Andy McNab - Boy soldier

But they had given Fergus a chance. There was no way he could fight it out with them on the street. But in the next few seconds, while they were bent over with their heads and backs inside the car, he had one opportunity to use his own personal SAS mode – Speed, Aggression and Surprise.

His injured leg was almost giving way as he lurched towards the rear of the Golf. A couple more seconds and the two operators would have been clear, but as they grasped their bags, Fergus took his full weight on his good leg and leaped into the air. His arms and body arched over the tailgate and brought it crashing down.

There were yells of pain and shock. Mick dropped the car keys on the ground and Fran screamed in agony as her shoulders and neck took much of the force. Fergus felt his leg buckle as he landed. But he made himself to stay upright, lifted off the tailgate and slammed it down again and again on his two victims.

The muffled screams coming from the vehicle were a mixture of agony and anger. Shouting furiously, Mick tried to reach back to the pistol he had on his jeans belt. But Fergus saw the movement and, grasping the tailgate for support, kicked him between the legs with his right foot. There was an anguished yell and Mick temporarily forgot all about the pistol.

Fergus slammed the tailgate down once more, picked up the car keys and staggered round to sit in the driver's seat. He heard Mick and Fran moan as he slid the key into the ignition. The engine revved and Fergus shoved the car into reverse. It jerked backwards and Fergus stood on the brakes. The tailgate flew open and Mick and Fran were thrown out onto the road.

The Golf's gearbox crunched in protest as Fergus struggled to locate first gear. Fran had blood running down her face but managed to get to her knees and go for the pistol in her belt holster as the car sped away. It was too late to fire. Fran cursed and glanced at Mick. He was still curled up on the road, groaning, as blood poured from his mouth and started to form a small puddle on the tarmac.

Fergus steered the car with his left hand and felt under the seat with his right. Nothing there. He tried the door compartment. Still nothing. He reached under the dashboard and found what he was searching for – the car pistol. It was in a holster glued to the underside of the dash.

He swerved right at the first junction, knowing he had to dump the car soon. There would be a tracking device fitted and at least one of the operators he'd left in the road would be on their personal radio by now, calling the drama in.

But they wouldn't go into Foxcroft now, even if they were able to. Their mission had been compromised. Big time.

Fergus took the next left, found a parking space, got out of the car, locked it and walked casually away. He felt calmer, and safer, especially now he had a Sig 9mm semi-automatic pistol tucked into his jeans. There was only one thirteen-round magazine. Better than nothing. A little insurance.

At the next junction was a bus stop. One of the new bendy buses was approaching. Fergus got on, going nowhere in particular. He would take a ride before heading to the ERV.

London Bridge Station was getting busier by the minute. Thousand upon thousand of homeward-bound commuters bustled and pushed their way in and glanced up at the departures board to see if the train they were hoping to catch was still on the platform.

The lucky ones went sprinting onwards in the faint hope of getting a seat rather than having to stand as usual. Others gave a sigh or a shrug of resignation and settled for finding a little comfort in a drink or a burger and some fries.

The crowded station made perfect cover. Fergus stood by the ticket machines, watching. He was over an hour later than the agreed rendezvous time.

He'd ordered Danny to wait by Burger King but to move on after thirty minutes. After that, he was to walk past every half hour for the next three hours until he saw Fergus. He was simply to make eye contact and keep walking. Fergus would catch up.

Fergus saw Danny just as the station announcer seemed to take particular delight in the news that another departure was delayed due to a signalling failure. When Danny spotted his grandfather there was a flicker of recognition and for a moment it looked as though he was going to change direction and walk straight towards him. Then he remembered his instructions. He's learning, thought Fergus. There was a lot to learn.

They were well outside the station when Fergus caught up. Most people were walking in the opposite direction so it was a few minutes more before they were actually side by side. Danny didn't look at Fergus when he spoke. 'I thought you'd be at the back of Foxcroft. Was there a problem?'

Fergus smiled to himself before answering, happy to let Danny remain ignorant of the events near Foxcroft. 'No. No problem at all. I just fancied a ride on one of those bendy buses.'

Danny had to stop himself from staring at his grandfather. 'Yeah?' He shrugged. 'Dave was cool about me being away, so it all went pretty easily, didn't it?'

'Piece of cake.'

'Where we going now, then?'

'We need to buy a few things,' answered Fergus softly. 'Then we find a desirable residence for the night to hide up in. And then we'll talk about this Colonel Meacher plan of yours.'

Danny grinned. 'Oh, that's sorted, Elena's finding him for us.'

'What!' Fergus moved swiftly, grabbing Danny by the arm and bundling him into a shop doorway. 'What the hell have you done now?'

Danny shook himself free. 'If we have to hide like you keep saying, we need someone to find out things and get us what we need.'

Fergus looked around, anxious not to draw the attention of any passer-by. 'It's bad enough having you with me; now you're dragging someone else into it. If you want to survive, just do what I tell you, and that's all.'

'You weren't there, so I made a decision,' snapped Danny. 'And I'm not dragging her into it, she wants to help.'

'What have you told her?'

'That we have to find Colonel Meacher. She'll search on the Internet and then be online between eight and nine in the morning to report back. Seemed a good idea to me.'

Fergus pushed Danny away from the doorway and they started to walk again. 'You've got to learn to obey orders. Operational security. The less anyone knows, the safer it is for us. That's the way we operate, so get it into your head.' He reached into a pocket, took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Danny.

'What's this?'

'A shopping list. Maybe you can get that right. Just get what it says on the list.'

Danny departed towards a Spar shop with the list and two ten-pound notes, while Fergus went off to a camping and ski shop that stayed open late and made most of its money from frustrated commuters dreaming of distant holidays.

In the Spar, Danny kept the baseball cap pulled low, aware of the CCTV and the eyes of the two men behind the counter. It was a weird shopping list. The ring-pull cans of food and bottled water made sense, but cling film and baby wipes? But Danny obeyed orders and bought everything on the list. And nothing more. When they met up again Fergus headed away from the station, following the line of the railway tracks that snake out of the terminus. The tracks were thirty metres above, perched on top of grime-covered, brick elevations, with massive arches supporting the whole structure.

Over the years front and back walls had been added to the arches, creating instant business premises. Close to the station they were trendy wine bars and shops, but soon Fergus and Danny had left the lights, the noise and the crowds behind them.

'Start counting your paces from here.'

'What?'

'Just count.'

Rain began to fall as they started to walk along a narrow, dark road with potholes and years of grease. There were still converted arches to their right; high above, the trains rumbled away towards commuter land.