Payback bs-2

by Andy McNab

‘Bollocks.’

  Danny and Fergus were close to the golf club car park. The walk had taken over an hour. They could see Kev’s Discovery but did not approach it. Fergus wanted to avoid attracting the attention of any of the staff.

  There had been a lot of activity around the entrance to the golf club. Half an hour earlier a bride and groom had arrived in a vintage Rolls-Royce, followed by carloads of wedding guests. The reception was already underway.

  Danny checked his watch. ‘How long does it take to play a round of golf?’

  ‘We never quite knew with Kev. He should be in just before last light, though, which is good for us.’

  ‘Then what do we do?’

  ‘We’ll wait until he gets to the last hole. We can see it from the other side of the clubhouse. I’ll go and meet him and you stand off here, on stag. If there’s a drama of any sort, shout me a warning and then run. The ERV is still the swimming pool. You know the drill.’

  A blue Transit van with LAND OF A THOUSAND DANCES MOBILE DISCO printed on the side drew into the car park and pulled up outside the golf club. The long-haired driver got out, went to the back of the van and hauled out a couple of heavy-duty speakers.

  Fergus took Danny’s arm and edged him slowly back towards the cover of some trees. He wanted to be absolutely certain that the new arrival was as genuine as he looked.

  The passenger door swung open on rusted hinges and a mini-skirted teenage girl slid out and stomped on high-heeled boots round to the back of the van. Her voice carried all the way across the car park. ‘And you start flirting with the bridesmaids like last time and you’re dumped. You just stick to playing your music!’

  Fergus smiled and nodded. ‘Looks like it’ll be a noisy night.’

  22

  Deveraux’s conversation with Dudley was not proving an easy one, but she hadn’t expected it to be. She was talking to him on her Xda as she walked along the northern bank of the Thames, opposite Vauxhall Cross.

  ‘I have had to tell Fincham that I fully back his decision to kill Watts and the boy on sight, sir.’ Deveraux couldn’t hide the displeasure she felt as she spoke.

  She was fairly certain that Watts, no stranger to strong-arm interrogation tactics, would keep his mouth shut if he were to be captured and interrogated – just as he had when Fincham had held him before. But Danny? He was a kid. He was bound to blurt out all he knew to save his skin, or his grandfather’s. And that would eventually include all he knew about her, their mysterious helper. Three select words would be more than sufficient to give Fincham all he needed to know: young; black; woman – there were not so many of those working in the Firm.

  And once the interrogation team began to get nasty, Danny would undoubtedly reveal that not only had this ‘young black woman’ arranged their return from Spain; she had also killed one of her own team in assisting their escape from the safe house in Thetford six months earlier.

  Deveraux’s name would instantly go to the very top of Fincham’s hit list. And once he had figured out why she was working against him – and it wouldn’t take him long – he was more than likely to do a runner – with the money. There were still places in the world where a man with fifteen million pounds in his pocket could arrange to disappear to.

  Deveraux couldn’t risk that happening, but she was playing a dangerous game and she knew it. And so did Dudley. ‘This is becoming extremely messy, Marcie.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Deveraux into her mobile. ‘It would be inconvenient to lose Watts and the boy after expending so much energy in getting them back to the UK.’

  ‘And Fincham’s team is already on the way to Hereford?’

  ‘Probably already there by now, sir.’

  ‘But if Watts suspects he’s been pinged, he may have decided not to go to Hereford at all.’

  ‘It’s possible, sir, but I doubt it. He’s gone there for a reason; he’ll want to see it through.’

  As Deveraux waited for Dudley’s response, she looked over the Thames to Vauxhall Cross and gazed up at the higher floors, where the heads of the Firm had their offices. She planned to move into the top floor herself one day. If this mission was a success, that move might come a lot sooner than she had expected.

  ‘But you remain confident of recovering the money?’ said Dudley at last. ‘Whatever happens to Watts and the boy?’

  The money, thought Deveraux. Always the money. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘I will do what I can to keep them alive, but the safety and security of the mission must come first, sir.’

