The next part of the job was to ‘Mac down’ the pictures. I plugged the lead into the phone, clipped it into the receiver end of the camera and clicked on its internal modem. I dialled the same London number and got the same recorded message. I pressed Send on the camera; the telephone was taking the information from the digital camera and bouncing it off a satellite up there somewhere. Pictures would come up on an Apple Mac screen at the other end and hard copies would be made. Within minutes Elizabeth and Lynn would have my nice holiday snaps of Sarah and her two playmates on their desks.
After transmission, I switched off the phone to save the battery. It was pointless leaving it on; they weren’t going to get back to me straight away. If they did, the phone’s message service would intercept the call anyway, so no problems. I was in no rush; even if they said, ‘End-ex,’ I couldn’t come out of here until nightfall.
Events had moved on since my briefing. I tried to imagine what would be going on in London. Elizabeth would probably be at home, as it was the weekend. A car would be sent to her country seat to bring her to the operations room in Northolt, North London. The opening scene of James Bond’s
Tomorrow Never Dies
, with large screens and computer projections on VDUs, wasn’t that far from the truth. The people receiving my int wouldn’t have a clue what it was about, or who it was from. Elizabeth would lock herself away with Lynn somewhere and look at it, probably complaining that it had taken me so long, and then drink some more tea. From what I could remember, it seemed very fashionable to drink a herbal blend at the moment. But not her, she’d be throwing Earl Grey down her neck. Meanwhile, I waited out in this hole.
Elizabeth, not Lynn, would make the decision on what I was to do next. I wished again that I knew who she was; I hated it when people had so much power over me, and I didn’t know who had given it to them or why.
I had my fingers crossed that they wouldn’t want a technical device put in to find out who these people were and what they were up to, because that would entail me doing a CTR (close target reconnaissance) to help whoever was being sent to do the job. That would mean getting into the house and working out the best way to bring the technical device in, as well as describing the make-up of the general area, the size of the house, how many storeys, the kind of doors, the kind of locks. A locks recce is a task in itself; it means going right up to the door or window to study them in detail. Sometimes you put a little bit of talcum powder on the lock, then press Plasticine into the key-way, pull it out and put it in a secure container so you can take imprints later. Then, of course, you have to remember to remove all the dust from the lock.
A CTR has to answer every conceivable question that might be asked by a third party who’s been tasked with making entry. Are the windows locked? What is the area of clear glass? Of frosted glass? What are the main access routes to and from the target? Is the target overlooked by any buildings? Are there any garages or outbuildings or carparking spaces? How many doors are secured, how many are loose? Do they make a noise when they open? They would need to know to take in some oil, to stop any creaking.
Are there any good approach routes? Any major obstacles? Is there lighting? What are the weather conditions like? What are the routes to the target? What’s the general condition of those routes? What would you need to get to the target? What type of ground – ploughed, pasture, boggy? What sort of natural obstacles are there? What is the time and distance from the DOP (drop off point)? Where is the DOP? Are there any animals about? Dogs, horses, geese? And that was assuming I could get onto the target at all, past the proximity lights.
The list of questions can seem endless, especially when you’re two hours into a CTR, first light is approaching and you only seem to be a third of the way down the list. Where are the best places to put OPs in? In this particular case, that was easy: I was in it. Where would be the best place to put long-range technical devices in for a video soak? That would be somewhere over the other side of the lake. Could we have a helicopter trigger? Could we have a helicopter that just flies around maybe three or four Ks out?
Once I’d gathered all that information on the exterior, I would have to CTR inside the house. For that I’d need to take in an infra-red camera, or buy commercially available infra-red filters to fit my camera, so that I could take pictures without disturbing the people in residence. They’d want to know the full estate agent’s monty. What are the dimensions and layouts of every room? Where is the electrical supply? If you’re putting listening or picture devices in, batteries only last so long, so you might have to tap into the mains. Where is the best place to put a listening device? And that might entail looking at the direction of the floorboards, because if you’re trying to hide an antenna, you’d put it in the gaps between them; but that also means taking a compass bearing of the floorboards, so the scaleys (communications personnel) can work out their antenna theory.
Stuff like this takes days and days to organize, and it would be my job to stay and wait with eyes on target while everything was prepared. If my stores ran out I would have to be resupplied via a dead letterbox and outside help – and even that would be a pain in the arse to sort out.
As far as I was concerned, my job was now finished. I’d found Sarah and confirmed it with photography. I didn’t want to be a part of anything that happened next.
I cut away from it by thinking about a job I’d done in the jungle once. We’d got to our report line, it was pouring down with rain and we were gagging for a hot brew, which we couldn’t sort out because we were on hard routine. We transmitted our sit rep, something to the effect of, ‘We are at the river head, what now?’
We were told, ‘Wait out.’
About four hours later they came back to us and said, ‘OP any track.’
What the fuck did they mean, OP any track? What good would that do us? We asked, ‘What track?’
They came back, ‘OP any track that runs west to east.’
They had to be mad. We sent back: ‘We can’t find one running west to east. However, we’ve found one running east to west and we’re going to OP that one.’
All we got back was, ‘East-west is good, out.’ Either they were taking the piss, or the world’s most useless officer was manning the desk that night. We never found out which. You never do.
Nothing was happening. Even the fishermen had gone back to their tents for lunch.
I’d just decided it was pizza time, and was about to reach for one of my wraps when I heard movement on the ground, and soon afterwards, rapid, heavy breathing.
The distinctive, metallic tinkle of a name tag on a collar became louder as the dog got nearer. I hadn’t seen anything around the target that identified it as having a dog, so it probably wasn’t from the house. But the name tag meant the animal was domestic, and that meant there would probably be people with it.
