Boy soldier

20

Marcie Deveraux parked the battered old Mazda in a line of cars that looked in even worse condition. She switched off the windscreen wipers and looked across the road towards the drab, rundown housing estate. It made a depressing view, but Marcie Deveraux wasn't concerned with that. There was a job to be done and she was dressed and kitted out to do it.

Her designer clothes had been replaced with trainers, jeans and black cotton jacket – cotton rather than nylon because nylon meant noise. Her hair was unusually ruffled, almost scruffy, and fell over her ears. But there was a reason for that too. There were earpieces in both her ears and the tousled hairstyle hid them perfectly. One was connected to the personal radio that kept her in contact with her team. The other was blue tooth and was connected to a mobile she wore on a cord around her neck. That was for Fincham. He wanted to know everything Deveraux was about to learn, as she learned it.

The rain beat down on the windscreen as she checked that the Nike bag on the passenger seat was zipped up. Then she made sure the cord attaching the Maglite torch to her jacket was firmly fixed. She had to be certain that nothing would be left behind when the job was complete. The Maglite lens was covered with black duck tape, with a hole cut in it. She wouldn't need much light, and the more light the bigger the chance of compromise.

Deveraux had to be sterile of any ID, so she checked her pockets were empty. She already knew they were, she'd been through them before leaving her flat, but as always, she double-checked.

A couple out walking a dripping dog went by, heads bent low. They didn't look into the car – they were much too anxious to get home and out of the rain. Deveraux watched them hurry away into the dark night as she pulled on a pair of clear plastic surgical gloves. She was ready.

The message she was waiting for came a few minutes later.

'Brian has Moyes now complete the Victory Club. Marcie acknowledge.'

With Mick getting treatment for broken front teeth and Fran nursing a busted nose, the surveillance team was down to two tonight. It was lucky for them that Eddie Moyes had travelled to the Victory Club by car. Deveraux pressed the small button that led from a wire under her watchstrap into her hand.

'Roger that. Marcie's foxtrot.'

She grabbed her bag, got out of the car and locked up before crossing the road towards the housing estate and Eddie Moyes's flat. Jimmy and Brian had followed him to the Victory Club; they had the trigger and would warn Deveraux when he left. There was plenty of time for her to get in and out of the flat for the CTR.

It wasn't much to look at from the outside. In his glory days Moyes had been the proud owner of a loft apartment in Docklands. Now he could just afford the rent on a housing association flat in east London.

Deveraux climbed the stairs, passing a teenager sitting in the rubbish-filled stairwell, his face pushed into a crisp packet. The bag moved in and out as he breathed and the strong smell of glue drifted upwards.

Moyes lived on the first floor. Rain had dampened the front half of the exterior balcony so Deveraux walked close to the doors as she headed for number 34. She didn't want to leave any wet marks inside the flat. The windows of the flats she passed had metal grilles covering them; some even had them in front of the doors.

Deveraux had learned which two locks were on the front door of number 34 during her four a.m. recce. There was a standard Yale, the normal pin tumbler type. That would take seconds to defeat. The second one would take longer and needed to be tackled first. It was the four-lever type, the sort that had to be turned into the locked or unlocked position. Deveraux had used her mini Maglite during the recce to peer into the lock and decide which master keys to bring. She unzipped the bag and brought out three lever-lock keys on a ring.

As she reached the blue front door, Brian came back in her earpiece.

That's Moyes no change. Still complete the Victory Club. His vehicle still static.'

Entry to the flat had to be quick. Deveraux slid in the first key. It didn't work. She quickly tried the second and the key turned and unlocked the four-lever. The keyring went back into the bag and Deveraux pulled out a Yale gun. It looked a bit like a chunky pistol with two thin-bladed picks instead of a barrel. She pushed the picks into the top lock and began to squeeze the trigger repeatedly. The picks rattled about and on the fourth squeeze the lock turned and Deveraux pushed open the door.

She slipped noiselessly into the dark hallway, gently closed the door and the Yale clicked back in position.



Five miles away at the Victory Club Eddie Moyes was watching Harry the barman go through his glass-polishing routine. The glasses were lined up, as usual, on the bartop.

Eddie nodded his approval. 'You're very proficient, Harry. Precise.'