  She could hear the slight sarcasm in Dudley’s voice as he spoke again. ‘Not to mention your own safety and security, Marcie.’

  ‘Quite so, sir, yes.’

  23

  Fran made sure she wore a broad smile as she walked into the Queen’s Arms in Hereford town centre. It was definitely more of a pint of bitter than a Bacardi Breezer pub.

  ‘Anyone here called Kev Newman?’

  Four grizzly-looking guys sitting nursing their pints looked up as Fran held up a leather wallet. ‘I found this outside. It’s got a credit card inside and I thought he might be in here.’

  The four men shared a laugh. ‘No, love,’ said one of them. ‘He’ll be at the house that Jack built, or down the golf club, trying to play golf.’

  They went back to their beer, still laughing, as Fran listened patiently to the barman explaining in great detail where Big Kev lived.

  She knew perfectly well how to get to Newman’s house. The Firm’s intelligence cell had finally provided the information on Watts’s known contacts in Hereford, including full details on his oldest mate, Kev Newman. But the information had taken a lot longer to arrive than Fran would have liked. The Security Services were at full stretch in the attempt to gather clues in the suicide bombings, and Fincham’s request for information was not a priority. His team had already spent three fruitless hours in Hereford, checking out faces in pubs and cafes used by men from the Regiment, hoping to stumble across Fergus or Danny.

  Now they had a lot more to go on. With a trigger on Newman’s house in case he arrived home, the rest of the team were now looking at all known and possible locations. And they had Newman’s driving licence photograph on their Xdas.

  Outside the pub she headed quickly towards her black Audi hatchback parked near the cathedral. She hit the radio pressel in the pocket of her jacket.

  ‘All callsigns. I have a possible location. I need the golf course checking. Who can?’

  Benny was also heading back to his vehicle, a red Nissan Almera, after checking out coffee shops and a few pubs at the other end of town. He hit the pressel in his leather bomber jacket pocket as he kept an eye on the traffic and parked vehicles, watching for blue Discoverys.

  ‘Benny can.’

  Fran was getting into her vehicle. As she pulled the door shut she hit the car pressel under the knob of the gearstick.

  ‘Roger that, Benny. Paul, where are you?’

  Paul squeezed the gearstick pressel in his silver VW Passat and the net was filled with the sounds of a truck’s air brakes and a frustrated driver’s car horn.

  ‘That’s Paul on the ring road and held in traffic. I got two more gyms to check out.’

  Fran looked at a map of Hereford as she started up the Audi. There were a couple more pubs on the edge of town that were well worth a look.

  ‘Roger that, Paul. Mick, any change at the house?’

  As soon as Mick had had been given Newman’s address he’d driven back to Brecon Road. He’d found the house and then immediately spotted the perfect location for a trigger on the place. He parked his vehicle in the Wyevale Garden Centre car park and then slipped into the back garden of the derelict Victorian house standing alongside. He climbed in through a smashed rear window and went up to the first floor.

  Using the net curtain he found lying on the floor, some heavy green curtains and an old wardrobe, he had built an urban OP. He pulled the sofa between the two sets of curtains and was now sitting in comfort,
looking over at the house that Jack built.

  ‘Mick still has the house, no change. No vehicles, lights or movement.’

  The big, lumbering figure of Kev Newman was just visible in the gathering gloom. Danny and Fergus could see him trudging towards them far off down the fairway. They watched as he stopped, took a golf club from his bag and then dropped the bag to the ground.

  ‘This should be interesting,’ said Fergus as they saw Kev prepare to make his long approach shot to the green. He stood still for a few moments and then swung back and through. Almost immediately he hurled the club to the ground. They didn’t see where the ball went, and they couldn’t hear what Big Kev shouted. But when he picked up the club and his bag and moved off, it wasn’t towards them, but away to the right.

  Fergus laughed. ‘Hasn’t improved much. I’ll go meet him, help find his ball.’

  He started walking but then turned back as a thought occurred to him. ‘Give me your phone.’

