Going Rogue, page 15
part #2 of Tom Novak Series
29
Tom yawned as he stepped out into the morning sunshine, pausing briefly to adjust his earbuds. He had slept heavily after the activities of the past few days and felt refreshed, ready to go and burn off some energy.
He scrolled through his Samsung’s menu and, rather than selecting music, opened a language app and began a Russian language lesson. He had a natural aptitude for languages; probably a genetic gift from his late father who had been a government translator before his death at the hands of paramilitaries when Yugoslavia fractured in the early 1990s. He had been raised in a multilingual house and his father would always insist that at mealtimes they all spoke in English rather than their first language. During the years that Yugoslavia had been part of the Eastern Bloc, Tom’s father, Jacov had been an expert in English and Russian and he was eager to pass those skills on to his only son. Even after his father’s death and him being forced to move to Scotland, Tom had remained bilingual in English and Serbo-Croat with a good grasp of many of the associated dialects. His Russian, however, had faltered through lack of use and he was keen to improve it. As much as anything he found the process of learning and developing languages cathartic, almost a form of meditation.
He jogged off at a brisk pace in the direction of Greenwich Park, hoping that Jane had picked up the reference to the meeting place.
He wanted to make sure that he was not being tailed, his natural caution compelling him to make sure he was clear before meeting his colleague. Tom’s extreme levels of fitness would make it very difficult for anyone to follow him, particularly with the route he was planning. He ran at a good pace in an almost zen-like state as he listened to the narrator’s soothing Slavic tones. Although he was barely paying conscious attention to the words, he knew that his linguistic abilities were subliminally taking them on board.
He ran through Greenwich Park once again but carried on past the café and then past the Cutty Sark, descending into the Greenwich foot tunnel. He negotiated the spiral staircase leading down to the three-hundred-plus metre passageway underneath the River Thames. The tunnel was busy with commuters mostly heading towards him, so he was forced to check his pace just a little as he progressed under the river.
Reaching the end, he eschewed the lift, instead pumping his arms hard as he quickly climbed the 100 steps up to the exit and out to the small green space of Island Gardens. Breathing hard, he sat on the grass and took in the clear view of the tunnel exit. He watched the people exiting the tunnel, confident that any tail could only be immediately behind him; it was not possible at that time of day for a vehicle to have got ahead of him, as the only option was to take a forty-five-minute drive round and through the Blackwall Tunnel.
As he sat on the grass he enjoyed the early sun that warmed his face, feeling the sweat trickling down his back as he stretched his hamstrings and calves. After about ten minutes he was as sure as he ever could be that he had no tail.
He jumped back to his feet and set off at a slow jog, once more retracing his steps into the foot tunnel and descending into the bowels of the city. Tom slowed to a walk, feeling the wrath of the late commuters tutting as they passed the annoying dawdler until he got to the lift to take him back to the surface, entering with ten others. He fixed his eyes on the lift’s wall-mounted CCTV screen which gave a full view of the tunnel’s length. This was a perfect counter-surveillance trick; it was almost impossible for any followers on foot to not break into a run to get to the stairs to try and get ahead of him. He only saw commuters clearly frustrated at missing the lift as the doors hissed shut.
As the lift ascended Tom continued to watch the monitor and again saw nothing that gave rise to any suggestion of a tail. He relaxed a little more.
Walking out into the sunshine, he headed down to the pier at Greenwich Dock, which jutted out into the Thames. A small clutch of people was assembled, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the ferry that would transport them westbound along the Thames. This wasn’t just a tourist trap, it was also a commuter’s regular transportation.
Within five minutes a sleek blue and white catamaran glided to a halt at the end of the pier, the name Jupiter Clipper written in red and white on the stern. A uniformed member of staff waved the waiting passengers through, watching keenly as everyone tapped in with Oyster cards or contactless bank cards. Tom tapped in with his Oyster card and boarded the ferry.
