Gray Vengeance (4 page)

Chapter 5

13 March 2014

Roberts felt as if his head had barely touched the pillow when he was roused from his sleep by the banging on the door of the hut.

‘Wakey, wakey! Breakfast in twenty minutes. Hit the showers!’

He looked at his watch and saw that he’d been asleep for barely three hours.

‘What time is it?’ Houtman yawned, as he looked out of the window into darkness.

Roberts groaned. ‘Nearly six.’

He joined Houtman at the window, where they saw a stream of people silently filing past, washing kits in their hands.

‘I think we’d better join them,’ he said, and got another growl of disapproval from the Dutchman.

Roberts grabbed his wash bag and a towel from his suitcase and went out to join the throng, who were heading towards a structure that had been hidden from view the night before. He noted that many of them were built like him, with the same pasty expressions and hunched shoulders. Clearly Efram hadn’t been looking for the typical soldier type. Inside the
building t
hey found rudimentary shower facilities, and as they queued th
ey notic
ed that no man took longer than three minutes to finish his
ablutions
.

‘Better make this quick,’ he whispered to Conran, keenly aware that no-one else in the building was talking.

When it was his turn, Roberts stripped off his boxer shorts and stood under the shower head. The water was cold, but given the outside temperature even at such an early hour, it felt refreshing. He brushed his teeth quickly before shampooing and rinsing, the whole process taking just over four minutes, drawing angry looks from those still queuing.

Back at the four-man cabin, Roberts dressed in shorts and T-shirt before rolling up his sleeping bag and placing it at the foot of his camp bed. Through the window he could see people making their way to the main building, and Roberts told his companions to get a move on.

They followed the stream of men into the mess hall, where
a se
rving station was manned by three local women. Men filed past slowly, and Roberts grabbed a tray and fell in line. The smell grew stronger as he neared his turn, and when he held out his tray
he w
as rewarded with a dollop of yellow and a stew-like
mixture. He
hadn’t eaten since the airline food the previous day, but despite this, he was hesitant to tackle the strange offering.

He went to find a seat, and noticed that the tables were designed for a maximum of four people. It brought the colonel’s introductory speech back to mind, and he realised that even the eating arrangements were designed to discourage talking to anyone outside their own little group.

It suddenly struck him that no-one was talking at all, and he put that down to the three armed men standing in the corners of the room.

‘This isn’t bad,’ Houtman said, licking his finger as he took a seat opposite Roberts.

‘Shut it!’ Roberts whispered, as Conran joined them. He looked around to see if anyone had heard, but thankfully there was no
sudden
rush to discipline the Dutchman. Roberts kept his head down, eating his meal as quickly as possible so that he could retreat to the cabin.

After wolfing down the food, he queued up to put his tray in the wash area and walked back to the accommodation block. Once inside, he sat on his bed with his head in his hands. Houtman and Conran arrived a few minutes later. Despite the closed door, they kept their voices low.

‘This is some weird shit,’ Conran said, a sentiment echoed
by Houtman.

‘Agreed,’ Roberts said. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘What choice do we have?’ Houtman asked. ‘If we don’t do exactly as they say, we end up like Tony, with a bullet in the head.’

‘And we can’t leave,’ Conran added. ‘Somehow, I don’t think they’ll just hand over our passports and give us tickets home. Even if we ask nicely.’

They thought about their predicament, until Roberts broke th
e silence.

‘I say we go with the flow.’

Houtman shrugged. ‘As I said, what choice do we have?’

Shouts from outside broke up the discussion, and when
Roberts
opened the door he saw everyone running towards Sergeant Dan, lining up in groups of three or four.

Roberts called his friends out and they followed suit, taking up a position towards the rear.

‘Welcome to Camp Sunshine,’ Dan said, once he’d done a head count. ‘Now that you’re all here, the first thing we’re going to do is go over the rules one last time.’

