Zero Option

'The incident room will be manned. They need to know about this soonest. After all, this is a national emergency — or about to become one. And the head- shed need to know that Ostrich is blown.'

'Ostrich!' exclaimed Whinger. 'What a fuck-up!'

'You didn't leave the Libyans a little present after all?'

I went. 'Like a copy of the head-shed's secret telephone directory?'

'Piss off, mate.'

For a few seconds silence prevailed. Then Stew said, 'The powers that be will never sanction a phoney shoot.

It's too dicey. They'll tell you to screw the nut on that one.'

'Why?' I challenged him. 'Hitting a guy at six hundred yards does take a bit of doing. But missing him — that's a piece of cake. If I'm holding that rifle, I can tell you, the. man'll be as safe as houses.'

'Sorry, Geordie.' Whinger shook his head. 'I still don't see how this is going to work.'

I cleared my throat and started again. 'We show Farrell these orders, right? We tell him we're prepared to go ahead. But he has to come with us on the shoot, so he can see for himself what's happening. You with me?'

'More or less.'

'Also we tell him that, immediately after the shot, things have got to happen fucking quick, or we'll be nicked in the park at Chequers. That means that he's got to give the word for the release of the hostages the moment the shoot goes down.'

'So?' Whinger still looked highly sceptical.

'The head-shed briefs the Prime Minister. On the morning he's to take a wander out on to his terrace, as per normal. By then we're in an OP, watching the house. We fire a single shot, close past him. At the crack, he drops and lies still. As soon as Farrell sees he's down, he gives the order for the hostages to be handed over at a prearranged lV.'

'How's he supposed to communicate?'

'Over my mobile.'

'And how does he think he's going.to get his own arse away out of the park?'

'We'll tell him to have his guys lay on a chopper.

They can hire one to come in and pick us up. We'll fly out together. Then, later, we ditch him. I need to think that bit through…'

Whinger shook his head again. 'They'll never buy it.'

'*Who won't?'

'The police, for one. Can you imagine them letting a leading IRA player creep up on the Prime Minister with a bloody great five-oh rifle? The very idea'll send them fucking ballistic.' He broke offand screwed up his face in his efforts to imitate a plod on the beat: ' “Hexcuse me, sah. Before you pull that triggah, may I hinspect your firearms certificate, please?” For fuck's sake!'

'Farrell won't have the rifle,' I insisted. 'I'll have it.

That's the point. There'll be two of us with him, one to mind him, one to shoot.

'In general, if we seem to be co-operating with the PIRA, we'll keep the lid on the whole thing. There'll be no risk to anyone. On the contrary, by agreeing to go through with the shoot, we'll bring a serious threat under control. We'll take possession of a dangerous weapon, and with any luck we'll bust the London ASU in the process.'

I looked round the tired faces, and thought I saw a couple wavering. 'What if we refuse to co-operate?' I persisted. 'Number one: I don't get the hostages back; the PIRA will kill them and dump them in the river.

Number two: we're stuck with Farrell. Number three: the PIRA still have the rifle; the shoot will go down anyway, probably at some later date. The security forces will be left with the same problem. The threat may be deferred, but it'll still exist. The London ASU will remain intact, and they may easily get the Prime Minister in the end.'

'Well, whatever,' Tony began cautiously, 'you better move pretty damn fast. There's less than two days to get organised. If we pick up the weapon at all, we've got to test-fire it someplace. Farrell will insist on that.

Otherwise, how in hell are we supposed to know where it's shooting?'

'Good point. That's why I'm heading for camp right now.'

'Want me to come with you?' asked Whinger.

'Thanks, Whinge, but I'll be OK. You might be needed here. I'll probably get my head down in the sergeants' mess for a couple of hours, then come back first thing in the morning.'

'What if Farrell starts asking where you are?' Stew asked.

'Tell him I'm asleep,' I said. 'Or just don't tell him anything.'

For a quiet take-off, I rolled the Granada down the hill and started the engine by letting out the clutch in third gear when I reached the gate at the bottom of the drive.

Then, as soon as I was under way, I called the incident room on the mobile and got a duty officer strange to me.

'Geordie Sharp,' I said. 'I'm coming in. There's been a big development. I'll need to speak to Commander Fraser. Can you get hold of him?'

'Not to worry,' came the answer. 'He's here already.

I'll put him on.'

'Geordie?' came Fraser's voice. 'Where are you?'

'Heading your way. I'll be there in half an hour.'

'What's new?'

'Can't tell you from here. Any luck with that car?'

'Yes and no. Tell you when I see you.'

'OK… and listen.'

'Yes?'

'I need an urgent meeting with the ops officer.

Yorky Rose as well. Can you alert them?'

'Right away?'

'Afraid so.'

Rolling into camp at three in the morning made me feel I was back at the start of the whole drama, back to the night we had got in from Bogotfi and I found my family gone. That now seemed as though it had been light- years ago. The last two days and nights alone had been so full that I felt I hadn't seen Stirling Lines in months.

By the time I ran up the stairs to the incident room a full reception committee was there to meet me: not only the SB team, but Mac Macpherson, Yorky, and the CO. The only man anywhere near correctly dressed was Fraser, in a shirt, tie and pullover; the others had track suits or sweat tops over what looked suspiciously like pyjamas. As always, there Was a brew on the go.

We had no banter or pissing about, but went straight into an informal O-group — and you could have heard a mouse fart in the next county while I explained what had happened.

When I started to outline the programme for the Chequers shoot I was seriously worried Yorky might explode; he turned red in the face and his eyeballs rotated at high revs. In fact, such a proportion of what I said was so utterly outrageous that all of them, one after the other, soon looked close to apoplexy. I don't know who was most agitated — Fraser, when he heard that we'd met Marry Malone in the railway yard, or the CO when I told him that Operation Ostrich had been blown.

Fraser muttered, 'Marty Malone!' in a voice he might have used if he'd won a million on the pools. 'This is the guy who's been masterminding the bombing campaign on the mainland. But so far he's always operated out of West Belfast, never dared cross the water. I'll bet my trousers it was him who brought the big rifle across.'

He took a deep breath and added, 'If all this resulted in our nicking Marty Malone — boy, would that be something! He's one of the most evil pigs in the whole organisation.'

Pemembering the lean, drawn look of the older man's face in the marshalling yard, I said, 'Maybe it was him who was down to do the shoot.'

'Possible,' Fraser agreed. 'In fact, more than possible.

The fact he's here at all means there's something really big in the offing.'

The Boss cried, 'God's boots!' Then, turning to Mac, he said, 'You haven't had wind of any leak on Libya?'

'Nothing at all.'

'Get on to the Finn immediately,' said the CO. 'See if they've heard anything.'

As Mac went next door to make the call, the Boss muttered, 'I don't believe there has been a leak. I believe the buggers are guessing, trying to bluff their way.'

'I tell you what,' I said to Fraser. 'It was that miserable girl of yours. It was her that dropped us in the shit on this one.'