The Hostage (36 page)

Stratton made his way out of the room and down a flight of stairs.

He walked across a hall and out through the main entrance, passed a large chunk of rock shipped all the way from Gibraltar - a memorial to fallen SBS operatives - and into the car park. He approached the men as they removed the last of their large kitbags from the van.

‘Lieutenant Stewart,’ Stratton said to the taller of the men, guessing he was the team leader.There was something about officers, Brit or American. Most of them looked like officers no matter what they wore. It took a long tour as an undercover operative to sand off the idiosyncrasies.This one had obviously not yet had that experience.

The man looked at him dryly. ‘You Stratton?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Stratton said, ignoring the sir out of habit, but aware offence might be taken. The Americans were big on rank respect, even in Special Forces.

Stewart let his eyes linger on Stratton’s long enough to convey his displeasure, but it was not just because of Stratton’s omission. The SEALs would have been briefed in detail about Hank’s fate and Stratton’s part in it.

‘Pete ’n’ Jasper,’ Stewart said, indicating the other two men, who reflected their boss’s attitude. Stewart would have offered his hand under other circumstances, being a well-bred Texan, but he wanted to convey his sentiments in no uncertain terms. Jasper released a long, brown streak of spit on to the ground as he stared at Stratton.

Stratton was not intimidated by the display. He understood. He might have felt the same, although personally he wouldn’t have made it so obvious under the circumstances. He had learned the wisdom of keeping his thoughts to himself and his options open, especially with strangers. ‘You have a good trip?’ he asked, acting as if he could not read the signs.

‘Great,’ said Stewart, wondering if Stratton was really that thick skinned.

Stratton took out his cell phone and dialled a number. He listened for a few seconds then answered a prompt. ‘Stratton.The SEALs are here . . . Okay, I’ll bring ’em down.’

He put away the phone. ‘We’re going straight into the brief,’ he said to Stewart, who nodded.

‘You can leave your kit there,’ Stratton continued, about to turn back towards the HQ.

‘We’re just gonna leave it here?’ asked Stewart.

‘The driver will stay with it until you come back.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Stewart said.

Stratton squared to him. ‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘Maybe we’ve got some sensitive equipment with us.’

‘What sensitive equipment?’ Stratton asked.

‘I can’t tell you.’

Stratton looked the officer in the eye and allowed his natural coldness to surface. ‘Three things,’ he said. ‘You can’t bring your equipment into the HQ building for security reasons. Second.You don’t bring anything on to this op that I don’t clear. Third. If you don’t trust us, get your fucking arses back in the van and the driver will take you back to the airport . . . sir.’

The two men stared at each other, weighing temperaments and options. Stewart was not easily rattled. He considered his alternatives in a logical manner and went for the simplest, considering the situation. ‘Lead on, Colour Sergeant,’ he said. Stratton turned on his heels and walked on towards HQ block. Stewart glanced at his men, flicked his eyebrows. ‘Attitude,’ he said for their ears only, and they followed.

In the SBS HQ anteroom an armed receptionist inspected the SEALs’ ID. Stratton led the way across the lobby, the walls of which were covered in memorabilia both old and recent: awards, photographs and plaques from various military related organisations from all over the world. Stratton opened a door leading to a staircase that went underground. The walls either side of the stairs also boasted the display of memorabilia, which the Americans snatched glances of as they passed.

At the foot of the stairs Stratton walked along a short corridor to a heavy steel door but the Americans had stopped to look at the last display. Hanging in a glass case was a pale blue ribbon with five tiny stars staggered along it, two on top, three below. It was the American Congressional Medal of Honour, presented to an SBS operative for valour in Afghanistan.

‘I didn’t know they got this,’ said Jasper.

‘He saved a CIA operative’s life at the prison breakout . . . Does that mean we’re even now?’ asked Pete dryly.

Stratton heard it clearly enough. ‘Don’t bury Hank just yet,’ he said.

Stewart eventually nodded in agreement.

Stratton punched a code into the lock and pushed open the steel door.

The Americans filed into the operations room, which was much larger than the narrow entranceway suggested.

