Authors: Jeremy Duns
Even if he could get out of the building, what about Claire and Ben? Ben was asleep in his bedroom, and Claire would be home from work soon. He couldn’t leave them behind. Who knew what
the men in that car might be capable of? Taking his family would be the obvious way to stop him running, and he didn’t think they would hesitate to use it.
He would stay in the flat, he decided. They might not come tonight, and they might not come tomorrow. But sooner or later they would come, and he’d be ready for them.
But first he had to get Claire and Ben to safety.
He carried out a rapid but thorough search of the flat, looking for any sign of disturbance. He checked above and below every surface, and detached the telephone receiver to check for bugs. When
he was satisfied that everything was clean, he went down to the basement and prised the holdall from the space beneath the floorboards. He unzipped it, and the blued finish of the ridges on the
butt of the M57 gleamed in the dim light. Beneath it lay the reassuring shape of the Husqvarna, and next to that were the passports and several thousand kronor wrapped in rubber bands.
He closed the bag and carried it upstairs, then went back to the telephone and called a number he had long since committed to memory. Perhaps someone else would pick up, he thought. Perhaps they
had moved, or died.
‘Hello?’
Dark exhaled, and felt his shoulders relaxing marginally at the familiar voice.
‘Gunnar. It’s the Englishman.’
‘Is it her?’
‘I think so. It’s hard to tell from here. Can’t we move any closer?’
‘No.’
Sammy Oka glared at Joshua Ephibe, fidgeting in the passenger seat next to him, and cursed himself for having persuaded him to switch sides.
For his part, Ephibe was equally ambivalent about having been ‘tamed’. Thanks to the Selous Scouts’ medical facilities and the food in the mess his ribs had fully healed and he
felt physically fitter than he had in years, since his first days as an instructor. Oka had also delivered on the promise that he would see his parents again. But while it had been wonderful to
reunite with them after so long in the field, the hurt of leaving again so soon afterwards had been almost more painful than if he hadn’t seen them at all. But he knew it was too late to back
out. Although Oka and the others had given him several loyalty tests, including sentry duty at the barracks in which he’d been given what he had correctly guessed was an unloaded rifle, he
had no weapon now. Oka clutched a nine-millimetre Makarov pistol in his right hand, and although it wasn’t aimed at him Ephibe had no doubt it would be if he tried to escape or hinder the
mission in any way. And, of course, his parents were being looked after only so long as he co-operated. In effect, they were now hostages. And after the operation was over, he would have been drawn
even deeper in by having taken part in it – even if he deserted, his old comrades would shoot him on sight. He had nowhere to call home now but the Selous Scouts, and the sooner he got used
to the idea the better.
He lifted the binoculars to his eyes again, and at that moment the woman turned towards the street and he saw her face straight on. His stomach coiled in on itself.
‘It’s her.’
Oka looked at him.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
Oka whistled to himself. He picked up the Pye Pocketfone and held down the button.
‘Leopard One, this is Leopard Two. We have visual confirmation of Target One entering the building. Over.’
She knew something was wrong the moment she entered the flat. Then she saw the drawers askew in the bureau and the holdall on the floor and her pulse started racing. Erik was
standing by the window. He walked to her and they kissed, but he drew apart abruptly and she saw his face was stark and drawn.
‘Darling, what is it? Tell me!’
He took her hands in his, then breathed in deeply.
‘Everything’s fine. Ben’s asleep. But something’s come up – something urgent. It’s going to be a little difficult and confusing, but I need you to trust me
completely. Can you please do that?’
She nodded. ‘Of course. But what—’
‘I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But we don’t have the time now. I’ve packed some clothes for you and Ben. In a few minutes, you’re going to go downstairs
with him and get in the car. You’re going to drive to Värtahamnen, as fast as you can without drawing the attention of the police. It’s a short drive, just twenty kilometres away.
As soon as you get there you’re going to go to the port and find someone with a motorboat – look for a sturdy one with a lower deck – and pay them to take the two of you to the
Finnish archipelago, to a small island called Utö. I’ve marked it for you.’ He took a tourist map from the coffee table and placed it in her hands.
