by Andy McNab
Ten minutes was all it took.
I rested the box in between the electric and gas meters. I only hoped there wasn't an audio alarm as well as a telephone warning. I doubted it somehow, seeing as the budget had stretched to only one external detector.
I took off the blanket, wrapped it in a bundle, and handed it to Kelly.
"You've got to hold that for me because I'm going to need it again in a minute. It's fun, this, isn't it?"
"Yes. But I'm cold."
"We'll be inside in a minute and it'll be all nice and warm. Don't you worry about that."
I stopped, looked, listened, then moved over to the door.
The next thing was gaining entry.
The Americans are into pin tumbler locks in a big way.
There are three main ways to defeat them. The first, and easiest, is just to get a duplicate key. The second is called hard keying. You get a titanium key the size of the lock, and the key has a bolt head that you whack with a hammer; the titanium key pushes in and gouges out all the soft steel. You then fit a special bar onto the bolt head pull down, and it rips out the whole of the cylinder. Hard keying was no good for me tonight because I wanted to go in and come out without any body knowing. I'd have to use the third option.
A lock-pick gun is a metal lock-picking device that looks like a small pistol. It has both straight and offset pick options to accommodate different locks and key ways The "trigger" of the gun is spring-loaded; you squeeze it rapidly, and this trigger movement causes the pick to snap upward within the lock and transfers the striking force to the pins that work the lock mechanism. When the pins are properly aligned, you use a separate tension wrench to turn the lock cylinder. Bad news for people with pin tumblers, but a lock-pick gun can open most of them in less than a minute.
With the blanket over me I turned on the Maglite and put it in my mouth. I inserted the tension wrench into the bottom of the keyway opposite the pins and applied light pressure counterclockwise, in the direction I expected the lock to turn.
I then inserted the pick that protruded from the front of me lock-pick gun. Once the gun and tension wrench were in place, I started squeezing the trigger rapidly. I gave it five shots but the lock didn't open, so I increased the tension adjustment and tried again. I could hear it go clink, clink, clink as I squeezed; again I turned the tension adjustment so that the needle would strike the pins with just enough force. One by one I heard the pins drop, and eventually the tumbler turned. I held the small tension wrench in the lock and pulled the door to take the pressure off the lock itself, because I didn't want to have too much torque on the wrench and bust it, leaving the telltale bit of metal stuck inside. I pulled the door and felt it give.
I opened it a fraction, half-expecting the sound of an alarm. Nothing. I grinned at Kelly, who was right up against the wall with me, very excited. I closed the door again to keep the light in.
"When we get in, you mustn't touch anything un less I tell you, OK?" She nodded.
There's a world outside that is full of mud and shit, and there's a world inside that is clean, and if you don't want to be compromised, you don't combine the two. I took off the coveralls, turned them inside out, and deposited them in the bag.
I then took off my shoes and stuck them into the bag. I put on a pair of running shoes, which meant that not only could I move quickly and silently inside but also I wouldn't be leaving a trail of mud everywhere.
I took off Kelly's coat, put it on the right way, and got her to take off her shoes and shove them in the bag.
I had one last check around the area to make sure I hadn't left
anything.
"We're going to go inside now, Kelly. This is going to be the first time a little girl has done spying like this ever ever ever. But you must do what I say, OK?"
She accepted the mission.
I picked up the bag, and we moved over to the left-hand side of the door.
"When I open this, just walk in a couple of steps and give me enough room to come in behind you, OK?"
"OK."
I didn't want to tell her what to do if anything went wrong, because I didn't want to get her frightened. I just wanted to make it sound as if everything I did was going to work.
"After three one, two, three." I opened the door halfway, and she went right in. I followed, closed the door, and put the lock back on. Done: we were inside.
We followed the corridor, looking now for the staircase to the second floor. I had the bag on my left shoulder. Through glass doors at the end of the corridor I could see the front of the building. It was a large, open-office area with everything I'd have expected to see: desks, filing cabinets, and rubber plants with name tags. To the left and right of us there were other offices and a copying room. The air-conditioning was still on.
I found the stairs behind unlocked swing doors on the left of the corridor. Gently so that it didn't squeak, I pulled one of them open and let Kelly through. There was no light in the stairwell. I switched on the Maglite and shined the beam on the stairs. We climbed slowly.
Quiet as we were, the stairwell was an echo chamber, and to Kelly the red light must have made everything look scary.
She said, "Nick, I don't like this!"
"Shhh! It's OK. Don't worry about it your dad and I used to do this all the time." I grabbed her hand, and we carried on.
We got to the door. It would open toward us because it was a fire exit. I put down the bag, put my lips up to Kelly's ear, and went, "Shhh," trying to make it all exciting.
I slowly eased the door open an inch and looked into the corridor. Same as downstairs, the lights were on and every thing seemed deserted. I listened, opened the door more to let Kelly through, and pointed where I wanted her to go and stand. She was a lot happier to be in the light.
I put the bag down next to her.
