The Operative (3 page)

‘You want to get everyone inside?’ Stratton asked Jack.

A moment later the children and wives were being herded into the house. A man with a well-developed gut and a decidedly unspecial-forces-like bearing who had been talking to several of the wives and not paying attention to the goings-on in the corner of the garden joined the men heading into the house. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

‘A party trick,’ Jack said.

‘Oh, great. What is it?’

‘The explosive kind,’ Bracken explained.

‘Explosive. Inside the house?’ The man chuckled, not believing them.

‘No. Outside. That’s why we’re going inside,’ Bracken said.

The man stopped in the doorway, looking as if he’d misheard. ‘Not real explosives, surely?’

‘Yeah. As in boom boom,’ Smiv said.

‘Real explosives?’ the man asked again.

‘Which is why we’re going inside,’ Bracken repeated patiently.

The man looked across the garden to the table where Stratton was crouched with Josh, talking about something. ‘Are you
mad
?’ he exclaimed. ‘You can’t blow things up. This is a private neighbourhood.’

‘If anyone complains we’ll say it was just a big banger,’ Bracken said.

‘Big
banger
?’ the man echoed, looking astounded.

‘So who’s gonna know?’ Bracken asked.

‘
I
’ll know,’ the man said, his voice rising to its highest pitch.

‘May I remind you that I’m a police officer.’ He was from the Dorset Police Firearms Unit which the SBS occasionally instructed.

‘Relax, Bob. It’s all under control,’ Jack assured him.

‘Relax? If anything goes wrong it’ll be me who gets it in the neck.’

‘Bob,’ Smiv said, putting a large hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezing it a little. ‘If you don’t shut up I’m going to shoot you in the leg tomorrow when we’re on the range. Now get in the poxy house and do as you’re told.’

Bob looked at the hardened faces staring at him, all belonging to men a head taller than him. ‘I’m going to deny all knowledge,’ he said as he went into the house.

‘Is everyone inside?’ Jack asked. ‘Shut the balcony door, please,’ he shouted and someone complied. ‘Stratton? All yours.’

‘Don’t you break any of my windows, Stratton,’ Sally called out from the patio doors.

Jack closed the doors on her, cleared various items off a garden table and tipped it on its side.

Stratton took a small battery-ignited gas lighter from the briefcase and pushed the button on the side a couple of times, initiating it for Josh to see how it worked. ‘You have a go,’ he said to Josh who took the lighter and pushed the button. The small portal instantly glowed red and blue without a visible flickering tongue of fire: it looked more like the rear of a miniature jet engine.

‘That’s perfect. Now, you remember the last time we lit a fuse?’

‘Yes.’ Josh nodded.

‘This is just the same. When you light the ends of the fuses and they start to crackle we’ll walk slowly back to the table where your dad is. Okay?’

Josh nodded again. ‘What do we count up to?’ he asked.

‘Twelve inches is sixty seconds. You remember how we count?’

‘Thousand and one, thousand and two, thousand and three,’ Josh said, nodding his head at each number.

‘Perfect … You ready?’

Josh held up the lighter.

‘Okay. Light it.’

Josh ignited the lighter and carefully aimed the jet at the ends of both the short and the long fuses lying beside each other. They immediately crackled to life and began to give off a thin wisp of smoke.

Josh began to count. ‘Thousand and one, thousand and two, thousand and three, thousand and four …’

Stratton took the lighter from him, pocketed it, closed the briefcase, stood up and took Josh’s hand. Josh looked up at him, still counting, and Stratton winked, emphasising how calm and cool they should be. As Josh got to a thousand and ten, they strode off together to where Jack was waiting for them behind the table.

‘Thousand and twenty-one,’ Josh counted as he got down beside his dad. He glanced over at the patio doors where his friends were pressed against the glass, watching him.

‘Is my money safe?’ Jack asked Stratton while his son continued counting.

‘I’m relying more on luck than judgement but I’d say we’re in good shape.’

As Josh got to one thousand and fifty-seven, there was a sharp crack, hardly louder than a normal firework banger, and a moment later the three of them stood up to see what had happened.

