Zero Option gs-2

by Chris Ryan

  'Point D,' we both said simultaneously.

  Whoever the PIRA scout had been, he was obviously right. This was the place from which to take the shot. By now we had gained a bit of height, so that we were looking down across a wide-open field towards the south front of the house. At our back was a dense beech wood — immediate cover if we needed to disappear. Our binos could pick up any amount of detail around the house itself.” a brick wall across the front of the terrace; a little brick summerhouse with a pointed roof at each corner; low, neatly-clipped box hedges, rose beds, a big, ugly conservatory to the left, and behind it all the tall, stately building of soft red brick, with mullioned windows, high chimneys, and numerous sharply-peaked gables.

  But it wasn't the architecture that grabbed our attention.

  'There's a camera on a post just to the left of those two little trees,' said Tony.

  'Got it. And another alongside the wall, mounted on a pole. Go further left, and you'll see three more.'

  'I have them. There's also an electronic device of some kind on the third pillar along from the summerhouse. It could be a microwave, covering the walls. '

  'That summerhouse,' I said. 'Go to the bottom left- hand corner of the window. There's some other device there. That looks like a microwave as well. I bet it's pushing out across-this field to pick up any movement.

  Jesus! They've got the place really sewn up. You couldn't get much closer than this without being detected.'

  'They must have a massive array of TV monitors somewhere,' Tony said. 'Banks of them in a control room, and a large number of guys keeping an eye on them. Watch yourself, Geordie. There's someone in an upstairs window.'

  'Where?'

  'See the main door? Go up to the top floor and fight.

  There — the curtains moved again.'

  'OK. Probably a cleaner.'

  I looked to my left and saw a young couple walking towards us along the footpath. I wanted to stay where we were for a bit longer, so I sat down on the grass, took offmy right boot, and pretended to feel inside it for an offending nail until the hikers had passed.

  As I retied the laces, I said, 'Even first thing in the morning there are liable to be people coming past here.

  We can't hang around in the open waiting to do the shoot.'

  'Lie up in back there, maybe,' said Tony, pointing into the wood.

  'Yep. That's the answer. Then come down into the open at the last moment.'

  Under the old beeches the forest floor was fairly clear. There were straggling elder and hfizel bushes and patches of bramble, but plenty of open spaces between- them.

  'We'd have better elevation from up one of the trees,' I said.

  'Yeah, but with that rifle you need the bipod on the ground. If there was the slightest movement in the branches you'd be all over the place. What's the range?'

  'What they told us — six hundred. I'd say that's spot on… I've just noticed something else as well.'

  'Oh yeah?'

  'Those evergreen shrubs — the clipped ones on the terrace. What I'll do is put the bullet into one of them.

  If we hit one of the walls, shit and corruption would fly in all directions. But that bush of box — or whatever it is — will conceal the strike. From this range, nobody will be able to see the real point of impact.'

  'Good thinking. And here's something else.' Tony pointed at some muddy, well-rolled wheel-marks which passed close in front of us, following the edge of the wood and parallel to the footpath. 'There's a regular vehicle patrol along here. Another reason to keep back in cover.'

  As we walked on, Tony said, 'Know what? Anybody who can shoot a rifle could take out the Prime Minister from here. People talk about the special skills you'd need, blah, blah, blah — it's all baloney. Just lie down and fire one careful shot.'

  'OK,' I agreed. 'But number one: you'd need a special weapon. Number two: you'd need to know when the target's going to be around. Number three: you'd need a means of getting out — unless it's a kamikaze mission. And number four: you've got to be fanatical enough, or crazy enough, to want to do it in the first place. It's just unfortunate the PIP, A's organised in all departments.'

  Our next focal point was at grid reference 834055, the spot at which the PIRA had told the incoming helicopter to land for the pick-up. Again we confirmed it as a good choice because it was in a different field, behind another wood, out of sight of the house, and could be approached by a chopper coming low out of dead ground to the west, where the land fell away in a succession of steep valleys.

