Andy McNab - Boy soldier

It was the perfect place to do a runner. Fergus couldn't have stopped Danny, not with his limp and not without stirring one of Westcliff's finest into calling the police.

But Danny didn't run. 'Can I have my mobile?' he asked as they walked slowly away from the bus stop.

'You know you can't,' answered Fergus without looking at him.

'Don't worry,' said Danny. 'I'm not planning on calling Fincham. I have to let Elena know what's happening.'

Fergus stopped walking. 'Who the hell is Elena?'

'She's my friend, at Foxcroft. She helped me find you.'

'Oh, terrific. And who else knows about this?'

'No one. Just Elena. And I trust Elena a lot more than I trust you.'

Fergus reached into a pocket and took out the phone. 'Is this pay as you go?'

'Course it is, I can't afford a contract phone. I'm an orphan, remember?'

'Don't make any calls, just check your messages,' said Fergus, handing Danny the phone. 'If you can find a way of locating phones, I'm sure Fincham can. But we'll be well away from here long before it's any good to him.'

Danny switched on the mobile. He had five new voicemails and three texts. 'They'll all be from Elena.'

'Just check the texts, the voicemails will take too long.'

Danny checked the first text and Fergus read it with him: Wher r u amp; y dont u ans fone. Its v 18. Im worried

'Stupid bloody language,' said Fergus as he worked out what the message meant.

The second text read: Danny!!! Wots going on?? DTR asking questions. Please call!!!

'What's DTR mean?' asked Fergus.

'It stands for Dave the Rave, the bloke who runs Foxcroft. He's all right.'

The final text had been sent at nine o'clock that morning. Something bad must hve hapened 2 u. If i dnt hear in nxt hour im telling dave wots bin going on. I must so please please call.

Fergus looked at his watch. It was nine forty-two. 'She sounds a bit flaky.'

'Flaky?' said Danny angrily. 'Elena's not flaky, she's worried about me. A lot more worried than you've ever been.'

'Yeah, all right, enough,' snapped Fergus. 'You've done the hurt grandson bit and I've got the message. But what I am worried about now is keeping us both alive.'

'Us? You keep saying us. Nothing's gonna happen to me. I'm out of this. You do what you like, I'm going back to London.'

'I can't let you do that.'

Danny laughed. 'How you gonna stop me? Tie me up? Shoot me? Fill me with cocaine?'

Their raised voices were beginning to attract the attention of Westcliff's strolling pensioners and Fergus decided to take a different line. 'All right. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe once Fincham knows you're back home and I'm nowhere around he'll question you and then leave you alone.'

'He will. And… and I won't tell him anything. I'm not saying I believe what you've told me, but…'

Fergus nodded. He had absolutely no intention of letting Danny walk into danger. For the moment, he was buying time. 'Tell you what, I'll come with you. Just to see you safely back.'

'There's no need.'

'Probably not, but let me anyway. Then I'll get out of your life. Send your friend one text. Tell her not to worry and that you'll be back in about three hours. And tell her-'

'Yeah, I know,' interrupted Danny. 'Tell her not to make any more calls or send texts to this phone.' He switched on the phone and punched in his text, knowing that Elena would be furious at getting such a brief message.

When Danny had finished, Fergus took the phone and removed the simcard. 'I'll get you another one later. But now I'm going to buy you some new clothes.'

'What?'

'You want to look your best when you get back, don't you?

They obviously had very different ideas on what constituted 'looking your best'.

On the main shopping drag Fergus found a charity shop, and after checking there was no CCTV installed, led Danny inside. He went straight to the racks of clothes.

'See anything you fancy?'

'I'm not wearing these rejects.'

Fergus grabbed an anorak from the clothes rail and thrust it into Danny's hands. 'Do this for me, Danny. I don't want you picked up outside Foxcroft. You were followed all day yesterday, so they know what you were wearing. So choose some gear and let's get out of here.'

Five minutes later they left the shop with a carrier bag full of clothes. 'We can change on the train,' said Fergus, who was already wearing a newly purchased flat cap.

'You look a right dickhead in that,' said Danny as they walked down to the small station.

'Maybe,' answered Fergus. 'But that's the idea. Mr Average, the bloke no one ever gives a second glance.'

Danny went onto the platform and waited while Fergus got tickets from the machine outside. He insisted they stay third party aware so they began the forty-five-minute journey into Fenchurch Street Station in separate carriages. The early morning commuter scramble was over and when Fergus thought it was safe, he moved into Danny's carriage.

Danny had put on his newly acquired bomber jacket and baseball cap. And he'd been thinking. 'I'm still not saying I believe you, but… if you were set up, why haven't you tried to clear your name?'

'Like I told you, "deniable operator" means just that: you get caught and you're on your own. Once I was captured, the story of me being a traitor was perfect for the Firm. But when I escaped I became a potential embarrassment, to the Firm and the government, and they don't like loose ends. But it's worked out perfectly for Fincham; he'll have full backing to get rid of me and he'll be covering his own arse at the same time.'

'But isn't there anyone else who knew you were a K. Anyone outside the Firm?'

Fergus shrugged. 'My old CO, Colonel Meacher – he had to sanction the move and-'

'I met him,' said Danny quickly. 'At the Victory Club. We could find him and he could clear you.'

'He hasn't up until now.'

'But he's out of the army now. If we went to him and told-'

'Look, Danny,' said Fergus, 'I appreciate what you're saying, but I'm not up to it any more. I'm fifty-three, I can't walk properly and I came back to England to keep my head down and stay out of trouble.'

'Yeah, well, you've lost that option now,' answered Danny angrily. 'And what's wrong with you? I read the stories. You were a hero in Ireland, and in the Gulf. You got medals. Now you reckon you're not up to it. Don't you want to live?'

Fergus smiled. 'Yeah, I want to live. And I thought you didn't believe me…'

The train was starting to slow as it began the approach into Fenchurch Street and Danny glanced out at the grimy city buildings. He spoke quietly. 'I don't. And maybe you're not up to it, but I am.'

Mick and Fran had drawn the short straw. They were on surveillance outside Foxcroft but as far as they could see there was no way Danny would return. Fergus Watts was far too experienced to allow that.

But they had to be there, just in case. Resources were stretched. Jimmy and Brian were with Marcie Deveraux, preparing for the CTR on Eddie Moyes's flat. George Fincham had chosen not to bring in extra manpower on this job. And if the governor had his reasons for keeping this one to his chosen few, that was fine by them. It was a compliment.

The lack of sufficient manpower on the surveillance meant they were using technology to plug the gaps. Earlier, Mick had parked a white Transit van on the corner of a side road close to Foxcroft.

The back of the van faced the building, and in one of the rear doors were several tiny holes, so small they were invisible to the naked eye. Fibre optic cables ran from the holes into a sophisticated camera system with face-recognition software, rigged inside the battered van. The ends of the fibre optics were trained towards Foxcroft, and Danny's image had been loaded into the system.