But Philips could see he wasn’t buying this piece of spin. ‘Look. Most folk who come through here, one way or another something’s done them in. Maybe it was during service or maybe before. But whatever it was, it’s driving their behaviour. This place is about getting shot of all that. The day a lad starts here, he draws a line under everything up to that moment. That’s the past. This is now. That’s the deal.’
‘What about families?’
‘If they have a problem there, we teach them how to deal with that. If there’s something we can do for the relatives we’ll do it, but only if it benefits the associate.’
‘Associate?’
‘That’s what we’re all called. Nice and neutral, no ranks or hierarchy. Helps with the sense of kinship.’
As they passed between buildings Tom saw a group of men in full MTPs emerge from a clump of trees and climb into the back of a Land Rover. Even from this distance he could see that they were bent with fatigue.
Philips smiled. ‘They’re Phase Fives. Survival skills, self-preservation. They’ve got to stay out on their own and keep out of each other’s way for five days and nights. Bit of fun, really, but it builds that sense of independence and helps them believe in their ability to survive on their own. After all, they don’t know what they’re going to have to put up with in the future.’
The next building they entered was busy with staff in white coats. ‘Medical area. We pick up where the NHS leaves off.’ He held open a door to a spacious carpeted ward. There were eight beds and each seemed to have at least one nurse nearby.
‘No shortage of staff here, then.’
‘You noticed. That’s a big part of it. Most of these blokes just need attention. A lot of it’s basically physio. We leave the invasive stuff to the hospitals, but recovery can be a long old process, two years, sometimes more. We see them through it.’
Not for the first time that day Tom’s thoughts drifted back to Blakey. ‘How do you get accepted here?’
Philips shrugged. ‘Word-of-mouth, recommendations. All pretty informal and low key.’
‘Is there a long queue?’
‘Yeah, that’s our problem. We need to grow. The boss is onto it, but it can’t come soon enough.’
Back outside, they passed through a screen of trees and headed towards a long, low building that resembled a cattle shed. There were no windows, just a small gap between the walls and the roof. From it came a noise Tom couldn’t decipher at first. As they got closer it became clearer. It was human. Shouts, screams, whimpers.
‘For a lot of us, it started here. Detox — there’s no easy way.’
He gave Tom a look that confirmed he was a graduate of this part of the programme. ‘We make no apology for the conditions. We keep an eye on them medically, in case they try to do something terminal. Otherwise they’re on their own to crack on and get through it. Believe me, when you get out, life never felt so sweet.’
‘Don’t you have Health and Safety or some regulator on your backs?’
Philips smirked. ‘We don’t exactly broadcast our methods.’
‘You’re showing me. I’m a complete stranger.’
‘Mr Rolt’s instructions were that you should see it all.’
Over a roast-beef sandwich and a Coke, Philips opened up.
‘Enlisting was all about getting out of where I came from, a fairly typical scenario.’ He sketched out a family life from helclass="underline" Dad in prison most of the time and when he wasn’t, drinking himself comatose or beating up his wife and any of the kids who were in reach. His violence was indiscriminate — everybody got equally fucked up.
‘The Army was my family, so when I left it was like stepping into a void. Now I’ve got that family back — and on twice the pay, plus a master’s in sociology. Here I’ve got five-star accommodation, all the amenities and a job for life. More than I could have dreamed of.’
‘What happens if it doesn’t work out — if you screw up?’
‘Just doesn’t happen. We owe our lives to Invicta, so we just don’t allow failure.’
It’s a bit too good to be true, thought Tom, but there was something about the look on Philips’s face that wasn’t just PR.
‘Bottom line: Invicta delivers. And what with everything that’s going on out there right now, the country going to hell, you value what you’ve got all the more. Frankly, the man’s a saint — he should be running the country.’
It wasn’t the first time Tom had heard that said about Invicta’s founder. Rolt professed to have no political ambition, but after witnessing his BBC interview Tom found that becoming harder to believe.
27
They walked on past a golf course and a football field. From behind a row of poplars, Tom thought he heard shots.
‘Yeah, we’ve got a range too.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘The range warden’s a bit funny about visitors.’
His wariness made Tom all the more curious. ‘I’d hate to miss it.’
‘Let me make a call.’
Philips moved away while he dabbed a number onto his iPhone and spoke.
There were single shots and a short burst of machine-gun fire.
Philips pocketed the phone. ‘He said give him five minutes to clear the range.’
He gave Tom an anxious glance.
‘Something wrong?’
Philips put his head on one side. ‘Blokes here, they’ve been through a lot.’
‘Yes, I got that.’
Philips nodded towards the range. ‘The warden, how can I put this? Doesn’t like to be upstaged, if you get my drift. Used to be a sniper.’
Tom smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it.’
They walked down a path beside a high fence. Philips punched a code into a keypad and an electric gate glided open.
Tom nodded approvingly. ‘Extra layer of security — very wise.’
They mounted a short flight of steps and entered the club house. The interior consisted of a long, windowless pine-panelled room, lit by a row of low shaded lights. On the right was a gallery of photographs and certificates. The left-hand wall was one long weapons rack.
‘Wow, this is some collection.’ As well as numerous HK and Colt assault rifles, he also spied an Israeli Defence Force Tavor Bullpup semiautomatic carbine, a massive 50-calibre Barrett M107 sniper rifle, and several versions of AK.
A door opened at the other end of the room.
‘Here comes our warden.’
A man wearing a flat wool cap and green gilet moved slowly towards them.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Mick. This is Tom Buckingham, sent by the boss.’
‘Tom Buckingham: Mick Vestey.’
Tom grinned and gave his hand a firm shake. Vestey’s face remained impassive.
‘Quite a set-up you’ve got here.’ Tom gestured at the racks. ‘Enough to see you through a decent-sized war.’ A lot of the weapons would be illegal unless held under a section-seven licence. But in the privacy of this vast facility, maybe a blind eye was being turned.
Seeing no response from Vestey, Philips chipped in: ‘It’s one of our most popular amenities. The fact is that men in the field get very used to weapon handling. Once they’re out, they get withdrawal. And then there’s some who just need to get some rounds down the range to relax. We’re pretty liberal with the ammo.’
For Tom, guns were simply tools of the trade, but he had known plenty of others for whom weapons meant far more — and in some cases too much. This was a gun-nut’s paradise. ‘Can we see the range?’
Vestey shrugged. ‘Six-hundred-metre gallery, electric and twenty-five-metre indoor. We got it all.’