The Hostage (15 page)

Hank lifted another lecture pack off the pile, put his feet back up on to the desk, and thumbed through the pages, although he was unable to concentrate on them. Something was in the air and he wanted to be included but he knew that he had to act as if he was politely keeping his nose out of it. If they wanted to include him, they would.

He flicked through the lecture pack notes but could not keep from glancing over at Doles, who was leafing through a file. Doles seemed to find what he was looking for, jotted something on a notepad, tore out the page and left the room.

As Doles walked away Hank got up and went to the window to watch him. Doles headed up a well-worn path through the trees and out on to the road that lead to headquarters.

Hank went back to the desk and slumped into his chair. He tossed the lecture pack down, a tad frustrated, impatient to get involved, and flexed his legs, searching around the aching kneecap for the source of the pain. He checked his watch. Lunch was in an hour. If no one returned in another thirty minutes he decided he would head over to the mess.

He thought about giving Kathryn a call, looked at the phone on Doles’s desk and changed his mind. He had nothing new to tell her anyway, that’s if she even answered the phone. He knew she was screening her calls in case a wife telephoned. Her attitude was beginning to irritate him. He blamed her mother, whom he never got along with, not from the first time Kathryn had brought him to the family home in Boston. He considered her to be an overbearing bully who thought far too highly of herself. But even though she no longer had a direct influence on her daughter the damage was already done. Hank could only hope Kathryn would find one English person she liked enough to start turning her around. The growing instability between them worried him. He had hoped the atmosphere might have mellowed but things were as bad as the first day they arrived in England. It seemed a long time ago since they were at peace with each other. And it wasn’t all her fault. He’d been under a new strain of pressure the past few years; he’d reached that point in his career when the future was uncertain. The pyramid of promotion was getting narrower and more guys were competing for fewer jobs. Those left on the sidelines could count the days to civvy street. Hank had tried to put it out of his mind but the pressure was on to lay on a damn good performance with these guys.

Doles walked past the window and stepped back into the office, followed a few seconds later by Stratton. Hank recognised him from that first day in the hangar with Marty. Stratton did not acknowledge him and joined Doles to pore over one of the many maps pinned to the walls.

‘They said we could use area “A”,’ Doles said, following the boundary line of a piece of countryside with his finger.

‘We’ll also need “E”,’ Stratton said, pointing to an adjacent expanse of land. ‘I need the town.’

‘When I asked about those areas they said 22 were using E and F.’

‘I need E and the connecting road to A,’ Stratton insisted, jabbing his finger on a circular road that ran through both of the areas. ‘Call ’em and tell ’em we need it.’

‘But they’re just going to tell me the same thing.’

‘Did you say the magic word?

‘No, because I don’t know the magic word,’ Doles said with a hint of sarcasm.

‘Op Phoenix.’

‘Can I use that over the phone?’

‘Use the secure phone. Look, we have priority. Trust me, we’ll get anything we want on this one.’

‘But you don’t know what it’s about.’

‘No, but I know who it’s from,’ Stratton said.

‘Then they know what it’s about. I mean, Phoenix was put together today, right?’

‘They won’t know. But when they make the confirmation call to DSF they’ll be told to give Phoenix priority. You know what the SAS are like. They always get upset when we get the big jobs instead of them.You’d think they’d be used to it by now.’ Stratton headed for the door. ‘I’ll get a stores list to you by this afternoon,’ he said as he opened it.

‘Oh, Stratton?’ Doles said, remembering something. ‘Be handy if I could sort out accommodation soon as poss. Got any idea on numbers?’

Stratton did a quick calculation in his head. ‘There’ll be eight from M. Clemens, you and me, that’s eleven, plus two drivers, a cook and a storeman. I want to use the bashers in quadrant A. Once we get into the camp we’re pretty much staying there, okay?’

‘And you don’t know how long for.’

‘Nope.’

‘That might be a problem if—’

‘The magic word,’ Stratton interrupted with a smile, one old friend to another. He winked and then left.

Doles sat at his desk and scribbled some notes. ‘I like magic words,’ he said to himself.

