Payback Read online

  In the surveillance house Curly unwrapped a Snickers bar and dunked it in his coffee. ‘You tell him, Marcie.’

  Fincham sat back in his chair as a police helicopter flew low past his window, following the line of the river. ‘But where do we start?’ he asked Deveraux.

  ‘Inform the Spanish we have a warrant for their arrest; get their Intelligence and police to help us find Watts and the boy.’

  Both surveillance operators were leaning in towards the monitor, willing Fincham to agree. ‘Come on, Georgie-boy,’ said Beanie. ‘Do that thing. Keep those knuckle-draggers in Spain.’

  But Fincham wasn’t yet convinced. ‘I don’t want the Spanish turning this into a full-scale operation.’

  Deveraux had worked out her plan carefully. ‘I don’t see it as a problem, sir. We tell Spanish intelligence that it’s connected with anti-terrorism, the suicide bombings. Watts has explosives; Danny is another potential bomber. We explain that our people will collect the two suspects and bring them back to the UK without our respective governments knowing. It wouldn’t be the first time.’

  ‘And what about their police?’

  ‘We make it clear to Spanish intelligence that as far as their police are concerned, Watts and the boy are just a couple of criminals who need to be rounded up and thrown out of the country. That way the police help us in the hunt without knowing too many details.’

  Fincham stood up and went to the window stretching the length of his office. He looked out for a few moments before turning back. ‘All right. Contact the Spanish and keep the operation covert. Tell them we just need to know where Watts and the boy are and we will do the rest.’

  Deveraux nodded and got up from her chair. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Fincham reached for his mobile; then, as Deveraux headed for the door, her Xda began to ring. She looked at the phone and saw that it was the call she was expecting. Before she left the room and answered it, she glanced up at the TV screens and smiled slightly.

  In the surveillance room both operators started to clap their hands, applauding Deveraux’s performance.

  Curly blew a kiss at the screen just before she disappeared from view. ‘I think she fancies me,’ he said with a laugh.

  12

  Fergus and Danny lay on the sandy earth next to the long stretch of tarmac road cutting through the remote stretch of Andalusian countryside. It was an hour before first light, the time when the night seems to be at its darkest.

  Fergus had paced the distance from the road junction several kilometres back. They had not begun the long march until after dark and had left their final approach until Fergus stood off from the area and observed it from higher ground to ensure they were not walking into a trap. When he was sure it was safe, they moved in. Now they were in exactly the right position at exactly the right time.

  The faint drone of an engine broke the silence.

  ‘Our lift,’ said Fergus quietly. ‘When I get up, you follow, and stay directly behind me.’

  Danny could feel the tension as the adrenalin began pumping round his body. The moment he had dreamed of for so long had finally arrived. ‘Why did you decide we should go back?’ he asked.

  Fergus gave a short, ironic laugh. ‘Because basically, whichever way you look at it, we’re in the shit. Sometimes, for all the training and preparation, you have to go with your gut feeling. My gut feeling is we take the ride that’s been offered. At least this way we’re doing something active, instead of running away. And you can’t run away for ever – didn’t you tell me that once?’

  ‘Yeah,’ answered Danny nervously.

  ‘And anyway,’ said Fergus as the noise of the engine grew louder, ‘I never much fancied a boat trip. Always been a crap sailor. But it is a gamble, Danny – and remember, if there’s more than one person in there, we don’t get in. I go first, and if I push you away, you run, and you don’t look back.’

  Fergus had a lot of experience with what they were about to do. Back in the days when he had infiltrated FARC, the drug runners had used this system to avoid government helicopter gunships as they covertly moved their processed cocaine out of Colombia.

  The engine noise was coming closer and Danny couldn’t stop himself from clambering to his knees to get a first glimpse. ‘I can’t see a thing – where is it?’

