Remote Control (28 page)
Authors: Andy McNab
We’d parked up by the small shopping and social club area. All we had to do now was get back to the car, then go and put the bomb under the vehicle of an INLA major player on the other side of town near the Creggan estate. They would find it – we’d make sure of that – identify it as a PIRA device, and then there would be shit on. Great. They could then direct their time and resources into killing each other instead of the security forces and the local population.
I looked at Pat. He, too, was lost in his thoughts. ‘Did the car ever get recovered?’
‘Don’t know, don’t care.’
We’d turned the corner to walk across the car park, only to find that our car was missing. Some fucker had nicked it. Yet we had to get this device in place that night. The whole INLA leadership had been lifted for questioning by the police to guarantee that the target vehicle would be there, but there was a limit to how long they could be held. There was only one thing for it. We ran.
I checked the wing mirror again, then looked at Pat, his shoulders rolling as he laughed inside. I smiled at the memory of coming across two army foot patrols and bluffing our way through. It wouldn’t have been easy trying to explain away a holdall full of high explosive to eight very wet and pissed-off soldiers pointing their SA80s at your head, each of them itching for a kill so they’d get the reward of extra leave.
It was great to have some light relief. It was even better seeing Pat back on planet earth.
‘Take us back to the Pentagon City Metro stop, will you, mate?’
I started to prepare for the drop-off and got into acting mode again. He put his indicators on, everything correct, nothing untoward, nice slow approach and into the kerb outside the Metro. I got out and put my head back in through the open window. ‘Thanks a lot, mate, see you later on.’ I retrieved the black nylon bag from the back seat. My mindset was that I’d been playing softball with him all night, and now I was going home; he’d just dropped me off after a drink. I closed the door and tapped the roof a couple of times and off he drove. I suddenly felt very alone. Had I made the right decision about Pat not coming on target with me? I made distance and angles before doing a circuit back to the hotel, arriving at about eleven fifty.
I quickly sorted out and double-checked all the stuff that Pat had given me and packed what I needed into the bag. I emptied my pockets of change and anything else that might rattle or fall out. Then I cut off most of the top end of a bin liner, put in my passport and wallet, wrapped it into a small bundle and put it into my coat pocket.
Once I’d done that, I jumped up and down one more time to check for noise, picking up the bag and shaking that as well. ‘Guess what, Kelly? I’m going to go out again in a minute, but I’ll be back very soon. Will you be OK?’
But she was out of it. I left the hotel and walked towards the target.
23
The bag had two handles and a long shoulder strap. I walked towards the river with it slung over my shoulder, following the same route as last night. The rain was holding off and I could now see the stars and my own breath. Nothing had changed, except that the lights from the highway were a bit brighter tonight without the mist.
At the fenced gate I used the handles of the holdall to put it on my back like a bergen and climbed over. I’d keep it on my back now; if I was confronted I could run and still keep the kit, or, as a last resort, draw down on them with the Sig.
I got level with the target building, with the waste ground and fence in between. There was no sound apart from the hum of the highway. I started to pick my way through the clutter of the waste ground. It was muddy; not deep squelching mud, because the earth was quite hard, but I still needed to take my time to get through; I didn’t want to slip over and make noise, because my wet friend in the shrubbery might not be the only homeless person around here.
I got to the fence near the PIRA building. Using the bush as cover, I eased the bag off my shoulders and sat on it. The first bound was completed; it was time to stop, look, listen and take everything in. I needed to be extra careful because I was on my own. Really this was a job for two people, one watching, one doing. I spent a few minutes more just tuning in. Visibility was a bit better tonight because of the stars. Looking left, the car park was still empty; to the right, the pallets were still where I’d seen them.
From my coat pocket I pulled out the bin liner protecting my docs. At the base of a bush I dug a shallow hole in the mud with my hands, threw in the bundle and covered it over. This was my emergency cache, my ‘hidey-hole’ as Kelly would say. If I got lifted I would be sterile, and if I got away there would always be the chance of coming back and retrieving it.
