Andy McNab - Boy soldier

He got no further. Fergus grabbed him by his jacket collar, snatched the phone away and shoved it into a pocket. As Danny struggled, Fergus dragged him to the blue Fiesta, pulled open the door and threw him inside. 'Stay there!' he yelled and slammed the door.

'Stand by, stand by. Jimmy has Bravo One and a definite Fergus towards the car. That's a positive ID on Fergus. He's limping. Jimmy still has the trigger and can give direction at the main. Wait… wait, that's both complete in the car… engine on. That's the car mobile towards the main…'

The Fiesta roared away, spewing up gravel and dust as it raced from the lay-by.

That's blue Fiesta gone left on the main… repeat, left on the main…'

Another voice burst into Jimmy's earpiece.

'Mick has the Fiesta… mobile on the main.'

The team had been all over Danny from the moment he left Foxcroft that morning. It had been difficult once he'd taken the train at Liverpool Street. Fran had followed Danny onto the train, taking a different carriage. She checked at each station to see if Danny had got off and constantly relayed details to the others. The two cars and a motorbike had undertaken a high-speed chase from station to station through the streets of east London and Essex as the train ploughed through the suburbs and into the countryside.

The TDM was no longer part of the operation. Jimmy had realized the machine had become too hot for the follow. He crawled out from under the tangle of bush and scrubby grass fifty metres down the road from the lay-by and ran towards his new vehicle, a Ford Focus.

He'd been following Danny when he was in the pick-up truck and had watched it swerve off the road. He pulled the Focus onto the grass verge round the next bend and then tracked back on foot, finding what little cover he could.

Now, as he ran, he ripped off the Gore-Tex jacket he wore to protect his clothes. He ran hard: the rest of the team needed him back on the follow as soon as possible. Mick was still driving the dark blue Golf, with fresh number plates. He'd picked up Fran at Rayleigh Station, and Brian was now on a motorbike, a Suzuki Ninja. But the third vehicle was vital if Fergus was heading for one of the nearby towns.

Jimmy smiled as he ran back to the Focus. He'd done good work, thinking quickly and reporting everything that happened in the lay-by to the rest of the team. And George Fincham and Marcie Deveraux would have been alerted by now and would be on their way.

Sweat ran down the side of Jimmy's face as he reached the car. He gulped in air as he lifted the tailgate and listened to Fran on the net.

'Stop. Stop. Stop. That's the Fiesta static in a lay-by. He's aware, he's checking vehicles passing him.'

Jimmy threw the Gore-Tex jacket on top of two bags that sat in the boot. One contained Gore-Tex trousers, Wellington boots, extra warm clothes and enough canned food and water for two days. If a follow turned into a surveillance on an isolated building there had to be a trigger on that building 24/7; there was never time to go away and fetch kit.

The other bag held an MP5 automatic machine gun, loaded thirty-round magazines, body armour, night viewing goggles and a trauma pack. The team had to be ready to deal with any situation, including wound-ings. Plastic litre bottles of plasma were part of the pack: if a team member was shot the others knew how to plug the holes and replace the lost blood.

Jimmy slammed down the boot, jumped into the Focus and pulled off the verge and onto the road. He squeezed the radio pressel on the gearstick.

'That's Jimmy mobile and with you in five.'

It wasn't working out quite the way Eddie Moyes had planned.

The first part had been easy. Jumping into a cab and telling the driver to 'Follow that bus' felt good, like old times.

Even when the cab driver moaned at him about getting bacon fat on his upholstery, Eddie just mouthed a quick, 'Sorry,' and kept his eyes glued on the bus Danny had taken from close to Foxcroft.

But Eddie had no idea it would be such a long journey, right into the heart of the city. When he saw Danny get off the bus, he quickly drew some crumpled notes from his pocket and thrust them at the cab driver. Parting with that much cash was painful, but it would be worth it.

Trailing Danny on foot was more difficult, specially when he seemed to sense he was being followed and increased his pace. Eddie struggled to keep up and lost Danny completely as he passed Liverpool Street Station. But a few minutes later, as he hung around outside McDonald's, he saw Danny enter the station by the side entrance.

Eddie didn't bother with a ticket, he just followed Danny to the platform for the Southend train and got on, one carriage back. All went well until Rayleigh, where Danny leaped from the train and sprinted through the barrier. But when Eddie tried to follow he was stopped by a ticket inspector. By the time he'd paid his fare and been warned that 'attempting to avoid payment was a serious offence', Danny was gone.

The out-of-condition reporter puffed his way uphill to the town centre, realizing he'd blown it. He asked around in a few shops but no one admitted to seeing a boy fitting Danny's description. So Eddie went to a cashpoint, withdrew enough money to see him through the day, and then did what he always did when a story hit a brick wall: he went for a pint and a pie. Hunting an exclusive always made him hungry.

A couple of hours later he was back near the station. He found himself a patch of grass in the shade of some straggly bushes by the car park, unfolded a copy of The Times he'd bought in the town and sat down to do the crossword, and to wait. Danny had to come back at some time, and if Eddie missed him, he'd go back to Foxcroft first thing in the morning, ready to start again.

He was puzzling over seven down when an old blue Fiesta pulled into the car park. He took no notice at first but when the driver got out and looked around, he seemed vaguely familiar. Then the passenger door opened and Danny emerged. Eddie smiled, looked up to the heavens and mouthed a silent 'Thank you.'

He watched as Fergus locked the car, took Danny by the arm and pulled him to the bus lay-by in front of the station where two buses were waiting. They got on the first and a couple of minutes later it pulled away. Eddie was already at the taxi rank, and for the second time that day he told a cab driver to 'Follow that bus'.

Fergus was heading back to the cottage. In the short term, at least. He could pick up cash and emergency supplies and decide on what to do next. He had to figure that Danny had been followed, but there was no point in grilling him about it, he just wouldn't know.

'Listen to me, boy,' Fergus had said as he drove. 'There are people looking for me, and thanks to you, they're probably very close. If they find me I'm dead, and so are you!'

'Me?' said Danny in amazement. 'It's you they want. As soon as you stop this car I'm going to the police-'

'The police can't help you now! No one can, no one but me. So just shut the fuck up and do what I say!'

Danny did shut up, stunned into silence.

Fergus concentrated on trying to see if they were being followed. There were no give-away signs but that meant nothing. He knew they couldn't go all the way back by car: it would give any following surveillance team too much time to lock onto them. He drove to Rayleigh – there were buses that went close enough to the cottage.

They took seats near the back of the bus. Fergus pushed Danny into the window seat so that he couldn't try to make a quick exit. But Danny wasn't planning on trying to get away. Not any more. He was scared.

Fergus spoke quietly. 'How did you find me?'

Danny didn't answer.

'I need to know, boy,' hissed Fergus. 'Don't mess me about.'