by Andy McNab
And as Fincham read the file, Fergus and Elena were also reading it at the unit, and so was Danny, just a few metres away down the corridor in the Stand By Room.
41
SIT REP 1
FERGUS WATTS
AGE: 53
HEIGHT: Five feet, eleven inches
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Hair – grey; eyes – blue; build – lean, wiry; distinguishing physical marks – noticeable limp due to bullet wound in right thigh BACKGROUND: Infantry. SAS, Warrant Officer, special skills – explosives. Tours of duty include – Northern Ireland (decorated), first Gulf conflict (decorated), Colombia. Recruited as a Deniable Operator (’K’) to infiltrate FARC, Colombia. Cover story – traitor, ‘gone over’ to rebels for money. Watts’s cover was deliberately blown by our PRIMARY TARGET. Watts wounded and captured after gun battle with Colombian anti-narcotics police. Imprisoned by Colombian authorities. Subsequently led mass jail break. Returned to Britain, route and date unknown. Traced through grandson, Danny (see below). Captured but escaped from safe house with help from grandson and Elena Omolodon. Note: Information on Omolodon’s involvement unknown to Secret Intelligence Service. Two operators and one civilian (Eddie Moyes, freelance reporter) killed during escape. Watts on run for past six months.
DANNY WATTS
AGE: 17
HEIGHT: Five feet, ten inches
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Hair – brown; eyes – blue; build – slim; distinguishing physical marks – none known
BACKGROUND: Orphaned at six, parents died in car crash. Various foster families until moved to Foxcroft, south London, residential home for teenagers, where he met Elena Omolodon. Applied for army officer training bursary. Rejected after interview with PRIMARY TARGET. Had never met grandfather but fed ‘traitor’ story and located (method unknown). Assisted in escape of Fergus Watts. On run for past six months. Note: Elena Omolodon still resident at Foxcroft.
INTERIM OBJECTIVE: Still need to confirm who, if anyone outside the FIRM, knew Fergus Watts was working as a K. Watts also remains potentially useful in operation to expose PRIMARY TARGET.
In the warehouse, in the Stand By Room and in the Depository, four pairs of eyes read every word.
For Fergus there was the first feeling of hope. At last. But it was guarded hope. ‘This is it. It’s what we want.’
‘It’s just like she told us,’ said Elena.
For Fincham there was an overwhelming feeling of horror. Primary target. It was him. His name was not mentioned as an added security measure. It didn’t need to be. For those who needed to know, it was obvious.
‘There’s more,’ said Fergus to Elena. ‘Go on to the second page.’
Elena scrolled through to the second page. Danny was doing the same thing. And so was Fincham.
SIT REP 2
MISSION: This is in three parts:
1. To locate and recover money (now estimated at around?15m). PRIMARY TARGET was paid by FARC while assisting them in trafficking cocaine into the UK.
2. On recovery of money, but before if recovery proves impossible, PRIMARY TARGET to be eliminated to avoid public revelation of treachery and corruption within SIS and subsequent embarrassment to SIS and government.
3. To ‘clean house’. All those aware of PRIMARY TARGET’s activities also to be eliminated for same reasons. This includes, but may not be restricted to, Fergus Watts, Danny Watts and Elena Omolodon. Before Fergus Watts is eliminated, every effort will be made to discover any other person or persons still living who are aware of PRIMARY TARGET’s activities or of Watts’s activities as a Deniable Operator (‘K’). They, too, will be eliminated.
THIS DOCUMENT IS SUBJECT TO UPDATE.
M. Deveraux
All the final pieces fell into place; the picture became clear. For everyone.
It was what Fergus had feared all along, but all hope was not lost. His mind was working quickly. ‘Download it, Elena. Don’t lose it.’
Danny’s voice came over the mobile phone that Fergus still had at his ear. ‘You’re seeing it too, then? What they really want to do?’
‘Yeah. Elena’s downloading it.’
‘I heard. So do I come out?’