  Fergus reached up, grabbed Danny and pulled him to the ground, as the roar of the aircraft’s engine was suddenly just a couple of metres above them. ‘There!’ shouted Fergus. ‘Stay down!’

  They felt the back blast of the propeller and then heard the tyres screech as they made contact with the tarmac. Danny still couldn’t see the aircraft as it carried on along the improvised LS. Fergus was holding onto him tightly. ‘Stay behind me!’ he yelled. ‘I don’t want you walking into that propeller.’

  He’d seen it happen before. A lot of pumped-up, over-eager young men had died needlessly by running around in the dark and getting chopped to death by the unseen propeller.

  The sound of the Cessna grew louder again as it taxied back along the road towards Fergus and Danny. One wing passed over their prone bodies and then the plane turned again to face into the wind. The pilot had landed into the wind; take-off had to be the same to obtain extra lift.

  The back blast of the propeller sent sand and grit flying into the air. Danny felt it hit his face, making his skin sting, as his nose filled with the smell of aviation fuel. He shouted at his grandfather, ‘What’s happening? Does he know we’re here?’

  Fergus ignored him and kept his eyes fixed on the aircraft. He knew the pilot was looking at them at that moment. The reason they had lain right next to the road was so that he could see them on his approach. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have landed.

  A red torchlight began to flash. Fergus pulled Danny to his feet and, bending low, moved towards the light in a direct line. The pilot had opened the cockpit’s rear door. Fergus looked inside, saw that the man was alone, then pushed Danny into the aircraft and climbed in after him. He slammed the door and slapped the pilot twice on the shoulder, indicating that they were ready to go.

  The engine roared, the Cessna gathered speed and within seconds they were climbing into the dark sky.

  In the cockpit Danny could smell coffee and see the dull glow coming from the instrument panel. He realized why the pilot hadn’t needed landing lights: he was wearing NVGs. They looked like a pair of miniature binoculars, suspended about two centimetres in front of the pilot’s eyes by a head harness.

  A green glow was coming from the NVGs. The pilot could see as well as he could in daylight; the only difference was that everything appeared like a green negative film. And Fergus knew that the plane must also be fitted with a Nitesun torch, an infra-red searchlight which, together with the NVGs, had made them – and the road – perfectly visible during the landing.

  Danny peered out of a window. Far below he could see clumps of lights where there were villages or small towns. In a few places vehicle headlights cut through the darkness.

  The pilot took off his NVGs and switched on the aircraft’s navigation lights. Bright flashes appeared at the end of each wing.

  Fergus was looking down at the shape of the coastline, traced by the lights hugging the shore. They were heading north.

  Without looking back, the pilot passed a flask over his shoulder. Fergus took it and began to pour out the hot, sweet-smelling coffee.

  The aircraft climbed higher and Danny’s spirits soared with it. He was going home. At last.

  13

  Elena had never had too much to say about her dad that was good. There had been too many let-downs, disappointments and broken promises, not to mention the fact that he had long ago deserted both Elena and her mum. As far as Elena was concerned, Joey Omolodon had been unfailingly consistent as a dad – he was a disaster.

  But despite everything, and no matter how hard she tried, Elena had always found it impossible to actually dislike Joey. There was too much about him that was likeable. He was charming,
funny, confident, good-looking. True, he could drive you crazy one minute, but then he’d have you holding your sides and rocking with laughter the next. Joey was a one-off, a larger-than-life character. Or at least he had been, until going into Brixton prison.

  As Elena sat in the taxi and watched her dad emerge from the prison gate, she was struck by the thought that Joey had suddenly become smaller. Shrunken somehow. He stood there clutching a plastic bag containing his few possessions, looking bewildered and disorientated.

  Elena wound down the window and called, ‘Dad,’ and Joey gazed across the road, gave a little wave of recognition and a half smile and came shuffling towards the cab. He stepped off the kerb and immediately leaped back as a car horn sounded and a vehicle went hurtling by.

