Boy Soldier (14 page)

George Fincham and Marcie Deveraux were waiting in London when the scanned pages of Eddie's notebook came through. Mick had gone back to the car, plugged the scanner into the lead from his Blackberry and sent it by e-mail.

Fincham read the pages quickly, looking for a sign, a clue, anything that would help unravel the mystery of what Eddie Moyes was up to and why he was in Norfolk. And then he saw the name. 'Meacher. Of course, Meacher.'

'Meacher, sir?' asked Deveraux.

'Watts's CO when he was in the Regiment. He would have known that Watts had been recruited as a K.'

'It must have been a kick in the teeth to him and the Regiment when Watts turned traitor.'

Fincham didn't reply immediately and Deveraux watched her boss intently. His face remained impassive when he eventually spoke. 'There are security issues here, Marcie, and I don't want Moyes stirring up things with Meacher. These Regiment men stick together. Who knows what he might say?'

'What could he say, sir?'

The question was straight and direct but Deveraux didn't get a straight and direct answer.

Fincham was looking through the scanned pages of the notebook, reading Eddie's notes of his conversation with Mrs Meacher. 'We'll go up to Norfolk in the morning and speak to Meacher. Remind him of his loyalties. Official Secrets Act, that sort of thing.'

'If you think it necessary, sir.'

'I do.'

'Then shouldn't we go now?'

Fincham was still looking at the notes. 'Meacher is away sailing. Coming in to Blakeney on the morning tide.'

He went to the window and looked out into the darkness and the slow-moving river Thames. 'I've sailed there myself. It's a difficult entry at the best of times, but highly dangerous in the darkness at low water. He won't risk it tonight; he'll be anchored on the bar just off Blakeney Point now.'

'And this is significant, sir? Only I'm not much of a sailor myself.'

Fincham turned from the window and smiled. 'Highly significant, Marcie. It means that we can both go home and get a few hours' sleep. Be ready to leave first thing.'

Deveraux got up from her chair. 'Very well, sir. I'll see you in the morning then.'

Fincham nodded a goodnight and Deveraux left the room. Fincham waited in the silence for a few moments and then picked up his mobile phone and punched in a number. The call was answered after two rings.

'Yes, sir?'

'Fran, good work tonight, well done.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'But it's brought to my attention a serious security risk.
There's more for you to do.'

The last diners had left the hotel restaurant overlooking Blakeney Quay. The last drinkers had made their way from the pub. The last lights in the waterfront cottages had been extinguished.

The team was ready, about to 'borrow' one of the RIBs moored to the quayside. It would have been easy just to steal the boat, power up the engine and hurtle off down the creek towards the sea. But the job Fincham wanted carried out had to look like an accident, so taking the boat had to be done covertly.

The plan was simple. The RIB had been identified and selected an hour earlier, when there was still movement on the quayside. Now it was deserted.

Jimmy had done a walk-by to check that nothing had changed since the boat was chosen. Now he was standing in the shadow of a building on one side of the quay. Mick was out of sight on the opposite side. They had the whole area covered. Fran and Brian were sitting in their vehicle waiting for the go-ahead.

Jimmy got on the net.

'Jimmy's static. All clear.'

'Mick's static. All clear.'

It was time for Fran and Brian to move. Fran went on the net.

'Fran and Brian foxtrot.'

They got out of the vehicle. No interior light came on to attract inquisitive eyes. On the back seat of the car were two red plastic fuel cans. There was an outboard on the RIB but no owner in his right mind would have left fuel in it.

Fran locked the car and they walked towards the RIB. There was no need to talk or look around: Jimmy and Mick were covering them.

Brian climbed down into the boat and then turned and took the fuel containers from Fran, who followed Brian into the RIB. He was already sitting on the boat's rubber side, starting to connect the fuel line that led from the massive Yamaha 75 engine to the first fuel container.

The RIB was tied up to the quay in the conventional way with a knotted bowline, but then doubly secured with a motorbike lock and chain. Fran got busy with her MOE wallet. She put her Maglite in her mouth so she could use both hands and quickly found a key that worked.

The RIB was almost ready to go. All Fran needed to do was study and remember the bowline knot. It had to be retied in exactly the same way when the boat was returned.

Brian slowly removed the two paddles that were latched down on each side of the boat as Fran untied the knot. Then she went on the net.

'That's Fran ready to go.'