He reiterated the no-talking rule, but explained that when they got back to England, the small groups were going to act as
individual
cells, each having no idea what the objectives of the others would be. That way, if anyone was caught, they couldn’t compromise the larger operation.

‘Ideally, we would have brought three or four of you here at any one time for training, but we have neither the time nor the resources to do that. Instead, you will all learn the same skills, but your final objectives will be known only to your own team.’

Roberts suddenly understood the reason for the rule, and why everyone was given a number as identification. Still, the colonel could have explained that in the initial meeting, rather than putting a bullet in Eversham’s head. Well, Tony had been an
argumentative
sod, even on a good day, and he guessed it would only have been a matter of time before steel met skull.

Roberts guessed there were roughly forty groups on parade, close to two hundred men. If they were all to work in
different
geographical locations, it meant just about every major city would see some action towards the end of the year. The scale of the mission suddenly dawned on him. It wasn’t the localised mayhem he’d envisaged in the last few days, but a nationwide campaign.

That brought a smile to his face.

‘To pull this off,’ Dan continued, ‘you’ll need to be physically fit and mentally alert. That means daily exercise and lessons in everything from explosives to counter-surveillance.’

More instructors appeared, all dressed the same way: khaki shorts, boots and green T-shirt. The small groups of men were split up, with some being told to gather around tables, whi
le others
were given warm-up exercises to do in preparation for the
morning
run.

Roberts and his cell, along with four other teams, were directed to a table on which lay a cream-coloured lump that
resembled
putty. Next to it were a few cheap mobile phones and a box
marked Detonators.

Their instructor launched into the lesson without introducing himself, which Roberts took to mean No questions: just observe and learn.

As the African sun began its daily climb, Paul Roberts began the first of a hundred and fifty days of intense training, starting with Explosives 101.

SUMMER

Chapter 6

9 July 2014

‘That’s right, darling. It’s a sheep.’

Tom Gray looked over at his daughter, who was riding in the front passenger seat of his BMW. He didn’t know if Melissa was actually associating the sound with the cuddly toy she was playing with, or if ‘baaaa’ was just an easy sound for her to make. Either way, she was certainly expressing herself a lot more than she had even a month ago. All of the books and articles he’d read suggested the average child would start forming their first words right about now. But, then again, his one-year-old hadn’t had an average fi
rst year.

Melissa had such a bubbly nature, it was hard to believe that nine months earlier she’d been lying in a medically induced coma, the result of smoke inhalation from the fire that had killed his wife. It had been a tense few days, but she didn’t seem to have been affected that badly, though Gray knew it would be another couple of years before any damage would be fully known. Her brain had been starved of oxygen for a number of minutes, and that meant a fair chance that she would grow to be at least mildly impaired. Any damage had yet to be seen, however, and Gray gave thanks each day that his daughter’s development remained so unremarkable.

He turned the car onto the dirt track that was signposted Broughton Farm. Another yellow sign warned trespassers to steer clear, and a locked steel gate reinforced the message. Gray used his key to open it, and followed the rutted track until he came to a two-storey house.

Half a dozen cars were parked off to one side, and Gray pulled into an empty space next to them. He carried Melissa through the front door of the building, which had been converted into a training suite.

In an office off to the left, he found Sonny Baines sitting at a desk and tapping away on a laptop.

‘Morning.’

‘Hi, Tom.’ Sonny grinned and gave baby Melissa a wink. ‘How’s it going?’

Simon ‘Sonny’ Baines was so named because of his youthful looks. He’d looked like a school kid when he’d passed selection for the SAS, and twenty years on he could still pass for a college graduate.

It had been a while since Gray had seen a smile on Sonny’s face. It was probably owing to Gray’s recent decision to set up a training and evaluation programme for Sonny to run. Doing so had killed two birds: Sonny was finally doing something that enabled him to play with guns again, and Gray got to see his recruits in action, rather than having to depend on references alone. It had been four months since he’d first proposed the idea to Smart, and what
followed
had been plenty of hard work to get everything
organised
. Buying the buildings and land, and securing permits for live-fire exercises and renovations had taken a lot of effort and money, but it had been worth it. Sonny was back in his element, and now Gray could pick only the very best operatives for his clients.