‘Yes, but stay focused. Forget what you’ve just read for now, and concentrate on what you have to do. Don’t get caught now, Danny.’
Danny hung up, but before he could move he heard footsteps in the corridor. He dived back under the table.
The duty officer had returned to the Depository, where the escort was still waiting outside the locked door. ‘Is he still in there?’
‘Yes, sir. I dunno what he’s up to, but I haven’t heard a thing.’
There was no way that Danny could move until the two men and their visitor had cleared the area. Cautiously, he crawled out and went back to the PC; before leaving he had to remove the CD and close it down.
As he looked at the screen, the SECRET: ULTRA page suddenly disappeared and the screen went blank.
Danny stared and felt a surge of panic. If his computer had lost the page, then surely Elena’s had too. But had she had time to download it?
As he stared at the screen, he heard another door open and then slam. He dived under the desk again. This was starting to feel like home.
Fincham had unlocked the Depository door and pulled it hard behind him as he walked out. ‘I’m leaving,’ he said to the startled duty officer and the escort. He took the visitor’s card from around his neck and thrust it into the guard’s hands.
He didn’t wait for the lift but took the stairs up to the ground floor, with his escort scrambling behind.
‘Go to the guardroom and tell the sergeant I’m leaving,’ said Fincham as he reached the ground floor. ‘I will not be stopping at the guardroom to check out. Get the main gate opened, man. Now!’ He hurried away towards the exit, trying to control his fury. He had deleted the SECRET: ULTRA file – the evidence was gone – but inside he was raging. Fuming.
Marcie Deveraux! His own protegee. He had trusted her. Encouraged her. Nurtured her career. And all the while she had been plotting and operating to cause his downfall. But he was safe now. When he had calmed down, he would have the last laugh.
He cleared the main building and took a deep breath. In a few hours’ time he would be on a plane to Moscow and this nightmare would be behind him.
42
As Joey parked the car across the road from the unit, Danny sent a text to Elena’s phone saying they were coming in. It had been easy to get out of Northwood. Danny had walked to the back gate, fed his arm into the tube and pressed the button at the end. The gate opened with an electronic buzz and he walked into the married quarters, then out onto the road where Joey was waiting.
Danny hurried out of the car and across the square towards the unit’s roll-down shutter while Joey made his more casual approach.
‘Come on,’ urged Danny as Joey started to unlock the shutter door.
‘You go on,’ said Joey as he slid the key into the lock. ‘I got something to do.’
‘Do? What d’you mean? We have to get inside!’
‘Look, Danny, I been sitting there hours waiting for you. I couldn’t move in case you came out. I got you back, I’ve done everything Fergus asked of me. Now I need a smoke.’
‘Then smoke here! We don’t care!’
‘I can’t! I gave the last of my cigars away in the pub. I’m desperate, Danny. There’s an all-night garage down the road.’
‘But my granddad-’
‘Just tell him I’ll be back before he even knows I’ve gone.’ He pushed open the shutter door. ‘Go on, I’ll be fine.’
Danny hesitated for a moment but then went in; if Joey wanted to kill himself with cigars that was up to him. He pushed the door shut and took the metal staircase three rungs at a time, shouting out before he reached the top, ‘Did you get it? Did you download it? I saw it deleted!’
Fergus and Elena were sitting at the laptop. ‘Yeah, I got it,’ said Elena. ‘Every word.’
&nb
sp; Danny let out a huge sigh of relief. He’d been almost hyperventilating with anxiety on the way back from Northwood, especially after there had been no response to his text saying that he was out of the camp and in the car. He didn’t call for confirmation, partly because he thought Elena might have been struggling to download the information and a ringing phone at the wrong moment could have shattered her concentration, and partly because he couldn’t bear the thought that all their work that night might have been in vain.
He slumped down onto the sofa, exhausted but elated. His grandfather was looking pale and drawn but he had just enough strength to manage a weak smile. ‘You did well… brilliant.’
‘But what it said, about us being-’
‘Eliminated,’ said Elena.
Danny nodded.