'Jimmy's foxtrot.'

He picked up the sports bag at his feet and headed towards the RIB.

Mick was also carrying a bag.

'Mick's foxtrot.'

They reached the quayside together and slowly got down into the boat before opening the bags. Inside were four sets of Gore-Tex jackets and trousers taken from their ready bags.

Fran and Brian pushed the boat away from the quayside and began to paddle gently towards the sea while Mick and Jimmy started to get changed.

For a few seconds Fergus thought he heard the deep rumbling of distant thunder out at sea. But only for a few seconds. Then he realized what was actually happening. The throaty roar of the leading motorbike, instantly followed by the sounds of other engines, told him it was an early morning attack.

Instinctively he dived for his day sack and the pistol he had kept hidden from Danny since the fight outside Foxcroft.

Danny watched, speechless, as his grandfather pulled back the top slide all the way and then let it go, to crash forward back into position. He pulled back the top slide again, but this time just a few millimetres to 'check chamber'. He needed to see that the shining brass case of a round had been picked up when the top slide sprang back into position and was now pushed into the chamber of the barrel, ready to fire. If he had to pull the trigger the last thing he wanted was to hear the 'dead man's click' as the firing pin went forward but had no round to fire.

He let the slide push back into position and, with his right thumb, pushed the safety catch up to safe. He checked the magazine was firmly in place before crouching at a gap in the wooden planking wall to peer outside, trying to get some idea of the number of attackers they were facing.

Danny said nothing, unable to take his eyes off the black pistol nestling comfortably in his grandfather's right hand.

Outside the shed, the roar of the engines got louder and merged with the sounds of shouting voices.

But then Fergus stood up and turned back to his grandson. He saw Danny staring at the pistol but offered no words of explanation about where it had come from. He simply removed the magazine and pulled back on the top slide. The round from the chamber was ejected and went spinning in the air. Fergus caught it in mid air and placed it back in the magazine. The weapon was now made safe and Fergus put both pistol and magazine back in his day sack. 'Come on, we're leaving.'

'But what is it? What's happening?'

Fergus was rolling up his sleeping bag. 'Local dispute. Gang of bikers don't seem to like the Peace and Love brigade as much as you do. Nothing to do with us.'

Danny crouched at the gap in the wall. Across the beach he could see five motorbikes circling the two vans on the beach, their riders shouting and jeering. It looked like a scene from an old Western movie where the Indians circle the wagon train.

As Danny watched, one of the hippies – he thought it was Rupert – emerged from the Transit van and tried to talk over the noise of the roaring engines and jeers. It was useless. A biker rode closer and, without stopping, lashed out with a boot and kicked Rupert in the thigh. The peace-loving hippy crumpled onto the sand.

Danny turned back to Fergus. 'They're hurting them. We've got to help.'

Fergus finished packing his day sack and stood up. 'None of our business and we can't get involved. We'll go the other way up the beach.'

Danny stared in disbelief. 'But we can't just leave them.'

'We can and we are! Now, get your gear and let's go. I told you last night, stick to SOPs.'

'You can shove your SOPs,' snarled Danny, and before Fergus could stop him, he opened the shed door and went running across the sand.

The bikes had come to a standstill and their swaggering riders had switched off the engines and dismounted. Their ginger-bearded leader still reeked of last night's beer. 'We told you to clear out, we warned you, but you didn't listen. Now we're gonna have to show you we won't stand for weirdo scum messing up our beaches.'

Give was standing over the fallen Rupert and the two women were by the VW van, trying to keep the children inside. 'Please let us go,' shouted Columbine. 'You're frightening the children.'

'Better keep them in the van then, darling. And stay in there yourself – this won't be for the squeamish.'

One of Ginger's mates saw Danny hurtling across the sand towards them and shouted a warning. 'Look out, Ginge, reinforcements.'

When Ginger turned, Danny was almost on top of him with no idea of what he was going to do. He just kept running and thudded into the biker's gut, bounced off and ended up on his arse.

Ginger glared down at him with a look that said he was about to be ground into the sand. Then he saw Fergus limping towards them. Ginger laughed. 'Hello,' he shouted. 'It's Dad's Army. Don't panic! Don't panic!'

The rest of the gang thought it was hilarious, but Fergus wasn't smiling. 'Leave them alone, eh, lads? They're not hurting anyone.'