  Back on the main path we carried on our clockwise circuit, swinging right-handed through a belt of trees and across the track beaten down by the vehicle patrol.

  On either side of the official footpath were frequent notices, white on green, saying PRIVATE — KEEP OUT, shutting off side-tracks and blocks of woodland. For a while we respected them, but when we saw the mast of what was obviously a small re-broadcasting station on the bare summit of a hill, we let curiosity get the better of us. Our instinct, in any case, was to check out all the high ground near the house in the hope we could find a better vantage-point for the shoot — but a rebro station: that definitely needed investigation.

  Having climbed a barbed-wire fence, we scrambled up some steep, sheep-mown turf alongside a stand of box and emerged on to a rounded summit, to find that the relay station was dug well into the ground. A flight of concrete steps led down to a steel door in a brick surround, and the short mast was anchored by guy- wires.

  'This must be part of the security set-up,' I said. 'It'll be a booster station, giving radios a wider coverage.'

  Closer to the house, maybe a hundred yards away, was another small summit on which young trees had been planted within a ring offence.

  We'd just come up to it, and found that the view of the terrace was blocked from that angle, when Tony snapped, 'Keep down!'

  I ducked instinctively. 'What is it?'

  'A Land R.over Discovery heading this way on that track outside the wood, where we've just come from.

  Looks like the cops. Let's get out of here.'

  We quickly backed off the skyline and slithered down the steep turf. We were half-way down the edge of the box thicket when the Land Rover came back into sight, heading straight for us. Without a word we both plunged backwards into the tightly-packed stems.

  Luckily for us, box has no thorns, but the intense dark- green smell of the leaves made me think of churchyards and tombstones. A couple of yards inside the thicket we were completely hidden, and we heard the vehicle come grinding uphill in low gear. Assuming the guys on board had seen us from a distance and had come out to chase us off, we lay low where we were for ten minutes or so. Then, from above us, came noises of men at work: hammering, and an electric drill screaming, as if some kind of maintenance was in progress.

  We wriggled our way back into the open and slipped downhill to rejoin the footpath. 'Better stop messing about,' I said. 'There's nothing for us round this side.

  Point D's the place.'.

  Our next task was to recce the drop-off point that we'd already selected on the map, and to walk the route in that we'd use in the morning. That meant back tracking round our circuit and returning to the car. On the way, we could see the Discovery still at the rebro station, and the figures of a couple of workmen on the skyline.

  As we passed Point D, we lingered once again to get the feel of the position. I brought out my compass and took a quick bearing on the centre of the house: 11 mils.

  'What if the worst occurs and there's pea-soup fog?'

  I said.

  'Might not be the worst,' Tony replied. 'Might be the best. You'd have a cast-iron excuse for not carrying out the shoot, and your own guys would have that much more time to find the PIRA hide-out and hit it.'

  'Yes, but the bastards might go ahead with their threat.'

  Tony looked steadily at me, as if to say, 'They won't.' Then he studied the map again and said, 'Know what? Right now-, we'd do bett
er to hike from here to the drop-offpoint and then walk back in, rather than go round by car.'

  'All right. We'd better keep inside the wood, though. We don't want to walk up the field and get spotted by any more damned gamekeepers.'

  Instead of heading back eastwards across the park and the main drive, we cut away to the west, along the southern edge of Maple Wood. Outside the trees, on our left, a long, narrow field ran up between the blocks of forest, and towards the far side of it stood Brockwell Farm.

  'That's where our QI
  At the head of the field we came across a well-used bridleway running through the wood across our front, and we turned left along it, heading gently down a shoulder. Just after we'd joined the path two fair-haired teenage girls came cantering uphill on glossy ponies, and the leader shouted 'Thanks!' as we stood out of the way to let them pass. How happy they looked, I thought, how healthy, how normal, fhow carefree. What a difference between them — an ordinary, harmless part of the country scene — and ourselves, creeping furtively about with our minds full of death and deception.

  The sight of them nearly choked me again, and I knew my mental reserves were runnin.g down. When Tony said, 'Nice piece of ass, that first one,' all I could do was give him a sickly grin.

