Dark Winter

24

The small red LED on the alarm panel blinked as I tapped in the eight digits so that we wouldn’t disturb the QRF as they sat down to The Bill. Suzy was already past me and on her way to the fridge with our two bags of microwave food. We were becoming a proper little domestic couple.

I could see things had moved on efficiently while we were out. Yvette had dropped off the NBC kit: it was stacked on Suzy’s bed, still in its vacuum-packed plastic bags. Sitting on the coffee-table in the living room was a brown cardboard box, about ten by eight, its lid open, filled to the brim with blister packs of shiny dark green capsules. I picked one up and turned it over. ‘We’ve got the doxycycline.’

‘Oh, great.’ Suzy’s voice drifted from the kitchen. ‘Party time.’

Two cards of pills went into my back pocket; the bumbag and Browning went on top of the TV.

There were also two sets of keys and a handwritten note. ‘The cars are in residents’ parking. You fancy the Mondeo or the Peugeot?’

‘Oh, come on, what do you think?’

Both of the cars would have been prepared for ops. Any VDMs – such as a dealer’s sticker in the rear window or scratches on the bodywork – would have been removed. The interior bulbs would have been taken out too so that we could work at night without being seen getting into and out of the vehicles. There would also be two rocker switches under the dash to cut out the brake and reversing lights.

The next item on the note was Yvette asking if I wanted someone to take my hire-car back. These people did know everything: there was no such thing as a personal life.

I fell on to the settee and hit the Sky remote control, scrolling the twenty-four-hour news channels to catch up on all the gloom and doom.

Suzy came in, munching her gum, not liking the taste at all. ‘I’ll get used to it, don’t worry. We might as well load up the SD mags now, don’t you think?’

I plugged my cell into the charger and followed her into the bedroom. She pulled the suitcase from under the bed, lifted out two clear plastic bags full of loose rounds and threw me a pair of surgical gloves.

I picked up one of the SDs and carried out NSPs by pulling back on the cocking piece at the top of the barrel and checking there were no rounds in the chamber, then letting the working parts go forward under their own steam and gently squeezing the trigger until I found the second pressure. It had a lot less play than the Browning, which would be a pain in the arse when we had bulky rubber NBC gloves on, plus the thin white cotton inners to soak up the sweat.

The pistol grip had a three-round-burst and single-shot selector on the safety catch. Push it down with your right thumb until the first click and it would only fire one round each time you squeezed the trigger. Push it down again as far as it would go and you’d fire a three-round burst.

If you ran out of ammunition with the original MP5, the working parts would still move forwards and lock into position as if it had collected a round from the magazine and rammed it into the chamber. Then you’d be left with a dead-man’s click as you squeezed the trigger on an empty chamber. To change magazines you had to cock the weapon, reload, then slam down on the cocking handle to let the working parts move forward to pick up a round before you could resume firing. A pain in the arse, especially if you had people firing at you.

These MP5 SDs worked the same way as M16 assault rifles and all semi-automatic pistols: after the last round was fired, the working parts remained to the rear. All you had to do was replace the magazine and hit the release lever. It made life just a little bit simpler, and I was all for that.

What I liked most, however, was the HDS [holographic diffraction sight]. The heads-up sight was just like a tiny TV screen. I pressed the right-hand button just below the screen and Suzy looked over to see what I was up to. ‘Ever used one of these before?’

She nodded. ‘Last year. Nothing exciting, just took out some street-lights and a dog the night before going into an office block. Good kit, isn’t it?’

‘That’s the understatement of the century.’

I brought the weapon into the aim: the bedside lamp was about to get the good news. The heads-up inside the screen was a dull white light, in the middle of which was a circle with a dot in its centre. The light couldn’t be seen from the barrel end of the weapon. Hitting rapidly moving or multiple targets in a closed environment couldn’t be easier. It was a bit like taking a picture with a digital camera – you could keep both eyes open, but lock the sight on to a target as quickly as you saw it, even through the eyepieces of a respirator.

A lot of people didn’t like these things, but I did. If you’re firing in CQB [close quarter battle] conditions, both eyes have to be open: you’ve got to be able to see all the threats around you, all the time.

I turned off the HDS and started to load the thirty-round magazines. I couldn’t tell by the markings, but I hoped they were subsonic rounds. The SDs would work with high-velocity rounds, but the power of the gases that propelled them could blow out the baffles and produce a normal muzzle report. I supposed we’d be finding out soon enough.

We sat together on the bed. ‘A bit like old times, this,’ Suzy said. ‘Like being back in the Det.’

I stopped what I was doing and watched her for a moment. For me, this was never more than a job: at best, it delivered a regular flow of cash, at worst, it stopped me from having to pay attention to a lot of shit that I’d spent my whole life running away from. Keeping that lid on, as the all-knowing Josh would say. For her, it was something different. I was curious. ‘How come you’re so sure you’re going to get permanent cadre?’

She didn’t look at me, and kept on feeding in the rounds. There seemed to be a bit of pride at stake here as to who could do it quicker. She shrugged. ‘Because I’m good and I’m committed, and because I’ve been told I’m going to get it.’

‘By the Yes Man?’

‘Yeah. By the end of the year, he said, but who knows after this job? What’s your story? You get approached while you were in the Det?’

