Andy McNab: Payback

So he’d helped, against his better judgement. ‘I’m a coward,’ he told them. ‘If it starts to go wrong you won’t see my arse for dust.’

Eddie had played a massive part in the rescue; if it hadn’t been for him they would never have got away. But it was the last thing he ever did. Danny had watched helplessly as one of George Fincham’s team put two bullets into the back of his head.

Danny was thinking of Eddie as he waited at the ERV. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about him recently. He dreamed about him often – always the same dream, a nightmare in full colour.

Eddie is running from the gunman and Danny is running towards him, trying to save him but knowing it’s hopeless, getting closer and closer as the pistol slowly rises in the gunman’s hand.

He hears Eddie shout, ‘Danny, help me! Please, help me!’

And just as Danny reaches out to grab Eddie and pull him away, the pistol roars, and with his eyes wide in horror and staring accusingly at Danny, the reporter sinks slowly to the ground.

The dream never changed and Danny didn’t think he would ever get over the guilt he felt for Eddie’s death.

‘You deal with it,’ his grandfather had told him many times. ‘You have to – you just deal with it.’

But Danny wasn’t like his grandfather, and after six months he still wasn’t dealing with it.

The ERV was about a kilometre from the house. Fergus and Danny had gone searching for a suitable place soon after moving in. A copse of scrubby trees and bushes stood at the top of a rise in a succession of stony fields. Many years earlier there might have been rows of olives – a few withered survivors were dotted here and there, but mostly the landscape was barren and bare.

From one side of the copse there was a good view down towards the town; on the other the fields slipped away to a dried-up river bed. On the far side there were more trees and bushes and then a quiet road offering an alternative escape route. Good reasons for choosing the spot as the ERV. The middle of the copse was dense and here it was possible to remain unseen while watching for anyone approaching from any direction: another plus point – and the fact that no one ever appeared to go there made it even more appealing.

Once Fergus had settled on the copse as the ERV they had spent the next two nights bringing in and concealing escape kits. Tinned food and bottled water had been stashed in day sacks, which were in turn placed in heavy-duty black plastic bags. Fresh clothes and a wad of cash were put into another black sack and the whole lot was buried just below the surface of the dry earth. The freshly dug soil was covered with leaf litter and a couple of fallen branches and the exact location marked with a large and distinct stone carried in from the field. By the time they finished it looked as though no one had been there for years.

After the drama outside the house Danny had virtually sprinted all the way to the ERV without once looking back. He arrived breathless but not panicking. They had talked about this eventuality many times and Danny knew what was expected of him.

He stayed calm, reckoning his grandfather must be OK. Danny was pretty certain that the fishing line he’d seen hanging from the shutter had led to some sort of explosive device, but there had been no explosion.

What he couldn’t work out was how Fergus had known the device was there. But there was plenty to do while he thought about it. Quickly he removed the branches and leaf litter, and using his bare hands he dug into the loose soil and uncovered the black plastic bags. He took everything from the bags and then filled in the hole and replaced the leaves and branches so that the area once again looked undisturbed.

And then he sat down to wait. Six hours – that was the agreed time. He would wait for Fergus for six hours, not a second less. Danny might have moaned about his grandfather’s endless lectures, but now they were back in a conflict situation he was determined to follow orders and stick to SOPs.

So he waited and watched, and the thoughts of Eddie Moyes began to return.

A Boeing 747 came lumbering down through the low cloud, engines whining and screaming as it made its approach to London’s Heathrow Airport.

Marcie Deveraux was waiting by the fire escape on the third floor of Terminal Three’s short-stay car park. The noise of the next arriving jumbo began to build and Deveraux turned and saw the brake lights of a Volvo estate flash on as the driver realized he wasn’t going to make the turn down the ramp without scratching his expensive paintwork. Brake lights switched to reversing lights. The vehicle pulled back, gears crunched and then the Volvo shot forward down the ramp. Deveraux had remained out of sight, but it wasn’t to save the driver’s blushes. She didn’t want to be seen by anyone. She punched in a number on her Xda and put it to her ear. The call was answered quickly. ‘All clear,’ she said.

Less than a minute later a dark green Chrysler Voyager with a tinted windscreen and blacked-out windows came gliding down from the floor above. This driver knew what he was doing. The MPV stopped and a side door slid back as Deveraux stepped out from the shadows. She got in and closed the door, and as soon as she was seated the vehicle pulled smoothly away and headed down the ramps.

Dudley was in the seat next to Deveraux, still bundled up in his overcoat, despite the fact that the heating inside the vehicle seemed to be going at full blast.

‘I can’t pretend to be particularly impressed with Fincham’s team,’ said Dudley. ‘Missed Watts again, I hear – it’s getting to be a habit.’

‘The team is good, sir,’ replied Deveraux, ‘but so is Watts.’

The vehicle cleared the car park and Dudley stared out of the window. ‘And I was under the impression he was just a middle-aged man with a limp.’ He turned to Deveraux. ‘Where are they now?’

Deveraux took a deep breath. ‘We don’t know, sir.’

Dudley sighed. ‘Why does that not surprise me either?’

‘The hit should have taken place three hours ago, sir. When there were no reports of an incident, the team went back to check it out. The house was deserted but the vehicle was still there.’

‘Obviously. As you keep stressing, the man is good – he wouldn’t be stupid enough to use the vehicle again. And what are your plans now?’

‘Fincham is seething, sir. He’s told the team leader that if she doesn’t want to find herself working as a traffic warden she needs to complete the job within three days.’

‘I said your plans, Marcie. Tell me what you want to do.’

The vehicle braked suddenly as the traffic ahead snarled to a standstill. Dudley leaned forward to see what was causing the hold-up. There didn’t appear to be any obvious problem, although in the distance a police siren began to sound.

‘Well?’ said Dudley, turning to look at Deveraux.

‘I want to get to them first. And I have a way. I want to bring them back to finish this. I’ll find out who else knows about Fincham’s corruption and I’ll get Fincham and his fifteen million.’

Dudley stared at Deveraux for a long moment before he spoke again. ‘Our fifteen million, Marcie.’

‘Our fifteen million, sir.’

Dudley glanced out through the window again and spoke softly. ‘You’re a very ambitious young woman, Marcie. I admire that, and the ruthless streak; both necessary qualities in one aiming for the top.’

Deveraux smiled. ‘Does that mean I get the go-ahead, sir?’

The smile was not returned as Dudley replied. ‘I will give you this chance to conclude matters. But remember this, Marcie: I can be ruthless too. Extremely ruthless.’

The car phone began to sound. As the shaven-headed driver lifted it from the hands-free cradle and put it to his left ear, Deveraux noticed that half the ear was missing. It didn’t seem to affect his hearing: he listened for a short while without speaking and then ended the call. With the phone still in his hand, he reached for the switch on the car radio. ‘I think you’ll want to hear this, sir.’