Gray Redemption (Tom Gray #3) (16 page)

That was, if anyone actually
turned up.

Levine left the caravan and
locked the door, then looked round for a suitable place to lie up.  The
caravan was situated three yards from the four-foot high privet hedge that ran
around the perimeter of the camp.  Cut into the hedge was a wooden style,
a small ladder that granted access to the public footpath in the adjoining
field.  Levine climbed over, stepping into the darkness.

Off to his right he could just
make out the shape of the tent the ladies had been using for the last few days,
and it was from that direction that Jeff would make his appearance. 
Levine turned to his left and followed the hedge, looking for a spot which
would allow him a good view of the caravan while also shielding him from sight
if anyone wandered too close.  The best he could find was a small
depression, but the view through the bottom of the hedge was obscured by
another caravan, so he retraced his steps and climbed back over the style and
into the camp.  Even on this side he could find no natural cover, so he
would have to settle for squeezing underneath the people carrier parked behind
his neighbours’ accommodation.

He tried it out for size, and
from the side of the vehicle his vision was obstructed by the gas canisters
underneath the adjacent caravan.  He adjusted his position, peering out
between the front wheels.  This was a much better view, allowing him to
see the door to his caravan as well as the ten yards leading up to it. 
The moon was full, but Levine was grateful for the cloud cover which reduced
its glare and would help to keep him concealed. 

His only worry was if the
unwanted guests brought night vision goggles to the party.  He knew he
couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, but he would stick out like a sore thumb
to anyone with NVGs.

With one position sorted, Levine
crawled out and headed towards the entrance to the camp.  He walked
nonchalantly, just another holiday-maker out for a late stroll.  He saw a
couple of others braving the mild evening, but most of the residents were
settled in for the night.

The heavy main gate was attached
to concrete posts on either side of the entrance, marking the end of the hedge,
but once again there was little to offer in the way of cover.  He wandered
out into the country lane and looked at the hedgerow on the other side of the
road.  There would be no reason for anyone to approach the camp from that
field, not when they could simply drive up to the gate or park up nearby, so it
seemed a sensible enough hiding place.  The gate to the field was just ten
yards away, and Levine scrambled over it quickly. 

The field had been left fallow
the previous year, and long grass grew around the edges.  This would help
to break up his profile should anyone glance his way, and he lay down to see
what the view was like.  He had to crawl forward a few feet, but
eventually he found the perfect spot, one that enabled him to see through the
entrance all the way to their caravan.

Levine got up and made his way
back to the road, checking both ways to make sure no-one was in the area. 
The road was clear and he strolled back into the camp, waving to one of the
residents as he headed back to the caravan.  Inside, he took the rounds
from the magazine to let the spring relax while he stripped down his Browning
and gave it a thorough clean: the last thing he wanted was the gun jamming on
him if he came to need it.  It took him just a few minutes to finish the
job and once it was reassembled he headed for the style to keep an eye out for
Campbell.

Jeff arrived at a trot just
after ten-thirty, barely breaking a sweat.

“You took your sweet time.”

“I did some shopping on the way
back,” Campbell said, holding out a plastic bag.  Levine took it and
fished out a pair of Pay-As-You-Go phones.

“I figured we’d need some
comms,” Campbell told him.  “They were the cheapest I could find, but they
come with hands-free kits.”

“Good thinking.  Let’s get
back inside and charge them up.”

While Campbell cleaned his own
weapon, Levine charged the phones, turned the ringtones off and programmed the
numbers into each other’s speed-dial facility.  He then put ran through
the sequence of commands to call the other phone until he knew which buttons to
press with his eyes closed. Once he had the combination memorised and he was
sure that Campbell had, too, he put electrical tape over the tiny displays so
that the light from them wouldn’t be visible when they got an incoming
call.  Campbell told him they only had twenty pounds of calling credit
each, which wouldn’t last forever, especially with mobile-to-mobile calls, so
they agreed not to use the phones until the person observing the gate saw some
activity.

