He possessed one other minor advantage: whereas the rest of us has short, scrubby haircuts, his was fairly long and had a less military appearance.
A full O-group was called for 1700 that evening. But before the forces of law and order could assemble we had a pile of things to do. My first reaction was to collect the lads and put it to them straight.
As Plan Zulu was my benefit number, none of them was obliged to take part; they were officially on leave after Ostrich, and could duck out if they wanted. The fact that nobody did gave me a big boost. Far from trying to slide off, they all came on-side with so much enthusiasm and emotion that it nearly choked me.
By the time we'd cleared the air on that one, we had three hours left before the O-group. A safe house had been found — Laurel Cottage, near lkuardean in the Forest of Dean, less than half an hour to the southeast of Hereford — so we despatched Whinger m suss the place out. Stew and Doughnut shot off down to the Llangwern Army Training Area over the Welsh border to collect a couple of the intercept cars, while Tony and I hammered away to Ludlow to recce the bypass and pick a spot for out interception.
In the MT Section in camp a dark-blue Ford Transit van, bought second-hand for cash an hour before, was being prepared for use as the ramming vehicle. Half a ton of concrete blocks were wired and bolted to the floor in the back, a heavy bar was welded to the front bumper, and an anti-roll cage fitted inside the cab.
Other people pressed ahead with the logistics of the operation, sorting out food and drink for the cottage, finding out Farrell's sizes from the prison authorities and buying civilian clothes for him, and bugging a couple of pairs of shoes.
Before Tony and I set out, I needed to send a message to the PI1LA, to gear them up for action. 'How do we do this?' I asked Fraser. 'If anything goes through your channels, they'll smell a rat and realise I'm working with you:
'That's right. It's got to be a direct call. Make it from your own number, and if they bother to trace it back they'll be happy. Dial 192 and get the Sinn Fein number in Belfast from Directory Enquiries.'
With Fraser's guidance I composed a cryptic message — but when I got through I was disconcerted to find myself connected to an answerphone. I put my hand over the receiver and whispered as much to Fraser, who indicated that I should talk anyway. So off I went:
'This is Geordie Sharp speaking from Keeper's Cottage, Hereford, at 1400 hours on Thursday the twenty-seventh of May. I have a breakthrough as regards your man. He should be with me by midnight tomorrow, Friday the twenty-eighth of May. If he reaches me safely, I'll contact you again immediately to arrange a mutually convenient rendezvous, location to be proposed by you. Leave a number for quick contact.
Message ends.'
It took us only forty minutes to whip up through Leominster and on along the A49 towards Shrewsbury.
The weather had turned thundery with heavy cloud cover, and on that gloomy afternoon there was little traffic moving. As we passed a sign for Kimbolton to our right Tony said, 'Hey, I know that name! It was a USAF base during World War Two. I'm sure it was…' but he couldn't remember which squadrons had been stationed there.
Heading north, we came on to the Ludlow bypass from the wrong direction, so to speak, and drove straight to the northern end of it before slowing to check things in detail.
'OK,' I said as we hit the northern roundabout. 'The ring-road starts here. Call this Point Alpha.'
Once again Tony was taking notes and making sketches. 'What d'you call this damn thing? A circle?'
'Round about. Don't you have them in the States?'
'We may have, but I don't think I ever saw one.'
'Point Alpha, anyway. I'm going round it again. That other road leading off is the A4113 to Knighton. Get that? OK… let's time ourselves from here to the next roundabout. I'll take it steady, simulate the prison convoy.'
I headed back south at 40 m.p.h. We went over the old main road on a bridge, then under a smaller one, and reached the second roundabout in two minutes and twenty seconds. 'Point Bravo,' I told Tony. 'Signed Ludlow to the east, the A4117 to the west. I reckon this next link will be the one for us.'
I continued driving slowly, and after a minute or so we came to a stretch where there was a wide verge on the left with a big, gently sloping grass bank behind it.
'Look at this!' I exclaimed. 'Could have been made for it. One minute twenty after Point B. Got that?'
'Sure.'
Through a cufting in the grass bank on our left, a farm or forestry track ran down a shallow ramp to join the road. Clearly it had been built as a concession to the landowner when the new road went through, to give him access to the highway. Changing down into second, I swung left off the tarmac and eased the Cavalier up the track, gravel scrunching under the tyres.
'Hear that?' I said. 'They went so far as to put down hardcore for our benefit. Even if it's raining, the van'll get up here no bother.'
At the back of the bank, out of sight of the road, we found a small turning-area, with a wooden-rail fence and gate bordering a plantation of young oaks: an ideal LUP for the rammer van.
'All we need do now is measure the distance to the centre of the highway,' I said. 'What is it? Sixty metres?'
'Seventy,' Tony suggested. 'I'll step it out.'
'OK. Stand on the edge of the tarmac, and when there's nobody coming, wave me down for a trial run.'
As he strode off down the ramp, taking deliberately long paces, I turned the car and lined it up five metres back from the lip of the bank. Then, at his signal, I started forward, gently at first, to simulate a laden van, then accelerating, before I braked hard and slewed to a halt on the shoulder of the road.
'Seven seconds,' I reported. 'They'll need to practise with the van itself, but that'll be it, near enough.'
'Sixty-eight metres,' Tony announcdd as he climbed back aboard. 'What do we call this place?'
'Impact lamp. It's a nice site for a shoot-out, too. A few bursts into the banks won't hurt anybody.' I pulled off on to the grass again for a moment.
On the other side of the main road the ground fell away into a shallow drainage ditch. 'If we can hit the prison wagon into that it'll be perfect,' I said. 'The van'll probably roll over and we can go in through the roof.'
Driving on again, we took three and a half minutes to reach the third roundabout — Point Charlie — south of Ludlow, where the old main road headed back into the town. Between Bravo and Charlie lay a three-mile stretch of road with no side turnings. That gave us bags of space: even if something went wrong on Impact Ramp, we'd have several minutes clear in which to sort ourselves out.
'We're OK,' I told Tony. 'We've hacked it. Let's head for home.'
The O-Group took place in the main lecture hall, a big room with rows of seats set out in semicircular tiers.
There was a full turn-out from the Regimental head- shed, and the outsiders included Gilbert the Filbert from the Firm, a senior representative from Special Branch in London, a leading light from Winson Green prison, and police chiefs from Warwickshire, Shropshire and Herefordshire.
The CO set the pace by announcing that, although Plan Zulu was certainly unorthodox, it had been ordered in the national interest by the highest authority.
The immediate aim was to recover the hostages, but the wider strategy was to flush out as many players as possible in the West London ASU, and to break the power of an organisation which was posing a serious threat to the government. He therefore hoped everyone would give of their best in making the plan work.
In fact, most people seemed only too willing to co operate. The only big-wig who caused any trouble was the guy from the gaol, a frowning superscrew with a pock-marked face, who started in whingeing about his responsibility for the prisoner's health and safety. 'You don't seem to realise that the man is still recovering from gunshot wounds,' he said, when asked for his comments. 'If he gets thrown about in a crash it may lead to serious complications.'