Zero Option (35 page)

Farther out, two snipers crawled on to the roof of a warehouse which commanded a view of Cumberland House's south front. Their primary role was to report any movement in the hostage fiat's windows, which had been numbered One (the main bedroom), Two (the second bedroom) and Three (the sitting room). A secondary task was to watch the windows of no. 72 for any change. When the raid went down, the snipers would also act as cover and take out any terrorist who tried to escape from that side of the building. Also waiting nearby, hidden in the drive of a private house, was the hostage reception van, with another six guys from the Regiment on board. Their job would be to scorch in and whisk everyone away from the scene hostages and soldiers alike - the moment the assault was complete.
From all these sources quick reports flowed in over the secure net. 'Sierra One,' called the lead sniper.
'We're on.
In position.
All curtains drawn.
No lights showing.'
'Zero Bravo. Wait out,' Local Control replied.
The Blue Team had few preparations to make, and soon the leader reported, 'Blue One in position and ready to go.'
Again Control answered, 'loger. Wait out.'
It was the P
,.
ed Team who needed most time to prepare. There were no easy anchor-points for their ropes, and as the light came up the guys felt very exposed on the bare, flat roof. '
led
One,' called Fred Daniels, their leader. 'We need to get a shift on or we're going to get compromised up here.
There's people
on the move in the streets already.'
'Zero Bravo. Roger,' responded Terry Morris. 'Wait Out.'
As the minutes ticked past tension mounted. Danger lay in the fact that the security forces were not certain how many terrorists the flat contained. The aim, in situations of that kind, is to work out the position of every X-ray in advance, so that the teams can be certain precisely where their targets will be before they go in.
But
in this case it had proven impossible. Thanks to the fibre-optic probe it was known for sure that Tracy, Tim and one PItLA woman were in the main bedroom. The pattern of mobile telephone calls had suggested that there were also two men in the flat - but whether both were sleeping in the second bedroom, or one there and one in the sitting room, nobody knew. The only option was to hit the apartment from both sides simultaneously - Red through the windows, Blue through the door.
The intention all along had been that the assault should go in before 0630, to forestall any need for the shoot at Chequers. But permission had to come down from COBR, and then at the forward control room Terry had to sign an order from the senior police officer present, taking over command of the incident.
While these formalities were being prepared, the Red Team lay flat on the roof beside their coiled ropes, to keep out of sight of passers-by or people in other buildings. By 0625 everything was in place, and Terry was about to sign the hand-over order when a man appeared, walking fast along Ellerton Road with a plastic shopping bag in his right hand. One of the cameras picked him up as he went into the eastern entrance of Cumberland House, and he was immediately identified as Danny Aherne, the tenant of no.

Where had he come from? What was he doing, heading back to his lodgings at that time of the morning? What was he carrying in the bag?
'Zero
Bravo
for Tango One,' said Terry, calling the reserve team into action. 'A suspect X-ray has entered the building. Move to seal both entrances immediately.'
'Tango One. Moving now,'
came
the answer, and then from Terry: 'All other stations, this is Zero Bravo.
Hold, hold, hold.'

Crouching at the edge of the wood I felt like I'd had a kick in the crotch, and it took me a couple of minutes to recover. I felt physically sick at the thought that something had gone wrong. At that stage I didn't know what had hhppened. I'd only heard Yorky's message, but surely the security guys couldn't have mistaken the identity of the people in no. 57. Surely they'd got the right flat…
Fighting down the
disappointment,
I made my way back through the trees to rejoin the others. From the way Tony looked at me I could tell that he knew how I was feeling. Through his covert earpiece he too had heard Yorky give me the bad news, and he was suffering along with me. I was grateful for that.
But all he said was, 'It's such a hell ofaxnorning, the target may come out early. Hadn't we better get ready?'
'We are ready,' I replied. 'We just have to whip forward and fire.' All the same, I withdrew the bolt from the Haskins and looked through the barrel to make sure it was clear. Then I gave the lenses of the telescopic sight their hundredth polish. I was halfway through getting up from behind the rifle when Tony, who was watching the house through binoculars, said, 'Look out! A door's been opened.'
I had my own binos up in a flash. Yes, there was movement at the back of the terrace. A man in a white shirt and black trousers had come out and was shaking something pale - maybe a rug or a tablecloth.
'It's a butler or some similar jerk,' I breathed. 'At least it shows the household's on the move.'
All three of us were kneeling in a line, Tony on the fight, then Farrell, then
myself
. I glanced sideways at Farrell and saw that his eyes were gleaming, his lips drawn slightly back from his teeth. Watch yourself, twat, I silently told him, you're in for a nasty surprise in a moment.
The butler figure disappeared inside again and the door closed. Now waiting became even harder. The hands on my watch barely seemed to move. By the time they had crawled to 0635 it felt like
midday
at least.