  Danny pulled the new mobile from his pocket and handed it over. ‘Why do you want it?’

  ‘I’d better keep this chat with Kev short, just in case. I’ll give him the mobile number so he can call us. I can’t remember it, and we don’t have a pen to write it down.’

  Fergus walked off towards the fairway and Danny moved back across the car park to wait – and watch. The steady thump of disco music echoed from the clubhouse and mingled with the sounds of laughter and raised voices; the wedding party was warming up.

  Kev Newman’s ball had hidden itself somewhere in the deep rough. The big man had been searching for a good five minutes. The darkening sky didn’t help, and he was almost ready to give up when he sensed rather than heard the approaching footsteps. He looked up, and for a moment had no idea of the identity of the man closing on him.

  Then he knew. ‘What the-?’

  ‘Hello, mate,’ said Fergus quietly. ‘I see you’re still no better at that stupid game of yours.’

  Big Kev wasn’t usually lost for words, but he stood staring with his mouth gaping wide.

  Fergus was about three paces away when he felt something solid beneath his right foot. He bent down, picked up the ball and held out his hand to Kev. ‘This what you’re looking for?’

  Kev snatched the golf ball and then instinctively looked around to see if his old friend had been followed. ‘You must be bloody mad coming here, Watty. Why didn’t you call me at least?’

  ‘Too dangerous, mate.’

  ‘And you think this isn’t? For me as well as you? Fergus, I’ve got kids, and grandchildren.’

  ‘Yeah – I’ve got a grandson too. The one you met. He’s waiting back there for us. I’ve come to warn you, mate.’

  Kev reached down and grabbed his golf bag. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He began striding up the fairway, with Fergus at his side. ‘Warn me of what?’

  24

  Elena’s laptop was, as usual, logged onto the Internet. It was in her bedroom, perched in its usual place on the desk by her bed.

  But Elena wasn’t there. She was downstairs, having a heart-to-heart with Jane Brooker. Jane and her husband Dave – affectionately known as Dave the Rave by the residents of Foxcroft – made sure they were on hand to talk or to listen if one of the kids in their care needed them.

  They were worried about Elena. They knew her dad had left the country a lot sooner than expected but they didn’t know why. But Joey Omolodon wasn’t their concern. His daughter was, and she had seemed quiet and withdrawn since seeing off her dad at Heathrow. So Jane had suggested a cup of tea and a ‘little chat’.

  Elena was up for it. She liked Jane and talking to her was always good, even though this time she couldn’t mention what was really on her mind.

  They were in the quiet room and Jane was pouring herself a second cup of tea.

  Upstairs in Elena’s bedroom, a soft ping sounded on her computer. An e-mail had arrived.

  Benny drove into the golf course car park and began to check out the vehicles.

  ‘Stand by. Stand by! That’s Newman’s Discovery in the car park. Looks like a wedding in the clubhouse.’

  Fran immediately came on the net:

  ‘Fran’s ten minutes away. Check the course first. Look for Watts. If you see him and he’s outside, take the shot. Don’t wait for us, just do it. Paul, get out of that jam and back us.’

  Danny had watched the red Nissan Almera pull into the car park and come to a halt, just as he had watched a number of others arrive since Fergus had set off down the fairway. Every vehicle had brought late arrivals for the wedding party.

  For a moment he didn’t pay too much attention; he was enjoying the view from his new vantage point. It was almost last light, and in the quickening darkness he had moved to the other side of the clubhouse, where a kids’ playground was situated.

  Danny was perched on top of a tall slide. He still had a view of the car park and the fairway. Best of all he could now see the function room where the wedding reception was being held. He was watching the dancing and thinking to himself that if most of the people throwing themselves about to the music could actually see what they looked like they would never have got out of their seats.

  Glancing over at the car again, Danny saw that the driver had gone round to the raised tailgate. Probably getting the wedding present, he thought as he turned back to his private view of the party and saw one of the bridesmaids take an inelegant tumble onto her backside.