I began to hear aggressive sniffing; seconds later, a wet, dirty nose was nudging the hide. Maybe he was a fan of WalMart’s Four Seasons.
I moved my hand slowly to my pocket, easing out the Tazer and the pepper spray. I didn’t know if the pepper would work on dogs; they can be immune to some of this shit. One thing I knew for sure: he wouldn’t enjoy the Tazer. But then again, the yelping would alert everybody – and what if the shock killed him stone dead? I would have to drag him in with me and have a smelly, wet and very dead dog as my new best mate.
The sniffing seemed just inches from my ear. This dog was excited; it knew it could be din-dins time.
A young woman called, ‘Bob! Where are you? Here, Bob!’ I recognized the voice.
Bob carried on sniffing around the OP. Straight away I thought, I’m a British journalist working for a tabloid newspaper. I’m doing a story on the famous people hiding in the house, and I want to get pictures of their illicit affair. I’ll jump straight in with questions before they can ask any. Do you know anything about them? Do you live round here? You could make a lot of money if you tell us what you know about them…
The brain has two orbs. One side processes numbers and analyses information, the other is the creative bit, where we visualize things – and if you visualize situations, you can usually work out in advance how to deal with them. The more you visualize, the better you will deal with them. It might sound like something from a tree huggers’ workshop, but it does the business.
My eyes were glued to the target, but my ears were with the dog. It’s nearly always this sort of third-party shit that compromises you, and dogs can be the worst of all. They can detect your every breath and movement from as much as a mile away under favourable conditions – which it seemed I had given him. Dogs have very poor eyesight, only half as good as man’s, but their hearing is twice as good. The wind was blowing from the lake towards the dog. He might have heard me, but I was sure it was an odour that was attracting him. It’s not just food smells that provide a target; so does body odour, or clothing, especially if it’s wet. Soap, deodorant, leather, tobacco, polish, petrol and many others are all a giveaway – you name it. Who knows what it was in this case.
The more Bob sniffed, the more I came to the conclusion that he was after the pizza. No matter how much I’d wrapped it up, his nose wasn’t fooled. Cannabis smugglers wrap eucalyptus leaves around their stuff to put off sniffer dogs, but it doesn’t work: the mutts can smell both at the same time and know they’re going to get a nice chocolate drop as a reward.
I heard a man’s voice no more than twenty metres behind me, but I hoped he was in one of the dips. ‘Bob! Where are you? Come…’
I recognized his voice as well. I’d tripped over these guys last night, and now they were going to return the favour.
The girl said, ‘Where is he, Jimmy?’
Jimmy was angry. ‘I told you we should keep the dog on a fucking leash, man, or back in the car.’
She sounded as if she’d started to cry a little. ‘My parents will kill me.’
He started to creep. ‘It’s OK, Bob will be OK. I’m sorry.’
I hoped they were more interested in making up than they were in following Bob into my bush. But I was ready, I’d just stick with my tabloid story; they’d be able to see the camera. Besides, if I was a reporter I wouldn’t have told him last night. I’d just have to keep the bow hidden.
They obviously had no idea that I was there yet, but Bob did, the nosey little fucker. The girl was still fretting. ‘I gotta go back. My parents will freak if I’m late with the car
and
I’ve lost Bob.’
He wasn’t impressed. ‘OK, OK, I told you I’d get you home on time.’ He sounded pissed off; he could see all hope of a midday knee-trembler in the woods evaporating.
I heard giggling; he was giving it one last try. ‘Jimbo, not here! I gotta get home. Bob, come on, boy, let’s go!’
Bob was having none of it. He was sniffing big time at the OP. Next thing I knew, the dog’s face was straight in front of me, demanding his share of the pizza. I gently scooped up a handful of earth and flicked it at his eyes. Bob now thought the pizza man was putting up a fight. He backed off, but not as much as I’d hoped, and started barking. I had fucked up but I’d had no choice. As soon as he barked, they knew where he was.
The girl must have come over the brow. Her voice was much clearer. ‘Bob! Oh, look, Jimmy, he’s found something. What have you found, Bob?’
I got myself ready.
‘What have you found, boy?’
The moment she saw me, I would launch into my reporter’s spiel.
‘What’s going on, Bob?’
Bob’s arse was in the air, his shoulders more or less on the ground with his front legs splayed, and he was jumping back and then coming forward and barking. I kept my eyes on target and now my ears on her as she started to walk directly towards the hide.
I heard the guy shout from somewhere behind me, very pissed off: ‘Come on, let’s go. Bob… come!’
I saw the first-floor curtains twitch.
Bob was still leaping around with excitement, and on top of that I heard a vehicle. The tyres rumbled along on the dirt track.
As Bob’s nose once again came up to the cam net I decided to give him the good news with the pepper spray. He jumped back, whelped and ran to Mommy.
I heard the girl: ‘Bob, see, serves you right! Stop messing around!’ She probably thought he’d got his nose bitten by something.
I listened as they shuffled through the sand. Jimmy was still behind somewhere, complaining. Next time they slipped into the woods he’d lock Bob in the car again to steam up the windows, like last night.
I got my head back on the ground, watching and listening, just waiting for shit to happen.
The Explorer had come back. Two up. I looked up just before it turned left off the track and downhill towards the garage.
It came down the hill and headed away from me, towards the garage. Too Thin To Win was still in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t make out his new playmate in the passenger seat.
The wagon stopped just short of the garage and the side door of the house opened. Sarah again. She was looking at the woods behind me, keeping a wary eye out for Bob and his friends. I watched her and tried to keep contact with her eyes. I would know if she suspected anything. I watched her scan the tree line, uphill and then back down again, towards me. As her eyes approached my OP I moved mine out of contact. I couldn’t look at her. A sixth sense can sometimes let you know when you’re being looked at, and I didn’t want to take the chance.