Our short drive to the drop-off point went without incident. We saw no other vehicle, and after just ten minutes all four of us were standing in the dark lay-by watching the tai Mights of the Granada disappear up the lane and into the distance.
After waiting for my eyes to acclimatize to the half light I set off along the bridleway carrying the Haskins over my shoulder. Behind me came Tony and Farrell, cuffed together by a short length of chain, and Whinger bringing up the rear. Though the sky was already bright, inside the wood the darkness hung on. Just like our morning at the range, the trees seemed to be full of wood pigeons, cooing all round us. I knew the noise should have been soothing, but somehow it annoyed me, and whenever a bird flew out from above us, disturbed by alien creatures passing underneath, its wings made a terrific, give-away clatter.
When we reached the top of the long, narrow field, I told the others to hold on while I did a quick recce to make sure the coast was clear. 'Stay here while I check the field,' I whispered. Tll be back in a moment.'
'OK,' said Tony. 'Take it easy.'
With exaggerated stealth I crept out into the open and went on fifty metres or so until I knew I was out of earshot. With Farrell left at a safe distance, I held down the pressel switch of my covert radio and said, Hello Zero Charlie, this is Green One.'
'Green One, send,' came the immediate answer.
Yorky's voice.
'On course and on schedule,' I told him.
'Zero Charlie. loger.'
If there had been any dramatic news from London, Yorky would have told me. His brief, professional response meant simply that we had to carry on.
I retraced my steps to the others and whispered, 'Can't see anything. But we'll keep right in to the side of the wood, in the lee of the trees.'
So we went steadily on, the light growing all the time but remnants of gloomy darkness lurking along the fringes of the wood. As we passed Brockwell Farm I thought of the QIF, skulking about the barns or hay lofts, and bet myself they had eyes on us. Sure enough, up into my earpiece came a Welsh voice saying, 'Black One. Geordie and his team are passing us now,' followed by Yorky's quick, 'Zero Charlie. loger.'
At the corner of the wood, fifty metres short of Point D, an extraordinary sight confronted us. Away in the distance the house was dark, but the lower half of the field between it and us was covered by mist lying in a dense white blanket. The effect was ghostly and unreal, as if Chequers had been constructed on the far shore of a milky lake.
'If that lot rises up a few feet we're buggered,' I whispered.
'It won't,' Farrell replied. 'It'll fall away and disperse as the air warms up. This often happens on a fine morning.'
'You'd better be right.'
'Watch it!' said Tony. 'There's something moving out in the middle.'
We stepped back into 'the trees to watch. Binos revealed the dark object as the head of a deer, which had popped up out of the. fog. I realised the animal must have been grazing with its head down, and that the top of the fog-blanket was just over the level of its back. As we stood looking, another head came up beyond the first, and the two began moving to our left.
'You hang on here,' I whispered to Whinger. 'Stay back in the wood, but keep eyes on the lodge and the drive. If you see any movement, let us know.'
'Roger,' he said softly, and we left him there.
At Point D we moved into the recess among the bushes which we'd identified during the recce. When we raised our heads we could see out over the field to our front, but if we kept down the screen of shrubs shielded us from the footpath. My plan was to stay in cover until our target appeared on the terrace, then to nip forward on to the mossy bank at the very edge of the trees and take the shot from there.
The drawback of our lying-up place was that it had no view along the footpath to right or left, and it was possible that somebody could approach without our seeing him. I therefore decided to leave the other two where they were, with the weapon, and position myself farther forward.
I pulled down the legs of the Haskins's bipod and set it on the deck, keeping the belt of ammunition in the right-hand pocket of my smock.
'What effect will the mist have on the flight of the bullet?' I asked quietly.
'Negligible,' Tony said. 'No wind, either. No lateral allowance needed. The only thing is, in half an hour the light will be pretty bright. That could cause you to shoot a touch high.'
'Agree with that?' I looked at Farrell, who nodded.
'OK. I'll bear it in mind. Sit tight here while I take a look up the footpath.'
I went back to the edge and took a scan with the binos. The two deer were clear of the mist and walking up towards the wood on my left. A light had come on in one of the first-floor windows of the house. Maybe the guy's up even earlier than usual, 1 thought. Taking advantage of a lovely morning. I looked at my watch: 0610.
I walked slowly along the edge of the wood, in the shadow of the trees, until I was seventy or eighty metres from the others. Away to the east, my right, the sun was still below the ridge, but only just, and the sky was glowing. Even as I watched I saw the fog blanket beginning to thin and break up into patches.
I was fizzing with tension, electrified. I'd already taken one dump, back at the farmhouse, but excitement brought on another, and I withdrew into the trees to deal with it. When I came out again the deer had gone, and most of the mist had vanished. Only a few wraiths still trailed across the young corn.
Suddenly Yorky's voice was in my ear again: 'Zero Chadie for Green One. Fruit Salad going down at figures zero six three zero.'
'Roger,' I answered automatically. Then the meaning of the message struck me. Jesus! It meant the guys in the Greenford operation had definitely found the hostages. It meant they were going in — and in less than fifteen minutes' time! A hit on a single-fl0or flat couldn't last more than one or two minutes. In less than half an hour from now, the whole thing should be over.
I felt my heartbeat speed up still faster with the news.
I wanted to run out into the field yelling with elation.
Thank God I kept my head, because I became aware of a noise to my left, and saw a jogger in a harlequin track suit pounding along the footpath towards me. Easing deeper into the trees as he went by, I passed a quick call along to Tony and Whinger, warning them to keep their heads down.
Now time really crawled, second by slow-moving second. Behind me the pigeons cooed relentlessly. The sun hauled itself over the eastern ridge and sent rays flashing low and long across the park. The last traces of mist vanished.
Then Whinger called, 'Discovery coming up from the right,' and the peace of the morning was spoiled by the grinding diesel engine as a routine security patrol went past. There were two coppers in the front seats, but — no doubt following orders — they were looking away from us and towards the house, rather than into the wood.
At 0626, with the Fruit Salad assault deadline four minutes off, I finally persuaded myself that we weren't going to have to fire a shot. For a moment I allowed myself the luxury of imagining the look on Farrell's face when I told him the score, and the language he would let fly. Then my little day-dream was shattered.
'Zero Charlie for Green One,' said Yorky again.
'Fruit Salad postponed. Technical problem.'
Cumberland House is a seven-storey block of flats on the south side of Ellerton load, in the West London suburb of Greenford. There are nine flats on every floor, with each of their front doors giving on to a corridor that runs the length of the building. The rooms on that side of the block — kitchens and bathrooms — are dark and gloomy because their windows give on to those internal passages.