Red Notice (26 page)

‘All good. I agree. Antonov always planned to kill the Yankees. We have to assume he’s killed the French first responders too. We won’t know for sure until we’re down there – but the French have told us there’s not a squeak from them. They’re certainly not sending anyone else in until we’ve done our stuff. We know he won’t surrender. He’ll fight until he’s dead – which means more of our people getting malleted in the process.’

His expression became steelier.

‘I tell you what, Gavin, I don’t give a shit if he appears before the ICC. What I care about is keeping the team alive. I’m ordering you to make sure they’re absolutely clear in their
heads that there must be no attempt to arrest this bastard. Kill him and keep safe.’ He paused, making sure they had eye-to-eye. He didn’t want any misunderstanding. ‘We must keep our people alive.’

Gavin didn’t need the point to be hammered home. ‘Boss, not a problem. I’ll brief the lads before they go on the ground. But where has this come from – you? I need to know I’m not going to be nailed to the wall if it gets out.’

‘You’ll have my backing every inch of the way.’ Ashton slowly straightened. ‘But we need control first.’

Woolf pulled off his headphones. ‘You have it. You have it from now. COBRA wants you to initiate the ER as soon as you can.’ He put aside his doodles, selected a fresh page in his A4 pad and started writing.

Gavin wasn’t impressed. ‘We need more time. There’s no CTR yet, no comms, no Red team. I need more guys on the ground.’

He could tell Woolf knew he was right, even though the MI5 man’s expression said, ‘You don’t always get what you want.’

‘It’s all yours.’ Woolf handed the sheet of A4 to Ashton. ‘Good luck.’

Ashton held it up for Gavin’s benefit:
I hand over control pursuant to the provisions of the Military Aid to the Civil Power Act.J. Woolf

While Gavin drafted his ER, Ashton got busy with the team. ‘OK, Blue team, listen in! We have control. I say again, we have control. Let’s get moving!’

At almost the same moment, one of the Slime looked up from his monitor. ‘Look at the tunnel,’ he shouted. ‘We’ve got runners!’

Gavin grabbed his binoculars and ran to the hangar entrance just as two children emerged from the mouth of the service tunnel. The police ran forward and pulled them to safety, out of line-of-sight of any possible pursuit. They wrapped them in blankets and tried to hustle them away but Gavin could see that the taller of the two, a little girl, kept shaking her head. She
pulled away from them, seemed to be repeating something to them, over and over again.

One of the Slime called. ‘Gavin, they’re holding a couple of kids. The girl keeps saying she’s got something for you and she won’t speak to anyone else.’

‘Get them up here, then.’

Less than a minute later a policeman ushered the two children into the hangar. The little boy, tear-tracks streaking the dirt on his face, clung tightly to his sister’s hand and kept his head down, staring at the floor in front of his feet. The girl looked uncertainly from one face to another.

‘Hello, I’m Gavin.’ He smiled, thinking for a moment of his own kids. ‘What’s your name?’

‘What sort of Gavin are you?’ She stared at him warily. ‘He told me only to speak to Gavin Marks, no one else.’

Gavin squatted in front of them. ‘That’s me. I’m Gavin. Who was it who told you?’ His voice was gentle, his eyes kind.

‘The man in the tunnel.’ The girl pointed back towards its entrance as if no one here had the first idea what she was on about.

He gave an encouraging smile as the boy finally raised his head. ‘We were on a train to Disneyland.’

The girl still hesitated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, then, reassured by Gavin’s smile, she took a slim, bright pink sleeve from her pocket. ‘My name’s Rose. My brother’s called Daniel. He told me to give you this.’

‘Thank you, Rose. You two have been really, really brave.’

Gavin took the iPod and was about to switch it on when he realized that neither of the kids had moved. Just as he looked up again, the little boy launched himself at the 3i/c, threw his arms around Gavin’s neck and burst into tears.

Rose stayed where she was. ‘They killed our mummy with a gun.’ Finally, the tears started to pour down her cheeks as well.

Gavin caught the look of pain in Ashton’s eye, and the look of helpless embarrassment in Woolf’s. He gave Daniel a hug, and opened his other arm to Rose. The story spilled out, each sentence punctuated by racking sobs.