  The cab driver laughed. ‘That’s not unusual when they first come out. I saw a bloke get knocked down once. One minute of freedom and he walked straight under a bus.’ He nodded towards Joey. ‘Been in long, has he?’

  ‘Mind your own business,’ snapped Elena as she threw open the taxi door and went hurrying across the road towards her dad.

  Joey had been held in prison for four months while the prosecution case against him was prepared. Each time Elena had visited, he was sadder, more depressed and more resigned to spending many years behind bars. At first he had protested his innocence to Elena; when that didn’t work he said his so-called partner had set him up. Elena was having none of it: ‘You did it, didn’t you, Dad? You’re guilty,’ she said. And eventually Joey had just nodded.

  What Joey didn’t do was say he was sorry for attempting to smuggle cocaine into the country. He was saving that for the trial because he was terrified by the thought of a long prison stretch. Joey valued freedom more than anything else in life; the freedom to come and go where he wanted whenever he wanted. He’d spent his whole life doing exactly that.

  Now he was walking to freedom, thanks to his daughter, and Elena thought he’d be elated, despite those first few tentative steps. But he didn’t look elated.

  ‘All right, Dad?’ she asked, grabbing the plastic bag and taking Joey by the arm to lead him over to the taxi.

  ‘Yeah, fine, babe,’ he answered half-heartedly. ‘I’m good.’ He didn’t look good. He looked scared.

  ‘So you’re going home,’ said Elena brightly. ‘Back to Nigeria.’

  Joey just nodded.

  ‘Bet you’re glad about that, eh?’ Elena suddenly realized that she was talking to her dad like he was the kid in the conversation. She was confused; this wasn’t what she’d expected.

  They got into the cab and the driver pulled away. Joey stared morosely out of the window as the vehicle moved steadily through the early morning streets. ‘Someone came this morning, first thing,’ he said softly. ‘Just gave me a plane ticket and said they didn’t want to see me back in the UK.’ He turned to look at his daughter. ‘But no one told me why they were letting me go, or why there would be no trial. Do you know what’s going on?’

  ‘No,’ lied Elena. ‘They just said you were leaving this morning and the cab would be picking me up so I could see you off.’

  ‘They? Who are they? I don’t understand any of this.’

  Elena said nothing and they slipped into a gloomy silence as the cab moved out through the suburbs towards Heathrow. When they reached the terminal, armed police were watching at the drop-off point. The driver caught Elena’s eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘Want me to wait? It’s all paid for, but I can’t hang around long – the police are moving everyone on. It’s this bombing business.’

  ‘I’m seeing my dad off. I’ll find my own way back.’

  Joey already had his hand on the door handle. ‘No, darling, you go back. You know I’m no good at long goodbyes.’

  ‘But Dad—’

  ‘No, Elena. There’s two hours until my flight. You don’t want to see your poor old dad in tears, do you?’

  Elena could already feel tears beginning to well up in her own eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand and looked at the cab driver. ‘Two minutes?’

  The driver smiled sympathetically and nodded. ‘Sure.’

  Joey got out of the cab and waited while Elena walked round to join him. She couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around him and hugging him.

  ‘I’m sorry, babe,’ whispered Joey, his voice choking with emotion.

  Elena held onto him tightly; she didn’t want him to see her cry. And she was crying, even though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. ‘I’ll miss you, Dad. Take care – write to me.’

  ‘Course I will, darling.’

  She laughed, even though she was still crying. ‘You won’t; you never do.’

  Tears were rolling down Elena’s face. She kissed her dad on the cheek and then turned away. She didn’t look back as she walked to the cab. She didn’t look back as the driver pulled away. She didn’t see Joey watching the cab until it disappeared from view.

  14

  Danny looked down over London as the Cessna eased into its landing approach. The lights across the city and suburbs seemed to stretch away endlessly in every direction.

