‘Here now, half a mile away,’ Tango Two says, allowing one single surprised blink in reaction to the information that she, only a Two, will deploy with the five via fastrope.
‘Good skills,’ Alpha says, offering her a nod. Snatch missions are unpredictable. They have to extract male subjects, and male subjects nearly always respond more positively to females.
‘Ones will split to lead even teams,’ Bravo says, addressing the operatives. ‘Experienced Twos will assist their Ones. Is that clear? New operatives just out of basic will listen closely to their Ones and Twos. Is that also clear? The subjects are to be taken alive. All clear? Jolly good.’
The five take their kit to get changed in a back room, plunging the large, open-plan living quarters of the lodge into an awkward silence, with every Two wishing they were Tango and every One wishing she would piss off.
For her part, Tango Two feels the sudden pressure of being lifted to the top table but now not knowing if she should be issuing instructions, asking if everyone is ready or perhaps even going outside to avoid the thirty-one black-clad faces currently glaring at her.
She goes outside.
‘I bet she’s floating off the floor right now,’ Charlie says, stripping his smart business suit off. ‘She any good?’ he asks Delta.
‘Hmmm,’ Delta says, tugging the corner of his mouth down. ‘She’s thirty and still a Two, but she’s a woman, so . . .’
‘Good enough,’ Charlie says.
Bravo nods with understanding as he goes back to undressing. He thought he saw the flicker of a plan on Alpha’s face when they all saw Tango Two.
‘Have you checked in yet?’ Bravo asks.
‘Do it now,’ Alpha says, opening the door. ‘I need a secure line,’ he calls out and waits a few seconds for the former briefer to run down with the phone. The man remembers halfway that he has a bad knee and adds the limp for the final few steps. ‘You’re a cunt,’ Alpha says, taking the phone and closing the door in his face.
‘Who is?’ Mother asks as Alpha puts the phone to his ear and the other four wince.
‘The briefer,’ Alpha says honestly. ‘Faking a knee injury to avoid deployment. He needs Siberia for a few months.’
‘He’ll get Siberia for a few months,’ Mother says curtly before switching to her nice motherly tone. ‘So, Alfie darling. How are my boys holding up? Do put me on holo so I can see everyone.’
Alpha mouths sorry as he pulls the phone away and presses a button that balloons Mother into the air above the handset in perfect, pin-sharp definition. Her pinched face glaring beneath the greying hair cut short and austere. Mother sweeps her gaze over the five half-dressed men and to the last they hold still. All respectful. All quiet and all waiting for her to speak.
‘Nice holiday, boys?’ Mother asks, her smile chilling the blood in their veins.
‘Ma’am,’ Bravo says, dipping his head.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Charlie mumbles.
‘Mother,’ Delta mutters.
‘WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?’ Mother snaps before Echo can reply. ‘Berlin is a mess. Have you seen it? You do not want to see it. It looks like fucking Beirut in the 1980s . . .’
The five wait. Charlie with one leg in his trousers. Echo in his boxers with the bandage on his arm.
‘Jesus H Christ. How on earth did that go wrong?’
‘Unknown opposition prepped the warehouse,’ Alpha says. ‘Blew it as we approached.’
‘Professional?’
‘Definitely,’ says Echo, the explosive expert amongst them. ‘Charges and accelerants used in the room holding the device . . . but, er . . .’ He pauses.
‘What?’ Mother demands.
‘Looked like it was C4,’ Echo says politely. ‘Old way of doing it, ma’am.’
‘They’ve got a fucking time machine,’ Mother’s states icily. ‘They can use fucking dynamite taken from the dead fingers of Davy fucking Crockett at the fucking Alamo if they want. What about the rest of the street? You were only meant to destroy the observation points, not the whole fucking neighbourhood!’
‘Er, sorry, ma’am,’ Echo says, ‘but that wasn’t us.’
‘What?’
Alpha clears his throat, bringing Mother’s glare back to him. ‘That wasn’t us. We blew the observation point only. The warehouse and the street was someone else.’
‘Fuck me,’ Mother mutters, looking away from Alpha to something in her room. ‘They have a time machine. Every agent in that street is either dead or seriously injured . . . Shit and shit and FUCKING SHIT.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Alpha says.
Mother leans forward, lowering her tone. ‘I’ve got the fucking Prime Minister calling me every five fucking minutes. She has every other world leader calling her every five fucking minutes, all wanting to know if we have found it. Russia are pointing nukes at us. America are pointing half of theirs back at Russia, some at China and a few are now facing in our direction, gentlemen. We’ve got fucking NATO literally shitting themselves and every intelligence agency in the world and no doubt every fucking satellite now positioned over my fucking head! This is blown. We are blown. They know we went after it, which is bad enough, but we cannot confirm or deny, which makes them all think we HAVE A FUCKING TIME MACHINE!’
The five stay silent. Not a muscle twitches.
Mother rubs her forehead and sighs heavy and long to force the harsh tone into something ever so slightly softer. ‘Plan?’
‘Ground assault using thirty-one operatives attacking all sides of the target premises while we fastrope down on to a balcony on the white side,’ Alpha says. ‘Army on the perimeter for the ring of steel.’
‘I’m looking at the target premises now,’ the hologram image of Mother says while looking away to the side.
‘Ma’am,’ Alpha says, ‘Tango Two is here. Said this is her patch. She briefed us.’
‘Oh, that is so nice for you,’ Mother says, still looking away to the side. ‘I wish I could be happier, but I’m a bit busy picking up the pieces of a major European city currently in a state of emergency from a whole bloody street that just blew up during a gunfight for a fucking time machine . . .’
‘We’re taking Tango Two in with us,’ Alpha says.
Mother switches that hawk-eyed look back to the room. ‘Good. Use her. Use anything you need to use,’ she says plainly, which is about as nice a tone as Mother gives when she is not impersonating an actual mother. ‘I have two attack helicopters ready in Portsmouth naval base. Flight time less than ten minutes. They will be overhead as the assault commences. Do you require further resources? I have Special Forces serials on standby and will start moving them towards. In short, gentlemen, I have every man and his dog capable of holding a shotgun ready to assist you.’
The four look at Alpha in reaction to the fact that Mother wants to bring gunships to a fistfight. That is how serious this is now. That is how big it is.
‘I think we have enough now,’ Alpha says carefully, trying to figure out how two attack helicopters fit into a basic snatch mission.