  Fifteen minutes' steady tab brought us to the point where the track ran out on to a metalled lane, and there we found a muddy lay-by, big enough for a car to pull off the road, the spot conveniently marked by a sign of a rider on horseback.

  'This is it, then,' I said. 'We drive in to here. Quick drop off, Doughnut carries on northwards. We walk in.

  No problem.'

  Our return journey took almost exactly the same time: fifteen and a half minutes to Point D. Given that in the morning one of us would be carrying the Haskins and the other would have Farrell hitched to him, I reckoned we should allow twenty minutes to get ourselves into position.

  Back on the corner of Maple Wood, we took one more scan with the binos across the park to the house.

  Now there were a couple of men working in the terrace garden. Although the top of the retaining wall obscured their legs from the knees down, the upper parts of their bodies were in full view. With the brilliant green of the young corn, the trees in full leaf and the mellow brickwork of the old building, the scene looked as peaceful as could be.

  'It just shows how much tourists miss,' I said with a touch of bitterness. 'Thousands of them must walk along this path every year. They come and gawp at the place and think how beautiful it all is. But they only see the surface, and they haven't the first fucking clue about what's going on underneath.'

  At 1700 I walked out of the shit-house and round the back of the farm to call Fraser on the mobile.

  His first words were, 'We've taken possession of number fifty-eight Cumberland House.'

  'Oh — great! Any luck?'

  'Yes. We've got echo-phones on the walls, and we can hear next door fairly well. They've got the telly on a lot of the time, probably to mask voices, but we're listening. SO19 will be there any minute now with a drill. We're going to bore through the party wall and see if we can get a fibre-optic probe in place.'

  He paused, then said, 'That's the good news. The bad is that the PII: kA have put in another death threat.

  The final one, they call it.'

  I said nothing, waiting in dread for him to go on.

  'If the shoot on the Prime Minister doesn't go through, or if the Prime Minister escapes, they say they'll kill the hostages at nine tomorrow morning.'

  'Oh, Jesus! Can't you hit them before that?'

  'We're trying to, of course. But as things stand we're not hopeful of going in before ten, at the earliest.'

  'In that case, it's just as well we've got this mock shoot lined up. Can you put me on to Yorky, please?'

  'With pleasure.'

  A moment later Yorky came on, and I said, 'Listen, this is what I've fixed with Farrell.'

  'Fire away.'

  'Our sniper party will be dropped off at 0530. The drop-offpoint's at 838045, where the bridleway leaves the lane. We'll proceed on foot to the PIPe's Point D, 839052. I estimate the walk in will take twenty minutes.

  So we'll be in position before 0600. We'll conceal ourselves in the wood and wait for the PM to appear, presumably any time after six-thirty.'

  'Roger,' said Yorky. He was obviously looking at the 1:25,000 map, because he said, 'Which side of that narrow field will you go down?'

  'North side,' I told him.

  'OK. Part of our QRF will be in that farm — Brockwell Farm. They'll probably see you go by. Just so they know what to expect, how many 6fyou will there be?'

  'Four. Myself with the rifle, Tony with Farrell, and Whinger for back-up.

  Doughnut's going to drive the

  Granada, and Stew will bring the Rekord in later.'

  'OK. And what about after the shoot?'

  'If the target goes down, Farrell will use my mobile to phone through the authorisation for the hostages to be released. He guarantees they'll be driven to our final lkV point, on the M25 between Junctions fourteen and fifteen.'

  'That was where you had the aborted R.V the other day, wasn't it?'

  'Yep, but that was northbound. This one's heading south. The first emergency phone past Junction fifteen.'

  'Trust those bastards to hold it somewhere we can't have a chopper overhead.'

  'I know. But we'll make sure Farrell's wearing his magic shoes. Also, as soon as the handover's been done I can put the make and number of the PllkA vehicle out over the radio.'

  'OK. Go back a bit, though. How do you get out of the park at Chequers?'

  'The chopper's laid on to be standing by from 0630.