After a couple of minutes he gently disengaged himself, explained that he had to upload the iPod, so he could try to help his friend Tom stop the bad men hurting any other mummies. He watched as the kids were led back out of the hangar towards a waiting ambulance. Poor little mites. Their lives had been completely devastated within a couple of hours. They had no mother, their father no wife, and years of coming to terms not only with their loss but also the nightmares and flashbacks of her being killed in front of their eyes.

The iPod screen filled with the first of the photographs. Gavin flicked through to the end of the album, then triggered the voice memo.

As he listened to Tom shouting above the gunfire, he broke into a grin for the first time that day. ‘Tom Buckingham . . .’ He gave a low whistle. ‘You are one magnificent fucking bastard.’

76

THE OBJECT OF
that admiration was still crouching in the darkness. Tom watched through the carriage windows, in the dim glow of the emergency lighting, as one of Laszlo’s crew dragged something heavy along the aisle. The man’s shoulders jerked from side to side as he shuffled backwards with his load.

Then Laszlo himself came into the picture. By the far end of the second coach he was just a pace behind whoever was being dragged. Tom was in no doubt about the purpose of this performance. Laszlo wanted everyone to see the body, to smell the blood it smeared along the passageway.
Pour encourager les autres
. . . It was an all-too-visible warning to the surviving passengers of the fate that might await them.

Tom followed in the shadows, searching constantly for Delphine. As Laszlo and his shuffling sidekick reached the third carriage – the last one occupied – he took a deep breath and tried to cut away from the thought that he might already have found her.

The body of a white-haired old man tumbled like a rag doll through the remains of the door at the far end of the carriage, and hit the concrete with a dull thud no more than three metres
from Tom’s hiding place. Ashamed that his first reaction was relief rather than anger, Tom looked up as Laszlo pulled Colin, the head steward, away from his stress position against the first window.

His instructions were clearly audible in the tunnel. ‘Give the hostages something to eat and drink from the buffet car. But make it water and sandwiches only, no hot food and no alcohol.’ He turned towards the hostages. ‘If you co-operate with us, you will be treated with respect and you will survive. If you resist, you will be shot and tossed from the train like that pathetic old man.
Bon appétit
.’

As Laszlo propelled the head steward towards the buffet car, Tom followed once more. And once more he checked each window for a sign of Delphine, desperate to know that she had survived the fuck-up with the kids.

77

SHIVERING WITH DELAYED
shock, Delphine still crouched on the floor, next to the spot where the old man had been murdered. He’d begun his journey with such joy and anticipation in his heart, but had now been tossed aside like so much rubbish. Delphine told herself to stay strong. The old man’s optimism counted for nothing now, but that didn’t mean she should lose hers. Tom had said he would come back for her, and this time she believed him.

Sambor stood guard over her. Laszlo joined him to debrief the two gunmen who had pursued Tom and the children. Although she couldn’t understand a word they were saying, she was in no doubt that this performance was at least partly for her benefit. The men now encircled her. A pair of blood-stained boots was planted a few inches from her face.

There was a tremor of fear in the older insurgent’s voice as he made his report. ‘We think he’s dead.’

‘You
think
?’ Laszlo’s voice was low, but dripping with menace. ‘Where are the bodies?’

‘We couldn’t find them. We couldn’t go so far towards England . . .’

It wasn’t what Laszlo wanted to hear. ‘So you do not have bodies?’

‘No.’

Laszlo went silent again, still waiting for the answer he wanted. The gunman, even more nervous now, felt he had to fill the gap. ‘But the amount of fire we put down, no one would have survived. No one.’

There was another long silence as the fighter waited for Laszlo to reply.

‘I would say, almost certainly, that they are
not
dead.’

The unfortunate individuals accepted their error, heads lowered. Neither answered back in their defence as Laszlo continued: ‘So, one man and two children are too much for my heroic fighters, and a 7.62mm gun team? Have you forgotten everything the SAS taught you? I suppose I should be grateful that the children weren’t armed, or you might all have been killed. You are getting slow and lazy. It’s time to step up. We have our unit. We have our history. And, most importantly, we have our pride.’ His expression darkened still further. ‘We must maintain them at all times.’

‘Yes, Laszlo, we must step up. We’re sorry.’