‘No, after I’d left the Regiment.’

She seemed surprised.

‘I know, I know. Sad but true. I left in ’ninety-three, then worked for the guy who ran the desk before the Yes Man.’

‘Colonel Lynn? I worked for him too. You ever get permanent cadre?’

My hand went into the bag and grabbed another half-dozen shiny brass rounds. ‘What do you think?’

‘That the reason you moved?’

‘No, I did just the one job for the Yes Man a couple of years ago, and we didn’t really get on. Like I said, I was made a better offer in the States.’

‘So why are you here?’

‘Because somewhere along the line I ran out of choices. But enough of my shit. Why are you?’

‘Well . . .’ She stopped loading her magazine and looked up. ‘I want to do other things, another life, but deep down I know it just wouldn’t work. You know what I mean, don’t you?’

‘What’re you going to be when you grow up?’

Now she smiled. ‘Yeah, that’s right. Dunno. You?’

‘Haven’t really thought about it. They keep telling me I’ll be kept on until I’m killed or they get somebody better.’

We both fell silent and the gentle click of rounds and the sound of her chewing took over.

‘Suzy, I need a favour.’

She just carried on.

‘I’ve got to do some stuff between about ten and twelve thirty. That’s why I gave the source your number, because you’ll be on it all the time.’

‘The boss said sort the child business out by three o’clock, Nick – I was only in the kitchen, wasn’t I? I wasn’t listening – you know the difference, don’t you? The child, is it yours?’

‘Look, I got the call in the middle of my holiday, and I’ve got to sort just a little more of my shit out – and hers.’

She stopped loading again. ‘Are you married? Can’t her mother do it?’

‘No, she can’t. And the Yes Man doesn’t need to know. Two and a half hours tomorrow morning, and it’s done. I’ll only be twenty minutes away.’

She looked at me with what I guessed was something close to pity, and went back to loading. ‘Don’t fuck this up, Nick. I’m doing it for her, whoever she is.’

‘Thanks.’

It wasn’t long before we were both finished and she announced she was going to take a shower. I checked traser: it was just after eleven p.m., which would make it sixish in Maryland. I got my own cell from my bumbag in the front room and took it into the kitchen. Cradling it beneath my ear, I filled the kettle.

The plumbing’s reaction time was lightning fast. ‘Bastard!’

It made me smile, anyway.

The phone kept on ringing, then a smily version of Josh came on the answer-machine. ‘Hey there, you know what to do: just let God bless you.’

I put the phone down. Of course, he was away until Saturday on the happy-clappy thing with his kids. Kelly wouldn’t be able to fly back until Sunday because Josh had to be there to pick her up. Shit.

The kettle boiled, and a few seconds later Suzy came out of the bathroom wrapped in a big fluffy green towel, followed by a cloud of steam. She pulled her hair back as she walked the few steps down the corridor to the bedroom, giving me the V sign all the way.

‘Fancy a brew?’

‘Yeah, arsehole.’

She only part closed the bedroom door behind her, and I didn’t try too hard to look away as she dried herself and walked to and from the wardrobe; she still had her bikini line from Penang.

‘Don’t think I can’t see what you’re up to, you sad little man. Get on with the brews.’

I turned back to the kettle. ‘You been spending some time at the electric beach?’

Her laughter bounced out into the hallway. ‘In your dreams, mate. In your dreams.’

By the time she came to join me in the front room, I was munching a very cold sausage roll, watching the pastry crumble on to my jeans and gather in a pile on the carpet. Her hair was combed back and she was in the same jeans and trainers, but now with a blue sweatshirt and fleece. She bent down near me to take one of the mugs. The smell of her shower gel reminded me that I really did need to keep the gun oil off my boxers. I had no other clothes.

She sat down and I threw her a card of doxycycline. I’d taken two capsules out of my own. ‘How many should we be taking?’ I swallowed them both with small sips of tea.

She wasn’t too sure. ‘I’ll take mine with some food. They give me a stomach ache on their own.’

‘Want some?’ I offered her half of the sausage roll, but she waved her blister pack at me with a look of utter disgust.

‘Why did you rev up like that with the drug head? It looked pretty personal . . .’

‘I just hate those fuckers.’ I tried to conjure up a smile. ‘I hate it that they’re making more money than me.’

‘Hey, Nick, I’m not the enemy. I won’t tell anyone – I’m covering for you tomorrow, remember.’

I pushed a bit of pastry that was hanging on my lips into my mouth and pressed out another two capsules. ‘Yeah, OK. The child’s got problems, and I thought I was going to be able to sort everything out here, but then I got the call and—’

‘It’s OK, Nick, that’s all I want to know. Personal stuff, remember.’ She got up and disappeared into the hallway. Just before she closed the bedroom door she said, ‘Good luck tomorrow, Nick. Just make sure you keep the fucking phone on.’

Later that night I lay on the settee under a couple of blankets, but I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t shake off thoughts of the nightmare that tomorrow morning was going to bring. She was going to be devastated to be sent home just when she was getting somewhere with Hughes – and just when she and I were establishing some kind of connection again. But, fuck it, at least she’d be alive. If this ASU really got going, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about – for all of us.