Harry adjusted the position of one of the glasses slightly. 'If a job's worth doing, that's what I always say. We learned to do things right in the army.'

'I can see that.' Eddie finished his drink and stood his glass at one end of Harry's line-up. Harry swiftly moved it away.

'I'll have the other half in there, Harry,' said Eddie before the barman had the chance to consign the glass to the washing-up tray. Eddie didn't like drinking halves, but he'd lost his driving licence once before and had no intention of letting it happen again. So when he was driving, his limit was two halves.

'Never eaten out of a mess tin or been on the wrong end of a rifle, have you, Eddie?' Harry asked the question as he pulled the second half, knowing perfectly well that Eddie had never served in the army or any other of the armed forces.

Eddie smiled at the hint of disdain in the barman's voice. He lifted his glass, gave the beer an admiring look and downed almost half of it in one go. 'Sadly not, Harry. But you know how much I admire the army. And our boys and girls who serve in it.'

'I know you've made a living out of writing stories about them. Some of them more true than others.'

Eddie was anxious to move the conversation on to safer ground. He glanced around the bar: there were only two other customers, sitting together at a table in one corner. 'Quiet in here tonight.'

The barman shrugged and Eddie took another mouthful of beer. But he wasn't there purely to enjoy the beer. For much of the day he'd been checking through his cuttings and notebooks, reminding himself of the details of the original Watts stories.

A name had leaped out at him, someone he'd spoken to briefly by telephone then, the obvious person to comment on the SAS man's treachery. That person was Colonel Richard Meacher, Watts's commanding officer. And Eddie reckoned he was worth talking to again.

Back in '97, after Watts had been captured in Colombia, Meacher had stuck to the official line, trotting out all the expected cliches: Watts had betrayed his country and his Regiment; he was the rotten apple in the barrel; the Regiment would go on producing brave men prepared to lay down their lives in the defence of their country. All standard stuff, carefully phrased to reassure the great British public.

But at that time Meacher had been the Regiment's CO. Now it was different. He was retired and might be prepared to say a lot more once Eddie told him that Watts was back in Britain and on the run.

'So,' said Eddie as nonchalantly as he could, 'you were telling me about Colonel Meacher.'

Harry continued polishing. 'Was I?'

'Come on, Harry, you and me are old mates. I need to contact him.'

Harry put the glass he was polishing down on the bartop. 'I wouldn't exactly call us mates, Eddie. And I'll tell you exactly what I'd tell anyone else. He's a member here. That's all.'

Eddie finished his drink and placed his empty glass on the bar. 'I'll bid you goodnight then, Harry. Always a pleasure to chat with you.'

Harry picked up the empty glass and turned away to put it in the washing-up machine. Eddie looked at the perfectly lined-up row of glasses. Then he smiled and pushed two of the glasses a few centimetres out of line before walking out.



Marcie Deveraux stood perfectly still in the hallway of Eddie Moyes's flat. Tuning in. Allowing her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. Next door a television blared out. A woman shouted to her kids. 'Turn that bloody thing down!'

Deveraux smelled the microwaved remains of a Chinese meal. The odour of sweaty socks was even stronger.

Noiselessly she put down the unzipped bag, took out two plastic foot covers and slid them over her trainers. Next she drew a police-issue telescopic steel baton from the holster on her belt with one hand and removed her earpieces with the other. She needed to hear even the slightest movement because before the CTR could be carried out the flat had to be 'cleared'.

Moyes lived alone. She had checked. And there was no girlfriend. It appeared that there were no friends at all. But anyone unfortunate enough to be inside the flat now would be dropped.

It would be made to look like a burglary gone wrong. Deveraux would take something on the way out and make a run for it. The car would be abandoned and the pre-planned escape route would be utilized. Every contingency had been considered and covered.

Deveraux moved. She was good. Textbook good.

Short, dark corridor first. Slowly. Cautiously past the kitchen to her right. Glimmer of the streetlights down below penetrating the dirty grey net curtains just enough to show the room is clear.

Living room next. Dark. Curtains drawn. The small beam of the mini Maglite illuminating the room as the gentle tapping of the rain hits the window. The Maglite picks out a PC on a tabletop, a TV and a worn-out settee. Room clear.