Inside, the surrounding walls were covered from end to end and top to bottom in black roller blinds, all except two pulled down to hide what was behind them; one rolled-up blind exposed a map of Europe and another of the east side of England and Scotland. In the room were five other men, who turned their attention to the newcomers as they entered. The shortest and oldest of the five men, wearing a politician’s smile, stepped forward.

‘Colonel Hilliard, CO SBS. Lieutenant Stewart from Dev Group,’ Stratton said, introducing them.

Hilliard extended a hand that appeared, to just about everyone who ever took it, a little too large for the rest of his body. He was short but his weight was substantially above the average for a man several inches taller. It was the extreme length of his shoulders that implied his broadness of chest and back were not fat, and also somewhat forgave the size of his hands, although overall, it had to be said, he was unusual looking. Hilliard was of the old school and reputedly the finest hooker the corps had in his day. He was famously abrupt when he wanted to be, especially to those he had little or no respect for. More than once during his career he had been warned about his diplomacy, or lack of it. One of his more famous examples took place some months after the Falklands conflict when the camp was to be visited by the commanding officer of the Welsh Guards. Everyone knew the Welsh Guards were infamous for their shameless pilfering of Marines’ equipment on board various ships while the Marines were on the ground. Hilliard had the visit advertised on every company notice board under the heading ‘warning’, with a footnote advising all personnel to secure their equipment until the Welsh CO had departed. The sign did not go unnoticed by the visitor.

Hilliard extended his hand. ‘Good trip, Lieutenant?’

‘Fine, thank you, sir,’ Stewart said to the man a good twelve inches below him, noting the hand, possibly larger than his own.

Hilliard faced Jasper, who was suddenly uncertain as to whether he should extend his hand or salute. He chose the hand. ‘Chief Morris, sir,’ he said, wishing he’d dumped his chewing tobacco outside.

Pete took Hilliard’s hand last. ‘Chief Lexon,’ he said coolly.

‘Good to have you all here, I only wish it was under brighter circumstances. This is our intelligence officer,’ Hilliard said, introducing Sumners. ‘Captain Jardene, our ops officer Major Tanner, and Captain Singen, OC M squadron.’

All nodded on introduction.

‘Can I get anyone a cup of tea or coffee before we start?’ offered Jardene.

‘I’m fine,’ Stewart said. His men also declined.

‘A cup for you to spit in perhaps, Chief?’ Hilliard asked Jasper. Jasper shook his head and then swallowed the entire mouthful, aware he might well suffer for it later. ‘Sorry, sir. No thank you, sir.’

‘Right, well, let’s get you up to speed,’ Hilliard said. ‘Then you can get yourselves sorted in the mess.’

‘Before we kick off though,’ he said, addressing the room, ‘I would like to clarify some ground rules for the American presence here. As you know, an unusual step has been taken in “accepting” the US Navy SEALs offer to assist us in this operation on our home territory.There’s no need to emphasise the reasons for that.’

‘Our taking part would include the first wave assault, sir,’ Stewart said, eager to set some of his own ground rules sooner rather than later.

‘Yes, Lieutenant,’ Hilliard said. ‘And you understand that if you or any of your men suffer anything of a serious nature, even a fatality, the fact will be considered confidential. It will not have happened while working with British military forces within the United Kingdom or its waters.’

‘We’ve already been briefed and we understand, sir,’ said Stewart.

‘What you won’t have been told is that those risks have significantly increased since you and your men left Virginia, Lieutenant.’

Pete and Jasper glanced at each other, wondering what that could mean.

‘Recent developments have put this operation into a very high-risk category for the assault teams. In plain language, it is possible the entire assault team could be lost . . . You will seriously need to reconsider your position in the operation. ’

Hilliard then looked over at Sumners, indicating he could start his brief.