Temporary relief came with a short, sharp, sudden rushing noise. There, right in front of us, a buzzard was pulling out of a steep dive just above the ground.
Whether the bird had swooped at a rat or mouse and missed, I couldn't tell. After a moment he soared up again, talons still extended, his wings working furiously, and the roar of air through his pinions took me straight back to parachuting and free-falling.
All at once I was thinking of the first two training jumps I made, at Weston-on-the-Green. I remembered how somebody went past me, falling after my chute had broken out, with a load, hoarse roar, like that buzzard, only bigger…
More movement on the terrace jerked me back to the present.
Jesus, I thought. This is it.
The same door had opened again but a different man had come out. The binos clearly picked out the familiar figure: smooth grey hair, slightly long; pale face,
spectacles glinting. He wore a big, sloppy, light- coloured sweater nearly down to his knees, and he was carrying something in his right hand - a small canister, no doubt to blitz the bugs on the roses.
'Begod!
It's himself!' Farrell exclaimed.
'Come on then!' I snatched a glance at my watch: 0645. No hope of a reprieve from London now
..
I snatched up the rifle and started forward, asking quietly over the radio, 'All clear your end, Whinge?'
'All clear,'
came
the answer.
I reached the bank and set the Haskins down. The target was moving slowly out into the terrace garden, turning back and forth as he peered at the rosebeds. I looked through the sight and saw that, although the scope was good, it wasn't like a pair of binoculars: it gave a clear general picture but not close details.
'Now!'
I stood up and faced Farrell. 'There's a slight change of'plan. It's you to shoot, not
me
.
'
'What the luck!' His face turned deathly white. Then a red flush of anger came up from the neck. 'What's this?' he croaked incredulously. 'What the fuck is this?'
'Get down and shoot,' I told him, 'or the chance will be gone.'
'Treacherous cunt!' he said out loud, and then, almost shouting: 'Fucking treacherous bastard!'
If his right wrist hadn't been cuffed to Tony's left I'm sure he'd have taken a swing at me. Then he saw the Sig levelled at his chest and stumbled backwards, heaving for breath.
'You're the shooter here,' he gasped. 'That's the deal.'
'You have the choice,' I said. 'Shoot or die.
Simple as that.
There'll be few enough questions asked afterwards.'
'I can't shoot that thing.' He flicked his right foot in the direction of the rifle. 'Holy Mary, I never saw a
weapon like that in my life. I couldn't hit the house, let alone the target.'
'Bollocks! It was you who shot the British soldier with it at Crossmaglen last August. It was you who killed the man long-range on the border in February. It was this very rifle, and yourself firing it. I don't know how many murders you've got on your slate, but one more's not going to make much difference:'
From
the way Farrell flinched I knew I was right.
'Get down and shoot,' I repeated.
'Never,' he said. 'If you're
wanting
your family released it's you to shoot, and that's all.'
'I'll give you ten seconds,' I said.
He took a step towards me and made a sudden movement with his free left hand, but Tony jerked him backwards so violently that he fell over and landed on his arse. 'Unless I give the codeword they'll never be let go,' he warned. 'They'll be dead by noon.'
'I'll take a chance on that,' I said. 'I'm counting now.
Ten, nine,
eight
…'
At six he made a gesture with his right hand, which I took to be one of capitulation.
'Christ Almighty!' he cried. 'How will I shoot trussed up like this?'
'You'll manage. Tony'll get down alongside you.
Now shift yourself, or the target'll be gone.'
Through all this Tony had waited impassively, poised for action. I'd told him beforehand what I was planning, and he'd agreed not to intervene unless he had to.
The rifle was already in a perfect position, its bipod sunk into the moss on top of the little bank. Farrell was shaking violently as he positioned himself behind it, and the ferret stink wafted all around us. Tony went down beside him, extending his left arm to give the rifleman freedom of movement at the end of the short chain.
Farrell gave one more curse - a long-drawn-out groan of 'Ah, you bastards!' - then gathered his concentration, settled his elbows into the leaf-mould on the forest floor, aimed through the scope, opened and closed the bolt, and clicked off one dry shot. The practised ease of his movements made it plain he knew the weapon well.
The target was still meandering about the terrace, but by now he'd moved nearly to the front of it, close to the right-hand summerhouse. In the clear early light his pale sweater showed up a treat.
'Let's have a bullet, then,' Farrell snapped.
I leant over between the two men and laid one of the six-inch rounds in the breech. As Farrell slammed the bolt forward I gave three consecutive double jabs on my pressel switch to warn Yorky that the shot was imminent.
Farrell had the rifle up and aligned, but the target was moving, alking slowly across to our right.
'Wait, man, wait!' I hissed. 'Let him stop. Now! No!
Wait again.'
Once more the target had ambled on;
But
at last he came to a standstill with his back to us, right in front of one of the trimmed box bushes.
'There!' I said. 'Take him now!'
I put my hands flat over my ears and held my breath.