“How do you think they’ll play
this out?”  Campbell asked as he reassembled his pistol.

“If they’re morons, they’ll come
in all guns blazing,” Levine said.  “I doubt we’ll be that lucky,
though.  I expect they’ll turn up in the dead hours, probably between one
and four in the morning.”

Campbell concurred.  “We’ll
let the phones charge for another hour,
then
get in
position.”

Levine described the locations
he’d found and offered to take the spot under the vehicle.  At just five
feet nine he was the smaller of the two by six inches, and had a slight build
compared to Campbell’s bear-like physique.  It would be much easier for
him to get out quickly when the time came.

“We’ll need knives,” Levine
said, and went to the kitchen.  In the drawer he found two which would
serve their purpose, though their edges were rather dull.  He found a
honing steel and sat down to sharpen the blades.

They discussed tactics until a
few minutes to midnight.  By this time the phones both had a charge of
over eighty percent, which was plenty for the next few hours.

Levine pulled the corner of the
curtain aside and looked out into the camp. 

“Clear.”

They left the caravan and Levine
locked up before they parted without another word.

*
* *

Ben Palmer glanced over at the clock
on his bedside table as the monotonous chime of the mobile phone dragged him
from his deep sleep. 

“Palmer,” he said wearily,
wondering what was so urgent that it meant calling at close to one in the
morning.

“It’s James,” the voice
said.  “I was just —”

“Wait.”  Palmer hit a
couple of keys on the handset and brought up the next combination of numbers
for his private web portal.  He read them out, and once he had
confirmation that Farrar had written them down correctly he asked if the
message was vitally important or if it could wait a few hours.

“There’s no rush, but I need you
to check your messages tomorrow.  We’ve had a new development here, and in
the next few hours there could be a change to your mission.”

Palmer was glad that they
wouldn’t have to discuss business over the phone.  There was no internet
connection at the farm, so he would have to wait until they drove back to
Durban the next afternoon.  “I’ll be able to get to them in around twelve
hours,” Palmer told him.  “Can it wait until then?”

“Just as long as you check them
before you meet our friends, that’s fine.”

Farrar hung up, and Palmer was
suddenly wide awake.  He had everything ready for the next evening’s
operation, and now Farrar wanted to change things at the eleventh hour. 
It
was bad enough having
to source a new weapon with
every job, what with handguns being frowned upon by the customs people, but
Sean had found him a beautiful piece.  He’d spent the day sighting his new
suppressed Sig P226 and adjusting the trigger tension until he had a weapon
that reacted to his liking.  In the meantime, Littlefield had gone out
early to get the
3-Methylfentanyl
and flash-bangs. 

Now, with his shopping list
complete and the plan in place, Farrar wanted to move the goal posts. 

Was he going to call the whole
thing off?  No, he’d mentioned a change to the mission rather than a
termination.  Even if Farrar
did
decide to pull the plug, there was
no way he was getting a refund. 

It could be that there would be
more than four people to deal with, or Farrar might want more information from
them.  Either way, he had what he needed to take care of the
situation.  The
3-Methylfentanyl
he’d asked Sean for
is an analogue fentanyl, an opioid analgesic similar
to the one the Russians used to end the Moscow theatre siege in 2002, when it
was delivered by aerosol into the auditorium. Palmer was sure that any
container designed to hold people for weeks at a time would have air vents to
allow them to breathe, and it was through these that he would administer the
incapacitating agent.  If there were no vents, he would open the door and
throw in a couple of the flash-bangs, which produce a deafening noise and
blinding flash and are designed to disorientate, but unlike conventional
grenades they don’t produce the large amounts of deadly shrapnel.  This
would allow him to set the canister to auto-release and throw it in the
container.  By the time anyone came to their senses it would be too late
to stop the contents being dispersed, and with the dispersal mechanism being
almost silent, it was doubtful that anyone would notice it even with perfect
hearing.  Everyone in the container would lose consciousness within a few
moments, leaving him the simple task of dragging out the four non-Chinese
occupants and loading them into his vehicle.