She made to speak again, but he put a finger to her lips. ‘This will be more than enough for the journey and anything else you might need on the way.’ He peeled off the notes and
held them out. She took them, staring at him with incomprehension.
‘Where did you get all this from? And where are you going to be?’
‘Here. I need to deal with something. I hope it won’t take me long. Once you get to Utö you’ll be met by a couple, Gunnar and Helena Hansson. They know me, and
they’ll look after you and Ben for a few days. You’ll be safe there. Now can you go and wake Ben up while I make sure everything’s ready?’
She looked into his eyes for a long moment. ‘I need to know more about what’s going on, Erik. I need to know how you got all this money.’ There was an accusatory edge to her
voice – they could have used it, for food, or clothes for Ben. Then her voice softened. ‘You can tell me. I won’t judge you. I also have secrets. I think—’
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his face suddenly so fierce that for a moment she was frightened of him. The outline of his skull was visible beneath his skin and the muscles in his jaw were
clenching and unclenching manically. She winced from the pressure of his hands, and he took them away.
‘I’m sorry. But we just don’t have time.’ He looked into her eyes, and his expression was now pleading. ‘You and Ben need to get out of here
now
. We can
talk about it later, when we’re all safe. But please. You need to leave.’
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded and walked towards Ben’s bedroom.
Captain John Weale sat in the kitchen of the flat on the southern side of the square and stared at the clock on the wall. It was ten past six. He was tired and hot and
uncomfortable in his own skin, ironically because it was his own skin, which he hadn’t fully inhabited for a very long time – even when back in Inkomo, Scouts changed their field
appearance as little as possible to help maintain their cover mentality – but he had now bathed and shaved off the beard he had spent nearly six months growing in the bush and felt almost
effeminate as a result. He’d also thoroughly scrubbed away the greasepaint and make-up, although he was still finding bits of it in his ears and in his hairline.
But his discomfort was also because of this operation. He was trying to keep at bay the nagging thought that it was a mistake, but it kept wriggling back into his mind. The Commander had been
his usual confident self about its chances, but this was a far cry from kidnapping a few terrs in the bush, or even across the border in Botswana. They were in the middle of a Western European
capital, and because of the Scandinavian latitude the best they could hope for was twilight. The fact he had to operate unseen made it even more frustrating: he didn’t even have a sightline
to the targets’ flat in case he was spotted.
He was also finding it increasingly irritating to be cooped up with Pete Voers, whom he had always found to be small-minded and boorish. He’d banished him into the living room so he could
concentrate, but he could occasionally hear him shuffling around the place, and each movement was like nails dragged across a blackboard – he was used to being able to control every movement
his men took, but Voers didn’t take orders well.
Still, Weale thought, he had to admit the man had done a good job of setting them up, especially as he’d done it in just a few weeks. Usually, putting together a safe house like this would
have involved a cell of five or six and taken a few months. Voers had been working with just one other man, a Selous Scout who spoke some Swedish as he’d once been married to a girl from
Gothenburg, but had nevertheless managed to find a flat just around the corner from the target, and which had three entrances to boot.
Weale was working with a four-man team, the minimum possible for such a job. The weak point was Joshua Ephibe, the terr they’d captured in the raid near Mozambique and turned, but they
needed him as a spotter for the girl and Weale had every confidence Sammy Oka could keep an eye on him. The other two members of the team were Corporals Abel Makuba and Peter Tandi, both highly
experienced and trusted officers. Makuba had recently been part of a team that had abducted a ZIPRA official in Botswana, while Tandi was an expert marksman, and had spent some time in Europe as a
youth.
For cover, Pete Voers had established locally that he was the manager of a jazz band on a small Scandinavian tour, and they’d flown into Arlanda eight days earlier with instrument cases in
hand on expertly forged passports. Weale was a Brit named Frederick Collins, supposedly a booking agent, while the others were Tanzanians. The jazz band was good cover for a group of black men in
an overwhelmingly white city, and it also gave them a good reason for irregular movements in and out of the building.