The patio doors opened and Smudge led the others out as a small cloud of smoke dissipated. They walked over and stood around the table. The champagne bottle was in precisely the same position but its top was missing. Swinging like a pendulum above it on the nylon line was the champagne flute containing the flower. The longer fuse wire was still burning up towards it.

Everyone gathered around, watching the glass swing less and less as the thin wisp of smoke from the fuse drew closer to it.
Smudge was at the other side of the table, facing Stratton, the swinging glass between them. He looked unsure. But the odds on the fuse burning through the nylon at the precise moment were surely in his favour.

The seconds ticked away and as the fuse got shorter no one said a word. Even Bob the police officer stared in anticipation.

The fuse reached the nylon and burnt through it. The glass fell, the bottom of the stem hitting the edge of the bottle and breaking off. But the rest of it dropped inside the bottle.

Jack leaned over the bottle, reached inside it, and lifted the glass out. Apart from its stem it was intact, with the flower inside. ‘I’d say that was a winner.’

There was instant applause from everyone and Josh hugged Stratton’s legs.

‘Wait a minute,’ Smudge said. ‘The bottom of the glass is broken.’

‘Shut up, Smudge,’ Bracken said. ‘He did exactly what you asked him to. Cough up.’

‘But technically—’ Smudge whined on.

‘Just give ’em the money and stop your whingeing,’ Smiv said as he took out his wallet and duly counted out a hundred pounds into Jack’s hand. Smudge reluct antly took out his wallet and handed his payment to Jack who beamed as he took his cut before handing some to Seaton and the rest to Stratton. ‘Never a doubt,’ Jack said. ‘Beer?’ he asked both Seaton and Stratton.

‘Beer,’ they agreed. They broke into laughter as they headed for the house, Jack and Seaton putting an arm around Stratton.

The sound of a beeper going off filtered through the laughter and conversation as people discussed the feat. Every man heard it but Sally was the first to react, looking up from Josh, her smile fading as her gaze met Jack’s.

Smiv pulled his pager from his pocket. ‘It’s me,’ he said as he read the slender information bar on the top of the device.

Sally sighed, looking relieved. ‘If there’s one sound I hate it’s that one,’ she said to one of the wives beside her.

Another beeper then sounded off, followed by another. Within a few seconds there was a chorus of them and practically every operative was reading his pager.

Sally went instantly sullen. ‘They’ll be gone in about five seconds,’ she said.

Jack looked across at his wife, his expression saying it all. ‘Sorry, Sal. We have to go.’

She nodded.

‘Anyone need a lift to the camp?’ Jack called out. No one answered and Jack took Sally in his arms. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s happening.’

She nodded, trying to hide the disappointment on her face.

Jack kissed her and headed for the house. ‘You not been called or you left your pager at home?’ he asked Stratton as he passed him.

‘I just got back.’

‘When has that ever stopped ’em?’ Jack said.

‘Someone’s being considerate for once,’ Stratton replied.

‘Enjoy the party,’ Jack said as he disappeared into the house.

‘I will,’ Stratton said as Seaton strode past him.

‘Don’t bet on it,’ the American said as he followed the men inside.

Stratton watched him go and took his beeper out to see if it was operating. Within seconds the men had all gone, except for him and Bob. The wives and children stood around, looking as if they had just been mugged.

‘Where’s Dad going, Mummy?’ Josh asked.

‘I don’t know, Josh. He’ll be back soon.’

‘It could be an exercise,’ Stratton offered, aware of how limp it sounded as soon as he’d said it.

‘When’s the last time the lads had an exercise? You’ve been
doing the real thing for so many years now you don’t need one.’

She was right to a certain extent. Stratton was only trying to make it easier for her to bear, although he didn’t know quite why he needed to. It wasn’t as if the lads died like flies every time they went away. Yes, it was a dangerous job but the number of fatalities over the years was low, considering the nature of the work. The wives had been complaining lately about the amount of time their men had been spending away from home. Most were bored with being left alone so much while others suspected that the men had too much of a good time when they were away. Stratton wouldn’t have put Sally in either category and knew that for the past year or so she’d been experiencing genuine fear about Jack going away. She had mentioned it to Stratton more than once and although she knew that it was silly to take any notice of what was, at the end of the day, just her imagination she couldn’t help how she felt.

