Now shift yourself, or the target'll be gone.'
Through all this Tony had waited impassively, poised for action. I'd told him beforehand what I was planning,
and he'd agreed not to intervene unless he had to.
The rifle was already in a perfect position, its bipod sunk into the moss on top of the little bank. Farrell was shaking violently as he positioned himself behind it, and the ferret stink wafted all around us. Tony went down beside him, extending his left arm to give the rifleman freedom of movement at the end of the short chain.
Farrell gave one more curse — a long-drawn-out groan of 'Ah, you bastards — then gathered his concentration, settled his elbows into the leaf-mould on the forest floor, aimed through the scope, opened and closed the bolt, and clicked off one dry shot. The practised ease of his movements made it plain he knew the weapon well.
The target was still meandering about the terrace, but by now he'd moved nearly to the front of it, close to the right-hand summerhouse. In the clear early light his pale sweater showed up a treat.
'Let's have a bullet, then,' Farrell snapped.
I leant over between the two men and laid one of the six-inch rounds in the breech. As Farrell slammed the bolt forward I gave three consecutive doublejabs on my pressel switch to warn Yorky that the shot was imminent.
Farrell had the rifle up and aligned, but the target was moving, alking slowly across to our right.
'Wait, man, wait!' I hissed. 'Let him stop. Now! No!
Wait again.'
Once more the target had ambled on; But at last he came to a standstill with his back to us, right in front of one of the trimmed box bushes.
'There!' I said. 'Take him now!'
I put my hands flat over my ears and held my breath.
BOOM.
I saw the big bullet go. At least, I saw the grey streak of disturbance in the air along its path..I was aware of movement at my feet as the recoil jolted Farrell backwards, but I tried to keep my binos on the target.
For what seemed an age he remained standing. Then suddenly his arms flew half up, away from his sides, as if his hands had been lifted on strings, and he pitched forward away from us in a flat dead-man's dive. Once down, he was out of sight behind the box hedges, and we could see no further movement.
'Fantastic!' I yelled.
'Bejaysus, I got the fucker!' cried Farrell. 'I nailed him! I fucking dropped him!' In his excitement he forgot he was linked to Tony, and tried to jump up, only to be dragged down again.
'That's his lot,' I said. 'The bullet lifted him right off his feet. Now — send that fucking codeword and we'll get out of here. Quick, they're on the move.' As Farrell stood up I handed him the mobile phone.
The shot had sent pigeons clattering out over the field; dozens of them flashed blue-grey and white in the low rays of the sun as they fled from the clap of thunder.
Away in the distance, figures were pouring out of the house. People were running back and forth, and clustering round the spot where the target had gone down. More doors opened, windows too. From somewhere to the right a police siren began to wail.
'I'll call the chopper first,' said Farrell. He punched numbers into the phone, listened and said, 'Yes. Come in now. Pick-up immediately.' As he was doing that I called Whinger to close on us. Then Farrell ended the first call and dialled again. This time his face creased into a frown. He muttered something, switched off, switched on again and punched once more. When he moved the receiver away from his ear I could hear the metallic, electronic voice saying, 'I'm sorry. It has not been possible to connect your call. Please try later.'
'What the fuck are they doing?' he cried. 'The bastards have switched off. HolyJaysus! They know the timing. They should be on the ball and waiting.'
'Come on!' I shouted. 'We can't wait. Run!'
In Greenford a breathless wait ensued as Aherne disappeared into the building. In less than a minute the reserve team had secured both entrances and fire- escapes, but there was no sign of the player. By then SP technicians had replaced the fish-eye peephole in Miss Treadgold's front door with another fibre-optic lens, which gave them a xvide view down the corridor, and enabled them to keep watch on the entrance to no. 57.
Everyone expected Aherne to show up there, but minutes passed without anyone getting eyes on him.
Had he gone up to his own flat? Was he skulking on the staircase or in the lift? If he was at large somewhere, there was a chance he might appear just as the Blue guys were taping their charge to the front door to blow it in.
'Zero Bravo for Sierra One,' called Control. 'Any change in the windows on the top floor?'
'Negative,' came the answer. 'All the same.'
At last the suspect came back into view. 'Blue One,' the Blue leader reported. 'He's walking along our corridor, west to east… He's left a shopping bag against the wall outside the door of fifty-seven. Now he's gone on to the” far end.'
Again he vanished. In forward control, Terry was left with a difficult decision. The bag might conceivably contain a bomb. More likely it held supplies for the people in the flat Should he ignore it? Should he get Blue to remove it? Should he wait or go?
At 0644 the sniper leader called, 'Sierra One, movement in window figures two. The curtains have been opened.'
'Zero Bravo,' Control answered. 'What about the others?'
'No change.'
'R oger. Wait out.'
'lked One,' came a call from the leader on the roof.
'We've definitely been compromised. There's a crowd gathering in the street out the back. They've got us marked down.'
'Zero Bravo. loger. All stations remain on listening watch.' Then a minute later came, 'All right. Ignore the bag. We're going in. I'm being handed control. All stations into position.'
The Blue leader slid out into the passage and silently taped a length of det cord down the line of the hinges on the front door of no. 57. At the same time all six members of the Red team came down the south wall on their ropes, squeezing the handles of their pretzels to descend, and then letting go so that the devices locked up when their feet were just above the fifth-floor windows. Down in the street the crowd was swelling rapidly, but it was too late for anybody there to intervene.
Both leaders reported themselves ready. Then Terry called, 'All stations, wait out… I have control…
Standby, standby… GO! GO! GO!'
The Blue leader, hanging back in the open entrance to no. 58, closed the clacker in his left hand. BOOM!
The door of no. 57 burst inwards and disintegrated.
Smoke and dust filled the corridor. The Blue team piled through the opening.
In the same couple of seconds the Red team dropped the final few feet, smashed all three windows with fire axes and piled into the rooms. The two into the main bedroom, Geoff Hope and John 1Kyle, instantly identified Tracy in a single bed against the left-hand wall, and Tim in the camp bed at its foot. Another bed had been pulled across the door, blocking it. As the female terrorist sat up in it, reaching for a cabinet beside her, a quick double-tap in the head put her flat on her back. Blood flew out over the pillows and ran down the pale wall.
While Geoffwent down on one knee to give cover, John dragged the bed away so that the door would open. 'Get down! Get down!' he yelled at Tracy.
Geoffyanked her roughly out of bed, forced her on to the carpet and knelt with a knee in her back. 'Don't look over there!' he yelled. 'Look that way!' With his other hand he grabbed Tim and flattened him on the floor as well.
Before the door was open, two more double-taps cracked off in the other bedroom. When John burst into the hall he found it full of smoke, with his two black-clad mates from P, ed team down on one knee, covering the guys from Blue. Two terrorists lay dead in the small bedroom, one on the floor, one sprawled across a bed. It took just seconds more for the lads to rip open the cupboards, turn over the beds and sofa and case the bathroom and kitchen to make sure there were no more PIRA in residence.