Thunder (23 page)
Just what I need.
A good night out, in my opinion.
~~~~~
London
“We think that at least one of them is on the move, sir.”
Sentinel sat up in his chair, suddenly interested in his subordinate’s call. “Where?”
“Still in Romania. Heading north and west,” Greere replied. “Looks like whoever it is might cross into Hungary near Oradea.”
“You don’t think?”
“Possible, sir. It’s a beeline for Budapest.”
“How convenient. Why did you say one of them?”
“As you know, sir. Tin planted three devices. One is implanted, sub-dermal, and we are yet to activate it. The other two were placed, one in a coat, the other in Ebrahimi’s rucksack. One is still in Constanta, the other one is now moving northwest. We don’t know yet whether it’s the coat or the bag. They’re identical devices with identical signatures so we can’t tell between the two.”
Sentinel grunted his understanding.
“We suspect that Ebrahimi met up with Nagpal and Sikand in Constanta,” Greere continued. “This is probably the predetermined rendezvous point related to the ‘Icarus’ code left for the younger brother. This would then explain why he’s recently remained static there.”
“You think they’re still waiting for the brother who, of course, hasn’t appeared?”
“Exactly. I was just about to come to you and recommend we deploy Tin and Mercury to Constanta when the tracker went mobile.”
“Be careful not to lose those trackers, Greere. The cell might have the kit to check for radiating devices.”
“We are, sir. The ones we’re using are set to wake up and blink only once per day, but I think we should up the frequency on the mobile one.”
Sentinel nodded. Greere was playing this ‘by the book’. The tracking devices were critical to the mission. When exact positioning was of lesser importance, the tiny microchips were sent instructions to shut themselves down for all but a few moments every day. It would be particularly bad luck if the targets happened to be scanning for them during the very short periods they were transmitting. But now the game had changed. One of the devices was moving. They’d need more than a once-a-day fix. “Go ahead,” he confirmed. “Could it be that someone else is carrying either the bag or coat? Could Ebrahimi have sold or lost one of them somehow?”
“Yes, sir. That’s a viable possibility.”
“Okay, let’s see whether whoever-it-is comes to pay us a visit then.”
“I’ll put Tin and Mercury on readiness, sir.”
“Agreed,” said Sentinel. “Irrespective of what happens, we’ll need to get visual confirmation of who it is, before any strike mission can be approved. Keep me posted.”
~~~~~
Budapest
Jack sat alone on a high bar stool and examined the tumbler of untouched Jack Daniels in front of him. Untouched... His appetite for drinking seemed to have vanished. Drinking alone wasn’t entertaining.
The busy bar moved relentlessly around him as a maelstrom of bright lights, chattering voices, excited laughter and colourful reflections from the many mirrored surfaces. He ignored it all.
A few short days. That was all it had taken for him to drop his guard. That was all it had taken for him to gravitate back into some kind of caring, personable, Dominic-like character. The type of character that would only end up having his heart torn out again. Which it most definitely would be. Either by orders or by death. Why did he persist in doing this? Why couldn’t he be some sort of psychopathic robot like Deuce? Emotional attachment was a dangerous distraction.
Nick had got too close. Too quickly. Like some forbidden fruit. Some unthought, unthinkable, temptation and, as fast as he could muster rational professionalism, his soul ripped these defences into tatters with the pent-up power of a lifetime spent alone. He had to find himself a woman, when this was over. Find someone to help him fill the gaping void. It was time to get out of this. One last mission. Closure. His mates were long avenged in the bloody Hindu Kush Mountains...
While he sat, lost in thought, some unseen, bulky person bumped clumsily into the side of him then sat down heavily on the neighbouring stool. “You going to let that evaporate?” asked a familiar voice.
He smiled but kept his eyes firmly on the patiently waiting whisky. “You’re fucking insane,” he said.
“Felt like a swim,” his bro’ grunted beside him.
“You’ve got a fucking death wish, more like.” He glanced across and watched Nick waving to the barman. Hand signals. Two more of the same. Then his partner turned back to him and Jack could see his strangely intense, black-brown eyes burning fiercely.
“Correct,” Nick growled. “That’s what you like about me.”