BOOM!
I saw the big bullet go. At least, I saw the grey streak of disturbance in the air along its path.-I was aware of movement at my feet as the recoil jolted Farrell backwards, but I tried to keep my binos on the target.
For what seemed an age he remained standing. Then suddenly his arms flew half up, away from his sides, as if his hands had been lifted on strings, and he pitched forward away from us in a flat dead-man's dive. Once down, he was out of sight behind the box hedges, and we could see no further movement.

Weapon like that in my life. I couldn't hit the house, let alone the target.'
'Bollocks! It was you who shot the British soldier with it at Crossmaglen last August. It was you who killed the man long-range on the border in February. It was this very rifle, and yourself firing it. I don't know how many murders you've got on your slate, but one more's not going to make much difference.'
From the way Farrell flinched I knew I was right.
'Get down and shoot,' I repeated.
'Never,' he said. 'If you're
wanting
your family
released it's you to shoot, and that's all.'
'I'll give you ten seconds,' I said.
He took a step towards me and made a sudden movement with his free left hand, but Tony jerked him backwards so violently that he fell over and landed on his arse. 'Unless I give the codeword they'll never be let go,' he warned. 'They'll be dead by
noon
.'
Tll take a chance on that,' I said.
Tm counting now.
Ten, nine,
eight
…'
At six he made a gesture with his right hand, which
I took to be one of capitulation.
'Christ Almighty!' he cried. 'How will I shoot trussed up like this?'
'You'll manage. Tony'll get down alongside you.
Now shift yourself, or the target'll be gone.'
Through all this Tony had waited impassively, poised
for action. I'd told him beforehand what I was planning,
and he'd agreed not to intervene unless he had to.
The rifle was already in a perfect position, its bipod sunk into the moss on top of the little bank. Farrell was shaking violently as he positioned himself behind it, and the ferret stink wafted all around us. Tony went down beside him, extending his left arm to give the rifleman freedom of movement at the end of the short chain.
Farrell gave one more curse - a long-drawn-out groan of 'Ah, you bastards - then gathered his concentration, settled his elbows into the leaf-mould on the forest floor, aimed through the scope, opened and closed the bolt, and clicked off one dry shot. The practised ease of his movements made it plain he knew the weapon well.
The target was still meandering about the terrace, but by now he'd moved nearly to the front of it, close to the right-hand summerhouse. In the clear early light his pale sweater showed up a treat.
'Let's have a bullet, then,' Farrell snapped.
I leant over between the two men and laid one of the six-inch rounds in the breech. As Farrell slammed the bolt forward I gave three consecutive doublejabs on my pressel switch to warn Yorky that the shot was imminent.
Farrell had the rifle up and aligned, but the target was moving, alking slowly across to our right.
'Wait, man, wait!' I hissed. 'Let him stop. Now! No!
Wait again.'
Once more the target had ambled on;
But
at last he came to a standstill with his back to us, right in front of one of the trimmed box bushes.
'There!' I said. 'Take him now!'
I put my hands flat over my ears and held my breath.
BOOM¢.
I saw the big bullet go. At least, I saw the grey streak of disturbance in the air along its path
..
I was aware of movement at my feet as the recoil jolted Farrell backwards, but I tried to keep my binos on the target.
For what seemed an age he remained standing. Then suddenly his arms flew half up, away from his sides, as if his hands had been lifted on strings, and he pitched forward away from us in a flat dead-man's dive. Once down, he was out of sight behind the box hedges, and we could see no further movement.
'Fantastic!' I yelled.
'Bejaysus, I got the fucker!' cried Farrell. 'I nailed him! I fucking dropped him!' In his excitement he forgot he was linked to Tony, and tried to jump up, only to be dragged down again.
'That's his lot,' I said. 'The bullet lifted him right off his feet. Now - send that fucking codeword and we'll get out of here. Quick, they're on the move.' As Farrell stood up I handed him the mobile phone.
The shot had sent pigeons clattering out over the field; dozens of them flashed blue-grey and white in the low rays of the sun as they fled from the clap of thunder.
Away in the distance, figures were pouring out of the house. People were running back and forth, and clustering round the spot where the target had gone down. More doors
opened,
windows too. From somewhere to the right a police siren began to wail.
'I'll call the chopper first,' said Farrell. He punched numbers into the phone, listened and said, 'Yes. Come in now.
Pick-up immediately.'
As he was doing that I called Whinger to close on us. Then Farrell ended the first call and dialled again. This time his face creased into a frown. He muttered something, switched off, switched on again and punched once more. When he moved the receiver away from his ear I could hear the metallic, electronic voice saying, 'I'm sorry. It has not been possible to connect your call. Please try later.'
'What the fuck are they doing?' he cried. 'The bastards have switched off. HolyJaysus! They know the timing. They should be on the ball and waiting.'
'Come on!' I shouted. 'We can't wait. Run!'