Boy Soldier (11 page)

'Jimmy has Moyes. Still foxtrot towards car.'

Brian was already at the car. He took his Leatherman from a pocket, stuck it into the valve of the nearside front tyre and heard the escaping gush of air. The tyre was flat before Moyes turned the corner and Brian stood up and walked away.

In the flat, Deveraux was watching the playback of the tabletop on the camera, and checking that everything was in place. Then she filmed in front of herself as she moved back out to the corridor and into the bedroom.

Brian came onto the net.

'Brian has Moyes approaching his car. He hasn't seen the flat tyre yet.'

Deveraux filmed the bedside cabinet with the Maglite in her mouth. There was nothing of interest on top of the cabinet, just a few petrol receipts and an overdue gas bill.

She opened a cupboard and saw a stack of used reporter's notebooks. She took out the top two and read the titles scrawled on the front covers:
Nov '95 – Footballer's shame; March '99 – Used car scam.

'That's Moyes kicking the car, he's found the flat tyre. Now opening boot. How's it going, Marcie?'

'Wait out. I'm in the bedroom.'

The flat tyre had given Marcie valuable time. She carefully removed the notebooks, filmed the covers and replaced them in the correct order before moving on to the wardrobe to check through coat pockets.

That's Moyes now tightening the last nut. Nearly mobile.'

Deveraux wouldn't be rushed, even though she knew she had to be quick.

'Marcie, roger that. Still in the bedroom.'

She reached the bedroom door and made a final check. The carpet was a thick shag pile and she had left a few footprints. She moved back into the room and bent down to smooth them over with a hand.

'Stand by. Stand by. Engine on, that's Moyes mobile towards the main. Marcie acknowledge.'

'Roger that. Marcie's still in the bedroom.'

That's Moyes at the main and indicating right. I need a quick pick-up, Jimmy.'

Deveraux could hear Jimmy's vehicle engine gunning as he came on the net.

'Nearly there.'

Deveraux moved back to the living room and went to the PC as Jimmy calmly relayed what was happening on the follow. He was two vehicles behind Moyes.

'Brian's complete. Jimmy has Moyes. He's gone right at the main. Looks like he's heading home. Marcie acknowledge.'

'Marcie has three lights up.'

'Roger that, Marcie. I reckon he's got another ten minutes to home.'

Deveraux checked out the kitchen. There was nothing of any use to her and the smell drove her back to the living room.

'Marcie has four lights up.'

'Roger that. Moyes is turning into the estate now. There's blue lights ahead, outside the target block. Marcie acknowledge.'

Deveraux moved quickly back to the kitchen, which was being bathed in blue flashes from down on the street. Briefly she wondered whether someone had seen her break in and had called the police. But as she looked out of the window she spotted an ambulance. Then she saw Eddie Moyes's Sierra pull into a space just behind it.

Jimmy came back on the net.

'Stop. Stop. Stop. He's outside the target now. Door open, he's out, now locking up.'

Deveraux saw none of that. She was back at the PC.

'Marcie's got fives. I'm coming out.'

Quickly but calmly she pulled out the USB. And then, checking that everything was in her bag and the Maglite torch was still attached to her jacket, she walked to the door.

Jimmy gave her a step-by-step picture of exactly what Moyes was doing.

'That's Moyes held at stairs. A stretcher's coming out. Still static by the ambulance.'

Deveraux pulled out the doorstops and opened the lever lock.

'Stand by. Stand by. Moyes foxtrot up the stairs. Now unsighted. I'll get him on the landing. Marcie acknowledge.'

Deveraux gave the acknowledgement with two presses of the
SEND
button by her watchstrap. The team would get two hisses of air. It was quicker that way. She took off the plastic covering her trainers, opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony.

As she relocked the lever lock Jimmy came back on the net.

'Stand by. Stand by.'

Deveraux knew what that meant. She moved away from the door and walked towards the staircase. It was the only way out.

Moyes appeared ahead of her at the top of the stairs. He looked down at the ambulance as it pulled away but glanced towards Deveraux as they passed. She kept her head down and made it to the stairs.

Eddie was glad to be home. He was hungry and was hoping that there was still a can of baked beans in the kitchen cupboard. He took out his keys and slipped one into the lower lock. As the key turned Eddie tried to think why the woman he'd just passed seemed familiar. But it didn't come. He opened the Yale lock and stepped into his flat.