Single bedroom and bathroom clear. A mess, but clear.

Deveraux went back to the front door and relocked the lever lock with the master key. Then she took out two wooden doorstops and jammed them into the door frame. If Moyes were to slip away from the club unnoticed and return to the flat everything would appear normal until he tried to push open the door. Deveraux would have time to drop Moyes and maybe take his wallet before escaping.

A pair of high heels clicked along the exterior landing. A woman was on her mobile. 'But it's raining. Can't you pick me up?'

The earpieces went back into Deveraux's ears and she got on the net. She spoke softly but clearly; whispering could cause confusion and waste valuable time.

'That's Marcie secure and complete the target.'

Brian came back instantly.

'Roger that, Marcie. No change here. Moyes still complete the club and the car still static.'

Deveraux picked up her bag and, with the Maglite held between her teeth, took out a camcorder. Using its infra-red capability, she filmed her route from the door into the living room. She scanned the whole room, even the carpet, before moving over to the PC. Everything on the tabletop was filmed from different angles, every scrap of paper, the anglepoise lamp and the half-drunk mug of tea to the right of the keyboard.

She put away the camcorder and took out what looked like a Discman. It was a Discman of sorts: a box containing a CD. But instead of earpieces it had a multi-connector that enabled it to link up with any computer. Moyes's computer had USBs. It was switched off, but the box of tricks didn't need the PC powered up to find out what was on its hard disk.

Deveraux connected it to the PC and soon heard the slight hum of the CD disc spinning. The machine would break through any firewall or password Moyes might have on his PC and download his complete hard drive onto the disc. Five small red lights would light up one by one to indicate the progress of the download.

The machine began its work and Deveraux turned her attention to the other items on the desk.



Eddie Moyes wasn't so particular about the way he searched for information. He just got what he wanted in whatever way he could and didn't worry about the consequences. Harry the barman had given away little, but it was enough. He'd confirmed that Meacher was a member of the Victory Club and that was all that Eddie needed.

He knew his way to the office – he'd been there before. It wasn't locked and Eddie slipped quietly inside. The club's officials probably kept the membership records on computer but Eddie was banking on there being hard copies as backup.

And there were. He found them in a filing cabinet, all neatly and alphabetically filed. It couldn't have been easier. Eddie thumbed through to the Ms and removed the file bearing the name Meacher, Richard, Col.

Eddie smiled and took out an old and highly prized notebook. July '97 – SAS Traitor Watts was scrawled on the front cover in Eddie's untidy handwriting. It was the notebook he'd used when covering the original Fergus Watts stories, and inside were the notes he'd made then during the brief telephone conversation with Meacher.

Eddie jotted down the address and telephone number on the back of the notebook and slipped the file back into the cabinet. He was feeling very pleased with himself. And hungry. Everything they said about Chinese meals really was true.



Deveraux was reading old newspaper articles about Fergus Watts, many of them written by Eddie Moyes. But she was learning nothing new. Once each piece of paper was read, she replaced it in exactly the same position.

The disc was still turning, soaking up every piece of information on the old PC. She opened up her mobile and dialled. Fincham answered immediately. 'What have you got?'

'Nothing useful. Just printouts of information we know he got online and old newspaper cuttings. Maybe we'll learn more from the download and—'

Brian burst in on the other earpiece.

'Stand by, stand by. That's Moyes foxtrot from the Victory.'

Deveraux had no time for Fincham now. 'He's on the move. Got to go.' As she powered down the mobile she went on the net to Brian.

'Marcie needs more time. I have only two lights.'

'Roger that. Brian foxtrot.'

Eddie's old blue and rust Sierra was parked a couple of streets away from the club. As he slowly ambled back towards it, Brian was well ahead of him. Jimmy, in his vehicle, took the trigger.

'Jimmy has Moyes. Still foxtrot towards car.'

Brian was already at the car. He took his Leatherman from a pocket, stuck it into the valve of the nearside front tyre and heard the escaping gush of air. The tyre was flat before Moyes turned the corner and Brian stood up and walked away.

In the flat, Deveraux was watching the playback of the tabletop on the camera, and checking that everything was in place. Then she filmed in front of herself as she moved back out to the corridor and into the bedroom.

