Gerald Seymour - Home Run

He would watch each movement of the guards when they brought him his breakfast.

Past six, and Charlie sang in his shower. He felt good. He knew what was the source of his soaring spirits. It was his meeting with Mr Stone, gun runner By Appointment. Stone had taken Charlie's money, and would deliver, because Charlie was the friend of Mr Furniss. He began to realize that the friendship of Mr Furniss was a protective shield to him.

He dressed and packed his rucksack.

He came out of his room quickly. He walked on the corridor carpet on the balls of his feet, and he went quietly, and he could hear the scramble of movement behind the door across the corridor, and he heard the static and the squeal of a radio hurriedly activated. He ran down the fire stairs.

In the lobby he went briskly to the swing doors. He drifted into the street.

Charlie turned, and he went past the line of taxis. At the end of the line was the green Sierra.

The call on the radio, fed into his earpiece, had battered Keeper awake.

Still in the back of the car. He was wrenching the sleep out of his eyes and shaking his head clear. Harlech telling him that Tango One had come out of his room. Corinthian telling him that Tango One had crossed the lobby.

He sat upright. He saw Tango One coming down the line of taxis, and behind Tango One was Corinthian spilling out through the swing doors, and then behind Corinthian was Token, fumbling to get her blouse into her jeans. Why the hell was Token tucking her blouse in? Why the hell did it ever get untucked when she was mounting night surveillance in a hotel room with Harlech? Harlech would be at the back, in the car park, getting the back-up on to the street. Of course Token had to sleep, like he'd slept, silly thought, and fast because the target was closing on his car, striding up past the taxis. It happened, it wasn't desirable, but it sometimes happened, that a target would walk right past the surveillance position, within spitting distance. The routine was to look away, get your face out of his field of vision. Make it look like there was nothing there out of the ordinary.

This was just about the closest that he had been to Tango One, just closer than the one-way window at Heathrow. He turned away. He had yesterday's newspaper in his hands, and his head was away from the pavement, and his body was low in the back seat. All standard procedure.

The car lurched.

The front of the car bucked down.

His eyes opened. Keeper's eyes coming half out of his head.

He gazed through the front windscreen at the back of Tango One.

Tango One sat on the bonnet of the green Sierra, and his feet swung close to the nearside front wheel and he was grinning as he looked down and through the windscreen. The fucking Tango was sitting on the bonnet of Keeper's car… no standard procedure for that one. Keeper looked into the amused face. Past Tango One he could see Token stop dead in her tracks, and Corinthian behind her.

"Excuse me." He wound down the rear window. "Would uou mind getting off my car."

He heard the voice that mimicked his accent. "Excuse me . excuse me, would you mind getting off my back."

All the training said that in a show-out then the surveillance team backed off, and fast. Keeper couldn't back off. He was half lying in the back of his car, and the target was comfortable on the bonnet.

Token was twenty yards from the car, and hesitating, and not knowing what was expected of her, and Harlech had stalled his engine and there was a frustrated horn hammering behind him, and Corinthian was cutting through the traffic to get to the far side of the road, which was right. A bitter, raw anger in Keeper.

"Would you mind getting off my car, please."

Again the mimicking of his voice, but this time shouted,

"April Five to April One, April Five to April One… for fuck's sake come in, please. What a funny little name, April Five."

"Get off."

"Get off my back."

The words were clear in Keeper's memory. There was room for discretion when there had not been an order. But there had been an order. "You do not, repeat not, pull in Tango One."

Bill had not said, "You do not, repeat not, put your fist in the target's grin." He climbed out of the car. He felt awkward, stiff, from sleeping in the back seat, and out with him came an empty soft drink can that clattered into the gutter beside him.

"Get the hell off my car, Eshraq."

"Didn't you hear me, April Five? Get off my back."

"I'm going to stay on your back until they close the door on you."

"I don't think so, April Five."

"I'll put you off my car.'

" T r y. "

"Don't think, Eshraq, that Furniss can protect you."

And Charlie Eshraq laughed at him, the flash of wide white teeth.

"Out of your depth, April Five. Heh, April Five, can you swim?"

And he was left. He stood beside the car, and he had to put his hand on the roof of the car to steady himself, and it was not the tiredness that had weakened his legs. He was trembling with rage.

They went through the routine. They watched the target in his seat throughout the journey, as if they hadn't shown out, as if he hadn't sat on the bonnet of the Case Officer's car, as if they knew what they were doing, as if it hadn't been the biggest foul-up any of them could remember.

No one actually asked Keeper what had been said at the green Sierra saloon, because none of them dared. The April team went back to London and half a dozen rows in front of them Charlie Eshraq slept.

Keeper went forward, matching the motion of the train.

He caught at the seat heads to balance himself.

His hand brushed the ear of Charlie Eshraq when he went past that seat, and he saw the annoyance curl on the man's face. Didn't give a damn. He was whistling, cheerful.

He went to the buffet. Twelve cans of Newcastle Brown, four whisky minatures, eight packets of crisps, eight packets of roasted peanuts.

He spilled them down on to the table. Harlech looked like he couldn't remember when Keeper had last volunteered his shout, Corinthian looked like it was Christmas morning, Token was grinning.

He sang. Big voice, might have had a trace of baritone, but he didn't know about such things…

Eshraq has only got one ball,

His Dad had two but they were very small, Khomeini has something similar,

But the Shah had no balls at all…

Heads turned. Business men dropping their pocket calculators and their financial reports, and Eshraq twisting his head to look back at them. "One more time," Keeper shouted.

Charlie has only got one ball,

His Dad had two but they were very small, Khomeini has something similar,

But the Shah had no balls at all…

And into the decibel joke competition. Loudest laughter wins.

Token's was filthy, Harlech's was rugby, Corinthian's was subtle, which meant he couldn't win, Keeper's was Irish.

Filth rules. A miniature emptied into Token's second can.

They were all laughing, all rating it a hell of a good morning, and Token had her arm looped up and over David's shoulder and she tousled the hair at the back of his neck.

"Well done, big boy."

He looked forward to what he could see of the shoulder six rows in front of him. He looked past the dark suits and the starched shirts and the disapproval.

"Just to let him know that I'll take his legs off at the knees."

"Go home, David."

"I will go home when I know what is happening."

"What makes you think that I know what's happening?"

"That's not an answer, Bill, and you know it."

"It's the answer you'll have to make do with."

"We could have knocked him and you blocked it."

"I told you, David, it was up the mountain from me."

The frustration showed. Park thwacked his right fist into the palm of his left hand. Parrish didn't look as though he were impressed. It was the first time that Park had ever shouted at Bill Parrish, because Parrish was a cuddly old sponge, and shouting at him was blowing bubbles out of the window. Too nice a man to shout at.