He made his way into the covered seating area to Jane, who was unusually dressed in jeans, trainers, and a leather jacket. She was with a short, wiry looking man with an unruly tangle of sandy hair and a face dappled with freckles.
‘Nice to see you, old mate,’ the man spoke in a clipped South African accent.
‘Jaco, it’s been far too long.’ Tom smiled widely at the tough-looking man.
‘Not seen you since the Manchester hit man job,’ Jaco said.
‘Good job it was as well, mate,’ Tom said as they shook hands.
Tom and Jaco had met on a course a few years before and had later worked with each other on a disruption exercise against a woman seeking a hitman to kill her husband. Jaco had been born in the Orange Free State in South Africa but had come to the UK to join the army. In addition to being a first-class undercover officer he had also served with distinction in Afghanistan as a sniper with the Black Watch, joining the police in Manchester after his time with the army was up.
‘If you two boys can stop backslapping for a moment let’s go out the back,’ said Jane in a tired voice. ‘We only have about half-an-hour before we get to London Bridge; you’ve no idea how much arm twisting I had to do to get Jaco here.’
The trio all stood and went to the rear of the catamaran, where they leaned side by side against the rear railing. It was chilly in the weakening sun and most passengers were sat in the warm inside.
‘Talk to me, Tom,’ Jane said.
Tom related the events from the day before, giving all the details of where he had been taken and the fact that Akhtar was the primary target.
‘So they blindfolded you, to keep the location secret?’ she said, a trace of frustration in her voice.
‘Yep,’ Tom smiled.
‘So why do I sense you have something up your sleeve, then?’
Tom said nothing but passed over a small piece of folded paper. Milligan opened it and looked quizzically at the series of numbers written on it.
‘GPS coordinates. They were daft enough to leave me with access to an iPad for a few moments. It’s a farm in Kent but if you get Tiny to do his magic you should get everything you need. I only saw the kitchen and I’ve no idea what the outside looks like. They also showed me on the iPad where they want Akhtar taking out—at his constituency office—but the location of that is public knowledge so I didn’t look too hard.’
‘How the hell did you remember those digits for that amount of time?’
‘It’s a gift, Jane. Let’s be honest, it’s pretty important so I was motivated. I’ve not checked the coordinates myself as I haven’t been to a computer and I’m not using the Samsung just in case they check it. I have no idea of their capabilities.’
Jane simply shook her head in admiration.
‘You were always a robot bastard, Tom,’ Jaco chuckled.
‘What next?’ Jane asked.
‘I need a little time with Jaco to work up our legend and get a joint history down. I’ve said that we did a PMC contract together in Iraq, but we will need to button down some specifics as they are very careful. I’ve also said Jaco will need to zero the weapon; Danny said that they have somewhere we could do that. I’m thinking here that the more places we can get to, the more opportunity we have to find the explosives.’
‘I like your thinking. Will they want to meet Jaco?’
‘Probably. The Major likes to have eyes on new people, but I have made it clear that all Jaco will need will be the name and location of the target, the weapon, and somewhere to test and zero. That will need to be somewhere large and remote, I can’t see it will be in semi-rural Kent. A Dragunov makes a hell of a noise and has an effective range of eight hundred metres. What do you reckon, Jaco?’
The South African nodded. ‘Much longer in the right hands. Do you know if it’s the shortened, folding stock SVDS? Probably needs to be that one if it is to be concealed so it can be carried into an urban hide.’ He spoke efficiently, clearly on familiar ground.
‘Jaco, you know you won’t actually be going anywhere in London with a rifle, right?’ Jane said with just a trace of sarcasm.
‘Obviously. But I need to talk the talk. I want these bastards to realise I’m an expert or they’ll be suspicious. If they’re all ex-military they will all have a good idea about sniping, even if they aren’t snipers themselves.’ Jaco’s delivery was crisp and efficient.
‘Fair point; I will leave these bits to you. Right, I will stay on this until Westminster, then get off. You two need to find somewhere a little more discreet to fine tune your legend. Tom, find a way to check in with me later today. I am going straight to Scotland Yard to see the Assistant Commissioner; we have much to plan if we’re going to get this authorised and ready to go.’