Sumners took a moment to gather his notes and thoughts and clear his throat.‘Up until recently the focus of this operation has been to locate and retrieve Chief Munro, either by force or negotiation. To that end we have been unsuccessful in locating his whereabouts, or bringing to the negotiating table those in a position to do so. We think we now know why the IRA, or Real IRA I should say, have been stalling . . . Some weeks ago we received a communiqué from a reliable tout. This tout is an arms dealer and services both the provisional IRA and the Real IRA. He has provided us with reliable information over the years. He informed us he had purchased a biological weapon for RIRA. Based on his previous method of operation, he would have sold the weapon to RIRA before offering to sell the information on its whereabouts to us.We should have heard back from him a week ago. We have not. We have reason to believe RIRA has discovered his identity, and perhaps his purpose, and disposed of him. That leaves us with a very serious situation: RIRA may have a biological weapon of mass destruction. We’re assuming this to be fact. We don’t know where it is. We know they have the will to use it. We can assume they know that we know they have it, and they will therefore be doubly cautious.

‘Three days ago the French Counter Intelligence service picked up the man responsible for Hank’s abduction, one Serjo Henri, in Tilburg, Holland.’

This was news to Stratton.

‘Here’s Tilburg,’ Sumners said, pointing to the map. ‘The French say they have known about Henri’s activities for some time. This could just be a face-saving comment since they appear to know nothing about Henri’s connection to RIRA other than the information he has given them in his recent interrogations. Henri has admitted to abducting Chief Munro and handing him over to Irish terrorists.

‘Now, why am I talking about Hank’s abduction and the procurement of a biological weapon of mass destruction in the same brief? Well, it appears, for the present at least, that their immediate futures are entwined. By that I mean their route or journey from mainland Europe to the British Isles or Ireland. I’ll explain why we suspect this may be true . . . Henri has admitted that he delivered Chief Munro to his RIRA contacts near Antwerp—’

‘Did Henri say anything about his RIRA contact?’ Stratton interrupted, aware he was jumping ahead; if Sumners wanted him to know, he would have said as much. Hilliard glanced at Stratton, conveying his irritation at the interruption, choosing not to vocalise it. But Stratton burned to know who the mole was and wanted to look into Sumners’s eyes as he answered the question.

‘No,’ Sumners said definitely.The Americans had not been told about an RIRA mole in MI5 and Stewart was aware something was being discussed above his head.

‘The CIA has told us they believe our tout purchased his consignment from sources in Kazakhstan. According to them the biological consignment was six fluid ounces of “Virus U”. Six ounces of Virus U is a considerable threat to hundreds of thousands of lives in a densely populated city such as London . . . Our tout’s message came from Holland; RIRA will want to move the weapon from Europe as soon as possible. Our conclusions? We believe the virus and Chief Munro could be on the same vessel. Other than putting all their eggs in one basket it would make sense since RIRA’s transport resources are limited and two separate operations would increase the risk of being found out.

‘Now. If RIRA wants to release the weapon in England it would also make sense to transport it directly to this country rather than to Ireland first, where they run an equal risk of being caught and would then have to repeat that risk when transporting it on to England. So. We will be acting on the assumption that a single vessel will transport Chief Munro and the biological weapon to England, that’s if it isn’t already on its way or has already arrived. However, our estimate of timings suggests it may not yet be on the British mainland . . . That’s all I have for now,’ Sumners concluded.

Hilliard looked over at Major Tanner, the operations officer. ‘Two teams from M squadron are on immediate standby to move,’ Tanner said. ‘Since we don’t know what part of England the boat will arrive at, if it does, we’ll remain in Poole ready to go. Lieutenant Stewart. We’ll go over our SOPs as soon as this briefing is concluded and decide your team’s role as and when the balloon goes up.’

‘We have no idea what this ship is?’ Stewart asked. ‘Assuming it is a ship,’ Sumners reminded him. ‘We are concentrating every available resource on that one task.’

‘Ideally we would like to take the ship at sea for a number of obvious reasons,’ Major Tanner said. ‘But we’re preparing for just about every scenario.’

‘Sir,’ Stratton said. ‘As a back-up, can I request a team from the Northern Ireland detachment? Since we could be dealing with Real IRA players known to them, and surveillance may be required, they could be a useful support.’

Hilliard looked at Sumners, unsure. Sumners thought on it a few seconds, then nodded. ‘I think that’s a good idea.’