Laszlo hugged both men. ‘OK. Now go and do your duty.’

Delphine had scarcely been able to breathe during the exchange, but now she released a long, shuddering gasp. She had caught the mention of ‘SAS’. Laszlo’s tone of disappointment, along with the nervousness of his subordinates, planted a small seed of hope in her heart.

When the two brothers were alone once more, Sambor spoke: ‘The pipeline? That is still safe? Escalles?’

Escalles
. . . Another word that Delphine understood. She saw Laszlo look down. She instantly dropped her gaze, but could feel his eyes drilling into her.

Sambor stepped away from the girl, and motioned to his brother to follow. ‘Whoever this man is, he’s no ordinary passenger. He’s been very well trained.’

‘Perhaps so,’ Laszlo said thoughtfully, looking out into the darkness. ‘But training is only part of it.’ He remained facing the window. ‘Brother, do you know the three questions to ask if you want to find a good general?’ Laszlo raised an index finger above his shoulder. ‘Is he intelligent?’ He brandished his middle finger as well. ‘Is he ruthless?’ And finally his ring finger. ‘And is he lucky?’

Laszlo turned back to face his brother, and gave the merest tilt of his head towards Delphine’s still prone body. ‘This Good Samaritan of theirs seems to be ruthless. And he’s certainly been lucky – so far, at least. Let’s see if he’s intelligent as well, shall we?’

78

THE BLUE TEAM
call-signs were all marked up on the boards. Every operative knew where he had to be and what kit he needed. Not that there was much. Short ladders were the only item on the list.

The snipers had additional instructions. They had to wear party gear. So now they knew they were also going to be used as assaulters today.

Wires, radios and phones were being tested as the signallers got to grips with the comms. The Slime carefully unpacked their geeky stuff from its protective aluminium boxes.

The team stood around Gavin in their black kit, paper cups steaming, Mars Bars in mid-munch. There wasn’t a notebook in sight. Anyone who couldn’t remember what he had to do and when he had to do it after all these years of training and ops shouldn’t be standing where he was now.

Gavin’s set of orders confirmed all the details and cleared the legal procedures so that every soldier knew his responsibilities and LOE (limits of exploitation). The elected civil power might have handed control to the unelected military power, but the military was given only enough leeway to do the job required. The baton would then be snatched back at the first available opportunity, and the Men in Black
sent home with a pat on the head – until the next time.

Gavin did a quick head count to make sure all forty-two members of the team and their support were present. ‘OK, Blue team, listen in!’

At all other times, everyone in the Regiment was encouraged to have a voice. That was how problems were overcome and new ideas created and developed. But when it came to a set of orders for an operation, there was no room for opinions. There would be no Chinese parliament. That time had gone. What the commander said you were going to do, and how you were going to do it, was what was going to happen. Successful operations depended on everyone doing exactly what was required of them, and at the right time. If you disagreed with the plan – tough shit. Trains left Hereford station every few minutes.

Gavin didn’t have to wait for the chat to die down. There was instant silence.

‘These are the orders for the ER.’ He delivered them in an unhurried monotone. Displaying no emotion, fear or excitement was what it was all about. ‘The option will go in immediately after these orders.’

A murmur spread around the group. Gavin gave them a couple of seconds. This was the first time for them, and maybe in history, that an ER had gone in so fast and with so little information. The team had already worked out the possible Yankees casualty rate.

‘OK, ground. We have three tunnels, two trains and a lot of distance between them and us. The target is the passenger train. The power is cut. It’s using its emergency reserve. That means it’s immobilized and light is limited.

‘Situation.’ Gavin checked his Omega. ‘Laszlo Antonov, X-ray One, was attempting to escape from the UK via the eight twenty-six Eurostar to Paris. However, Tom pinged him on the train and informed us, and now the whole roadshow is here.

‘Antonov’s brother Sambor, X-ray Two – check the picture Tom sent us on the kid’s iPod – and approximately forty South Ossetian insurgents took control of the HGV Shuttle heading to
the UK. They met the Paris-bound Eurostar in the tunnel, fifteen K in from France. That’s where the sprinklers went off, and where the French fire-crews were dispatched to. As of now, those crews still haven’t reported back.