Jack’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he heaved himself upright to fish it out from his jeans.
‘STANDBY. KCL. RADIUS 50KM. FU BOTH. D.’
“Looks like these will be the last drinks for a while,” Jack muttered and necked the warm spirit, feeling its hot breath burning his throat.
Nick didn’t look fazed. If anything, he looked excited. “Orders?” Nick asked simply.
“Looks like someone’s coming our way,” he replied. “Keep current location. Fifty kilometre radius, so they’re not certain yet. We’ll need to get a rental car tomorrow morning.”
“Any more?”
Jack smiled. “Just some of Deuce’s usual bullshit.”
Nick raised his glass. “To our illustrious lord and master,” he proposed. “What a wanker.”
Jack grabbed his fresh glass and returned the toast. “Wanker,” he agreed.
~~~~~
Constanta
Sergei huddled closer to the meagre single-bar electric fire. “Murat,” he ventured. “We will go home, won’t we? I mean: when Jeyhun gets here. We’re going home soon. Aren’t we?”
Nagpal shuffled a little before responding. “We will return, young one. We will return home as heroes. One day.”
“Jeyhun will not be long now. We can go then, yes? There’s nothing for us here, and we have completed the mission. Completed your planned attack.” Sergei studied the older soldier for a reaction. “Why should we stay here and risk capture?”
“We have started something too complex and difficult for many, even at home, to comprehend,” said Murat. “It is not possible for us to risk trying to go home, yet. Certain unsympathetic factions, allied to the infidel scum, are monitoring the borders and our families. We must keep clear for a little longer.”
“For a little longer!” Sergei felt angry. His bottled-up worries about Jeyhun were threatening to explode in an effervescent rage of pent-up anxiety. “How LONG?” he shouted. “How long do Jeyhun and I have to suffer this beggar’s existence. You said we’d be famous! You said we’d bring freedom for our tribes! You said we would return and be showered with praise and gratitude! I need to take my little brother home...”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
“We always knew that there would be trials in our great battle,” Nagpal said carefully. “I made it very clear that the risks were extreme. We could never hope to stimulate change without making a significant statement. Significant enough to make the rest of the World sit up and take notice. We have achieved this. Just us. A small and insignificant group, who pitted themselves against one of the infidel’s so-called mighty nations. We bravely cut a wound that will take eternity to heal. They will never forget us.”
“You think he’s dead, don’t you?” Sergei’s sudden question was unexpected.
“It’s a possibility,” Murat answered, as delicately as he could. “If so, he will be in Paradise now. Enjoying the endless pleasures only available to the greatest of martyrs. If so, he is lucky. His name will be etched into history and will live on, forever.”
Sergei looked incredulously at the older man. “But it’s not supposed to be like that!” he spat. “He was a child. He was supposed to be safe! We were to do the dangerous jobs! Not him! I’m supposed to protect him! I’m supposed to take him
home
!”
Nagpal looked across and Sergei saw malevolent threat in the older man’s yellowing brown eyes. “And that, you may yet do,” said the old soldier. “Be patient, Sergei. He may yet be alive.”
~~~~~
Göd
Suddenly it’s as if I’m awake.
My little bedroom lies dark around me.
You are there. At the end of the long dark tunnel of my dreams. It’s the first time I’ve seen you since I was back in Omid’s blazing kitchen.
You and Lizzie and Dad are all there, but no Grey Beard...
The three of you smile and wave. All seems well, wherever you are. Though you do look tense. Concerned.
Then you vanish.
~~~~~
“The target is approaching Budapest...”
We’ve waited several, tense, hours for this call. I can see, over Jack’s shoulder, Deuce’s face in a small heavily pixelated box, in the top right corner of Jack’s laptop screen.
Deuce continues, “We need to get visual confirmation of the carrier.” The heavily encrypted signal is making his picture jerk and freeze. “He, she, or it, is currently on Highway Four.”
As he says this, a map appears in the main area of the laptop’s display.
“We’ll have to work on the assumption that the target will come all the way into the city,” Jack says calmly. “It will take us a while to get across town.”