'Piss off, Granddad,' said Ginger menacingly. 'While you've still got one good leg to stand on.'

Fergus sighed and spoke quietly to Danny. 'Don't do or say anything. You've got us into enough trouble.' He walked towards Clive and Rupert, still hoping he could calm down Ginger and his gang. 'Come on, lads, you've had your fun. Just let them go, eh?'

'I told you to piss off, old man,' said Ginger. 'Or do you want some as well?'

Fergus ignored the threat and just kept walking towards Clive and Rupert. 'It's all right, Clive, get him into the van. I'll give you a hand.' The two hippies looked petrified, their eyes going back and forth between Fergus and Ginger.

The gang leader was used to his word being law. He moved towards Fergus. 'Right, that's it. I warned you. Who the fuck do you think you are? Batman?'

They were just five paces from each other. Fergus kept his head down, jaw clenched and body tensed to take any hit. He couldn't count on his injured leg holding up in a fight, and this time there was no element of surprise to help. He had to depend on speed and experience.

He kept walking, staying just to the left of Ginger, and as they met, he quickly grabbed him behind the neck with his left hand and at the same time rammed his right palm under the big man's chin. Ginger's head cracked back as Fergus held onto him and kept walking. When he let go, Ginger couldn't stop himself from toppling back onto the sand.

There was a stunned silence as the other bikers stared in surprise. Then they started to jeer and laugh.

The big biker stood up and shook the sand from his hair and beard. Eyes blazing, he ran at Fergus, who waited, legs bent and spread and feet firmly planted in the sand, ready to take the impact of the giant lumbering towards him.

Ginger lashed out with a kick as he approached, but Fergus just stepped aside, grabbed the leg with both hands and twisted it, sending the big man sprawling for a second time. He tried to kick out at Fergus as he fell but missed and ended up looking like a crab flailing around on its back.

The rest of the gang sat back on their bikes, enjoying the spectacle. 'You're the one wanted to come and sort out the weirdos, Ginger. You can't even sort out an old dosser!'

Ginger picked himself up again, realizing that his status as gang leader was declining fast. 'You're dead, old man! Dead!'

Fergus was bored with the unequal contest now. He smiled at his lumbering opponent. 'Come on then, son, give it your best shot.'

Even Danny smiled at that. Ginger lunged towards Fergus, throwing a wild punch at his face. It was a sloppy attempt, Fergus didn't even have to move to avoid it. He brought his left forearm across his body to deflect the blow and the biker toppled forward under his own steam. He was halted mid fall as a hand gripped his throat like a vice. He crumpled to his knees, struggling and choking and clawing helplessly at the hand clamped around his neck.

Fergus looked towards the rest of the gang to make sure they were still laughing and not coming to join in as he bent down and whispered into Ginger's ear, 'Give it up, son. I don't want to hurt you. What's that going to prove, eh?'

The bikers were getting restless. Their leader had been humiliated and all the motivation for the attack on the hippies had gone. One by one they got onto their machines and rode away. As the bikes disappeared through the gap in the sand bank, Fergus released his grip on Ginger's neck and let him fall to the ground.

He walked back to Danny. 'Did as you were told, for once. Come on, let's get out of here, before we're thanked with rosehip tea and carrot cake.'

Danny looked over at the hippies. They were gathering their things together and quickly packing them into the vans. Ginger was still sprawled on the sand, gasping and gulping in oxygen.

'But why didn't you stop him straight away? Why let him keep attacking you?'

'Sometimes it's better not to meet force with force,' said Fergus as they walked back to the shed. 'The rest of the gang saw old Ginger being made to look stupid so they laughed. That's what I wanted. If I'd hurt the lad they might have joined in, and I couldn't have handled that.'

They went into the shed and began to pack their day sacks. Danny stared at his grandfather. 'Have you ever really been scared?'

Fergus went to the doorway and looked out. Ginger had stumbled back to his motorbike and was riding away, a lot slower than when he had arrived. 'There's nothing wrong with being scared. It's natural and I've always owned up to it. Apart from once.'

'When was that?'

'Later, Danny. We need to get moving.'

They stepped out onto the sand and Fergus replaced the combination lock on the door. As they walked along the sand, the storm that had been threatening for the past couple of days suddenly broke. Thunder rumbled overhead, and out at sea a jagged flash of lightning arced down to the water. Danny felt the first heavy drops of rain on his face.