Hank had been watching and listening but went back to thumbing through the lecture pack as Stratton left. Doles paused to look up at Hank as if just realising he was there. His gaze lingered on Hank while he thought about something. Hank looked up at Doles, who remained staring at him. Hank went back to his file, wondering what Doles was thinking. Doles picked up the phone and dialled a number.

‘Sir. Doles here,’ he said. ‘What do you want to do with the attached rank? . . . Yeah.’ There was a long pause while Doles listened. Hank also waited for the reply, hoping he was the attached rank in question, even though he had no idea what for. ‘We’ve got odd numbers at the moment. He’ll even them up,’ Doles said. ‘That would help for some of the serials.’There was another pause as Doles listened.‘No reason why it should be a problem,’ he said. Then after listening for a moment longer he said with finality, ‘Okay,’ and put down the phone.

Hank kept his eyes fixed on the lecture notes, waiting for Doles to say something, but he was silent for what seemed an age. Hank became anxious that it wasn’t him they had been talking about.

‘Hank,’ Doles said finally.

Hank looked up with an expression of nonchalance. ‘Huh?’

‘The team’s on a warning order to move in less than twenty hours. We’re joining another team from M to beat up for an operation. The boss said if you want to come along for the training phase it’s okay by him.’

Hank shrugged. ‘Sure. Sounds great.’

‘It’s an isolation. Do you know what that means?’

‘Once we go in no one comes out or communicates with the outside world till the op’s completed.’

‘After the team is debriefed on completion.’

‘That’s fine by me.’

‘Don’t you want to know how long it could be for?’

‘No . . . When the job’s done, I guess.’

‘What about the wife and kids?’

‘Not a problem.’

Doles liked the answer. ‘We leave tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘All you need to bring are civvy clothes. No military stuff whatsoever: watch straps, things like that. You’ll need your ID card. No smart clothes. Jeans and T-shirt routine, things you don’t mind getting damaged. There’ll be laundry facilities.You can tell friends and family you’re going to Scotland on an exercise for a couple of weeks.That’s what your wife will be told if she calls the camp. Bring some beer money in case but you won’t need much else otherwise.’ Doles checked his watch. ‘You might as well head home for the day. Bob can take care of stores by himself. Be here by seven for a seven-thirty departure.’

Hank picked up all the lecture packs and put them back in the filing cabinet. ‘Can I ask where we’re going, or do I wait ’n’ see?’ he asked.

‘I can tell you where the training camp is. It’s in Wales. The actual op location is secret. I don’t even know where it is or what the job is.’

Hank nodded as he picked up his cap and smoothed the starched edges. ‘I haven’t been to Wales,’ he said.

‘Hank?’ Doles said, stopping him as he reached the doorway. ‘You’re only going for the training.’

‘Whatever,’ Hank said with a smile. ‘Just glad to be doing something.’

‘I think you’ll enjoy it.’

‘I look forward to it. See you tomorrow,’ Hank said as he closed the door.

As he headed through the wood towards the car park, Hank felt uplifted, despite Doles’s assurance he would not get on the op itself. He had been in England just two weeks and was already going on operational training. That wasn’t a bad start, he decided. Who knew where it could lead?

Hank sat in the second of two unmarked Range Rovers as they crossed the Severn Bridge in close file and passed into Wales. Doles sat in front alongside the driver, in a thick arctic duvet jacket. Apart from Clemens and Doles, Hank didn’t know the other three operatives in his vehicle. In fact the only other person he knew was Stratton, who was in the other Rover, although he had not as yet exchanged a word with him. The men’s personal baggage, all military backpacks and holdalls, were stuffed into the back of each Rover. Whatever equipment they needed for the training was apparently already at the secret camp they were headed for, the unmarked stores lorry carrying food, weapons and ammunition having left Poole before dawn.