Brian came onto the net.

'Brian has Moyes approaching his car. He hasn't seen the flat tyre yet.'

Deveraux filmed the bedside cabinet with the Maglite in her mouth. There was nothing of interest on top of the cabinet, just a few petrol receipts and an overdue gas bill.

She opened a cupboard and saw a stack of used reporter's notebooks. She took out the top two and read the titles scrawled on the front covers: Nov '95 – Footballer's shame; March '99 – Used car scam.

'That's Moyes kicking the car, he's found the flat tyre. Now opening boot. How's it going, Marcie?'

'Wait out. I'm in the bedroom.'

The flat tyre had given Marcie valuable time. She carefully removed the notebooks, filmed the covers and replaced them in the correct order before moving on to the wardrobe to check through coat pockets.

That's Moyes now tightening the last nut. Nearly mobile.'

Deveraux wouldn't be rushed, even though she knew she had to be quick.

'Marcie, roger that. Still in the bedroom.'

She reached the bedroom door and made a final check. The carpet was a thick shag pile and she had left a few footprints. She moved back into the room and bent down to smooth them over with a hand.

'Stand by. Stand by. Engine on, that's Moyes mobile towards the main. Marcie acknowledge.'

'Roger that. Marcie's still in the bedroom.'

That's Moyes at the main and indicating right. I need a quick pick-up, Jimmy.'

Deveraux could hear Jimmy's vehicle engine gunning as he came on the net.

'Nearly there.'

Deveraux moved back to the living room and went to the PC as Jimmy calmly relayed what was happening on the follow. He was two vehicles behind Moyes.

'Brian's complete. Jimmy has Moyes. He's gone right at the main. Looks like he's heading home. Marcie acknowledge.'

'Marcie has three lights up.'

'Roger that, Marcie. I reckon he's got another ten minutes to home.'

Deveraux checked out the kitchen. There was nothing of any use to her and the smell drove her back to the living room.

'Marcie has four lights up.'

'Roger that. Moyes is turning into the estate now. There's blue lights ahead, outside the target block. Marcie acknowledge.'

Deveraux moved quickly back to the kitchen, which was being bathed in blue flashes from down on the street. Briefly she wondered whether someone had seen her break in and had called the police. But as she looked out of the window she spotted an ambulance. Then she saw Eddie Moyes's Sierra pull into a space just behind it.

Jimmy came back on the net.

'Stop. Stop. Stop. He's outside the target now. Door open, he's out, now locking up.'

Deveraux saw none of that. She was back at the PC.

'Marcie's got fives. I'm coming out.'

Quickly but calmly she pulled out the USB. And then, checking that everything was in her bag and the Maglite torch was still attached to her jacket, she walked to the door.

Jimmy gave her a step-by-step picture of exactly what Moyes was doing.

'That's Moyes held at stairs. A stretcher's coming out. Still static by the ambulance.'

Deveraux pulled out the doorstops and opened the lever lock.

'Stand by. Stand by. Moyes foxtrot up the stairs. Now unsighted. I'll get him on the landing. Marcie acknowledge.'

Deveraux gave the acknowledgement with two presses of the SEND button by her watchstrap. The team would get two hisses of air. It was quicker that way. She took off the plastic covering her trainers, opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony.

As she relocked the lever lock Jimmy came back on the net.

'Stand by. Stand by.'

Deveraux knew what that meant. She moved away from the door and walked towards the staircase. It was the only way out.

Moyes appeared ahead of her at the top of the stairs. He looked down at the ambulance as it pulled away but glanced towards Deveraux as they passed. She kept her head down and made it to the stairs.

Eddie was glad to be home. He was hungry and was hoping that there was still a can of baked beans in the kitchen cupboard. He took out his keys and slipped one into the lower lock. As the key turned Eddie tried to think why the woman he'd just passed seemed familiar. But it didn't come. He opened the Yale lock and stepped into his flat.

At the bottom of the stairs Deveraux saw that Glue Boy had gone. Someone, maybe the woman who'd clicked past the flat in her high heels, had called the ambulance. Glue Boy had got lucky. This time. Deveraux reached the Mazda, got inside and started the engine.

That's Marcie mobile. Meet you back at the office.'