I wiped the mud off my hands onto a small tuft of grass and started to get myself ready for the job. I gently unzipped the holdall and got out the pair of cheap and nasty navy-blue coveralls, probably just like the ones Kev’s friends had worn.
I was set for the next bound, although ‘bound’ wasn’t the right word for it. The problem with getting over a high fence with a 40-pound bag is that you can spend more time getting stuck and making noise than actually crossing it.
I pulled the draw cord from the centre of my coat and put it between my teeth. Moving as near to the steel stake support as I could without breaking cover, I then lifted the bag up to shoulder height. Using my shoulders to support its weight, I tied the handles as near to the top of the fence as I could with a quick-release knot, throwing the free end of the cord over the top.
Checking that my weapon was secure, I reached up, put my fingers through the chain link and started to climb. Once on the other side I again stopped, looked and listened; only then did I climb back up and lift the bag over the chain link. I climbed down once more and then got hold of the free end of the cord and pulled. The bag came free from the fence and I took its weight. Then, squatting, I watched and listened again.
Working alone on a job takes a lot of concentration, because you can’t look and work at the same time, yet both have to be done. So you do one or the other; you either get on with the job or you get on with looking. Try to do both and you’ll fuck up.
I stood up, put the bag on my left shoulder and gently pulled apart the Velcro of the coveralls so that, if necessary, I could get to my weapon. Taking my time, I moved to the left-hand side of the building.
Before I did anything, I had to defeat the motion detector. I was to the left of it, with my back against the wall. Putting the bag in my left hand, I kept my eyes on the detector high above me and started slowly edging towards it. When I got more or less as far as I estimated I could without getting pinged, I bent down and placed the bag by my feet. Everything I did from now on would happen on the near side of the bag.
Security lights that respond to movement make life much harder for people like me, but only if they cover the whole of the building. I found it strange that there was only one detector, rather than two or three overlapping each other to eliminate dead spots. I was expecting, at any moment, to be pinged by one I hadn’t noticed. But whoever had installed the security system had obviously worked on the premise that only the lower fire-escape door had to be covered and not the approach routes to it.
It was nearly one a.m., which left me just over five hours before first light. Time was against me, but I wasn’t going to rush. I went the long way round to go and collect one of the pallets. I got both hands in between the slats of wood, heaved it up against my chest and started to walk slowly. The ground still had a top layer of slush and my shoes squelched as they made contact. I finally reached the wall, placed the pallet against the brickwork on my side of the bag, and went back for the second one.
I wedged the two pallets together, the bottom of the second jammed into the gap about three rungs down from the top of the first to make a ladder. I stopped, looked and listened. The pallets had been heavy and I heard nothing apart from the sound of my lungs gasping for air through my dry throat.
I climbed up on the first pallet, and that was fine. I got up onto the second pallet, and it, too, seemed stable enough. I started to climb. I’d moved just two rungs when the whole structure buckled and collapsed. I hit the ground like a bag of shit and the two pallets slammed down onto each other with a resounding thud and clatter.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
Shit! Shit! Shit!
I was lying on my back with one of the pallets across my legs. No-one came running to investigate, no dogs started barking, no lights came on. Nothing but the noise of the traffic and me swallowing hard, trying to moisten my mouth.
Luckily everything had happened on my side of the bag. I lifted the pallet and crawled from under it, quietly cursing. This was shit. But what else could I have done – bought a ladder at the mall and carried it to the target? I moved to the corner of the building, got down on the tips of my toes and fingers, as if I was going to do a press-up, and stuck my head round towards Ball Street.
I was still annoyed with myself. I could spend all night improvising before I even got into a position to attack this motion detector. Maybe a ladder wasn’t such a stupid idea; I should have got one and somehow tried to dump it off earlier on, then picked it up
en route
. But it was too late now.
en route
. But it was too late now.
I stood against the wall and re-evaluated. I decided to ‘react as the situation dictated’, which was the Firm’s favourite get-out clause. It simply meant they didn’t know what to do. A bit like me really.