  It had been a long and gruelling flight of over one thousand nautical miles. They flew virtually the whole length of Spain and then skirted the Pyrenees and crossed into French air space for another long haul northward, and then finally across the English Channel. Three times they landed to refuel, first in Spain and then twice more in France. But not once were they permitted to leave the cockpit; not even the pilot got out.

  At each brief stop, air force personnel silently and efficiently approached the aircraft to carry out the refuel. No paperwork was completed, no words were exchanged; whoever was responsible for organizing the operation was high up in the food chain. Everything had been considered and prepared, right down to the bottles for peeing in. The pilot gave them each a small square cardboard box, packed with vacuum-sealed bags of food and drink – twenty-four-hour army ration packs.

  Fergus grinned as he opened his. ‘Brings back memories,’ he said, delving into the box and examining the contents. ‘Lancashire hot pot for dinner. What you got?’

  ‘The same,’ said Danny, reading the blue words printed on the bag. ‘And bacon and beans, and fruit dumplings and custard.’

  Fergus ripped open a packet of chocolate. ‘This used to be pretty good. But watch out for the biscuits, they’re like iron.’

  An incredible amount was packed into the boxes. As well as the main food rations there was soup, chewing gum, boiled sweets, sugar, hot chocolate and carefully packed essentials like matches. There was even a small metal tub of turkey and herb pâté.

  ‘Yanks always used to be jealous of our rations,’ said Fergus. ‘Much better than theirs.’

  It was the first time Danny had flown in a small plane, but the initial excitement soon turned to boredom as hour followed tedious hour. A couple of times he attempted to engage the pilot in conversation. He needn’t have bothered; this was no pleasure trip, and the man at the controls was totally focused on the job in hand and was not going to be distracted.

  Fergus was quiet too; his thoughts were centred on what was awaiting them when they eventually touched down in the UK.

  So Danny had to settle for talking to himself or keeping his mouth shut. He chose the latter, listening to the constant drone of the engine, occasionally dipping into his rations and worrying about Elena.

  They dozed for a while, but Danny was woken suddenly as the small aircraft neared the Pyrenees and was tossed about in the updraughts of air. He was scared at first, but when he saw that both Fergus and the pilot looked completely unperturbed, he sat back and enjoyed the rollercoaster ride. It was better than boredom.

  They went from darkness to light and back to darkness with hardly a word spoken. But at last they were making their final descent.

  Fergus knew exactly where they were headed as he looked down at the A40 streetlights burning their way west towards Oxford. ‘We’re going into Northolt,
’ he said quietly. ‘West London.’

  His grandson just nodded. Suddenly, with Fergus finally prepared to start a conversation, Danny had nothing to say. He was nervous; more than that, frightened. They were taking a massive gamble on coming back and had no idea what awaited them the moment they stepped out of the plane.

  Fergus knew RAF Northolt well from his years in the Regiment. He had landed there many times, before being driven the last few miles to what is known simply as ‘Northwood’, the top-secret MoD control centre used to conduct operations all over the world. It was at Northwood that Fergus had been given his final briefing before being sent out to Colombia as a K.

  Both Gulf wars were monitored and controlled from the high security location. From the outside, all the public get to see through the high wire fences are a few old buildings and some satellite dishes. But inside, and mostly underground in the three levels of bunkers, the complex was the closest thing Fergus had seen to the set of a James Bond movie. He remembered watching the large screens showing real-time pictures of operations in the world’s trouble spots as government officials and high-ranking officers directed personnel hunched over computers.

  That was in the past, when Fergus was part of it all. Now it was different. He was returning to the very nerve centre of British military operations as a fugitive from the law, a wanted man.

  ‘If there’s a drama, I’ll try to give you some time,’ he said to Danny as the aircraft lined up on two rows of runway lights that had just started to flash. ‘Run towards the lights on the main road, get over the fence somehow and head left. There’s a tube station about half a mile away.’

  ‘But . . . but I’ve only got euros.’