Payback (37 page)

‘
Yes. I understand he is. And as to the chances of success, you’d better ask me in about six hours. Have a pleasant evening. If we succeed, we’ll get a message to you. If we don’t, you’ll doubtless enjoy watching it all on CNN.’ With that the Foreign Secretary turned on his heels to leave.

Calder
stood up to follow him. The angry politician he figured was either going to be the next PM, or rapidly exiled to the back benches. Hedging his bets, as he must for the Service’s sake, he gave the PM an old-fashioned look, shot a watery smile to the Americans, and left. It was time to touch base with Mitchell. A lot was riding on the ‘real old pro’. He just hoped he was still up to it.

*

The Aruba Mutual Alliance members clapped loudly, a few waving their papers in the air.

Sir
James Barton gestured modestly to Tom, and sat down, holding his hands up in mock diffidence. The two of them had just opened the meeting with a well-rehearsed presentation summarising the last quarter’s treasury management successes. Using computer graphics to bring the dull figures to life, they had shown a better-than-predicted growth in earnings, and then painted a very rosy picture for the rolling year-end predictions. On the table in front of each of them had been a sealed envelope containing that individual member’s statement, written in their native language, and with the dollar conversions to their own currencies.

Standing
again, Barton quietened them, indicating that he wanted to continue. ‘Gentlemen. Thank you for that. Thank you for your confidence. As you see, I have not let you down,’ he said. ‘What these figures demonstrate is exactly what I said to you when we began our relationship. That yours is one of the biggest, fastest growing and most profitable businesses in the world. Five hundred billion dollars a year. And that by structuring yourself as any other multinational, and working to a jointly agreed business plan, you can and will go from strength to strength as a true Alliance of congruent interests.

‘
But this is only the beginning. The treasury management of your cash and working capital is just a building block, a foundation on which to base our wider ambitions. With that now in place, it’s time already to look ahead. In the business plan I originally put to you, the key need we identified was to protect the core business from attack. You individually fight off your local market competition from other cartels, from other warlords. And my mutual aid Stabiliser agreement has, I know, been very helpful already to some of you in your own territories...’ The men nodded. Only weeks earlier, in a turf war, one of Dino’s many Mexican competitors tried to push him out, and the other Alliance members
en
bloc
had refused to deal with the new man, effectively giving Dino a monopoly in his territory of quality Colombian supply, and to the money-laundering channels. With Stabiliser, Barton at a stroke had made each of the Alliance leaders feel far more secure. Something that no one else, not even their private armies, had ever given them. It was on the back of this insight into their vulnerability that he had now developed what he knew would have them cheering him even more loudly. At a price...

‘
Stabiliser helped me big. Thank you, guys,’ Dino said, with a humility they had never expected to hear from him. ‘And thank you, Sir Barton.’

Yet again
he got his title wrong. ‘Part of the service, Dino,’ he went on, building himself up to the big news. ‘But Stabiliser is not enough. You now have the biggest threat to your own security, and that of your families, that you have ever faced. In the shape of a US President determined to leave his mark on world history. As the man who made a difference to drugs. You—all of you—are his public enemy number one. Not the KGB any longer. Not the Ayatollah, Saddam or Gaddafi. Not the Vietcong. Not the North Koreans. Not bin Laden...You, gentlemen, have supplanted all of America’s historic bogeymen. And all the awesome technology, power and wealth of that great nation is on the point of being channelled into bringing you down. The new taskforce has a degree of cross-border pursuit capabilities; treaties have given the US extradition rights and the power of asset and financial sequestration; and in return for trade and aid benefits, the courts and enforcement agencies of Colombia, Mexico and the rest are going to have to hit you and your businesses hard. In a word, this is
serious
.’

Caldente,
the pock-marked Colombian Lallandar chief, raised his hand like a schoolboy. ‘You’re good at picking holes in our socks. But we know these things,’ he said with some sarcasm. ‘Are you also going to tell us what we should do?’

Barton
knew that this was the member he most needed to convince. In many ways the Colombians were more worldly wise than the rest. ‘I don’t just know what to do, my friend,’ Barton replied, raising his voice. ‘I’m about to do it.’

There
was a murmur of comment as the men took in what he had said. ‘What you do?’ Predictably it was Dino who shouted out.

Barton
pressed the remote computer mouse and the text of his message to the President appeared on the screen. ‘This will have caused great consternation in Washington. And in a few other capitals by now.’

He
let them read it carefully. ‘What does it mean?’ the cautious Russian asked.

‘
It means that on your behalf I have—with my own money—devised and constructed a deterrent that will force the President to call off the dogs. Just as the nuclear deterrent for over forty years prevented any serious territorial ambitions from any of the superpowers, so my—
our
—deterrent will oblige the USA quietly to abandon its new fight against drugs. When the first warning attack takes place in a few hours, you will hear the President use my code. To tell all of us secretly that we’ve won. And the new taskforce will be a paper tiger. Thanks to this, thanks to me—you will be able to rest easier in your beds tonight. And every night.’

There
was a burst of excited interchange between the members. ‘What exactly are you planning to do?’ the Russian pressed.

‘
Nothing, unless this group agrees. Agrees to pay me fairly for your own security.’ He now had their undivided attention. ‘I want an immediate $5 billion payment, agreed now. And 0.1 per cent of your annual combined turnover thereafter. This is approximately a further $3 billion a year. For as long as my deterrent remains effective. In return, I fire my ballistic missile at its target tonight, fully armed with my very own brand of bio-ethnic cleansing. You will want to discuss this proposal, I know. So Mr Bates and I will withdraw. Call us back when you have reached a decision. But please, do so within an hour. Time is tight. Thank you.’