"Wait there a minute." I turned right, past the rest rooms and an area that housed the Coke, water, and coffee machines. Next was another photo copy room. I went to the fire-escape door, pulled it toward me, undid the latch, and checked that it would open. I already knew there was nothing on the other side to obstruct it because I'd just been fucking around below it. If there was a drama, we had an escape route.
I picked up the bag again, and we started to walk along the corridor toward the front of the building. We came to the same sort of glass doors as on the floor below, which opened up into the open area. I could see all the workstations, and around the edge there were other offices, all glass-fronted.
Obviously the managers liked to keep an eye on everyone.
The windows that fronted the office block were maybe fifty feet away. Light from the street and the corridor gave the whole area an eerie glow. To the right was another glass door that led into another corridor.
I knew what I was looking for, but I didn't know where I'd find it; all I knew was that it certainly wouldn't be in this part of the building.
I looked down and smiled at Kelly. She was as happy as a clam, just as her dad would have been. Keeping well away from the windows, we walked to the other side of the open area toward the glass door.
There was all the normal office stuff: a bulletin board with targets to be reached, pictures of the salesman of the year, and a thank-you card from somebody who'd just had a baby. Most desks had a small frame with pictures of the family, and everywhere I looked there were motivational posters, shit like: WINNERS NEVER QUIT, QUITTERS NEVER WIN, Or YOU
CANNOT DISCOVER NEW OCEANS UNTIL YOU HAVE THE
courage to lose sight of the shore. I had to stop and read them. The only one I'd seen before was of a big pen of sheep all closed up together, and it said, either lead, follow, or get out of the way. It was on the wall of the HQ of the SAS, and had been there for years. It seemed to me to be the only one you needed.
We went through the glass doors. The corridor was about ten feet wide, with plain white walls and not a poster or potted plant in sight--just a large fire extinguisher near the door. The sudde
n brightness of the lighting made me close my eyes until they adjusted. There were no more doors, but about thirty feet farther down was a T-intersection. I could see offices. We walked down to them; I put down the bag and motioned Kelly to stay with it.
"Remember, don't touch a thing."
The handle on the door of each office was a large metal knob with a pin-tumbler lock in the middle. I tested each one, pulling the handle toward me so as not to make any noise, then gently trying to turn it. There were seven offices in this corridor area; all of them were locked. That was nothing special in itself; it just meant that I'd have to use the lock-pick gun on each one in turn.
I went back to the bag. Kelly was standing beside it, desperate for a job. I said, "Kelly, you've really got to help me now. I want you to stand where I tell you, and you've got to tell me if anyone's coming, all right? I've got to do exactly what I did outside and I still need your help, OK?"
I was getting nod after nod. I kept going: "It's really important;
it's the most important job tonight. And we've both got to be really, really quiet, OK?"
Another nod. I moved her into position.
"I want you to stand on the corner here. Your job is also to look after that bag, because there's a lot of important stuff in it. If you see anything, just tap me on the shoulder like before."
She nodded, and I got out the lock-pick gun.
I got to the first door and started to squeeze. I opened it with the tension wrench and popped my head in, made sure I couldn't see any windows, and turned on the light. It was basically just one office, quite large, about twenty feet by fifteen, a couple of telephones, a picture of the worker's wife, a couple of filing cabinets, very basic furniture. Nothing resembling what I was looking for. I didn't check the filing cabinets--the first look is nothing more than a once-over;
you don't want to spend ages in one location only to find out that what you want is sitting on a desk in the room next door.
I didn't relock the door because I might have to go back in.
I looked at Kelly, still at her post; I stuck my thumb up and she grinned. She had a big job to do.
I went into office number two. Exactly the same, normal office shit: the year planner with different-colored bits of tape on it, signs stating that there was a strict no-smoking policy, and individual mugs of coffee. People's offices are a reflection of themselves; that's why on a job like this it's so important that nothing be left out of place. They would notice immediately.
I continued down the corridor and went to number three.
The same. Four: the same. I was starting to feel I was on a wild-goose chase.
Now for the other three offices; I crossed over the T, and as I passed Kelly she tried to look even more hard at work. I gave her another thumbs-up and went to number five.
It was a much bigger office. There were two couches facing each other with a coffee table in between and a neat arrangement of magazines; a wooden liquor cabinet, smart wooden filing cabinets, framed diplomas and all sorts of things on the wall. But nothing that looked like what I was looking for.
However, behind a large desk and leather swing chair, there was another door. I got the lock-pick gun working. Inside, I found filing cabinets, a fantastically expensive-looking leather-topped desk, and a swivel chair. On the desk was a PC. It wasn't connected to another computer, nor was it connected to a phone line. There wasn't even a telephone in the room.
This could be where the key point was.
It could be a fiber-optic cable that's controlling fixed Scud launching sites in northern Iraq, or it could be just one small component in the control room of a nuclear power station, but a key point has to be protected. If it's damaged, everything else is inoperable. It might not take a hundred pounds of explosives to destroy a target; if you can identify the key point, then sometimes one blow from a two-pound hammer will do the trick. I quickly checked the remaining two offices and confirmed that this was the one I should be concentrating on.
