Zero Option

'For fuck's sake! Who said I was going to run out?'

'Nobody, but he wasn't sure you were really on for Libya. He.told me to chat you up about it, keep you on side.'

'Thanks, mate.'

'I didn't, though. Did I?'

'Not a word. Good on yer, Pat. But, Christ, what bastards they are! Always trying to get round your back and put pressure on from behind.'

'Forget it, anyway.'

'All right.' So I switched to talk about my new plan.

Pat's reaction was forthright. He put down his mug, stared at me incredulously, and said, 'Geordie, you're fucking mad! The strain of this thing isgetting to you.

That's the craziest idea I've ever heard. Even if we. managed to spring the guy from the convoy we'd all be nicked. There'd only be a few of us against hundreds of coppers. What are we supposed to do? Shoot our way out and leave a trail of corpses? It's not as if we're in bloody Ulster. It might be different if we could mobilise a whole army — but Christ! No: think of it. The thing would end in a pitched fucking battle, a civil war.'

'Well, if we did it at night we'd have a better chance of getting away with it.'

Pat shook his head and said, 'They don't take star prisoners to court at dead of night. Forget it, mate. I know they've got you over a barrel, and I'm sorry for you, but this is not the way out.'

'For “barrel” read “Farrell”,' I said savagely. 'I just hope the bastard's rotting in gaol. I hope his wounds have turned gangrenous. By the sound of it, they have:

I hear he's quite sick. He's got a ban on visitors too.'

'Oh? How's that?'

'Foxy Fraser told me. The first guy who went to see him got searched on the way in, like all visitors are, and they found something on him — an escape kit he was trying to smuggle in. That was the end of that.'

'So the feller never made it?'

I shook my head. But for all the cold water that Pat had poured, I couldn't abandon my idea. Maybe if I got together a few guys who'd left the Regiment recently, a few old hands… What I needed first was inside information about Winson Green — and as I thought about this problem I had a brainwave. A former member of the SAS, Jim R.oberts, whom I'd known, had joined the prison service as some kind of welfare officer. Maybe if I found out where he was, he would give me some leads.

One certain fact was that I didn't have time to get anything going before Operation Ostrich went down.

There were only two days left before take-off, and both were hectic with last-minute preparations. I therefore said no more to Pat, except that I told him not to mention my madcap scheme to anyone.

For me, the next hurdle that needed clearing was the second PIRA call, due on Thursday evening. Together with Foxy Fraser I'd worked out more or less what I was going to say. As far as he knew, the ideas I suggested were not an action plan but pure fantasy, designed to keep the PIRA interested; there was no way Foxy could tell that I was seriously considering putting my scheme into practice.

'Excellent!' he said several times when I proposed intercepting a police convoy. 'Capital. I like it.'

It seemed highly unlikely that the PIRA would meet the deadline of seven o'clock, but I got down to the incident room on time, just in case. Once again Karen was on the desk, wearing the same slinky tracksuit, and she gave me one of her flirtatious sideways looks as I came in. Also present was Billy Bracewell, fair-haired and beefy, my alter ego, who'd come to listen in to what was said and tune in to my reactions.

To everyone's amazement, my home line rang at seven-fifteen, barely quarter of an hour late. This time I waited for the caller to speak. There was a pause of several seconds before a man said, 'Hello?'

'Yep,' I went, very curt.

'Is that Geordie Sharp?'

'Yep.'

'What news?'

'You're right. Farrell's in this country.'

'Where?'

'Winson Green.'

'Where's that?'

'Birmingham.'

'Jaysus! What have they put him there for?'

'Don't ask me.'

The way the man had hesitated before asking 'Where's that?' made me certain he already knew where Farrell was. That was why I gave him the true answer: otherwise he might never have trusted me again.

Presently he went, 'Well?'

'Well what?'

'What are you doing about getting him out?'

'Listen, Kevin. Kevin, is it?'

'It is. Go on, now.'

'I've been thinking. To spring him from gaol would need a ficking army. I've got a f-ew lads lined up, but we can't muster that strength.'

'So?'

'The way to do it is to wait till he's being moved.

Wait till he's outside the gaol, on his way to court or something. He's on remand at the moment, but soon they'll have to take him to court to charge him. Then we may be able to hit the convoy and do a snatch.'

'Good. That sounds better. So when's he going to court?'

'I'm trying to find out. The preliminary hearing's bound to be soon. I can get a question to one of“ the screws who works in the prison through the father of- one of-my mates, lie's retired, but he used to be a screw as well. He's abroad at the moment, back at the weekend. I'll get news then.'

'Fair enough. Is your contact on the hospital wing?'

'I don't think so. But even if he isn't he'll know the guys who are.'

'All right. But you need to get a move on. Your family's deteriorating.'

'What d'you mean?'

'They're missing you. Listen to this.'

I heard a couple of clicks, then a hissing noise. I realised the guy had turned on a small tape recorder and was holding the mouthpiece to the loudspeaker.

Suddenly I heard Tracy's voice, shaky and peculiar: 'Geordie,' she said, 'for God's sake do something to get us out. For God's sake…' Then came more hissing, and suddenly Tim's voice: 'Daddy, I don't like it here.

I want to come home.'

That was all he said, but it nearly cracked me up.

'Hello!' I called loudly. 'Tim! Hello!'

'Seven o'clock-on Monday, then,' said the Belfast voice.

Suddenly everything was too much. 'Hey, cuntt.' I shouted. 'Give me my kid backt.'

The line had gone dead. 'FUCKING AtLSE- HOLES!' I yelled. I crashed the receiver down so hard that it split the cradle of the phone clean in half. The whole instrument disintegrated in an explosion of grey plastic. In a surge of frustration I hurled over the table and sent a shower of files cascading to the floor.

Fraser and Bates were standing back against one wall, both looking shocked by the violence of my outburst.

Fraser was speaking into another phone, and I heard him saying urgently, 'Mobile, moving around in the Ealing area of West London.'

Bates came forward and laid a hand on my shoulder, mutteringe 'Take it easy, Geordie.'

I fought down a wild instinct to belt him one, so furious did I feel. I shook offhis hand and said, 'Ah, get away!' Then I took a grip of myself and apologised.

'That's all right,' Bates said gently. 'I know how you feel.'

When I recovered I found SB much encouraged, as though they'd got a breakthrough. The fact that the call had come from the area they'd been predicting raised everyone's hopes.

People filtered away into the room next door, and as I sat there on a kind of bar-stool in frorit of a counter, still feeling stunned, I became aware that Karen had come up close and was standing right behind me.

'You look creased,' she said quietly. 'Would you like me to come out and cook supper for you? Or you could come to my place…'

I tensed myself, unwilling to believe my ears. The woman was making a proposition. I nearly spun round and belted her away with the back of my hand, but I held myself in check and grunted, 'Thanks, but I'm all right.'

'Sure? I'd really like to. You could stay the night if you wanted. There's a spare room. Or, as I said, I could cook supper at the cottage.' As she spoke she leant forward to pick up the telephone, deliberately brushing her breasts against my shoulder blades.