With
that, Barton and Tom left the Alliance in stunned silence to return to the comfort of his study—and listen to the ‘private’ debate over his hi-fi speakers.

*

Mitchell always secretly suffered from well-suppressed nerves before a major operation. But this time they seemed worse than ever.

Perhaps
he
was
too old to be fronting this kind of work any more. After all, they had put him out to grass as a recruiter. Then Calder had press-ganged him back into service, just as he himself had press-ganged so many other reluctant spies over the years. Like Tom Bates.
Unlike
Bates, though, his own life this time was not on the line. He had turned into exactly the kind of armchair general he had always hated: playing with other people’s lives from a safe distance.

Bates
’s last snatched report had still not given them any information on from where the Scud—if Scud it were—would be launched. Or at. US spy satellites had found nothing new so far on the Syrian, Iraqi, Lebanese or Egyptian borders. Nothing in Jordan, the Palestinian areas, or in southern Cyprus...Tom had pressed Barton hard to tell him, as proof that he really was now his complete confidant. But he had been refused. It was, Barton had insisted, water-tight, strictly need-to-know information. Given this, Mitchell now had a decision to make. In addition to Tom’s report, made minutes ago from the men’s room, the SAS team had also wired-for-sound the games room where the Alliance was meeting, recording the ghostly fibre-optic images of the group as they argued over what to do. The heart of Mitchell’s decision was whether to order the SAS team in right now, before the Alliance agreed to the offer Barton had put to them, in the hope of preventing Barton giving the order to launch. Or risk the launch and stay with the well-rehearsed operational plan, one studiously designed to capture the Alliance group with minimum loss of life. Going in now, he knew, would have to be a crude tactical attack, with a high probability of a heavy fire-fight, and major loss of life on Belizean soil.

Neil
Gaylord came over with a tea he had found for him. ‘Tough call,’ he said. ‘What do we do?’

‘
No choice to make,’ he said brusquely. ‘Everyone out there is expendable. We go in hard. Now.’ He put his headphones back on and had the SAS leader patched in. ‘Major. I want you to abort the plan and go in now. Priority one, take out Barton before he can give the order to launch. Understood? Please confirm.’

‘
I hear you—but wait, London...Wait. I’m being passed new intelligence. Wait please.’ The major’s voice had the familiar echo and fractional delay as it bounced 44,000 miles in space to and from the geo-stationary Inmarsat. After a very long thirty seconds, he continued in his clear, slow, unemotional voice. ‘Barton has already been called back to the Alliance. They had nothing really to discuss. Unanimously agreeing to his plan and his terms. He can do no wrong with them right now. But hear this, London. He’s just told them that the launch is going ahead. That it was to anyway. Because he had no way of stopping it—even if he wanted to. Advise please.’

Mitchell
knew it was getting away from him. If in doubt in battles of any kind, act decisively and firmly. That had always been his creed, from his own Army days. ‘We go in now while they’re all together—’ he began, but was talked over by the major.

‘
They’re breaking up—sorry, but...He’s just told them to meet on the terrace later for the firework display. To celebrate early. Advise please, London.’

‘
No. Hold that,’ Mitchell called out, the new information changing his mind. ‘Original plan. Repeat. Revert to original plan. Confirm.’

‘
Confirm.’

‘
Good luck, Major.’

The
man, an ex-Para in the 5th Airborne Brigade’s crack Pathfinder Platoon, replied, ‘Thank you, sir. The Regiment tries not to acknowledge luck in its planning. But it all helps.’

‘
Have you still got your special ‘guest appearance’, Major?’

‘
Sure have, if she shows up on time.’

‘
Then you’re right, Major. You shouldn’t need luck with
her
on your team. She’d certainly frighten the pants off me! Out.’

The
mental imagery of what they had planned made him smile, despite his butterflies.

*

Lydia had told Maddie a loose version of what was about to happen, warning her to stay close as soon as they were called down for the firework display. That she seemed unsurprised spoke volumes for what she already knew about the state of James’s mind.

‘
You and Tom certainly know how to keep a secret,’ Maddie said, changing the subject. Part of her was genuinely pleased for Lydia. Another part was less generous, feeling annoyed at the way they had excluded her. ‘So Tom
was
that new man you were going to tell me about. I figured that you’d suddenly got interested in him.’ They were in Lydia’s room in the ranch, and Maddie sat down on the edge of the bed while she fully digested the news.

‘
It’s not really all that sudden. We dated a few years ago, but it never went anywhere,’ Lydia replied, sitting next to her, fidgeting with her bracelet. ‘We were both afraid of what Dad would say, I suppose. And then a couple of weeks back, Tom called me—kind of out of the blue...and it just seemed to work. We were comfortable with each other. Talking shorthand. Or not talking at all. This time we weren’t competing the whole time.’ She did not even hint at the great sex, sensing that Maddie had been hurt somehow by the news.

Standing,
Maddie turned away. ‘Well. While we’re sharing things, I told your father last night. About the divorce. The man I married disappeared along with all his assets. The bankruptcy changed him. Really changed him. He became driven and bitter. Those bailiffs also took away our marriage.’

‘
How did he take it?’

Maddie
paused before answering. How
had
he taken the news that their life together was over, that their young family was splitting? ‘With complete indifference,’ she said at last. ‘I gave him a solicitor’s letter—and today he’s not even mentioned it. Lydia, he’s sick. We both know it’s got worse over the past year. It’s as if he’s just a shell. The person who used to live inside there has gone away someplace. I really do believe he has no feelings for anyone or anything. No conscience. He’s your father, and I know you’ve always been close. But I don’t recognise him any more. That—that monster is not the man I married. He’s dangerous.’