I went back to the bag and got out the Polaroid camera.
Kelly was still working on her gold star for best spy. I smiled:
"I think I've found it, Kelly!"
She smiled back. She didn't have a clue what I was talking about.
I took pictures of the outer office, of what the desktop looked like, a couple of panoramic shots of the area, the coffee table in detail, including the way the magazines were lying; the way that the stuff was set on the table, a picture of all the drawers. In all I took eight shots of the inside of the first office. I now knew exactly what it had looked like when I entered, so when we left I could make sure it looked exactly the same.
I laid the Polaroids in a row on the floor against the wall by the door, just inside the office. The trash from the prints went straight into my pockets.
Waiting for the photographs to develop, I put my head around the door to check on Kelly.
I picked up the bag and brought Kelly with me into the bigger office. I said, "I want you to tell me when those pictures are all developed. Make sure you don't touch a thing, but it's really important I know when those pictures are ready.
Your daddy used to do this job."
"Really?"
I closed the door behind us and jammed two wedges in place.
I remembered a job I'd once done with Kev. We'd been sent to plan the insertion of a visual and audio device into an arms dealer's house in Vancouver. This guy was selling nuclear detonators on the black market and we were assigned to recon the house, come back to the UK, and plan how to put the devices in so that a listening station set up in a nearby hotel room could find out what was happening.
Once we got into the house we took photographs of all the bits and pieces that were needed to plan and prepare our technical attack. After a while we were just bored; it wasn't that hard a job. We went into the bedroom, wedged the door, and started going through his wife's closets. She was very young, and Danish; looking at the two of them in their pictures in the living room, I'd been sure she loved her fifty-eight-year-old grossly overweight husband: there was no way it was his millions of dollars she was interested in. It was then that Kev opened a drawer and discovered untold amounts of kinky underwear.
The rest of the night was spent taking pictures of each other with her panties over our heads. In fact, more time and effort, planning and preparation went into getting her underwear out than into most of the rest of the job. It was while we were tittering in the darkroom back at the embassy that Kev had suddenly broken out in a cold sweat, convinced he'd left a pair of panties on the bed. If he had, there was nothing we could do about it--except imagine the overweight arms dealer finding a pair of frillies on his pillow and thinking all his Christmases had come at once.
I told Kelly to stay where she was, moved into the second office, and started taking more pictures. The cleaning service hadn't been in here. The other offices had empty wastebaskets, but these two offices hadn't been touched; they obviously did these themselves, but not every day. Even more indication that this was a secure area. As I moved around this small room I saw a shredder beside the filing cabinet, and that confirmed it. What was being kept secret, however, I didn't yet know. I put the pictures of the second room on the floor and went back into the main office.
Looking over Kelly's shoulder, I asked, "How's it going?"
"One's nearly ready, look!"
"Great. What Daddy does also is collect the other pictures."
I pointed to the ones next door on the carpet.
"But one at a time, and put them in a nice long line just here." I showed her that I wanted them against the wall.
"Can you manage that?"
"Yeah, sure." She walked off.
I went back next door and had a quick look at the PC. It was on but asleep. Kelly was walking in and out, carrying one picture at a time as if it were a bomb.
I pressed the Return key on the keyboard; I didn't want to touch the mouse because maybe it was positioned as a t
elltale. The screen came alive with Windows 95 and the Microsoft sound which pleased me, because I'd have been struggling with any other system.
I went back to Kelly, who was still staring at the pictures in the other office.
"Look," she said, "some more are ready!"
I nodded as I delved into the bag for the disk with the sniffer program. I was not as good with computers as the sixteen-year-olds who hack into the USAF computer defense system, but I knew how to use one of these. All you have to do is insert a floppy and off it goes, rooting into passwords, infiltrating programs. There is nothing that they can't get into.
I got up and turned toward the back office.
"Won't be long," I said.
"Come and tell me when they're ready to look at."
Eyes glued to the pictures, she just nodded. As I walked back in, I looked at the tracks our feet had brushed in the carpet. I'd have to smooth it out again once we had finished.
I put the disk in and started it. The wonderful thing about this particular program was that you had to answer just two questions. There was a wup! sound and the first one came up.
Do you want to proceed with XI 222? (Y)es or (N)o.
I pressed the Y key. Off it went again, whirring and clicking.
A progress bar came up as the machine clicked away. The next stage would take a few minutes.
I looked at the filing cabinet; it was going to be a piece of cake to get into. I went to the bag and retrieved what Pat would have called the "surreptitious entry kit" but which to me was just the pick and rakes wallet. It was a small, black leather case that contained a general assortment of tools designed for the efficient opening of most pin-tumbler, wafer, lever, and double-sided locks. Among the sixty pieces were full, half, and three-quarter rakes; diamond-tip picks and single, double, and half-double ball picks; light, medium, and heavyweight tension wrenches of various lengths and styles; hook-and saw-type broken-key extractors, probes, feeler pick, needle pick, and double-ball rake. Don't leave home without it.
The progress bar was showing it was just halfway through a process, so I started on the filing cabinets with a feeler pick.
