Red Notice

7

Half a dozen miles away, still sitting at the table in the back bar, Woolf waited, listening to COBRA’s muffled waffle. As the words in his ears began to sound as if they had been caught in a blender, he thought about his much younger third wife. Today was their first wedding anniversary. He stroked a hand over his thinning hair. When this was all over, maybe he’d make the appointment in Harley Street she’d been on about. As a present for them both.

Woolf held up a hand for silence and turned to Gavin. ‘COBRA wants confirmation that this is an operation for the hard arrest of one Laszlo Antonov.’

‘Confirmed,’ Gavin said.

‘Confirm that there will be no threat to his life or reason.’

‘Confirmed.’

‘Confirm that you will be using non-lethal weapons.’

‘He just fucking said that.’ Ashton was unable to control his impatience.

Gavin smiled to himself. For some reason, the F-word always sounded twice as obscene when delivered in Ashton’s Home Counties accent.

‘But we’ll take on the threat as the operational situation requires,’ Ashton said. ‘So, if the arse-covering session is finally over, we need control — now!’

Scowling, Woolf looked in vain for his notepad, then reached for a beer mat and scrawled a few words on the back. He signed his name, handed the mat to Ashton, with the reluctance of an atheist putting his last ten-pound-note into a church collection plate, and made the formal declaration: ‘I hand over control pursuant to the provisions of the Military Aid to the Civil Power Act. J. Woolf.’

Ashton gave a theatrical sigh of relief, then nodded to Gavin, who immediately got on the net. ‘All stations, this is Alpha. I have control. Stand by, stand by… Go!’