  Hunched over the rear of the Nissan, Benny was unzipping his ready bag. Inside was a bivvy bag and warm clothing in case he had to spend an unexpected night out in the cuds. He pushed all that aside and reached for his MP5 SD machine gun, the suppressed version of the MP5.

  The two weapons look identical except for the SD’s big fat barrel, which sucks up all the gases that push the round along the barrel and make much of the bang when it escapes the muzzle. The remaining noise is the crack as the bullet leaves the barrel faster than the speed of sound. On the SD the rounds are slower, subsonic and virtually silent. Not that Benny was interested in the science, just the silence.

  He pulled back the cocking handle to expose the 9mm round that was already in the chamber. He knew that the weapon – and the pistol in his belt holster – was always made ready, but he always checked to be absolutely certain. The last thing he needed when he was close to a target was to squeeze the trigger and hear nothing more than a click.

  Up on the slide, Danny suddenly noticed his grandfather and Kev Newman about thirty metres down the fairway. They had stopped and were talking quietly. Danny’s attention was suddenly grabbed as the lights on the Nissan flashed. The driver had closed the tailgate and pressed the key fob to lock up. He was walking towards the clubhouse, and before he disappeared from view Danny saw that he was holding something dark down at his side. Another present for the happy couple.

  Jane said all the right things about Elena and the situation with her dad. She didn’t criticize Joey, or even blame him for letting Elena down. She concentrated on the positive, saying that hopefully Elena and her dad would be able to rebuild their relationship at some time, but that for now she needed to think of herself and focus on her own future.

  Elena knew she was right, and she enjoyed the chat, but right now she was finding it almost impossible to focus on anything but Danny, and what was happening to him.

  Jane loved a good old chinwag and was all set to put the kettle on for another cup of tea when Elena made her excuses, saying she had a lot of schoolwork to get through.

  She hurried up the stairs, went into her room and saw instantly that she had an e-mail. She knew exactly who it was from and her eyes widened as she read the brief but chilling message.

  Your friends in great danger, must leave Hereford now. TELL THEM!

  Elena’s hands were shaking as she reached for the new mobile phone Danny had given her.

  Big Kev was trying to help his old mate, like he always had before. He had listened in silence as they walked up the course and
Fergus warned him of the twin dangers of Fincham and the mysterious woman, who both appeared to be closing in on the truth. ‘I had to let you know you’re in danger, mate. So that you’re prepared. Like you said, you’ve got family.’

  As they neared the clubhouse, Kev stopped. ‘There must be some record somewhere of you being recruited as a K. If you could get to it.’

  ‘I’ve been racking my brains,’ said Fergus. ‘Look, I’ll give you a phone number. It’s secure. If you think of anything-’

  The phone in Fergus’s pocket began to ring. Loudly.

  Danny heard the ring and as he looked towards his grandfather and Big Kev, he saw the man from the Nissan appear at the corner of the clubhouse and then dodge quickly back. And in that brief moment Danny saw that the man was carrying a weapon. He knew that shouting a warning would be wrong: he had to use the vital seconds the gunman would take to prepare for the kill. Noiselessly, he climbed down the slide.

  Benny couldn’t believe his luck: Watts and Newman together. He would take them both out. No problem. He stood back from the corner, put the weapon to his shoulder and took two deep breaths to steady his hold, while easing off the safety catch with his right thumb. He would wait a few more seconds as the DJ inside the clubhouse talked up the next record, and when the music began he would turn and fire. Benny leaned forwards into the weapon, both eyes open for a close-up aim, and waited. He could hear the murmur of conversation. Just a few seconds more…

  Fergus knew the call was from Elena – she was the only one who had the number. He gestured to Kev that they should get off the golf course, and as they began to walk he pressed the answer call button and put the phone to his ear.

  ‘Hello?’

  Elena’s voice was calm but urgent. ‘They know where you’ve gone! Get out!’

  Fergus hit the end call button; he knew all he needed to know. As he jammed the phone back in his pocket, he felt Big Kev’s hand on his arm. He stopped walking and looked at his friend.