The meeting at the Cabinet had gone well. The PM signed off the mission, agreed it was in the UK’s security interests. Dr. Calder had provided him with a range of satellite feeds of Clement’s camp, the nearby runway. The team would parachute in at night. Use thermal imaging to build up a picture of the routine at the camp. Get a rough idea of its layout. A jungle drop was always a tricky thing, if just one of them missed the designated landing zone they’d be hanging upside in a tree for the rest of the night. If seen, they would give the whole mission away.
Dr. Calder had identified a clearing two kilometres from the camp. Looked like the trees had been cut to mine for Coltan but the area now lay abandoned. As safe a place as any to send the men in.
They didn’t have enough men to win a battle in the open, but that had never been the point of the SAS. The plan was to set off diversionary explosions at the runway. A sequence of bangs and flashes lasting over an hour, a hell of a lot of fireworks but nothing that would damage the landing strip. Nbotou would need to send a force to deal with it, he couldn’t risk losing the runway, it was key to his financial and military success. M16 fragmentation mines placed around the perimeter would add to the confusion: each time they were stepped on a vicious spray of ball bearings would explode at waist height. They had a reach of nearly 200m, enough to maim not just the soldier who stepped on the device, but anyone else who happened to be nearby.
Using that as the distraction, they would attack the camp itself. This time the explosions would do some damage. A four-point charge to demolish the outer wall. Rocket propelled grenades into the main building. Key to their tactic was inducing panic. Sir Clive had a suspicion than many of the boy soldiers would simply disappear into the forest if they thought they faced a real, heavily-armed and fully-prepped enemy. It was all very well pointing a gun at Congolese villagers; it was another thing knowing where to point that weapon when the SAS were coming at you out of the dark. Sir Clive suspected there’d be a lot of bullets flying about, a lot of deaths from friendly fire. He wanted his troops fully armoured up, didn’t want anyone dropped by a stray bullet.
They’d move in quickly. Clement had to be identified and disposed of. They’d rely on flash bangs, the explosives that delivered a blinding flash of light and deafened those in the vicinity. A weapon designed to disorientate, not kill. Make their way through the house. Ensure there was no escape route. Sir Clive had also advised the troops it would be no bad thing if one of their bullets happened to hit the fat Chinaman that had sold the devices to Clement. The SAS soldiers got the message, the Chinaman was selling UK defence secrets to the highest bidder, no reason why a man like that shouldn’t expect to find himself on the receiving end of British bullet.
The helicopter banked over Batley Hall before beginning its descent onto the discretely constructed helipad. It was hidden from view from the house by the arboretum at the end of the formal gardens. Sir Clive suspected Harvey would try to persuade him to test out his new weapons in a live combat situation, secure some video footage he could use for marketing purposes. We’ll see, he thought to himself. No harm in letting the troops have a play with the guns here, but a combat situation was not the place to find out whether or not they worked.
“Sir Clive, wonderful to see you,” Harvey shouted above the roar of the helicopter blades. He stepped toward him and shook him warmly by the hand. “I hear you got the go-ahead from the Cabinet. Good news, good news.”
Sir Clive nodded and turned to introduce Ed Garner, who was busy unloading kit from the chopper.
“Ed, come over here. Someone I’d like you to meet.” Ed slung the bag he was carrying to the ground and held out his hand.
“Ed Garner, glad to know you,” he said.
“Harvey Newman, we’re working alongside you boys on this one.” Ed Garner nodded. Sir Clive had told him Harvey’s security firm was providing intel on Nbotou. More smoke and mirrors, but Ed seemed to buy it. So much of America’s intelligence gathering had been outsourced to private companies you never knew who you might be working with.
“Good flight?” Harvey asked.
“Fine, thank you.” Ed replied. He looked distracted, like he had things to be getting on with and wasn’t keen on standing around making chitchat.
“Let’s leave Ed and the boys to unpack their gear, Harvey.” Sir Clive said, a hand on Harvey’s shoulder, turning and walking towards the house. “You know what it’s like, they have to carry out their checks, ensure the parachutes are packed safely, that sort of thing.”
“Sure, sure. Pleased to meet you Ed, and good luck,” he replied cheerfully. Once they were out of earshot his face became serious.
“Now, Sir Clive, take me through the strategy for taking over Nbotou’s camp. Everything needs to run like clockwork if we’re to install our man to run his operation.”
Harvey listened carefully as Sir Clive summarised the plan; for once in his life he didn’t have a single suggestion or comment to make. Sir Clive had everything covered; he appeared to be as good as his reputation, a rare thing in this line of business.
39
Archie made his way through customs, the tracking device consigned to a small holdall he handed over at check-in. He had nothing else with him other than a wallet, phone, his passport and tickets. He’d buy what he needed when he landed in Burundi. He had a couple of contacts he could chase up, both ex-military, based in the city. They were the sort of men you only found in Africa, people who could get hold of anything — information, weapons, whatever kit you needed. As long as the price was right.
He smiled politely at the customs officer as he waved him through and felt a twinge of pain in his jaw as he did so. He’d bitten the spook’s hand so hard it had almost dislocated, through the muscle at the base of the thumb, into the tendon running to the trigger finger. The gun had dropped instantly, the MI6 Officer too shocked to even scream. Archie caught the automatic in his bound hands before it hit the floor, fired two shots into each of his captors’ heads without so much as pausing for breath. All over in a matter of seconds.
He was relieved, relieved the years of drinking hadn’t completely dulled his instincts, relieved his reaction speed was still as sharp as it needed to be. Of course if I’d been younger they’d never have got me into the boot of the car in the first place, he admitted to himself, and they were only a bunch of spooks, not real soldiers, but at least he’d made it to the airport in time.
He checked the departure boards then wandered into a bookshop, grabbed a handful of maps and travel guides on Burundi and the Democratic Republic of Congo. He intended to spend the flight cramming as much information into his head as he could — geography, languages, different ethnic groups and the customs in each region. It paid to be well-prepared. It paid to be well-informed. You never knew what piece of information might save your life. His only fear was that Jack would be beyond the range of the tracking device when he landed.
40
The sun climbed higher in the sky, shadows retreating as it moved overhead, as if scared by the intensity of the heat. The jeep had a puncture. Gustav’s fear that the boy could barely drive the car had proved well-founded. He’d hit a sharp stone sticking up from the track not far from the runway, and the blowout had almost sent them careering into a ditch.