by Andy McNab
Chapter 26
As I started to visualize playing Spiderman around the outside of the boat, Lotfi came up on the net. It must have been one-thirty. “Hello, hello, radio check. H?”
Click, click.
“N?”
I pressed twice, and Lotfi finished the check: “Okay.” It was good quick voice procedure, considering we hadn’t worked together with radios before and they were used to babbling off in Arabic over the net.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on them as I watched the silhouettes of the masts and continued visualizing getting onto the boat, moving around to the right-hand side, climbing up the aluminum ladder. I wasn’t happy about it being right next to the cabin window, but at least there was a blind. I imagined that the sea covers were strapped down, so I thought I’d probably have to pull out the hooks from D-rings in the deck before pushing the pipe bomb into the gully where the seat and backrest met, in among the crushed chips, melted chocolate, and spare change.
Lotfi came back on the air at two A.M. and we all had radio check. It was time to stop thinking about it and just get on with it. “That’s N foxtrot.” I was about to start walking.
“L, roger that.”
“H?”
I got two clicks from Hubba-Hubba.
I got up slowly and felt around the towel, brought out the plastic cylinder, still in its garbage bag, then moved along the hedge and exited at the same place I’d come in, and walked down to the car. This time I put the key into the door, to try to cut down on the profusion of electronic signals flying around. High-frequency signals and electric detonators are not a good mix, so the more I could do without them, the better. I had to be quick off the mark, though, once the door was open, as the alarm started to count down with a steady sequence of bleeps. I had to get the key into the ignition and turn it the first two positions before the alarm activated and woke up the whole of BSM.
I got in on the passenger side and put the pipe bomb on the driver’s seat. Then it was on with the latex gloves before opening up the glove compartment to switch on the only interior light I’d left working. I put the device on the drinks tray. Twisting and separating the two halves of the cylinder, I checked the clothespin to make sure the plastic was in place before connecting the batteries.
Hubba-Hubba came up on the net. He was quite casual about it, but he had important information. “Two cars, you have two cars.”
I immediately covered the light with my right hand and lay flat, my cheek resting against the piping of the driver’s seat. I could smell the pick ‘n’ mix candy-store aroma coming from the cylinder as the noise of engines got louder and light bathed the interior of the Mégane. Both vehicles carried on past, and as the sound of their engines died away I sat up again, checked the clothespin and battery plastic yet again, and made sure that the fishing line was still held in place on the outer casing.
I hated this next part.
There was nothing else I could do now; I’d checked everything, but still checked it several times over again. Now I just had to go for it. Besides, if I’d made a mistake, I wasn’t going to know much about it, because I’d be the one in thousands of pieces, not the boat.
I pressed down on the batteries with my left thumb, to keep them in place while I took hold of the plastic safety strip with my right thumb and index finger. I eased out the plastic, without breathing — not that it was going to help in any way, it just felt like the thing to do. Once I had closed and twisted the cylinder tighter, the device was ready to be placed. I’d remove the final circuit breaker once I’d gotten it into position.
I closed the glove compartment and sank back into the darkness.
“L and H, that’s me ready.”
I got an “okay” from Lotfi and two clicks from Hubba-Hubba and waited where I was. After three or four minutes, I saw Hubba-Hubba to my right, his short strides taking him downhill toward the marina entrance.
I let him pass behind me, watching him in the side mirror, and very soon he got on the net. “L, I’m nearly there. Acknowledge.”
Click, click.
Soon afterward I saw headlights up on the high ground as Lotfi started down the hill. The headlights turned into the marina, then disappeared. Lotfi and Hubba-Hubba were moving into their positions, to cover me as I placed the device. Hubba-Hubba was foxtrot and staying near the shops, to warn me if anything was coming from that direction; Lotfi would stay with his vehicle and cover me from the parking lot. They were my eyes and ears while I concentrated on getting the device where it needed to be and not blowing myself up.
Leaving the garbage bag behind, because I still had the gloves on, I shoved the device down the front of my cotton jacket and got out of the car. I moved onto the pavement behind the OP, for some cover between the hedge and the little bit of garden at the roadside, to check myself out. Then, using some of the insulation tape I’d kept in the fanny pack, I taped the earpiece around my ear. I didn’t want it falling off and making a noise, either as it hit the deck or as one of the guys jabbered at me while I was on the task.
I put the tape back in my fanny pack and made sure it was zipped up, then moved it around so it was hanging off my ass. I checked I had nothing rattling in my pockets. The Snickers bars were still there, so I zipped them closed, and jumped up and down to make sure that nothing was going to fall out.
I’d already done this before coming into BSM, but it was part of the ritual for a job, very much like checking chamber and checking the device. Check and test, check and test — it was my lifetime mantra.
Finally I made sure my Browning was going to stay where it was in my jeans and not fall into the water, and checked the hammer. When I’d cocked the weapon, I’d put the little finger of my left hand between the hammer and the pin, then squeezed the trigger so the hammer came forward under control but then stopped in the half-cock position, with the safety off. If I had to draw down, I’d have to make like Billy the Kid in a saloon fight, drawing and whipping back the hammer to its full cock position before I fired. Without an internal holster, it felt safer for me to have it like this as I was clambering around, rather than hanging next to my balls with the hammer back and a safety that could easily be flicked off.