  The idea is that the pilot will put down somewhere out of sight a mile or so to the west. The moment Farrell calls him, he'll come straight in to pick us up from 834055. That's in a field west of Whorley Wood.'

  'Got it. Looks as if it's out of sight of the house.'

  'It is.'

  'Then what?'

  'We fly south for two or three minutes, then west, and put down in a field, just east of Junction Six on the M40. Doughnut will be waiting there with the Granada. We pile into that, and away towards London.

  Off at the next exit, number five, where Stew's waiting with the lkekord. Switch into that, and on to the M25.'

  'R.ight, right. Got all that. I'll go back through it with you.' Yorky ticked offthe points, one by one, then said, 'What if there are more PIRA on board the aircraft?

  What if they try something funny?'

  'They can't. A Jet-Ranger can only take four passengers. There'll be me, Farrell, Tony and Whinger.

  That's it. Anyway, we'll all have pistols and knives.'

  'All right.' Yorky paused. 'Now — d'you want to hear my side of it?'

  'Of course.'

  'So. We've established a forward control room in Chequers itself. I'm heading up there myself in half an hour, to direct operations from now on.'

  'Great!' I said. 'That's really good.'

  'We're putting a comms centre into the house as well. Did you see the rebro station on the hill to the west of the house?'

  'Yeah, we went up and had a look at it.'

  'Our signallers stuck up an auxiliary mast this afternoon. That'll give us secure comms over the whole area.'

  'Wait a minute!' Suddenly I had twigged the identity of the vehicle which gave us such a fright. 'Was that them in a police Land Rover? About four o'clock?'

  'Sounds like it.'

  'Christ! They scared the shit out of us. We were up there when they started heading for the site.'

  'That was your bloody fault, for pissing about. The net's up and running, anyway. The signallers have stayed put, and we're bringing up a team of medics. The Qt call-signs will be Black One,

  Black Two and Black Three — in that order. Got that?'

  'Sure.'

  'You'll be Green One, the Granada Green Two, the R-ekord Green Three. Our local head-shed will be Zero Charlie. Got all that?'

  'Yeah, yeah. I'm making notes. It sounds as if half the Regiment's getting seconded to this operation.'

  'It is. And of course we're liaising with the Prime Minister's own close protection squad. So you'd better not drop a bollock, Geordie.'

  'No way. I'm going to play it straight down the line.

  I take it the Prime Minister's been briefed on the shoot itself?'

  'Absolutely.'

  'You'd better warn him about the noise. According to Tony, the sound of a five-oh round going past is like the crack of fucking doom.'

  'OK. I'll see he's told that. Now… what's the time?

  I should be up there for half-eleven. D'you want to call me again then for an update?'

  'Sure. What's the number?'

  Yorky gave it, and I rang off feeling relieved that at least the situation in the country would be well contained. As for London — I could only hope. I kept saying to myself, 'Find them! Find them!'

  The whole evening seemed to consist of briefing sessions. No sooner had I finished with Yorky than I had to run through everything again with Farrell. Of course, many of the points were the same — our drop-off, walk in, and selection of firing position and I had to be careful not to say anything that would betray the fact I'd just been in touch with the security forces.

  'Let's get things straight,' I said. 'If the shoot goes down, you'll use my phone to give the codeword for releasing the hostages. Right?'

  'I will.'

  'What is the codeword?'

  'You'll hear soon enough.'

  'So we make for the helicopter pick-up point.'

  'We do.'

  'And the chopper lands us here, by junction six on the M40.'

  'Agreed,' said Farrell. 'He's going to fly south first and disappear through the valleys, to confuse anyone who might see us-take off. Then he'll turn east and head for the motorway.'

  'Fair enough. Then, at the pick-up point, Doughnut's waiting with the Granada. By the way, you'll need to put your spare kit into the car before we start in the morning: dry socks and shoes and so on. Wear wellies for the shoot. The grass'll be full of dew. Keep the trainers for later… As I say, Doughnut collects us and drives us to the next exit. Stew's there with the lekord.