. Cold metal scraped against the terrified girl’s teeth; she tasted oil at the back of her throat.
‘Remember me?’ hissed Deveraux, forcing Elena against the wall.
Elena was too petrified to make even a sound. She stared, eyes bulging, at the face just inches from hers, remembering the woman only too well. She had replayed the horrific scene of the glamorous woman shooting one of the guards holding Fergus Watts many times in her mind.
‘Don’t speak, don’t move, don’t do anything unless I say so. Otherwise your brains will be all over the walls. And I wouldn’t want that. This jacket’s new – I do not want it ruined. Understand?’
Deveraux relaxed the grip on Elena’s hair just enough to allow her to nod.
‘Listen to me, and listen good. I want Danny and Fergus back here, and you’re going to make that happen.’
Terrified as she was, Elena managed a tiny, defiant shake of her head.
Deveraux tightened her grip again, pulling Elena’s hair so hard that it brought tears to her eyes. They ran down her cheeks and mingled with the saliva oozing from her gaping mouth as the pistol forced her lips wide apart.
‘I told you to listen,’ said Deveraux. ‘If they don’t come back they’ll be dead within days. This way, I might be able to save them. And I’ve got an added incentive for you. Do exactly as I tell you and I’ll get your father out of jail. If you don’t, not only do you three die – he’ll stay there until he rots. Understand?’
She relaxed her grip to allow Elena to nod again.
‘Good. Now, I’m going to let go of your hair. Try to run and I will kill you. And you know I will – you’ve seen me do it before, haven’t you?’
Elena nodded for a third time.
Deveraux slowly released her hold on the young girl’s hair, took two small steps backwards and watched as Elena began to shake with fear, her legs so weak she could hardly stand. Elena suddenly realized she had been holding her breath since the moment the pistol had been shoved into her mouth.
‘Breathe,’ said Deveraux. ‘Breathe deeply.’ It wasn’t advice; it was a command. She wanted this over quickly and needed Elena to understand exactly what she had to say. ‘Come on, breathe, you’re not dead yet.’
She waited while Elena sucked in huge gulps of air. The oxygen surged into her bloodstream, making her feel light-headed. But after less than a minute the strength began to return to her limbs and she eased herself away from the wall.
�
�Tomorrow morning you go online, just as you always do,’ said Deveraux when she was certain Elena had calmed down enough to take in her instructions. ‘You tell Danny that he and Fergus must come back to the UK. And you will also tell them that you know how to get them here.’
‘But Danny won’t be online in the morning,’ said Elena between deep breaths. ‘He never is. I was surprised to find him-you… I… I… I only check in case there’s an emergency.’
‘There has been an emergency, and he will be online. I know the way Watts operates – he’ll want to make contact with you.’
They were both becoming accustomed to the darkness in the alley and Deveraux spotted Elena’s anxious look. ‘What’s happened? Are they-?’
‘They’re OK, for the moment. But it won’t stay that way unless you do exactly as I say.’
Elena glared at Deveraux: as her strength returned, her courage did too. ‘Why can’t you go online?’ she said. ‘You fooled me.’
Fooling Elena online had been relatively simple: Deveraux had deliberately kept the MSN chat short and sweet and had told her exactly what she wanted to hear. But she knew it would be far more difficult to trick Danny, and with Fergus ever vigilant, it was too risky to attempt. Going online as herself would be even more of a risk. Fergus would almost certainly order Danny to end the conversation before it had even started, and would probably ensure that his grandson never attempted to make contact again.
The best way was through Elena, and the quickest way of gaining her co-operation had been through fear.
‘I’m going to e-mail you the instructions I want you to give to Danny. They must be followed to the letter, and so must yours. When you go online to Danny, I shall be monitoring it. You tell them that you have met the woman who saved you before at the safe house. She is going to save you again. You will not go into the details of what has happened tonight. Is that clearly understood?’
