Masters of War (29 page)

‘It’s not much,’ Taff said dryly, ‘but it’s home.’

The windows of the adjoining room were boarded up like the ones downstairs. Morning light blazed through the murder hole, slicing across the darkness of the room. By this light, Danny could make out a couple of stained, thin mattresses below the window and, hanging at an angle on the wall, a photograph of what was presumably some local religious figure with a pink garland round his neck. ‘You can bunk down here,’ Taff told them. ‘Make yourself at home.’

‘I need to see the rest of the gaff,’ Danny said. ‘Work out the layout, in case we come under attack.’

Taff smiled. ‘Cautious as ever,’ he said. ‘Help yourself. I’ll be outside.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s 09.00 hrs,’ he said. ‘Asu’s expecting us at midday. We leave in two hours.’

He left them to it.

Buckingham was silent. Danny could practically feel the waves of anxiety pumping off the guy. He walked farther into the room and pulled the mattresses away from the wall. ‘What are you doing?’ asked Buckingham.

‘A few planks of wood won’t be much protection against mortar fire,’ Danny said. ‘Stay in here. Get some kip if you want. Just don’t go near the window.’

‘But it’s quiet outside.’

‘Fine,’ Danny said. ‘
Go
near the window. I’ll post the bits of you back home.’

‘I don’t much like your tone, old sport.’

‘Just get some sleep. Don’t move without checking with me.’

Danny left the room and walked back down the corridor towards the stairs, passing the room with the generator and the gimpy on the right. Hector was no longer sitting in the floral armchair, but was standing by one of the air-con units, his trousers flapping slightly in the breeze from its fan. Skinner had joined him. He had his back to Danny, who could make out more tattooed skin at the nape of his neck. Hector was handing him something, but froze when, looking over Skinner’s shoulder, he saw Danny in the doorway. Slowly, Skinner turned to look at Danny, who saw what was in his hands: a wad of notes, perhaps half an inch thick. Dirty, crumpled, used notes. US dollars, by the look of them. Skinner made no attempt to hide the money. Instead he casually shoved the notes into the back pocket of his camouflage trousers. He shot Danny a hostile look. Hector did the same. There were a few seconds of tense stand-off, then Danny shrugged. ‘Catch you later, lads,’ he said, before turning his back on them and making for the stairs. What was it Saunders had said to him? ‘There’s always the chance to earn a little extra while you’re out there.’ Looked like Hector and Skinner had some little sideline going. Fine. That was their business. Besides, he had other things on his mind.

He found Taff sitting with his back to the house, his legs crossed, stripping down one of his Colt Commandos. Danny had never been in a war zone with Taff. With his craggy, weather-worn face, he looked more at home here than Danny had ever seen him. Part of the furniture. As Danny sat down beside him on the dirty ground, Taff nodded briefly before turning back to his weapon. The sun was already hot, and made Danny’s skin smart. He removed his Sig from his chest rig and went through the motions of releasing the magazine and stripping down the handgun. But his thoughts weren’t really on the weapon. There were questions in his head that he didn’t quite know how to ask.

‘What’s eating you, kiddo?’ Taff said without looking up from the Colt.

Nothing, Danny almost replied. No point hiding anything from Taff, though. He could always tell when something was wrong.

‘I lost the guys,’ he said. ‘They were my responsibility and I lost them. Guess I’ll just have to live with it.’

Taff lowered his weapon and looked across the compound. ‘Did I ever tell you about Belfast?’ he asked.

Danny shook his head.

‘That sounds about right. I don’t tell many people.’ He picked up the assault rifle again and resumed working on it. ‘We had this tout, gave us the address of a Provo safe house. I headed up a unit to raid the fuckers. We had a Rupert in the car, supposed to stay there. Decided not to. Fuck knows why. M60 shot him dead from a bedroom window as he was running down the street. Perhaps I could have stopped it happening. Perhaps not.’

There was a pause. ‘Do you still think about him?’ Danny asked.