‘At least we know their true intentions now, and it’s what I always suspected. But thanks to you two we’ve got a better chance of getting out of this than before.’ Fergus turned to Elena. ‘I need you to burn three copies of that file onto CD. Can you do that?’
‘No problem.’
‘And then-’ Fergus stopped and looked towards the stairs. ‘Where’s Joey?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Danny, remembering. ‘He’s gone for some cigars. Said he was desperate.’
‘Bloody fool!’ said Fergus angrily. ‘He should be here!’
Elena was already starting to burn the CDs. ‘He’ll be all right. He’ll be back soon, and at least we won’t have to listen to him moaning.’
Joey bought himself two packets of cigars at the petrol station. He slid his cash through the narrow gap beneath the toughened glass and metal-grilled window and waited in anticipation as the sales assistant reached for the cigars and pushed them through the gap, along with his change.
‘Thanks, man,’ said Joey, smiling in anticipation of his long-awaited smoke.
The sales assistant said nothing but turned away and went back to staring at the TV screen mounted on the wall above his till.
Joey wasn’t bothered. ‘And a very good night to you too,’ he muttered as he ambled back to the hire car, unwrapping one of the cigar packets as he went.
He got into the car, pulled out a cigar and stuck it into his mouth. Having it there, unlit, was almost as good as smoking it – for a while, at least. He started up the car and drove away from the garage forecourt.
Then he heard the siren. He looked into the rear-view mirror and saw the flashing blue light.
‘Oh, shit.’
The police car’s headlights flashed a couple of times but Joey kept going: he wasn’t going to stop unless he had to. Seconds later the police car came cruising by, and the officer in the passenger seat indicated for Joey to pull over.
Joey drew the hire car into the kerb. This was not good; Fergus would not be happy.
The police vehicle stopped directly ahead and the officer in the passenger seat got out and walked back to Joey, who wound down his window and smiled, with the unlit cigar still in his mouth.
‘Evening, officer. Lovely night.’
‘Very nice, sir. But did you know that one of your tail lights is out?’
Joey cursed to himself. A dud light – they’d stopped him for nothing more than a dud light. He took the unlit cigar from his mouth. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t. I’m extremely sorry, officer, I’ll make sure I replace it first thing in the morning.’
But the police officer wasn’t finished. ‘Your car, is it, sir?’
‘As a matter of fact it isn’t. It’s a hired vehicle.’
‘Can I see your driving licence, please?’
‘Why, sure, officer.’
Joey began rummaging through his jacket pockets, all the while smiling a broad smile. It was then that the officer caught the strong smell of alcohol.
‘Have you been drinking, sir?’
‘Drinking?’
‘Alcohol, sir. Have you been drinking alcohol?’
Joey’s face registered the panic he was beginning to feel. ‘Well, no. I… I wouldn’t say drinking. I just-’
‘Would you step out of the car, please, sir?’
Joey sighed, slowly opened the door and got out. ‘It was only one. Just a pint – hours ago.’
The police officer nodded and Joey held up the cigar, still gripped between two fingers. ‘Do you mind if I smoke this?’
‘I’m afraid I do, sir. I’d like you to blow into this, please.’
Fincham had calmed down. He was more his normal, cold, calculating self as he checked out his disguise in the disabled toilets at the service station on the M4, near Heathrow Airport. Gone was the smart suit, MCC tie and polished shoes. He was now wearing baggy cords, a button-up cardigan and sandals with socks.
Rolled out on the toilet seat was his make-up bag, along with cotton wool wipes. He had been busy and was putting the final touches to his disguise, comparing the Mr Davies in his new passport photograph to the one he was looking at in the mirror.
Fincham was very pleased with the results. The trimmed beard stuck on his face lessened the need for more make-up. All Intelligence Service operators were instructed by professional make-up artists in the art of disguise, learning how to change the shape and size of their faces. Fincham had long ago mastered the art, and was a deft practitioner.