Tom nodded. ‘As soon as we are authorised and planned, I will message them and arrange a meet. Let’s get the ball rolling. Come on Jaco; next stop I’ll buy you a coffee and we can have a chat.’ Tom and Jaco stood ready to disembark as the catamaran’s engine note changed a little and it pulled up alongside the pier at Surrey Quays.
Milligan eyed both men seriously. ‘Let’s get this right, boys. I can’t over-emphasise how much we are relying on you. If Akhtar gets taken out there is no way that the country will not descend into a chaos that will make the 2011 riots look like a minor Saturday night punch-up’
*
The next day, Tom and Jaco sat nursing coffees in the late morning sun outside Joe’s Tea Shack, just off Windmill Drive in Clapham Common. The picnic tables outside the small, temporary facility were all empty apart from the one they occupied while they waited for their meeting with Danny.
Tom didn’t know who was going to show up, but he was hoping the Major would show his face so that the backup team could get a photo of him. So far all they had was the description that Tom had given after their meeting in Kent, which hadn’t helped in getting a positive ID. In fact, apart from Danny, they didn’t have any clue as to the identities of any of the ADF members. They were all hoping this would change soon enough.
After leaving Jane on the ferry, Tom and Jaco had spent a further hour coming up with a tight and believable shared backstory. Jaco also had a tight legend already in place as an ex-South African paratrooper and sniper who had been working as a freelance contractor and mercenary. He would present as a ruthlessly professional assassin ready to kill for money.
After that, Tom had gone back to Lewisham by a circuitous route and re-inserted himself back into David Vidmar’s life, satisfied that all the legal arrangements and tactical plans would be made in his absence. A few hours later Jaco had called Tom on the Samsung and said that the job was on. Tom had then accessed the Gmail drafts folder and left a brief message requesting contact.
An hour later a call had come into the Samsung.
‘David. What gives?’ It was Danny.
‘I have made contact and we are ready to meet with you any time,’ Tom had said simply.
‘Okay. Await further instructions,’ was all Danny said before hanging up.
Tom had just sat in the flat and watched TV whilst he waited for the response, which arrived a couple of hours later with a simple WhatsApp message.
‘Joe’s Tea Shack, Clapham Common, 10am tomorrow.’
Tom didn’t bother to call any of the team, fully aware that the malware on his phone would be mirroring it straight to Tiny’s screen in any case. He did, however, dial the number for Jaco to make the arrangements for the next day.
‘So how do you want to play it?’ Tom asked as they waited at the Tea Shack.
Jaco took a sip of his coffee. ‘I’m Joost, no other name is being given and I’m playing hardball. My fee will be non-negotiable and if they get too inquisitive with me, I will give them the treatment. You just play the silent partner and be ready to back me up on our history, but remember you don’t know much about my military service. I also won’t give a fuck about their objectives; I just want paying. Cool?’
‘Sounds fine, mate. I think it’s better if you just play the part of a seasoned pro, rather than a dribbling, racist, white supremacist. That’s my job,’ Tom smiled.
‘Fair enough. Hold up, I think we have company.’ Jaco nodded towards the road behind Tom.
Tom swivelled in his seat to see the dark Discovery pull up alongside the café. The two doors closest to the pavement opened and the Major climbed out of the front passenger seat, followed by Danny exiting from the rear.
Both men stood as the Major and Danny arrived, and handshakes were exchanged.
‘Joost, this is the Major and this is Danny,’ said Tom. ‘Gents, this is Joost, who we discussed the other day.’
The Major paused for a second as he appraised the short, wiry South African with his cold, blue eyes. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke without looking at Danny. ‘Danny, get the drinks in, will you?’
Danny simply nodded and strode up to the counter of the small wooden shack.
The Major sat in front of Joost, not taking his eyes off him.
‘So, what do I call you?’ the Major said.
‘Joost will be fine.’
‘Surname?’