At the bottom of the stairs Deveraux saw that Glue Boy had gone. Someone, maybe the woman who'd clicked past the flat in her high heels, had called the ambulance. Glue Boy had got lucky. This time. Deveraux reached the Mazda, got inside and started the engine.

That's Marcie mobile. Meet you back at the office.'

Fergus and Danny left their archway LUP at 0745 hours. They took everything with them, even though the plan was to return later that day. They left by the escape route, climbing down the rusted metal ladder fixed to the brickwork.

Between the arches and the already busy main road was a stretch of open waste ground strewn with empty cans and takeaway food cartons. But they were hidden from inquisitive eyes by the towering advertising billboards that fronted the road.

By 0805 hours they had found an e-mail phone at London Bridge and were ready to go online to Elena. The station was heaving: the same weary-looking commuters who had pushed and battled their way out of the city the previous evening were now pushing and battling their way back in.

'Do you use your real name on that?' asked Fergus as Danny prepared to log on.

'Usually. I never know what name to expect with Elena. Depends what mood she's in.'

Fergus frowned. He hadn't told Danny, but he was prepared for this to be the first and last contact with Elena. To ignore her now would be a mistake: she might panic and start shooting her mouth off. But depending on how she responded this could well be a 'thanks but no thanks'.

'Use a different name.'

'No one can get into this, it's just me and Elena.'

'I know that, but do it anyway.'

'She'll laugh if I call myself Dean.'

'Then use your imagination, think of something else.'

Danny was still thinking as he went online, but as usual Elena was one step ahead.

Oakeley says: (8:10:15 am)
have info

Fergus was looking over Danny's shoulder. 'Oakeley? What's that?'

Danny smiled. 'We have these houses at school – you know, meant to encourage teamwork and all that. Oakeley is Elena's house. I'll use mine.'

Stockwell says: (8:11:19 am)
good. how did u find it
Oakeley says: (8:11:49 am)
internet whos who, easy. will get other
stuff u need now, travel arrangements, etc.
how do u want it delivered

Fergus nodded. He was impressed. 'Good. She's thinking, not rushing in and blurting everything out.'

'I told you we could trust her.'

'Tell her I'll speak to her next.'

Stockwell says: (8:15:24 am)
my friend wants 2 talk now
Oakeley says: (8:15:35 am)
ok

Fergus replaced Danny at the keypad. He typed slowly deliberately and precisely. To him, it was the information that mattered, not the speed or the way it was typed.

Stockwell says: (8:17:06 am)
Put what you have in black bin liner secured with elastic band. Go to London Bridge station, then to top of Magnis Street, station end with station on your right. Start walking down street between 1755 and 1800 hrs. That's between five to six and six pm.

He sent the first part of the message and then turned to Danny. 'What was the pace count last night?'

'One four seven.'

Before Fergus could start typing, Elena came back to him.

Oakeley says: (8:17:26 am)
i have heard of the 24 hour clock

Danny grinned but Fergus simply ignored the interruption and continued with the information.

Stockwell says: (8:19:11 am)
Count the paces as you walk. After 147 paces you will see on your left a rubbish skip filled with cardboard boxes. An archway with wooden pallets will be on your right. Toss the bin liner into the skip and keep walking. Don't look around or look nervous. Be natural, you're just on your way somewhere. Think of it as acting, but don't overact. Got that?
Oakeley says: (8:19:24 am)
i'll try mi v best

Fergus looked at Danny. 'What does that mean?'

Danny laughed. 'She's winding you up.'

Once again, Fergus ignored Elena's sarcasm.

Stockwell says: (8:20:43 am)
Keep walking to housing at the end of the street and then make your way back home. And make sure the bin liner is secured tightly so no rain gets in. That's it. And thanks.

Fergus made Danny sign off before Elena had the chance to ask any questions. She had all the information she needed and it was time for them to move on.

'You've never thanked me for anything,' said Danny as they headed out of the station.

Fergus didn't look at his grandson. 'I'm waiting for you to get something right.'

He didn't see the V sign Danny made behind his back.

'So this Elena,' said Fergus as they walked, 'she's a real computer buff, is she?'

'Yeah,' answered Danny. 'You could say that.'

Eddie Moyes had ordered breakfast. The Big One. Double eggs, bacon, two sausages, beans, mushrooms, fried bread and three rounds of bread and butter. He preferred bread and butter to toast. It made mopping up the egg yolk, beans and tomato sauce that much easier.