Fuck it, I was going to get Kelly. All she’d have to do was lean against the pallets; she only had to be there for about fifteen minutes and I’d be done. After that she could stay with me, or I could dump her back at the hotel. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
I picked up the bag, retraced the route to the high fence and, staying on the target side, dumped the bag and coveralls. Then I followed the fence along, looking for an opening to get onto Ball Street. There wasn’t time to do the job properly and go back all the way round. I finally found a service alley between two buildings that belonged in some film about the Mafia in 1950s New York. I was straight down it to the road and walked briskly to the hotel, no more than two minutes away. It was only then that I realized I didn’t have the room key because I’d left it in the bin liner. I’d have to wake Kelly.
I knocked gently at first, then a bit harder. Just when I was starting to flap, I heard ‘Hi, Nick.’ A moment or two later, the door opened.
I gave her a look of concern. ‘How did you know it was me? You should have waited until I answered.’ Then I saw the chair and the drag marks on the carpet. I smiled and gave her a pat on the head. ‘You looked through the spyhole, didn’t you, clever clogs? Hey, because you’re so clever, I’ve got a job for you. I really, really need your help. Would you like to help me?’
She looked sleepy. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I’ll show you when we get there. Will you come with me?’
‘I suppose so.’
I had a brainwave. ‘Do you want to do what your dad does? Because this is what Daddy does for the good guys. You can tell him all about it soon.’
Her face brightened. She was a happy bunny again.
She had to more or less run to keep up with me. We got to the alleyway and headed down towards the waste ground. It was dark; she wasn’t too keen. She started dragging her feet. ‘Where are we going, Nick?’
‘You want to play spies, don’t you?’ I said in an excited whisper. ‘Imagine you are a Power Ranger and you’re going on a secret mission.’
We reached the waste ground and took the same route towards the chain link fence. I held her hand and she kept pace; I guessed she was getting into it.
We got to the bag. I picked up the coveralls and said, ‘I’ve got to put these on because they’re special spy coveralls.’ Her face changed when she saw them. I suddenly realized she must have made the connection with the men who’d come to see Kev. ‘Your Daddy wears them too. You’d better be a spy as well; undo your coat.’ I turned it inside out and told her to put it back on. She liked that.
I picked up the bag and put it over my shoulder. I pointed. ‘Now we’ll walk really slowly over there.’
We reached the pallets and I put the bag down in the same place as before. ‘OK?’ I asked, giving her a thumbs up.
‘OK.’ Thumbs up.
‘See that thing up there? If that sees you, it’ll go
whoa-whoa
and there’ll be lights and all sorts, and then we’ve lost. So you must never go the other side of that bag, OK?’ I pointed.
whoa-whoa
and there’ll be lights and all sorts, and then we’ve lost. So you must never go the other side of that bag, OK?’ I pointed.
‘OK.’ We gave each other another thumbs up.
I repositioned the pallets and showed her what I wanted her to do. I could hear her making little grunts. She had started leaning as I’d shown her and probably thought she had to make noises, doing manual work and all.
I unzipped the bag, pulled out the clock and egg box and slipped the minute hand into its Sellotape sleeve. I gently squeezed the tape and it held nice and firm.
Kelly was still pushing and I told her to rest. At least she was keen. She was watching me as I put the clock and egg box on the floor and placed two elastic bands around my wrist.
‘It’s magic. Watch me!’
Other books
The Three Kingdoms Volume 2 by Luo Guanzhong
Business and Pleasure by Jinni James
Tale of Benjamin Bunny by Potter, Beatrix
Never to Part by Joan Vincent
Thief by Greg Curtis
The New Uncanny by Priest, Christopher, A.S. Byatt, Hanif Kureishi, Ramsey Campbell, Matthew Holness, Jane Rogers, Adam Marek, Etgar Keret
The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins
Born of Legend by Sherrilyn Kenyon
Waiting for Autumn by Scott Blum