“Agreed,” replies Deuce. “Be ready to relocate quickly if the target changes direction. I’ve upped the tracker to signal every thirty-seconds for the next hour. I’m downloading the data to your smartphone.”
Jack flicks his device over and nods, “Got it. Nick, let’s get going. You drive. We’ll set up by Corvin-negyd Metro Station. That junction is a nightmare. Should provide us with the cover and time that we need.”
~~~~~
Budapest
Jack’s voice is in my ear as I stride quickly down Üllői Way, toward Corvin-negyd Metro. The pavement is busy with commuters. Rush hour traffic is apparently slowing the target’s progress too. “Target still on track. Mercury, you have time.”
“Copy that,” I respond, scanning the distant junction for an appropriate vantage point. There’s a small newspaper kiosk ahead. It will provide good cover. “Two minutes.”
Jack is about a kilometre further along the street, somewhere outside the Bárka Theatre. He will spot the target’s car and let me know the colour, make and model. He’ll also recover our rented Nissan ‘Nondescript’ from where I’ve dumped it on one of the intervening side streets. When we picked it up this morning I’d suggested we should get a Mini – minded of the famous Parisian Jason Bourne movie scene – but he’d just looked at me blankly then told me to, “Fuck off.”
I smile briefly at the memory.
“Still moving,” says his voice. We’re both wearing short range earpieces and throat microphones which we’d collected, along with a few other choice items, from the arsenal, when we were put on readiness.
I reach the kiosk, grab a newspaper, and thrust a thousand Forint note into the ageing stall-holder’s hand. He fumbles for change, which I wave away, and he smiles a wizened but friendly thank you. I gesticulate that I’m going to use the side of his shelter as somewhere to lean and flick through my purchase and he shrugs, unaffected, and waves me on.
I nod to him, saunter alongside the cabin and lean, my back to the pavement, apparently relaxed, against its bright-blue corrugated steel. “In position,” I mutter to the lines of densely packed traffic waiting impatiently at the sprawling junction in front of me.
Reaching up, I squeeze the switch concealed in the peak of the dark brown baseball cap I’m wearing. I feel it click and casually scan the waiting lines of vehicles.
“Copy,” says Jack’s voice. “No sign yet. Standby.”
Tucking the newspaper under my arm, I reach up and take off the cap, pressing the switch again as I do. I want to make it look like I’m adjusting the headband but in reality I’m checking that it’s working.
A tiny LCD screen, hidden inside, blinks to life as I reach in and press the replay button.
Good job I tested it.
The scenes are a jumbled jerking blur of second storey windows and car roofs.
Useless.
I pull the cap back on, making sure the peak is lower. The small camera is concealed in a fictitious company logo on the front. It should point to wherever I look, but I need to remember to move my head and not just my eyes.
“Got him,” says Jack calmly. “Silver. Dacia Logan. Plate Bravo-Two-Three-Zero-Zero-Five-Niner. Single visible occupant. Probably male. Moving too quickly for me to get a good look.”
I can feel my heartbeat rising. I don’t want to screw this up and there’s already a problem. “What’s a Logan?” I grumble to the reopened paper I’m holding out in front of me again.
“Four door, family car. Small. Looks new and is much cleaner than the surrounding vehicles,” my partner’s voice streams back calmly. “Looks a bit like a Renault Clio. I think it’s the same company.”
“Roger that,” I reply. “Thanks. How far?”
“Five hundred metres. Get ready. What’s the traffic like there?”
“Busy.” I reach up and click the switch again, tweaking the cap brow down slightly further at the same time. There’s no time for any more tests.
“Four hundred metres.”
I turn a page of the newspaper, and glance up at the cars streaming into the junction. The lights are green.
“Three hundred metres.”
This vantage point is good in that I’m hidden, by the kiosk, from the approaching vehicles. Bad in that I can’t see them coming. If the target gets here while the lights are green I might only have a few seconds to spot and film him.
“Two hundred metres.”
Come on lights. Come on...
Still green.
“One hundred metres.”
I pull myself upright, paper extended in front of me like some sort of wafer-thin shield. Come on...
The lights change.
“Sixty metres from the junction. He’s stopped.”