‘Not too bad,’ Gray said. ‘Just thought I’d pop in to see how the latest batch are getting on.’

‘They’re mostly a good bunch. One or two could be putting in a bit more effort, but I think we’ve got some real talent on show. They’re having lunch at the moment, and afterwards I’ll get them together for some shooting practice.’

‘I’ll hang around for that if you don’t mind. I miss the smell of cordite in the morning.’

Sonny opened a drawer and emerged with a tiny pair of ear defenders.

‘I got these for Melissa. I knew you wouldn’t come along
without
her.’

Gray’s daughter grabbed for the pink, fluffy protective ear muffs, complete with Peppa Pig motif.

‘Thanks, Sonny. Though I think she’s more likely to eat them than wear them.’

As expected, the moment Gray put the contraption on
Melissa’s
head, she tried to pull it off and put it in her mouth. He tried
swapping
the ear muffs for her toy sheep, but Melissa was having none of it.

‘I think we need two pairs,’ Sonny said. ‘One for her ears, the other for her lunch.’

Gray agreed. ‘So maybe I’ll skip the range today.’

‘Why not just strap her into her car seat for a few minutes?’

‘No, thanks. I’m not leaving her alone, not even for a minute.’

Sonny sat in his chair and leant back. ‘You know, you
mollycoddle
her too much.’

Gray shrugged. ‘Daddy’s privilege.’

‘I know, but the time will come when you’ve got to let her go.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘What about nursery?’ Sonny asked. ‘Or school? Are you going to sit in on her classes? Don’t you think the other kids might notice the menacing six-footer in the corner?’

Gray conceded the point. It was something he thought about every day, but that all seemed so far in the future. Eventually he would have to cut her loose and let her start growing up like any other child, but it just seemed too soon. The painful memories of his wife’s death still haunted his dreams, and his personal vow never to let his daughter out of his sight had quietly become
an obsession.

‘I’m thinking of home-schooling her.’

Gray actually had looked into the possibility, and there seemed no real barriers. He was certainly intelligent enough, and taking his daughter on educational trips wouldn’t be limited to strict term timetables.

‘Great, that’s good. And during playtime, who will she be socialising with? Daddy?’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘She needs to be around kids her own age, man. While she’s supposed to be skipping and playing hopscotch, you’ll have her stripping down an AK-47.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Gray said, but as the words left his mouth, he knew Sonny was right. Melissa needed to run and play and scream with other children, not sit with her boring old father.

‘I guess one day I’ll have to cut the apron strings,’ Gray
admitted
.

‘No time like the present,’ Sonny smiled. ‘Take her out to the car and strap her in. She’ll be fine for a few minutes.’

Gray reluctantly took Sonny’s advice and carried his daughter back out to the BMW. He strapped her into the child seat and gave her the sheep to keep her occupied.

‘Here’s some music,’ he sing-songed, putting one of her CDs into the player. ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ filled the saloon, and Gray closed and locked the doors after turning on the
air-conditioning
. It wasn’t that hot a day, but he wanted her to be
comfortable
.

He found it hard to tear himself away from the vehicle, but Sonny took his arm and led him back inside the house.

‘Relax. The gate’s locked and the car’s secure. She’ll be fine.’

Gray couldn’t resist looking back a couple of times, but as the car was still there and wasn’t being attacked by hordes of bad guys, he decided Sonny had a point. He was being over-protective, and it was time to snap out of it.

‘Okay, show me what these guys can do.’

Sonny led him to the indoor range. In its previous incarnation it had been a milking shed, but the economic downturn and supermarket price wars had squeezed the farmer dry. The cows were long gone, and the walls of the twenty-metre building were now soundproofed. At one end stood a row of empty tables, while at the far end a bank of soil covered with sandbags sat behind a set of man-sized targets.

