18
Mick and Fran had drawn the short straw. They were on surveillance outside Foxcroft but as far as they could see there was no way Danny would return. Fergus Watts was far too experienced to allow that.
But they had to be there, just in case. Resources were stretched. Jimmy and Brian were with Marcie Deveraux, preparing for the CTR on Eddie Moyes's flat. George Fincham had chosen not to bring in extra manpower on this job. And if the governor had his reasons for keeping this one to his chosen few, that was fine by them. It was a compliment.
The lack of sufficient manpower on the surveillance meant they were using technology to plug the gaps. Earlier, Mick had parked a white Transit van on the corner of a side road close to Foxcroft.
The back of the van faced the building, and in one of the rear doors were several tiny holes, so small they were invisible to the naked eye. Fibre optic cables ran from the holes into a sophisticated camera system with face-recognition software, rigged inside the battered van. The ends of the fibre optics were trained towards Foxcroft, and Danny's image had been loaded into the system.
A single click of recognition would be enough to alert Mick and Fran, who were in the blue Golf, cruising the area. Staying close, but not too close to alert any inquisitive third party. But if Danny was pinged inside, or coming out of Foxcroft, they could be there in seconds.
Fergus tried everything he could to persuade Danny not to go back to Foxcroft. He asked, argued, bullied and almost begged, but by the time they were half a mile from the building he knew it was pointless.
Danny was adamant. He had to go back. He had to explain the situation to Elena. He had to straighten things out with Dave the Rave.
And he had a plan. He would tell Dave he was going to stay with a mate while they looked for jobs. It made sense, he said, as he had to leave Foxcroft soon anyway.
And with Dave squared it meant they could go off and track down Colonel Meacher.
It all sounded so easy. To Danny. Daylight, and the thought of clearing his grandfather's name, had driven away the horrors of his experience in the escape tunnel.
Fergus would have agreed to anything at that stage. All he wanted to do was get Danny in and out of Foxcroft and away. He had always had contingency plans for his cover being blown, but his grandson had never figured in his thinking. Until now.
And as for Danny's own plan? It was crazy. It was stupid. But maybe. Just maybe . . .
They were in a street that ran parallel to the rear of the building, less than five hundred metres away from Foxcroft. Fergus had let Danny make a quick call to Elena from a public call box. By now she should be waiting by the back garden gate, ready to unlock it.
'Be as natural as you can but keep that cap pulled down over your eyes,' said Fergus. 'And when you're inside stay away from the windows. You got that?'
'You've told me three times.'
'Have you got it?'
'Yes!'
'And you leave by the back gate too. I'll be around, never far away and we meet here again in forty-five minutes.'
Danny nodded.
'We need to fix the ERV.'
'The what?'
'The emergency rendezvous, in case either of us runs into a problem. Somewhere public we can both find easily and not too far away.'
Danny shrugged. 'Burger King at London Bridge Station?'
'Fine. Let's move and I'll tell you what to do if you need to use the ERV.'
A few minutes later Danny knocked once on the wooden gate at the back of Foxcroft. Two heavy bolts slid back and the gate creaked open.
As soon as Elena saw Danny she laughed. 'What are you wearing?'
Danny didn't have time to discuss his second-hand bomber jacket and faded baseball cap. He pushed past his friend, shut the gate and slid back the bolts. 'Never mind that now, just listen to me before I go to see to Dave. My granddad was set up, he wasn't a traitor.'
The flat cap Fergus wore was pulled low; beneath the cap his keen eyes were scanning the surroundings, taking in parked and moving vehicles and pedestrians. He had moved to the front of the building and was about fifty metres away.
A teenager wearing a Walkman passed by. Fergus heard the distorted thump of a bass drum and the tinny rattle of the snare. Three giggling girls, arm in arm, approached from the opposite direction, and one of them made some sort of comment as they passed Walkman Boy. He either ignored it or didn't hear, but it made the girls' day as they burst out laughing.
On the opposite pavement two young mums were deep in conversation as they struggled along with pushchairs weighed down with their offspring and fully loaded supermarket carrier bags.
It all looked perfectly normal. Everyday. But Fergus was looking beyond the everyday, searching for the slightest sign that Fincham's team had surveillance on Foxcroft. While Danny was inside the building and in potential danger, Fergus had to be the eyes and ears out on the street.
He checked the parked vehicles, looking to see if any were occupied or had steamed-up windows. That might only mean that a thoughtless dog owner had left little Rover without enough air, but it could also mean a tired operator on surveillance had got careless. But there was no sign of anything unusual.
Further down the street, parked on the corner of a side road, Fergus noticed a white Transit van. Blacked-out rear windows would be an obvious sign of danger, but the rear doors were windowless. The vehicle still had to be checked out. He would do a walk-by and try to see inside through the windscreen.
First, though, he wanted to look at the buildings and windows on either side of the road. Eyes trained on Foxcroft might not only be human eyes.
Danny was getting a bollocking. And when Dave the Rave gave a bollocking, all the unfortunate person on the receiving end could do was sit back and take it. Dave was barely pausing for breath as words like irresponsible, immature, inconsiderate, thoughtless and selfish were strung together in a stream of wounding sentences.
They were in the small first-floor office at the front of the house. The door was closed because what Dave had to say was for Danny's ears only.
