Andy McNab: Payback

It was only when Danny and Fergus were safely out of the country that Elena learned exactly which ‘white goods’ Joey was dealing in. Cocaine. And it was being imported rather than exported. Joey and his socalled ‘business partner’ were arrested, charged and remanded at Her Majesty’s pleasure until his trial came up.

Elena had gone through a tough six months too. She’d risked her own life in helping Danny rescue his grandfather from the safe house. Then she’d handed over much of her remaining cash to help them leave Britain and start their new life in Spain. The money was already being gradually paid back through various banks directly into her building society account. But it wasn’t the money that mattered.

What mattered was not knowing if she’d ever see Danny again. And not knowing if one day the police would come knocking on the door to arrest her for her part in the escape. And, just like Danny, not knowing if life would ever be normal again.

Danny came back on her computer screen.

Senor dice: i better go, he’s waiting outside

Senorita dice: yeah ok. talk in 2 weeks???

Senor dice: hope so

Senorita dice: i’ll b here, just in case. take care

Senor dice: u take care

Senorita dice: bye then

Senor dice: bye

Senorita dice: xxx

Night falls quickly in southern Spain. Darkness creeps up stealthily and is suddenly there. Like an ambush.

Fergus and Danny were back at the house. The drive from Seville had passed in silence after Fergus made the mistake of asking how the online conversation with Elena had gone. Danny merely grunted, ‘It was crap.’

Fergus said nothing more and concentrated on driving. He already felt bad enough about the way Danny’s life had changed because of him.

They ate in silence and when Fergus switched on the television, Danny just sighed and went up to his room.

Fergus sat through a Western movie dubbed in Spanish and then switched off the TV. He did his usual rounds, checking that the house and garage were secure, and then made his way up the stairs. Danny’s room was already in darkness and Fergus knew better than to knock and say goodnight. His grandson was probably asleep anyway.

Ten minutes later Fergus got into bed and switched off the light. But sleep wouldn’t come. He lay in the darkness, thinking. The twenty-four-hour clock at his bedside flicked over to 23:17. Two men were talking loudly as they passed by in the street below. Their footsteps faded and Fergus turned to face the wall. Soon after, he slept.

The night was still and warm, and much later a sound penetrated the wooden shutters and Fergus woke. He opened his eyes and listened. Somewhere, close by, a dog was barking. It wasn’t unusual. He turned to look at the clock: 02:54. Before it had moved on to the next number he was asleep again.

Fran checked her watch. Three a.m. She stood beneath one of the small orange trees and stared across and up the road at the target house less than twenty metres away. Dull yellow light from the streetlamps barely penetrated the inky darkness. She pressed the radio pressel hanging from her watchstrap with a rubber-gloved finger.

‘OK, let’s get on with it. Fran’s foxtrot.’

Further down the street, on the far side of the target house, Mick heard Fran in his earpiece and began to move. The two new members of the team were watching the rear of the property, even though there was no way out in that direction. A three-metre wall completely enclosed the small back yard, but they were watching the approach routes so that, if necessary, they could give warning of any approaching third party.

The operation had been meticulously planned: the house and town had been recced on each of the four previous evenings. Fran moved forward cautiously with a square Tupperware lunch box cradled in her hands. Two large magnets were gaffered to the sides so that they stuck out just a centimetre beyond the lip of the box.

A dog was barking incessantly. Someone had spooked it. Fran made a mental note to give the new members of the team a bollocking if it was down to them. She smiled as she got closer to the house. She and Mick had talked about this moment many times over the past six months. Revenge would be especially sweet.

They met at the garage shutter. Fran immediately stood with her back to it while Mick shone a mini Maglite around the frame, his fingers covering the lens, leaving just enough light to check for any tell-tales. They couldn’t allow themselves to think that Watts would leave house and vehicle completely unguarded – he was too professional for that. If there were no telltales here or inside the garage they would assume they had been left on the wagon itself.

The check of the frame revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Mick dropped to his knees, where a five-centimetre lip on the bottom of the shutter formed the seal along the concrete floor. Protruding through a hole in the centre of the lip was a steel hoop, set into the floor. A padlock was securely fixed around the hoop.

Mick examined the padlock for talcum powder, or grease. If it was disturbed in any way, Watts would know for certain that someone had tampered with it. But there was nothing. Finally Mick studied the position of the lock; when the job was over it needed to be replaced in exactly the same way. They were dealing with a man just as expert as they were.

Mick had carried out a locks recce the previous night. He placed the Maglite in his mouth and, leaning closer to cut down the spill of light, felt in the back pocket of his jeans for the two thin picks he knew would free the shutter.

The dog was still barking, and from a house not too distant came the sounds of a man and woman arguing furiously. Maybe it was their dog and neither of them wanted to get out of bed to shut the thing up. The dog seemed to join in the row, barking even louder.

Mick ignored the noise; his job was to open the shutter. If there was a problem Fran would tap him on the shoulder and walk away. He would then get up and make off in the opposite direction.

The lock was easily defeated. Slowly but firmly Mick pulled up the shutter until he could lie on the ground and check inside with his torch. He concentrated on the concrete floor, looking for sand or oil that would give away their presence once they stepped inside. Even discarded rubbish or sheets of newspaper could have been placed strategically for an intruder to disturb. But again, there was nothing.

Mick pushed the shutter up a little further and slid into the garage. He placed the padlock in a pocket as Fran followed him through and then gently and noiselessly pushed the shutter back down into position.

It was a critical moment. For all they knew there could have been security cameras or a motion detector rigged in the garage. It was a risk they had to take and they would find out soon enough if they had been caught. Whatever happened, the mission had to be completed: Watts and the boy had to die. Fran had been very clear when giving her final instructions to the team. ‘We deal with any problem as the situation dictates.’

For the moment it appeared as though luck was with them. There were no sounds of movement from inside the house; all they could hear was the muffled sound of the dog barking.

Their torchlight bounced around in the darkness, picking out little in the confined space apart from the pick-up truck. Fran kept her light on the front of the vehicle and tapped Mick on the shoulder. He slowly got to his feet and she hit her radio pressel twice, sending only two hisses of air to the team to signify that they were in. It was quicker that way. And silent.

A Cockney voice came back to them in their earpieces.

‘That you two in the garage?’

The Londoner heard two more hisses of air as an affirmative and was on the move.