Andy McNab - Payback

Fergus was on stag, on the first floor of the shopping drag, perched uncomfortably on one of those seats specially installed in malls to ensure shoppers don’t sit down for too long. He could see Danny and Elena and they could see him, and he also had a great bird’s-eye view of the area.

Danny and Fergus had slept rough at the back of a Currys superstore, bedding down in a skip amongst the discarded cardboard and foam filler. Danny was exhausted after the long flight from Spain; he slept soundly and woke feeling a little guilty as he realized that Fergus had allowed him to sleep through instead of waking him for his stag.

They moved out early, not wanting to be discovered or tipped into a rubbish cart, and went separately into a McDonald’s for breakfast. They had plenty of cash: the brown envelope handed to Fergus the previous evening contained?400 in used small notes.

They sat about six tables apart while they ate and then, one after the other, went into the toilet to wash and clean up. Third party awareness dictated that they needed to look as normal as possible: people who sleep rough don’t shop in malls.

As soon as the shops were open they bought two pay-as-you-go mobile phones and some food and other gear, which they shoved into a sports bag. The phones cost?160, but Fergus said it would be worth it for secure communications. Then Danny went online to Elena.

Now they were together again, attempting to look relaxed and natural, even though they both kept their heads down to avoid the all-seeing CCTV cameras.

Fergus was watching as they leaned close together and spoke softly. As always he was being cautious. At the first hint of trouble he would get up and walk away. Danny would know it was the signal for him to walk off in another direction and for Elena to take a third route out.

The RV would be at London Bridge Station, a place they all knew well. Once they had met up there, they would have to decide whether it was safe for Elena to return to Foxcroft. They were gambling with her safety, but Fergus needed whatever information she could give them about their mysterious helper.

‘She’d been monitoring our MSN talk,’ Elena told Danny. ‘Then she fooled me into thinking it was you online. I thought you were back, and when we met she…’ She paused as the memory of the pistol roughly jammed into her mouth came back. She could almost taste it again. ‘I thought she was going to kill me, Danny.’

She reached out and picked up the Coke standing on the tabletop. She took a long gulp, as though she was trying to wash away the taste of metal and oil.

‘You OK?’ asked Danny.

Elena nodded and then told him everything about her terrifying meeting in the alley: the threats, the warnings, the orders, and about Joey being released from prison. ‘But I couldn’t tell you when I was online to you in Spain. I knew she’d be reading whatever I wrote.’

Danny glanced up towards the first floor and saw Fergus look at him and then tap his watch. ‘What about now? How do you contact her?’

‘She’s set up a Hotmail account. Spoofed name. She said she’d e-mail me if there was anything to pass on to you and your granddad.’

‘What about your dad – what’s happened with him?’

Elena thought back to the tearful farewell at the airport. ‘I saw him off at Heathrow yesterday. He’ll be back in Nigeria now.’ She smiled. ‘At least I won’t have to worry about him any more. Just you.’

Danny leaned even closer to her. ‘I’ve really missed you.’

‘Me too. And I wish we had time to talk properly. But what happens now?’

‘All I know is that we’re going to see one of my granddad’s old mates.’

‘Who?’

Danny glanced up at Fergus again. ‘He won’t say. You know what he’s like – operational security, all that stuff. If I were to be caught, I might tell. Same goes for you. So basically I’ll find out where we’re going when I get there.’

Elena finished her Coke and stood up. ‘You’d better go. I’ll go online as usual, but remember, our friend could well be reading whatever you write.’

‘We thought of that,’ said Danny, reaching into his jacket pocket and taking out the new mobile phones. He handed one of them and a charger to Elena. ‘Brand new, bought them first thing. Forget your old one – we’ll use these to communicate.’ He passed Elena a piece of paper with a number written on it. ‘That’s my number. Put it in your phone as soon as it’s charged and then get rid of the paper. And when we speak or text, we never use our names or any other names, even Fincham’s.’

Elena slipped the phone and charger into her coat pocket. ‘Why not? No one knows we have them, right?’

‘Right. But he said no names. There’s a lot of stuff he knows that he doesn’t talk about. So it’s got to be no names. And forget MSN from now on, just text. That way she won’t know what’s happening.’

Up on the first floor, Fergus was watching their every move. Danny stood up and glared at him. ‘Can’t even say goodbye properly,’ he said. ‘He’s always watching me.’

Elena smiled. ‘Then I’ll do it.’ She leaned forward and quickly kissed Danny on the cheek. ‘I’m glad you’re back,’ she said and then hurried away.

Danny knew they were going to Hereford, the hometown of the SAS; that became obvious when Fergus handed over his train ticket. But that was all he knew. Information was being divulged on a ‘need to know’ basis.

As soon as they boarded the inter-city train at Paddington, they went into their standard anti-surveillance drill. Fergus settled into one seat and Danny moved further down the carriage to find a window seat of his own.

The buffet car was out of order so there was nothing to do but remain in their original seats all the way to Newport. Danny took the opportunity to charge his new mobile phone in one of the power points provided for laptop users. At Newport they had to change onto a local train to Hereford. They waited on the platform separately, and when they boarded the train, they took the same carriage but sat a few seats apart.

The train was quiet and Fergus was reading a newspaper. In the aftermath of the teenage suicide bombings new theories were still dominating the headlines, and journalists were searching for a connection between the two boys. But still the only link to be established beyond any doubt was that they had used identical explosive devices.

Fergus was deep in thought, considering the options the Security Services would be exploring, when he heard the voice. ‘I don’t believe it. Watty!’

He cursed himself silently. He hadn’t seen or heard the woman approach as she made her way towards the toilet; now his defences were down. Usually, at the sight or sound of a third party approaching he would have lifted the newspaper so that it masked his face from view. But it was too late for that now: he had to try to bluff his way out.

Slowly he lifted his head and looked at the woman standing in the aisle and smiling down at him. He knew her instantly but his face betrayed no trace of recognition. ‘Sorry, were you talking to me?’

The woman frowned. ‘Blimey, I haven’t changed that much, have I? You must remember me. It’s Rita. Rita Stevens. You know, Gerry’s wife. Or ex-wife. We got divorced; two-timing bastard made a fool of me once too often.’

Rita hadn’t changed much. They’d called her Lovely Rita in the old days, after the Beatles song. Now she looked a little heavier, there were a few lines etched into her face and her hair was dyed blonder and cut shorter. But Fergus remembered Rita well, and her exhusband Gerry.

He had joined the Regiment some time after Fergus. They were never close mates, but everyone got to know Gerry and Rita Stevens. They were famed as a hard-drinking, constantly-rowing husband-and-wife double act. Gerry had a reputation as a womanizer; Rita was known to have had her moments as well.