Everyone had been pretty quiet throughout the trip, most sleeping. Hank had stayed awake. He was sticking to his game plan of staying in the background, remaining the grey man. He had overheard that the mysterious camp was named Ilustram and was designed and built for Special Forces use only. Its location was classified. The team was hoping to get at least a week of intensive training in before individuals were selected for the mission. Whatever that was he still had no idea. He suspected most of the others didn’t know either. If they did then it was down to their ‘need to know’ - and Hank did not need to know. There was no sense of excitement.

A short distance after the bridge the vehicles turned off the motorway and on to a minor road that cut through the countryside. Hank was content to take in the sights; the scenery became quite beautiful as the road began to meander, shadowing the course of a river that followed a wide valley.

An hour after leaving the river valley, as Hank started to nod off, the Rover came to a stop. He looked up drowsily to see that the front vehicle had halted at a barrier outside a guardhouse and he shook off his tiredness. A civilian police officer was talking to Stratton through the passenger window. Hank looked around, wondering if this was Ilustram. They were still in the countryside, surrounded by trees, with fields visible beyond. A hundred yards or so behind the guardhouse was a cluster of new office-style brick buildings. A high-security fence stretched in opposite directions from the guardhouse barrier. There were no signs to indicate that it was the entrance to an army camp.

A minute later the police officer raised the barrier and waved the vehicles through. Hank looked into the guardroom as they passed it and saw several more policemen inside. If it was a military camp, he wondered, why were there no soldiers on guard?

The Rovers passed through the neatly manicured complex where half-a-dozen cars were parked in front of the buildings.There was no sign of life. A few hundred yards the other side of the complex the new tarmac road gave way to a dirt track and they headed into open countryside.

They followed the security fence for a mile before veering away to drive through wide open fields.

As they approached a small wood Hank saw the outline of several three-storey buildings within it. They were plain concrete structures resembling unfinished office blocks that had been on fire recently. There were no windows, doors or wooden frames in any of the openings. A couple of battered cars parked off the side of the track leading to the buildings were riddled with bullet holes.

Further on, the other side of the road, a dozen men were dressed in black assault clothing, all armed with sub-machine-guns and wearing chest harnesses. Gasmasks hung from their hips. Beyond them, surrounded by a high earthwork, was a civilian passenger aircraft that looked like it had not been airworthy for many years. Scorch marks surrounded many of the doors and windows. More armed men were exiting the aircraft down a ladder. The men by the road watched the Rovers as they passed.

‘There’s old Geordie Marshal,’ Clemens said.

‘G Squadron,’ said Doles.

SAS, Hank thought. The SBS didn’t do aircraft and there was only one other SF unit in the country that did. Hank watched them through the back window until they were out of sight.

A mile further on a handful of long, narrow brick huts in parallel rows came into view. They looked as if they had been built during the Second World War. Hank recognised the unmarked truck parked alongside the end hut as the stores wagon from Poole. The Range Rovers pulled off the track and parked behind it.

The men stepped out, stretching and yawning, some lighting up cigarettes. Hank stepped out and took in the scenery. It was a bright, cloudless day with a slight chill in the air. Some trees dotted the immediate area, otherwise it was open fields in every direction. He thought he could hear gunfire in the distance carried on a breeze that suddenly picked up and rustled the brittle leaves on a nearby pair of oaks. As he focused on the sound he was interrupted.

‘Listen up,’ Doles said in a raised voice as he climbed out the front of his vehicle, holding a clipboard. Everyone stopped talking and faced him. ‘This is building one,’ he said, pointing to the first building on the road. ‘It’ll be the admin staff basher and stores. Building two, the next one over if you hadn’t guessed, is the galley. Building three, SBS accommodation. Four is showers and heads.’ He checked his watch. ‘Time now is ten twelve. Let’s get everything unloaded. Sort out your beds. Grab a brew and muster here for twelve-thirty ready to go.’

‘What’s the first serial?’ one of the men asked.

‘If you don’t interrupt, Jackson, I’ll get to it.’

Someone nudged Jackson in the back. ‘Yeah, shut it, Jackson,’ a voice said playfully.

Doles moved right along.‘Today will be pistols and SMGs on the range. Before dark the aim is to fit in some car and van drills. Lunch will be nosebags. Dinner whenever we get back.’