Taff shrugged. ‘Sure. But he was SAS. He knew what he was doing.’ He sniffed. ‘I’m sorry he bought it. I watched them plant him, and I shook his family’s hands, said all the things you’re supposed to say. But I don’t feel responsible.’ He gave Danny a piercing look. ‘Nor should you. You’re a good kid, Danny, but you think about things too much. What was the name of the lad who died?’

‘Jack.’

‘Well, if Jack was here now and it was you who’d been killed, do you reckon he’d be sitting having a DMC with me?’

Danny shook his head. Somehow Taff always knew the right thing to say. Danny leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. ‘There’s something else,’ he said.

‘Fire away, kiddo.’ Taff sounded amused, like he was indulging a favourite nephew.

‘When we were dug in,’ Danny said, ‘in that culvert, Buckingham let something slip. Something about my mum. I reckon he’d seen some file or something. I don’t know.’

Taff didn’t look up. He removed the magazine from his personal weapon. ‘What about her?’ Suddenly he didn’t sound quite so light-hearted. Tense, almost. Danny opened his eyes and looked at him. Taff failed to meet his gaze.

‘Something about her being shot.’

Taff’s face remained calm, but Danny, who knew it so well, detected a slight tightening around the eyes. Taff remained silent for a full thirty seconds. ‘Not going to lie to you, kiddo,’ he said eventually. ‘You better be sure you want to know the answers, before you start asking the questions.’

‘Jesus, Taff . . .’

A clunk from the Colt as Taff clicked the butt stock from the main body. Taff showed no outward sign of emotion as he spoke, his voice almost monotone.

‘Your ma was Northern Irish. Her family didn’t have time for sectarianism, but your dad was British Army. Parachute Regiment, to make matters worse. They always knew they were a target. Had to be careful.’

‘But what—?’

Taff held up one hand to silence Danny. He appeared to be gathering his thoughts before speaking again. ‘It happened the day you were born. You were just a couple of hours old. An IRA gunman got into the hospital dressed as a porter. Shot your mum. Tried to kill your dad.’ He shrugged, as if that was all he had to say.

Danny felt his guts tighten. ‘Who was it?’ he asked.

‘If I knew that,’ Taff said, ‘he’d be dead. I tried to find out. Started going through the Regiment’s list of known Provo operatives. Chased them down, made them squeal. No one knew anything. Done three of them before the Regiment stopped me. Awarded me with an RTU for trying to find out who did it. Suppose I don’t blame them.’

Taff stared into the distance. Danny sat in shocked silence, trying to absorb this information, this rewriting of the story of his life.

A minute passed.

‘Why didn’t he finish my dad off ?’ Danny asked quietly.

‘He got disturbed by the hospital staff. Spooked, I guess. And then I turned up. Your dad was in a bad way. I didn’t think he’d make it. As for your mum—’ Taff broke off, a pained look on his face. ‘Perhaps it was just as well he lost his memory. It wasn’t a sight you want to remember.’ For the first time since the conversation had started, he gave Danny a direct look. ‘Your brother wasn’t so lucky. He saw it all. He doesn’t remember the details, but . . .’

‘But what?’

‘Next time you wonder why he went off the rails, remember what he went through. No kid should have to see that.’

‘No kid should attack his father.’

‘He’s fucked up, Danny. Nobody’s saying he isn’t.’

‘Why did you never
tell
me?’ Danny’s shock was rapidly turning to hot anger.

‘It was your dad’s decision. He saw what was happening to Kyle. He didn’t want you to get messed up in the head too.’ Taff sniffed. ‘There’s other reasons, of course.’

‘Like what?’

‘Special Branch kept names out of it. Just a random sectarian killing.’

‘Plus they looked like fucking idiots not having caught the bastard,’ Danny retorted.

‘RUC found his scrubs on the hospital perimeter,’ Taff said. ‘Bloodstained.’

‘Great,’ Danny snapped. ‘Give them a medal.’

‘They did their best, kiddo. Whoever did the hit just vanished.’

Silence returned. It was broken by a sniper round somewhere in the distance. The Syrian kids in the compound – three of them – spun round in alarm. Danny didn’t even flinch. He was sweating profusely, and not just because of the sun. His mind was a riot of emotions. Part of him was furious with Taff for never having told him any of this. Part of him understood. And part of him – by far the greater part – felt weighed down by a grim determination.