Satisfied that he wouldn’t have
to adapt this plan too much, no matter what Farrar had in mind, Palmer settled
back to sleep.

Chapter
10

Monday
May 7th 2012

Todd Hamilton pulled in behind Matt
Baker’s Ford Transit at just after one in the morning and killed the
engine.  His colleague was already out of the van, weapon drawn and
hanging loosely by his side.

“Put that away,” Hamilton hissed
as he got out.  “We need to make this look like an accident.”

“I know!”  Baker responded
loudly, and Hamilton wondered how he’d ever made it to adulthood, never mind
team leader.  Perhaps it was the kill-rate despite his tender years, or
his willingness to take on any job.  It certainly wasn’t down to his tactical
thinking.

“Keep your voice down, man.”

Two more occupants climbed out
of the vehicles and into the brisk evening, doing up jackets to shield
themselves from the wind that ran ahead of the rain clouds.  A downpour
was forecast for the early morning, yet another in what had already been a
miserable spring. 

Hamilton could have called on
all eight members of their teams, but there was little need for that many
bodies. It just meant more chance of detection.  He’d have happily done it
with just Paul Dougherty from his own team for company, but orders were orders.

Hamilton assumed command of the
operation despite holding the same position as Baker.  The personnel from
both teams listened intently as he outlined his plan, happy that Baker wasn’t
leading the assault. 

“I’ve got a canister of Silane
in the back of the car,” Hamilton said.  “We’re going to put it inside the
target caravan and release it.”

“What the hell’s Silane?” 
Baker asked.

“It reacts violently with air,
causing small explosions.”

“Great!”  Baker
sneered.  “We’re gonna give them a tiny, indoor fireworks show.” 

Hamilton squared up to him,
their faces almost touching.  “If you’d let me finish, I could explain
that when it’s dispensed at high velocity under pressure it results in delayed
combustion.”

Hamilton took a step to the side
and addressed the others, not waiting for a reaction from Baker.

“By the time the canister is
empty, the air inside will be soaked with Silane.  The resulting blast
will blow the caravan to pieces.  It should also breach their gas bottles,
making it look like one of them failed and caused the explosion.”

“What about residue?” 
Baker asked.  “Fire investigators can spot an accelerant a mile
away.  What are they going to make of this?”

“According to the lab, the
explosion and resultant fire should destroy all traces.”

“After we deploy, how long do we
have before it goes up?”  Andy Hill asked.

“We should have around three
minutes to clear the area,” Hamilton told him.  “I’ve had a look at the
overheads and that’s plenty of time to get out of the camp.”

“Sounds risky to me,” Baker
said.  “How do we get your canister into the caravan?”

“I’ll go in with Paul. 
He’s the best lock pick we’ve got and can pop the front door for me.  I
only need to open it a few inches so I can place the aerosol on the inner step
and hit the release button.”

“What if they’re still
awake?”  Baker persisted.

“Then we come back and
re-evaluate,” Hamilton said, becoming increasingly frustrated with his
colleague’s attitude.  He went to the back of his car and returned with a
large can with an air-freshener label.

“This should be destroyed in the
explosion, but if it survives it isn’t going to arouse any suspicion.”

Baker had to admit to himself
that the idea was a good one, but was still pissed that he hadn’t been included
in the planning.

“So what are we supposed to
do?  Sit here with our thumbs up our arses?”

“Exactly,” Hamilton said. 
“Sit
tight,
and I’ll radio in once the job is
completed.”

He held out his tablet PC which
showed an aerial photo of the camp.  “Their caravan is situated near the
back, here.  We’re going to enter this adjoining field and follow the
perimeter of the camp until we come to this gap in the hedge, here. That brings
us into the camp just a few yards from the target.  After I hit the
release button, we’ll come back out the same way.”