5
The French and Chinese embassies were lit up like Christmas trees, and their guard huts leaked wailing, almost Arabic music. The odd set of headlights cruised up or down the street, but Barnov was mostly shrouded in darkness.
The target house was coming up on my left. No lights from the top windows. No neighbour’s windows lit that overlooked the gates or yard. So far so good.
I called Charlie. ‘Clear.’
‘Still clear this side. See you in two.’
The phone went dead and this time I’d memorized his number so I deleted it before powering down. Everything was now clear on the phone, not that it would mean much if we got lifted. They could still trace numbers in and out.
I watched the mature student coming downhill from the Primorski end. The street looked clear behind him. I had no idea what was going on behind me, but that didn’t matter. If Charlie saw a problem, he would just carry on walking when he got to the gate. Same for me. We would then do a complete circuit and come back and try again.
He got to the gates before me, unshouldered the satchel and placed it gently on the ground. A new layer of Paperclip graffiti had been sprayed on them since we’d been there earlier. At least it covered up the rust. He did one last check round, then dropped to his knees. I got my back against the left-hand gate and kept checking the area as I put on my rubber gloves.
Charlie was peering through the two-inch gap at the bottom. It must have been OK the other side. The Audi obviously wasn’t there, because he pulled his home-made tension wrenches from the satchel and got to work on the lock. Maybe it made him feel better to use his own kit rather than the one-stop-shop option that Whitewall had delivered. Who cared, as long as he got us into the yard in quick time?
There was the faintest scraping of metal against metal as he began to attack the lock. It really did feel like old times. I even had a moment of déjà vu, back to a time when we were operating over the water, doing a CTR together on a house in the Shantello estate in Derry. We were looking for a PIRA timing device that they planned to add to four pounds of Semtex and plant in a community centre on the other side of the river. A team in the Bogside, a couple of miles down the road, were watching a player and his wife who were out on the piss. Before closing time, in an hour, we had to try and get into their house, find the device and make sure it would never finish its job.
We got in through a back window, and the first objective was to clear all the rooms to make sure they hadn’t left kids asleep upstairs, or someone in the front room with headphones on listening to music.
We finally got to the attic landing. I climbed onto Charlie’s shoulders, lifted the trapdoor, and heaved myself into the loft space. His job was to pass up a Maglite so I could have a good look around before I committed myself to the search.
I dangled my hand ready to receive, but nothing happened. I leaned down further, in case he couldn’t reach, and then a little more, to the point where I was nearly falling out of the hatch. I looked down to see what the problem was, and realized he was moving the Maglite lower and lower, just for the hell of it.
Charlie had to block his mouth with both hands to stop himself snorting with laughter. At least he thought it was funny. In the end, like with most CTRs, we found f*ck all. The pubs closed and we had ten minutes to get out and leave everything exactly as we’d found it.
Charlie was taking for ever. A lever lock is very basic; even with improvised gear, it should have taken no more than thirty seconds to open. I took my eyes off the road and gave him a gentle kick. ‘For f*ck’s sake, get on with it, you senile f*cker.’
His shoulders rocked with silent laughter just as headlights came downhill from our left. I broke away and started walking up the road towards the Primorski. I knew that Charlie would be getting to his feet and following suit, hands in his pockets, as I had, to hide the gloves. We’d both do a circuit.
The vehicle, a big Merc, hung a right, down towards the Primorski, just as I made the same turn. It pulled up at the kerb, and three girls in their early twenties got out, followed by a man of fifty something. The girls were dressed in spangly gear that sparkled and dazzled in the pink and blue neon. Maybe that was why Grandpa still had his sunglasses on. Wafts of high-octane perfume and cigar smoke filled the air as I walked past. The club’s black doors were held open for them by security and I heard a low rumble of talk, music and laughter.
I turned left to carry on with the circuit. I was worried about Charlie. It had been taking him far too long to open the gate. I sparked up the phone. If he’d remembered, he would have done the same. ‘Listen, are we going to get in there, or what? Get your finger out and get on with it.’
A car passed him as he replied, but I swore I heard him laugh. ‘Let’s give wisdom and experience one more go, then bull-headed youth can have its chance.’
The phone went dead but I kept it in my hand. A couple more cars bounced and splashed their way across the potholes. I eventually got back onto Barnov.
I called Charlie. ‘That’s me back on the main.’
He’d have been making his circuit on the other side of the street so we didn’t pass each other too closely. Sure enough, I could soon see him in front of me, crossing the road so that he was on the target side. A Lada rumbled past from behind me, missing the club junction and heading uphill.
Charlie wasted no time as we reached the gate again. Down on his knees, he kept the satchel over his shoulder this time. I looked down and saw he was fighting two battles, one with the locks and the other with his hands. I gave him a nudge in the leg. ‘For f*ck’s sake, get on stag. I’ll have a go.’
He looked up and shrugged. We swapped places. ‘F*cking hell,’ I muttered as I got to work. ‘This lock’s nearly as old as you are.’
The tension wrench was still in place. I felt the pressure of the lever against it at the top of the lock before it turned, then the gate was open. I pulled out the pick and handed it to Charlie.
I slipped off my baseball cap, rolled the ski mask over my face and put the cap back on. Charlie did the same. I didn’t worry about anything else; that was his job. If he saw anything untoward, he’d deal with it.
I pushed the left gate inwards very gently, just enough to squeeze myself through the gap. There was no telling how sensitively the motion detectors had been calibrated, or what their range was. I inched my way along the right-hand gate, heading for the wall. As long as you’re far enough away from the sensor and against a solid background, nine out of ten times you can get away with it.
Once I hit the wall, I stayed flat and waited for Charlie. He moved his head and shoulders back against the gate and pushed it gently to, without locking or bolting it. This was our only known escape route, and we wanted to keep it that way.
A loud, male Paperclip monologue fired up close by in the street. I couldn’t hear a reply; he was probably mad, drunk, or on the phone.
I looked to our right. We were about three or four metres from the outbuildings that were going to cover us while we tuned in to the target and carried out final checks before making entry.
Hugging the wall, I started moving. Slowly, really slowly.
The band in the Primorski struck up with Boney M’s ‘Brown Girl In The Ring’. The audience’s polite applause was followed a few seconds later by a volley of raucous cheers. The Vegas girls must have made it onstage.
Aminute or two later we were safely behind the outbuildings and Charlie’s mouth was against my ear. ‘I like this one. It’s Hazel’s and my song.’ His shoulders did a little jig. ‘Brings back a few memories.’
I stifled a laugh. ‘I’m very happy for you both. But let’s not have those hands of yours doing all the moves.’
He was probably grinning like an idiot under his ski mask, but I knew he must be as worried as I was about his condition.
He turned his head and spoke gently through the fabric. ‘We’ll give it just a bit longer, then go and have a decent look at that door lock, eh?’ Charlie had always tried to make ops like this sound like nothing more than a bit of DIY, but he was overdoing the nonchalance now.
He retrieved the binos from the satchel and peered round the corner of the brick sheds. He passed them to me. They weren’t NVGs [night-viewing goggles], but they certainly helped my night vision. I checked out the CCTV first, then the door. Nothing had changed.
The band segued from Boney M to Sinatra. A group of three or four highly excited male voices moved past the gates. Maybe they were looking forward to dislodging a feather or two, or maybe they just thought New York was their kind of town.
We checked yet again that our phones were off and nothing was going to fall out of the satchel, and Charlie put his mouth back up to my ear. ‘’Eh oop, lad, we might as well get on with it, mightn’t we?’