‘If you don’t mind setting up the targets, I’ll go and get the lads.’

Gray walked downrange and replaced the bullet-ridden paper with new cut-outs. He was just setting them side-on when Sonny returned with six men in tow, two of them carrying a large, metal box between them.

Gray introduced himself and stood back while Sonny explained the purpose of the test.

‘Ten rounds each using a Glock 17 at twenty metres. The
targets
will appear for three seconds, and you’ll be drawing from a shoulder holster. Let’s see what you can do.’

Sonny unlocked the box and handed out the holsters. The men put them on while Sonny checked the weapons and placed one in front of each candidate. He then put a box of ammunition next to each man and told them to load up.

While the men filled the magazines, Gray called Sonny over and pointed out a recruit named Mackenzie. At well above six feet, Mackenzie towered over most of the others, though his size didn’t seem to slow him down any. Together, Gray and Sonny watched the tall recruit loading rounds into the clip, his ebony fingers deftly making short work of the exercise.

‘According to his application, he spent some time in central Africa with his last employer,’ Gray said quietly to Sonny. ‘He’d be useful for the Benin mission. The current squad will be rotating home in a few weeks, and we need replacements who won’t take too long to acclimatise.’

‘He’s one of the better ones,’ Sonny said. ‘He aced the five-mile run this morning, and his intelligence test was one of the highest scores we’ve seen. He’s also proficient in six languages, including Hausa. His father was from Niger, which made his last mission a bit of a homecoming. What troubles me is that he left E squadron after just a few months.’

Known as the elite of the elite, E squadron was the successor to the shadowy Increment, which had been made up primarily of British soldiers who had attained the SAS rank of sergeant. As with the Increment, the role of E squadron’s hand-picked soldiers was to assist MI6 operatives in the most sensitive of operations. Many aspired to join the ranks, but few made it.

‘I saw that, but he said in his application that it was for personal reasons. A fiancée, wasn’t it?’

‘Apparently,’ Sonny shrugged. ‘Can’t knock a guy for wanting a private life. I spoke to him earlier and he said he was looking for more of a training role close to home, though he knows he’ll have to go into the field from time to time.’

Gray watched the men go through their drill, loading the magazines before stowing the weapons in their leather holsters.

‘Ready!’ Sonny shouted.

After a few seconds, he flicked a switch, and the targets spun ninety degrees, giving the shooters a face-on aspect. Weapons were drawn, and the shed erupted with simultaneous gunfire.

‘Reset!’

The targets disappeared, and the handguns were stowed.

After four more iterations, Sonny went from man to man to ensure the pistols were empty. Satisfied that all rounds had been discharged, he walked the men downrange to inspect the targets.

The shooting had been of a very high standard. One or two rounds were a little high or wide, but as they were using the guns for the first time, it was to be expected.

Mackenzie’s grouping was particularly impressive, with all ten shots clustered within two inches.

‘Considering the distance, that’s some damn fine shooting,’ Sonny told the group. ‘Okay, guys, there are cleaning kits in the box. Strip and oil the weapons, please.’

Sonny walked back over to Gray. ‘Score another point for Mackenzie.’

Gray nodded. ‘He’ll fit the Benin contract nicely. If he balks at that, we’ll look for something closer to home. Send all the reports over to Len and copy me in when you’re done, please.’

Gray left Sonny to continue the rest of the session, keen to get back to the car to see how Melissa was faring. His daughter seemed none the worse for the time alone. Gray unlocked the door to find her making gurgling noises to the toy sheep, and she gave him only a brief glance as he climbed behind the wheel.

‘Nice to know you missed me,’ he cooed, and Melissa offered him the goo-covered toy as a consolation.

‘No thanks, sweetheart. Let’s go see the doctor.’

Gray pulled away, pointing the car towards the hospital. The monthly check-ups hadn’t detected any problems so far; hopefully today’s would prove no different.