Finally, I pressed each nostril closed in turn, and gave them a good blow. It’s a pain in the ass trying to think and breathe at the same time with a nose full of snot. It would be back soon, it always was on a job, but I liked to start on empty.
As I set off down the road, I got out one of the Snickers bars, undid the Saran wrap, and started to munch. It would make me look less suspicious and, anyway, I was still hungry.
Chapter 27
There were too many boats blocking my view to make out the Ninth of May, and no sign of Hubba-Hubba as I continued past the stores and into the parking lot, hands in my pockets, sweating inside the plastic gloves. I took off my Timberlands and left them behind a wheeled garbage bin at the end of the promenade. The last thing I wanted when I got on the boat was them squeaking all over the deck and leaving telltale dirty marks.
Following the marina around toward the second pier, I checked my fanny pack to make sure everything was zipped up, then checked the Browning yet again to make sure it was good and secure. I walked casually but with purpose, a boat-owner going back to his pride and joy. I wasn’t looking around me because there was no need: Lotfi and Hubba-Hubba were covering me, and if there was a problem, I’d soon know about it in my left ear.
I spotted Lotfi’s Ford Focus nose-parked in a line of cars facing pier nine. I caught a glimpse of his face, illuminated by a flickering marina light, as I turned toward Ninth of May, then my brain started to shrink and focus completely on the target and surrounding area.
Light spilled out around the sides of cabin blinds to my left, and I heard the sound of German TV and real-time laughter once more.
I was no more than a few yards away from the target when a vehicle approached from the Nice end of the main road. But it wasn�
�t coming my way. Its engine noise dwindled and its lights faded as it headed on toward Monaco. I checked the device yet again, then the Browning and fanny pack, and risked one good look around me before crouching down behind the boat’s utility stand. The meters ticked away like the crickets in Algeria.
All the blinds were still down, and I couldn’t see a single light. It looked as if the Romeos had turned in.
It’s pointless sitting around once you’re on target — you’re there, so you might as well just get on with it. Sitting on the edge of the pier, my hands gripping the base of the utility stand, I stretched my right foot across to the small fiberglass diving platform that overhung the propellers. My toes just made contact and I dug them in to get a decent purchase. I let go of the utility stand and extended my body like a circus gymnast, slowly pushing myself off the pier and transferring my weight onto the ledge. Every muscle screamed with the effort of controlling my movements so precisely that I didn’t slip or bang into anything. The boat was large enough to absorb my weight; it wasn’t going to start rocking just because I was messing around on the back end. The only thing I was worried about, apart from one of the Romeos suddenly deciding to take a breath of fresh air, was the noise the device or the Browning would make if they dropped into the water or clattered onto the deck.
I breathed through my mouth, because my nose was starting to block up again, and heaved myself onto the ledge. I hooked my little finger into the earpiece and pulled it away from my head, blocking the outlet in case one of the boys started to jabber on the radio. I needed both ears from now on. My throat was dry, but I wasn’t going to do anything to moisten it just yet. It was more important to listen for a while.
There was no sound at all coming from this boat, apart from the gentle lapping of water against its sides. I could still hear the Germans’ muted laughter. I replaced the earphone and raised my head, inch by inch, until I could see over the back of the boat. The patio doors were just a few feet away.
It’s basic fieldcraft never to look over something if you can avoid it; always around or, even better, through. You should never cut a straight line, like the top of a wall, or the skyline, or the side of a boat. The human eye is quick to detect broken symmetry. My hands gripped the fiberglass as I raised my head, painfully slowly, hoping that the movement was disguised against the background of divots and the raised gangway. There was nothing: it was still clear.
I checked the device, Browning, and fanny pack one more time, then got slowly and deliberately to my feet, lifted my right leg over the back of the boat and tested the ribbed decking with my toes to make sure I wasn’t about to step on something like a glass or a plate. I put the rest of my foot down, gradually shifting my weight until my left leg was able to follow. I took my time, concentrating on the job at hand, not worrying about being seen through the patio doors. If I had been, I’d know about it soon enough. Better to spend time and effort on the job than worry about what might happen if things went wrong. If they did, that was when I’d start to panic.
Moving to the right of the patio area, I eased myself up onto the right-hand walkway that led around toward the front of the boat, and to the ladder that would take me over the cabin and onto the upper deck. I was concentrating so hard that the rustle of my gloves sounded to me like a bush being shaken. I reached the ladder and placed my right foot on the first of the three rungs, applying pressure very slowly on the aluminum. The cabin window was no more than six inches to my right. I didn’t want to use the handrail, to avoid strain on the rivets.
There was a metallic creak as I lifted my left foot onto the next rung. My mouth was open so I could control the sound of my breathing; my eyes were straining to make sure I didn’t bump into anything. I kept moving, slowly and deliberately, all the time checking that the fanny pack, device, and weapon weren’t going to bounce onto the deck.