Sally smiled at Stratton, trying hard not to be a wet rag. ‘I’ll go get you that beer,’ she said. ‘You’re not leaving this house until you and I are drunk, John Stratton. Understood?’

As she stepped towards the house a beeper cut through the air. Sally stopped in the doorway and turned to look at Stratton as he pulled his pager from his pocket to check the readout.

‘I’d better hurry and catch a ride,’ he said as he approached her. He opened his arms and she wrapped hers around his body, resting her cheek on his chest.

‘I know it’s what you all do,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’ll just never get used to it, that’s all.’

Stratton released her as Josh came up to them. ‘You going too, Stratton?’ the little boy asked, adjusting the oversized
pakol
on his head.

‘Yes. I have to go with your dad. You have a happy birthday, and look after your mum.’

Stratton bounded up the steps to the kitchen balcony and as
he went inside the house Sally called out his name. He popped back out and looked down on them.

Sally had picked Josh up and was holding him in her arms. ‘Take care of him,’ she said, suddenly looking quite worried.

Stratton nodded and she smiled bravely. But all Sally could hear were the voices in her head warning her that she would never see Jack alive again. Even though she had heard them before, this time they seemed more compelling. She wanted to tell Stratton her fears but knew it would only make her feel stupid and put him in an uncomfortable position.

She watched him disappear and was suddenly filled with the urge to run through the house, out onto the street, and see Jack one last time before he went away. But she took control of herself.

‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ Josh said.

‘I’m not,’ she lied and held him tightly in her arms.

Stratton and Jack stepped in through a doorway cut into a large grey metal sliding door that was closed across the entrance to what, from the outside, looked like a small aircraft hangar. It was one of the Special Boat Service’s operational squadron hangars inside their sprawling headquarters on the edge of Poole Harbour. Gathered in the hangar were the men from Jack’s party plus half a dozen others. Most had some kind of facial hair: a moustache, a goatee, or simply a few days’ growth of stubble.

The door to the operational offices that were constructed on a suspended platform above the floor of the hangar opened and an officer and the squadron sergeant-major stepped out. They were wearing desert-camouflage uniforms. The sergeant-major led the way down a metal staircase where he stopped halfway to address the men.

‘Listen up,’ he barked. ‘Teams Alpha, Bravo and Charlie should all be here. Team leaders speak only if there are members who are not present, otherwise your silence will be taken as affirmative.’ His stare scanned the group and paused on Stratton and Seaton, the only two men who were not assigned to teams. He nodded to them and looked back at the officer. ‘All present, sir.’

‘Thank you, sergeant-major,’ the young officer said, looking up from a clipboard that he was reading from and scribbling notes on.

‘I’m sorry about the call-out,’ the officer said in his well-bred accent. ‘I know that most of you are on local leave but we’re the
standby squadron for fastballs such as this. There’ll be a detailed brief on the plane but the location is Iraq. One of the deck of cards has been located. Mohammad Al-Forouf. He’s a Sunni cleric from Ramadi and quite an important force behind the resistance movement within the Sunni Triangle. He’s also the man behind the UN and Red Cross headquarters bombings in Baghdad as well as numerous others. He’s recently been using the dilapi dated but still functional rail system to move ordnance around the country. This has been working for him quite well, mainly because trains are so rare and somewhat autonomous about their movements that co alition forces have been lax with stop-and-searches. Sources have revealed that Forouf will be travelling from Mosul in the north and heading south towards Tikrit and Baghdad in the next twenty-four hours. He’s very elusive, obviously, since he hasn’t been caught yet. Coalition forces have made three attempts against him since the war, all without luck. He’s rumoured to be heavily guarded and goes nowhere without serious protection. This is the first time we’ve had int that he’s actually on one of his trains. If it proves to be true, then that gives us a tactical advantage insofar as he and his men will be in a confined location, on a predictable route, and out in the open. The source is apparently very reliable and quite valuable to military intelligence who want him left in mint condition and – this is from them – the deal is we can’t just vaporise the train, which suggests that the source is going to be with Forouf. That means it’s going to require some surgery … Stratton?’