Zero Option

Back at my lay-by, I pulled in again and called Whinger on the mobile.

'Bit of a fuck-up,' I went.

'Been compromised?'

'Yes and no.'

I told him what had happened. 'Anything doing your end?'

'All quiet in the shit-house, but things are moving outside.'

'How?'

'I don't know exactly. You'll have to ask Fraser. But apparently the PIRA are getting nervous. I don't know what they've seen, but they're starting to feel pressure coming on them. There's been some talk about moving the hostages.'

'Oh, God! I'll call the incident room. And listen…

Whinger?'

'Yes?'

'I'll be back there just as soon as Tony and Farre11 emerge from this fucking jungle.'

'OK, mate. We'll be waiting for you.'

I restarted, turned and headed south again. 'Hello,

Tony, hello, Tony, are you reading me? Over.'

Still nothing.

At the bottom of the hill I stopped and called the incident room. Fraser was off duty, but Yorky was there. 'Yes,' he confirmed. 'SB have got it down to three locations. One's a semi in Sudbury, next to Wembley. One's a block of flats in Greenford, and the third's a house in Ealing. They're all under round-the-clock surveillance, but we desperately need confirmation.'

'Can't we hit all three at once?'

'It's not on, Geordie. We're not certain of any of them. Until we are sure, it's not worth the risk. If it turned out we were wrong and the hostages were somewhere else, they'd certainly get topped.'

'What's this about the PIKA moving them?'

'It's only talk so far. Nothing's happened yet.'

'Where's our team now?'

'Still on standby in Hounslow Barracks. They couldn't be better placed — only a few rriinutes from all three locations.'

I took a deep breath and asked, 'What's the position on approval for the shoot?'

'Nothing confirmed yet.'

'Ah, shit!'

'How are you doing, Geordie?' Yorky sounded quite concerned, like some old uncle.

'Slight local difficulty. But basically, we've got the weapon and done the practice shoot. Once we're out of here, we're going ahead with the recce of the park itself.'

'You'd better carry on, then. As soon as we hear anything, we'll pass it to your safe house.'

'Roger, Yorky… and thanks.'

I was about to switch off when I heard him say, 'Hello?'

'Yes?'

'The Commander's just come back in. I'll put him on.'

I waited a moment, then heard Fraser's cheerful voice. 'Geordie? How's it going?'

'So so.' I filled him in on what I'd told Yorky, and got back the same stuff about the three locations. But then Fraser added, 'From what we're hearing, the PI1LA aren't very happy with your man.'

'Don't they want him back, then?'

'Oh yes, they want him all tight. But now their aim is to top him.'

'Delightful!'

'It is,' Fraser agreed. 'Does he realise that?'

'He knows he's in the shit. But he's that arrogant, he probably thinks he can talk his way out of it. At least, that's how we read him.'

I switched off feeling very low. This thing seemed never-ending. It had dragged on so long already that I couldn't imagine it coming to any definite conclusion.

I tried to galvanise myself with the thought that it was going to have to come to a conclusion within twenty- four hours — by this time tomorrow. Either the shoot would go down as the Prime Minister walked out into his rose garden before breakfast, or the PIRA's patience would run out.

Yet again I turned, drove up the hill and past the big tree. No answer on the radio. It could still be that the curve of the hill was blocking us, even if Tony had climbed clear of the range and was struggling up through the scrub. He, if anyone, would get Farrell out of the mess safely. I trusted Tony at least as much as I trusted any of my British mates, not only for his physical strength and capability, but for his levelheadedness.

Back at the lay-by, I pulled in for the third time and sat looking at the map. I'd just tried the radio yet again when I looked in the mirror and saw a car coming up from behind.

Police. Pulling in behind me, too. Jesus! I sat tight, watching, while the two men got out and advanced on the lekord. I just had time to scramble the earpiece and throat-mike out of sight before they drew level.

I wound down the window and said, 'Good morning.'

They “returned the greeting civilly enough, but immediately began to ask questions. The boss figure was a sergeant — beefy, red-faced, with a big belly, like a rugger player gone to seed.

'Can I ask what you're doing here?'

'On my way up to Great Missenden. Had a bit of time in hand.'

'You came the other way just now.'

'That's fight. I was delivering a parcel.'

'Where to?'

'An address in Stonor.'

'Do much delivering, do you?'

I was uncomfortably aware that the second copper was walking round behind the car, giving it the close eyeball. Probably they thought I was a poacher, and had a deer in the back. Probably they were scanning for traces of blood.

'Look,' I said. 'What's the matter?'

'Nothing,' went the sergeant. 'May I have a look in the boot of your car?'

I got out and faced the guy, to find that he was a couple of inches taller than me. 'You'd much better not,' I said.

'What's in there, then?'

'Nothing to do with you.'

'We haven't been poaching, have we?'

'Certainly not.'

'So why all the secrecy?'

'I can't explain.'

The radio in the sergeant's breast pocket began honking off, and he was distracted for a moment as he dealt with the call. What could I do? It was possible that the police in the Chequers area had already been squared away and told to stand off, but the guys down here would know nothing about our operation. If I did a runner I'd be chased, and the car would be traced, and Tony would be stranded. If I refused to open up, I might be arrested for obstructing the police.

Before I could take a decision the sergeant said, 'I'm afraid I require you to open the boot.'

'Listen…' I stood between him and the back of the car. 'I'm a member of special forces, on a classified operation. Will you please get on the phone to my control room?'

Without answering, the sergeant lumbered forward and jabbed his thumb on the boot catch. Short of knocking him out of the way, there was nothing I could do to stop him. Up came the lid. With the movement of the car through the bends, the rifle had rolled over once, partially unwrapping itself, and the barrel lay there plain to see.

'What the hell…?' began the sergeant. His beefy face suddenly turned even redder as a surge of adrenalin flushed up through him until I thought he was on for vertical take-off, leaching down, he pulled away the bubble-wrap and exposed the main body of the weapon. 'What the devil is this?'

'It's a Haskins five-oh sniper rifle,' I told him in the most casual voice I could muster.

A second later I saw him reaching for his radio in a kind of automatic twitch.

'NO!' I said sharply. 'Don't put through any.report.

Not until you've spoken to my control. Here.'

I pulled out my mobile, dialled the incident room, and providentially got straight through to Fraser. 'John,'

I said. 'Geordie. I have a problem. I'm with a police sergeant. He's seen I've got a big rifle in my possession, and I need you to explain what we're at.'

'All right.' Fraser sounded imperturbable as ever.

'Where are you?'

'Out in the Chilterns, above the range I told you about.'

'Has he caught you. with the weapon?'

'Yes.'

'OK, I'll speak to him.'

I handed the phone over and stood back, watching the sergeant's face go through every conceivable expression: shock, incredulity, alarm, bewilderment. It took several minutes, but I could tell Fraser was winning the battle, because after a while the sergeant began giving details of his own head of station, along with the telephone number. In the end he said, 'Very good, sir,' and handed the phone back 1;o me.