‘I’ll find him,’ he told Taff. ‘I don’t care what it takes.’

Taff reassembled the remaining pieces of the rifle, minus the magazine. He cocked and fired it several times to check all the moving parts were working, then reinserted a full mag, cocked it and engaged the safety switch.

‘Tell me when you do,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right there.’ He looked at Danny. ‘I always knew you’d find out one day, kiddo. But it was never the right time to tell you. I’m sorry.’

He stood up and made to carry the Colt back inside.

‘Taff,’ Danny called him back.

His old friend stopped and turned to look at him.

‘What was she like?’ Danny asked. ‘My mum.’

Taff paused. A strange look crossed his face – the same expression Danny had seen all those years ago when he’d caught Taff gazing at his mother’s photograph. ‘She was the best lass I ever knew,’ Taff said quietly.

He turned once more and strode indoors, leaving Danny alone with his troubled thoughts.

SIXTEEN

They were due to leave at 11.00 hrs. Taff and his team started making preparations a good forty-five minutes before that.

Hector checked over the Land Rovers. They might be relying on Syrian nationals to drive them, but he obviously didn’t intend to leave the maintenance to anybody else: their vehicles were too important for that. Then he lugged extra jerrycans of fuel into the backs of the Land Rovers and topped up the water levels from a plastic bottle. Skinner and De Fries took care of the weaponry. They loaded up the Colt Commandos and MP5s, along with extra ammo packs. It occurred to Danny that he hadn’t heard De Fries utter a single word since they’d met. Taff had told him that he’d been in the Dutch SF, as if that explained his silence. He had a flat nose and a deeply cleft chin – ugly bastard, but he wasn’t being hired for his looks. Taff himself crouched in the corner of the compound with a map of Homs spread out in front of him, their two Syrian drivers by his side. He was quietly explaining the route they would take and – Danny had no doubt – a couple of alternatives in case things went to shit. Danny would acquaint himself with their routes once they were finalised. Meanwhile he went up to find Buckingham.

Danny was pleased they were about to move. It gave him something else to think about after his conversation with Taff. He was glad to have the opportunity to focus on what he was here to do. As he crossed the ground-floor room he saw that the Syrian kids who’d previously been sleeping had woken up. They watched him with bleary-eyed suspicion, but none of them spoke as he headed for the stairs. He found Buckingham where he’d left him. He had undone his shirt to reveal a smooth-skinned torso and, to Danny’s surprise, a leather pouch strapped round his waist. He’d unzipped the pouch and was pulling a mobile phone and a lozenge-shaped device from it as Danny entered the room.

‘You should have told me you had a phone,’ Danny said.

‘No SIM card,’ he said, with no hint of his previous peevishness. ‘Just a few numbers in the momory, in case of emergency, you know.’

‘You can still be tracked.’

Buckingham waved away the objection. ‘Wanted to have a word before we left. I’ll be talking to Asu privately when we get there. No need for you to be in attendance.’

‘Don’t be an idiot, Buckingham. He’s not your fucking granddad. I’ve met people like him. He’d stick a knife in you without even thinking about it.’

‘I’ll take my chances, old sport. Make yourself scarce when I give you the nod, eh?’

Danny felt a sudden rush of anger. He’d lost three men and now this twat was playing games. He found himself bearing down on the spook, grabbing him by the neck and thrusting him up against the wall. ‘What the hell’s going on with you, Buckingham?’ he hissed. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

‘For God’s sake, let go of me.’

‘Not till I know what you’re hiding. Why don’t you want me in on the RV?’

Buckingham’s face was turning red, and Danny could feel the blood in his neck pumping a little harder. He tightened his grip.

‘If I’m to persuade him to open a line of communication with Sorgen,’ Buckingham croaked, ‘I’ll need to be extremely diplomatic. I hardly think a heavily armed SAS man at my shoulder will send quite the right signals, do you?’

The two men stared at each other, Danny’s eyes narrow, Buckingham’s bulging. They stayed like that for five seconds, before Danny released him in disgust.