‘Just Joost. I don’t give my other names. The less you know about me the better, Major, and I have no interest in knowing anything further about you.’ Jaco stared unblinkingly at the Major, defiantly showing no trace of discomfort under the man’s cool gaze.
‘Major, I have worked with Joost on a number of occasions in the past in Iraq where he has proved himself,’ said Tom, breaking the impasse. ‘He has my full endorsement. He most certainly has the skills you require.’
The Major did not speak but just looked from Tom to Jaco with a blank face.
‘I like to know who I am employing. What is your background?’ he said as Danny arrived with a tray with four disposable cups that he deposited on the table.
‘I was a sniper in the army in South Africa. I left and now I work for whoever can afford me. Now if I don’t fit your criteria, I am happy to take my coffee, thank Danny, and fuck off.’ Jaco spoke quietly but firmly, projecting nothing but confidence as he held the Major’s stare.
There was a long pause as Danny passed the Major his coffee and sat down opposite Tom.
‘Everything okay gents?’ he asked.
‘Just shooting the breeze, Danny,’ Jaco smiled.
‘Look, guys,’ Tom spoke firmly but quietly. ‘I can assure you that Joost has all the skills that you need. I’ve worked with him and seen him operate and you won’t find anyone better in the timeframe you need this done by. So, let’s all stop with the hardball and get this job sorted, okay?’ Tom’s calm, easy voice seemed to ease the tension a notch.
‘Has David explained what we need?’ Danny said.
‘You need an MP taken out at his constituency office in East London with a long-shot, and you need it doing soon,’ Jaco said as if discussing a shopping delivery.
‘Yes. Nasir Akhtar has to be removed as soon as possible. What else do you need to know?’ asked the Major.
‘Nothing. Just who, where, and when. You’ve just told me everything you need to, and I can find out the rest myself. Now the main question for me is whether you can pay my fee. I have to tell you, gentlemen, it is not negotiable. This is a high-profile individual, the time frame is tight, and the risks are high. That translates into a high price. Now if that is a problem tell me quickly, so we aren’t wasting time.’ Jaco spoke quickly, his accent heavily pronounced.
‘How much?’ Danny asked.
‘Forty thousand, UK currency. Paid into a bank account of my choosing. Half up front, half on successful completion.’
‘That is acceptable,’ the Major said in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘What about the weapon? I can get my own but that will take time as I will have to import it. That will entail an extra cost.’
‘We have a suitable weapon. A Dragunov SVD, folding stock variant,’ Danny said.
‘What distance am I looking at?’
‘Four hundred metres or so.’
‘Shooting fish in a barrel. When can I test and zero it?’
‘Soon. We have a suitable location we can take you to,’ said the Major.
‘Can’t I just meet you there?’
‘No,’ said the Major. ‘The individual who owns the test site is very shy and won’t want you to know its whereabouts. We will have to take precautions and drive you there in the same way we did with David. It’s only a couple of hours away. If you insist on zeroing the weapon it has to be done this way. It is on an estate owned by one of our sponsors and he is very protective about who knows its location.’ The Major spoke firmly, once again in control.
‘Well if I am going to be fucked about like this, the price has just gone up. I will want twenty-five up front and twenty after, as that is going to be a whole day wasted.’
‘Is it just about the money to you, Joost?’ Danny asked.
‘Of course it is about the money. You guys can have your causes, I don’t give a fuck. Just pay me and the job will be done.’ Jaco almost seemed amused by the suggestion that there could be any other motivation. He handed over a scrap of paper with some digits scrawled on it. ‘Once the twenty-five kay hits my account, I am ready to move.’
‘Then we have a deal.’ The Major stood and extended his hand, all of a sudden exuding charm from his cruel eyes.
30
‘Right then ladies and gents, we are green-lit to proceed,’ Jane said brusquely without preamble as she walked into the briefing room at the team’s offices.
Sat around the table were Tom, Buster, Jaco, Lin and Tiny who all nodded, the sense of anticipation buzzing around the room.