I eased my weight onto the third rung, then got my hand on the fiberglass deck and heaved myself upward.
I found myself on all fours, on the top deck, as two vehicles came from the direction of Monaco and lit up the main road, then vanished into the town. I got slowly to my feet, so there’d only be two points of contact above the sleeping people. It took me six slow, deliberate steps to reach the seats. Once there, I lowered myself onto my knees, and tried to find out how the covers were held down. There was a Velcro fastening down along the sides. Undoing that would be a big no-no, this close to the enemy.
I heard the sound of sliding doors, a burst of laughter, then German voices.
Lotfi got on the net. “Foxtrots! We got foxtrots.”
I couldn’t do anything but hug the deck, then inch my way, on my stomach, toward the protection of the seats forward of the driving console. I ended up over a sort of sunroof, a clear sheet of Plexiglas that would have looked directly down into the cabin if it wasn’t for the blinds.
I rested my face on the Plexiglas and tried not to think about what would happen if the blind was opened. I heard the doors slide shut, and the sound of footsteps on the pier behind me. Then came the whimper of a dog, followed by a sharp, Germanic rebuke from its owner.
There was nothing I could do but wait where I was for the all-clear from Lotfi. I stuck my free ear to the Plexiglas to check for noises from below. There were none, and it was still dark on the other side of the blind.
I lay perfectly still, mouth open, breath condensing on the Plexi. Car doors slammed and engines fired up in the parking lot.
I stayed where I was, nothing moving but my eyeballs and the dribble spilling from the corner of my mouth, as I watched the vehicles leave in the direction of Nice.
I got a low whisper from Lotfi. “All clear.”
I didn’t double-click him in response: that would just create movement and noise. He’d see me move soon anyway. There was still no sound from below, but I wanted to get off this sunroof. Having nothing more than a sheet of clear plastic and a venetian blind between me and a bunch of al-Qaeda was not my idea of fun.
I began to raise myself on my toes and the heels of my hands.
“More foxtrots, more foxtrots!”
I couldn’t see what he was going on about, but that didn’t matter. I flattened myself once more. Then I could hear mumbling from somewhere along the pier. It sounded like more German.
“Two bodies on deck, smoking.”
I reached down slowly for my Sony.
Click, click.
We’d have to wait this one out. There was nothing I could do now but hope I wasn’t seen.
I stayed exactly where I was, ears cocked, nose blocked, the left side of my face cold and wet. The mumbling was definitely German. I even got a whiff of pipe tobacco as Hubba-Hubba now got on the net. “Stand by, stand by. That’s four foxtrots toward you, L.”
I heard a double-click from Lotfi as Hubba-Hubba gave the commentary. “That’s at the first pier, still foxtrot, still straight. They must be going for pier nine. N, acknowledge.”
I double-clicked gingerly. He was right, there was nowhere else to go, apart from one of the cars.
Lotfi got on the net. “N, do you want me to stop them?”
What the fuck did he mean, stop them? Shoot them?
If they were aiming for any of the boats near me, I’d be seen. I could hear their footsteps now and the mumbles of a foreign language. They were definitely heading my way.
I reached for the Sony and clicked twice, and Hubba-Hubba came on the net immediately.
“H will stop them.”
There was a crash of breaking glass from the vicinity of the shops. A microsecond later, a high-pitched two-tone alarm split the night.
Chapter 28
I froze.
A bright yellow strobe light near the tabac began to bounce around the marina. There was nothing I could do but hug Plexiglas, my pulse racing. The four foxtrots sparked up loudly in French, sounding surprised, while the Germans shouted urgently to each other.
I heard a rush of Arabic in the cabin below. Furnit
ure was being knocked into. A glass was smashed. Lights went on. Through a tiny gap at the edge of the blind, I found myself looking straight down onto a stretch of highly varnished wood below the front window. A hand grabbed at things I couldn’t see, and disappeared. A blue-shirted back came into view. They were already dressed down there. They’d probably been ready to make a run for it. There was more babbling. They were panicking, thinking that whatever was going on outside was meant for them.
I heard an English voice, male and educated, very calm, very in control. “Just let me check, just wait. Let me check.”
I saw a mass of curly black hair, and a wash-stained, once-white T-shirt. The hair was flatter on one side, probably from the way he’d been sleeping; its owner was peering under the front blind toward the stores.
There was movement in other boats, too, and lights coming on. A few people were venturing out to see what the commotion was all about. The strobe was still going for it big-time, and I kept rigid, my eye glued to the gap, trying to see through the condensation and dribble between me and the Plexi.
The man below me turned, and his face was highlighted by the flashing strobe. It was Curly, for sure, the man at Juan-les-Pins and in the Polaroid; now I definitely knew where Greaseball was getting his information. George needed to know about this.
He was very skinny. His shoulder blades poked through his T-shirt as if he had a coat hanger in there. His big hair made his head look totally out of proportion to his body. He hadn’t shaved for a while, and his slightly hooked nose and sunken eyes made him look as if he’d jumped out of a Dickens novel. He’d be the one giving Oliver Twist a hard time.