Danny explained that he'd met an old mate and had gone back to his place. They'd been so engrossed in catching up and making plans, he'd completely forgotten to phone to say he was staying the night.
Dave swallowed the story and was all in favour of Danny going off to search for a job. But he still wanted to have his say. 'While you live under this roof, you let us know what's going on. You don't stay out all night without even a phone call. Jane and me have got better things to do than worry about selfish, inconsiderate, brainless idiots who only think of themselves.'
Brainless. That was a new one.
'I really am sorry, Dave. I know I should have called – I will in future.'
'Future? You're lucky to have a future after what you got up to last night!'
Danny shuddered as he thought back to the previous night. Dave had no idea how close to the truth he was. But fortunately for Danny, the volcanic eruption of fury was beginning to subside, just as it always did.
'Danny, you are certain about giving up your A levels?'
'I've got a week or so to decide,' said Danny with a shrug. 'It can't hurt to see what jobs are around.'
'We'll miss you if you go.'
'And I'll miss this place, and you and Jane. You've done a lot for me.'
Dave was getting embarrassed. Bollockings he could handle, but compliments and gratitude were another matter. 'Go on, get out. We'll keep your room for a couple more weeks.'
Danny stood up to leave, forgetting his grandfather's order to stay away from the windows. He looked outside, trying to see if Fergus was nearby. It was a big mistake.
The fibre optics picked up the movement and in less than a second the camera system inside the Transit van clicked and immediately sent a signal of recognition to the blue Golf. Fran and Mick exchanged a look. 'Bingo,' snarled Mick. He dropped a gear and accelerated towards Foxcroft.
Fergus saw Danny move away from the window just before he spotted a blue Golf speeding down the road. It was caked in mud and Fergus instantly realized it was one of the cars that had been at the cottage. The vehicle was two up and he saw the woman in the passenger seat glance at Foxcroft. He knew they'd pinged Danny.
He moved quickly towards the house, no longer bothering about trying to hide his limp. He had to get Danny out, and fast. But then he saw the Golf turn left where the Transit was parked and come to a halt further down the road. The tailgate sprang open. It could only mean one thing. Fergus changed direction: he had to stop the operators from removing what was in the back of the car. There was no time to think, he just had to do.
The two operators' faces were set as they went to the back of the Golf and leaned in to grab their ready bags. The prearranged plan was simple: they would carry the bags containing their MP5s into Foxcroft and kill Danny. And Fergus, if he was there. And they had no reason to believe he wasn't there; he wouldn't have abandoned Danny. A 'drugs deal gone wrong' cover story was ready and waiting for the tabloids. It wouldn't be the first time Fran and Mick had been part of an operation such as this in broad daylight.
But they had given Fergus a chance. There was no way he could fight it out with them on the street. But in the next few seconds, while they were bent over with their heads and backs inside the car, he had one opportunity to use his own personal SAS mode – Speed, Aggression and Surprise.
His injured leg was almost giving way as he lurched towards the rear of the Golf. A couple more seconds and the two operators would have been clear, but as they grasped their bags, Fergus took his full weight on his good leg and leaped into the air. His arms and body arched over the tailgate and brought it crashing down.
There were yells of pain and shock. Mick dropped the car keys on the ground and Fran screamed in agony as her shoulders and neck took much of the force. Fergus felt his leg buckle as he landed. But he made himself to stay upright, lifted off the tailgate and slammed it down again and again on his two victims.
The muffled screams coming from the vehicle were a mixture of agony and anger. Shouting furiously, Mick tried to reach back to the pistol he had on his jeans belt. But Fergus saw the movement and, grasping the tailgate for support, kicked him between the legs with his right foot. There was an anguished yell and Mick temporarily forgot all about the pistol.
Fergus slammed the tailgate down once more, picked up the car keys and staggered round to sit in the driver's seat. He heard Mick and Fran moan as he slid the key into the ignition. The engine revved and Fergus shoved the car into reverse. It jerked backwards and Fergus stood on the brakes. The tailgate flew open and Mick and Fran were thrown out onto the road.
The Golf's gearbox crunched in protest as Fergus struggled to locate first gear. Fran had blood running down her face but managed to get to her knees and go for the pistol in her belt holster as the car sped away. It was too late to fire. Fran cursed and glanced at Mick. He was still curled up on the road, groaning, as blood poured from his mouth and started to form a small puddle on the tarmac.
Fergus steered the car with his left hand and felt under the seat with his right. Nothing there. He tried the door compartment. Still nothing. He reached under the dashboard and found what he was searching for – the car pistol. It was in a holster glued to the underside of the dash.
He swerved right at the first junction, knowing he had to dump the car soon. There would be a tracking device fitted and at least one of the operators he'd left in the road would be on their personal radio by now, calling the drama in.
But they wouldn't go into Foxcroft now, even if they were able to. Their mission had been compromised. Big time.
Fergus took the next left, found a parking space, got out of the car, locked it and walked casually away. He felt calmer, and safer, especially now he had a Sig 9mm semi-automatic pistol tucked into his jeans. There was only one thirteen-round magazine. Better than nothing. A little insurance.
At the next junction was a bus stop. One of the new bendy buses was approaching. Fergus got on, going nowhere in particular. He would take a ride before heading to the ERV.