He touched up some of the darker make-up on both sides of his nose, the shading making it appear longer than it actually was. It would confuse the facial recognition cameras that scour airport terminals for known terrorists and criminals.
Once he had finished he put on a pair of plain lens glasses and the Mr Davies look was complete. He appeared more like a bumbling university professor than an Intelligence Service IB.
Fincham rolled up the make-up bag; it would be going with him in case any last-minute touch-ups were required at the airport. He checked his new watch, a cheap thing from a supermarket; all part of his new look. It was 2.33 a.m.
Once everything was packed away he picked up the holdall with his old suit and old life inside and headed back towards his car. The rest of his escape plan had been carefully scheduled. At 6.30 a.m. he would phone a local taxi company from a call box in the service station, saying that his car had broken down and he was desperate to get to the airport for an 8.30 flight. He had with him not one but two taxi company business cards. Just in case.
Mr Davies would then be collected and delivered to the airport, where he would check in at the very last minute, so that as little time as possible was spent in the one area from where he could not escape – the departure lounge.
Fincham went back to his car to wait. He sat in silence and his thoughts returned to Marcie Deveraux. Revenge would have been sweet, but escape would be sweeter.
Joey was in a cold, bare cell, waiting for the results of his blood test.
The roadside breathalyser had shown him to be way over the legal limit. Joey hadn’t needed to wait for the crystals to change colour to know that would be the inevitable outcome. He’d been cautioned and driven to the police station, where two samples of his blood had been taken.
Now all he could do was wait. He’d already been waiting for a long time and he still hadn’t smoked his cigar. He was scared; more than that, he was terrified. He’d made a big mistake in drinking as much as he had at the pub. He could take his drink – he felt perfectly sober – but that didn’t make any difference. He wasn’t the first to make that discovery far too late.
He knew that Elena, Danny and Fergus would be worrying, wondering what had happened, probably thinking that he’d run out on them. But even more than that, he feared what would happen now, once records had been checked and it was discovered that he should have left the country days ago.
It meant either a return to a British prison for a long stretch or the even more terrifying prospect of an escorted flight back to Nigeria.
He sat back on the low bed and heard shouting from another holding cell. Somewhere another drunk was gobbing off about unfair police treatment, demanding to see a solicitor a
nd moaning that the loss of his driving licence would ruin him. Joey shook his head; the loss of a driving licence was the least of his worries.
Footsteps echoed along the corridor outside the cell. Joey stood up as keys turned in the lock, the door swung open and the police sergeant who had taken down his details earlier appeared in the doorway.
‘You must know people in high places, mate.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’re leaving us. Lucky boy. Very lucky.’
The sergeant stepped to one side and Marcie Deveraux walked into the cell.
43
‘I knew he’d do this. I knew he’d let us down in the end.’
Elena was furious. After everything that had happened over the last couple of days she had finally begun to believe that perhaps, after all, her dad had changed. But now he’d gone AWOL again. Same old Joey. He would never change. Never.
‘I bet he’s gone to see that woman! I bet he’s… I don’t want to think about what he’s doing. It’s disgusting at his age.’
‘If he’s with his girlfriend, at least he’s out of trouble for a while,’ said Danny. ‘He’ll turn up when he’s ready.’
Elena was standing by the window, staring out into the darkness, vainly hoping to see the hire car pull to a standstill on the road outside the square. But she knew it wouldn’t.
Danny wandered over and stood by her side. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘What makes you think I’m worried?’ snapped Elena. ‘I’m angry, that’s all. And pissed off!’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Danny softly.
Fergus was stretched out on the old sofa, thinking about the e-mail he was going to get Elena to send to M. Deveraux.
He had no doubts about the identity of M. Deveraux now. She’d been there all along, manipulating them, waiting until they had outlived their usefulness, planning their elimination.
But they had powerful ammunition of their own now. The information stored on the CDs was their lifeline. The Intelligence and Security Services would never risk that information being revealed to the press. The framing and proposed killing of innocent people would be totally unacceptable to the British people. It was enough to topple the heads of both services and bring down the government.