Voers had bought clothing locally so they would blend in. Weale’s slacks and shirt were both a little too close-fitting for his own comfort, and it was peculiar seeing the men dressed in
European fashions after so long in the bush in camo gear, but even there Voers had picked well – nothing too shabby, but nothing too flashy, either.
The safe house itself had also been well selected. The block of flats had only two other tenants, one of them a middle-aged businessman who worked in the city centre and the other a
self-employed electrician. Neither was home much, and the cell members had quickly established polite but distant relations with them, jokingly promising not to rehearse in the building.
Voers had paid the rent in cash, and had also bought cars from a second-hand dealer in the area and, from a contact in the north of city, several Makarovs with the numbers filed off, which they
had stored in a lock-up garage less than a mile away. They had used the guitar cases to bring them into the flat. So Weale had to hand it to Voers: he’d done a thorough job in a short period
of time. But he nevertheless couldn’t wait until Sunday, when the man was due to travel on to Copenhagen and leave them in peace.
Weale glanced at his watch. It was time to check in. He reached for the Pocketfone and held down the button.
‘This is Leopard One to Leopard Two – what’s the current situation, over?’
He removed his finger and waited. There was a screech of static, and then a tinnier version of Sammy Oka’s voice burst into the room.
‘This is Leopard Two. Targets One and Two are still inside the flat with Hippy. Over.’
Going by Voers’ schedule, the boyfriend should already have left for his shift at the soup kitchen. Why hadn’t he? Weale didn’t want to ask more questions than necessary
– Oka knew what he was doing. He hoped he did, anyway.
He pushed his anxieties aside.
‘Report back as soon as you know more. Over and out.’
Ben was still wiping sleep from his eyes as his parents ushered him into the hallway of the flat. He looked up at his father as Claire helped him put on his shoes.
‘Pappa, aren’t you coming with us?’
Dark crouched down and smiled at his son. ‘No, I have to stay here for a short while, but I’ll come out and join you very soon. Look after Mamma for me, won’t you?’
Ben nodded solemnly. ‘Will I have to be brave, too?’
Dark forced a reassuring laugh from his lips. ‘I don’t think so. But if you do, remember what we always say. You might
look
like a little boy –’ he stretched out
a hand and placed it gently on Ben’s chest – ‘but in here . . .’
‘I’ve got the heart of a lion. I know, Pappa.’
Ben had always been small for his age, and it was advice Dark had given him in his first week at kindergarten, repeated often since.
‘Good. You’ll like the island, I promise. Some friends of mine live there. Now before you go, do I get a hug?’
‘Leopard One, this is Leopard Two. Targets One and Two have left the building, and are heading for their car. Please advise, over.’
‘Any sign she might be on to us? Over.’
There was silence for a few seconds, then: ‘She’s carrying a shoulder bag, but it doesn’t look substantial. Over.’
Weale closed his eyes and considered the information. It was tricky. It was risky to move now – there were far too many people around. They had decided to move at eleven if she was
identified, and barring an emergency that was when they would do it. The bag might mean she had spotted them, or simply that she was on an errand – going shopping for groceries, for example
– and she’d taken the child along because the boyfriend had insisted, or perhaps because she wanted to calm him down. Weale remembered his daughter’s temper tantrums at that age,
before things had gone sour between him and Mary, and how he would drive her around the farm in the Jeep until she’d fall asleep. So it was probably something like that.
On the other hand, it might just be something else. He pressed the button and leaned into the microphone.
‘Leopard Two, stay in position for the moment. Leopard Three, follow her at a discreet distance and report every five minutes. Over and out.’
Dark watched from the window as Claire bundled Ben into the Beetle and accelerated down the street. By the trees, the Opel remained in place.
He drew the curtain and sighed with relief. They were away, thank God.
He looked around the room, which suddenly seemed desolate without them. A few of Ben’s stuffed toys were lying in the middle of the floor, and he picked them up and put them in his room.
Then he walked into the kitchen area and found the bottle of
akvavit
he had bought from the government shop a few months earlier. It was strong stuff, reminiscent of the Czech haymakers
his old boss Templeton had once favoured – perhaps that was what drew him to it, a hair-shirt reminder of his past.