He was working while he waited. A half-drunk mug of tea stood on a table next to the pay phone in one corner of the café. Eddie's 1997 notebook rested on the shelf beneath the phone, and he was writing as he spoke. He was using the remaining pages of the notebook he'd used on the original stories so that he could refer back quickly and easily if necessary.

Eddie Moyes was no fool, he'd been around far too long for that. He was trying to track down Fergus Watts and he knew he wasn't alone in that. The others, whoever they were – and he suspected MI5 or MI6 – might well know by now that he was also on the hunt. Nothing escaped the security services for very long.

So just in case, Eddie was being careful. This call was important: better to make it from a public box than use his home phone or mobile. And Eddie had struck lucky – not quite the result he wanted, but he was making definite progress. He was writing quickly. 'Sailing? . . . No, you wouldn't even get me on a rowing boat in the park . . . Yes, I've got that, the morning tide . . . You've been very helpful, Mrs Meacher, thank you . . . The day after tomorrow, then . . . Yes, I'll call first . . . Goodbye.'

He replaced the receiver with a satisfied smile. And then his breakfast arrived. He was chewing slowly on his favourite combination of egg yolk and sausage when the door opened and a young woman walked in. Eddie noticed the cuts and bruises on her face but paid her little more attention. It was a busy café, used by all sorts of people, and they usually had a story to tell if anyone was prepared to listen. All the tables were in use, so it was no surprise when Eddie glanced up from his plate a few minutes later and saw the young woman standing there with a mug of tea in one hand.

She smiled. 'You look as though you're enjoying that.'

Eddie swallowed the final mouthful of sausage. 'Always get a good breakfast here.'

'D'you mind if I sit down?'

'Be my guest,' said Eddie, picking up the last slice of bread and butter and commencing the mopping-up operation. It didn't take long, and the young woman was polite enough not to look until it was all over.

Eddie had enjoyed his meal. He was full – replete, as he liked to call it. He picked up his mug and drained the last of the tea. As he put it down he saw that the young woman was looking at him. He smiled. 'You not eating?'

The young woman returned the smile and gently touched her face. 'Bit difficult at the moment.'

'Oh, yeah, sorry, I, er . . . well, I couldn't help noticing the bruises. Accident, was it?'

'Mmm, I walked into a door.'

Of course you did, thought Eddie. I've heard that one a thousand times. But it was nothing to do with him. If she had an abusive boyfriend – Eddie had already clocked that there was no wedding ring – and chose to let him get away with it, that was up to her.

'Actually,' said the woman softly, 'it was my boyfriend. I dunno why I should protect him.'

Oh no, thought Eddie, a talker. Still, he was in a good mood and in no great rush. If she had something she needed to say, Eddie was prepared to sit and listen. 'You shouldn't stay with him, love. In my line of work I've seen this sort of thing happen too many times.'

'Really? What, are you a social worker or something?'

Eddie smiled. 'Hardly. I'm a reporter.'

The young woman was wide-eyed. 'Honest? Oh, that must be so exciting. D'you do murders and things?'

'Well, I don't actually
do
them,' said Eddie with a laugh. 'I report them. I report all sorts of things.'

The notebook Eddie had been using was on the table-top and the young woman glanced towards it. 'Do you know, I wondered why you had a notebook with you.'

Eddie picked up the notebook and slipped it into his coat pocket. 'You're very observant,' he said with a smile. 'Make a good reporter yourself.'

Forty minutes later the woman was sitting in her car, dialling a number on her mobile. It rang three times.

'Yes?'

'You were right, he's got the missing notebook with him. It's got
July '97 – SAS Traitor Watts
written on the front.'

'Well done, Fran. Good work. Where is he now?'

'Back at his flat with all the dailies. Looks like he's settled in for a while.'

'And how are the bruises, and the nose?'

'Painful. I can't wait to meet up with our friend Watts again. Did Mick call in?'

'Yes. He'll join you later, once the swelling goes down a bit.'

Fran smiled. 'It's his own fault – should have kept his legs together. How about the governor? Has he got over us losing Watts for a second time?'

'He's not happy, Fran, but this should convince him that last night's CTR wasn't a complete waste of time. Wait out and I'll come back to you.'

She hung up. It was true, George Fincham wasn't happy, and wouldn't be until Fergus Watts had been eliminated.

Marcie Deveraux, on the other hand, was not unhappy with the way the operation was progressing.