"You reckon that'll bounce him into having a go?"
Alex nodded.
"I reckon it will. And if he doesn't come in the next forty-eight hours he certainly will after he sees the furniture van being filled. He'll know that this is his last chance that if he doesn't take you now all his surveillance has gone to waste and he'll have to start from scratch again."
"You think we can set the whole thing up without spooking him?"
"Well, that's the question. Anything smells funny and he won't come he's PIRA-trained, after all. If you just moved back into the place without any security, for example, he'd be very suspicious indeed and let the whole thing go. My guess, though, is that when he sees those armed cops he'll think that you reckon you're safe."
"The armed police won't put him off?"
Alex smiled and shook his head.
"So why won't he just wait until that evening and follow the furniture van?
Follow it to my supposed new house or flat?"
"Because it won't be going anywhere. The loading'll finish about six, and then the van will be driven a couple of hundred yards down the road and parked up in a lay-by to wait for the next morning. Local removal firms often do that so that they don't have to pay their crews overtime."
"Why not wait until the next day and then follow the van?"
"Because it might go anywhere a storage facility, for example and then he'll have to start searching for your new place from scratch. Besides, he'll know that wherever you go will be ultra secure in comparison with your present place. He'll know that the Hampshire house offers by far the best chance he's likely to get."
"And you'll be waiting for him?" said Widdowes doubtfully.
"Basically, yes. I'll hide up by the river and when he comes I'll shoot him at short range with a silenced weapon.
"How will you make sure he doesn't know you're there waiting for him?"
"He won't know," said Alex quietly.
"Count on that. I've set up ambushes before."
In the car park beneath Thames House, a little over twenty-four hours later, Alex squeezed into the boot of the car that was to masquerade as Widdowes'. The BMW saloon had been customised with a boot-fitted surveillance lens and bulletproof windows.
"Are you going to be all right in there?" Widdowes asked.
"Yeah, I'll be OK. Hand us in my kit, could you, and put your own stuff on the back seat."
The drive took an hour and a half in total and by the end of it Alex was feeling light-headed and nauseated from the exhaust fumes. When Widdowes finally sprang the boot open, it was in the near darkness of the garage at Longwater Lodge. Illuminating his watch, Alex saw that it was a few minutes before 5 p.m.
"Right," he said, when he had stretched his legs for a moment or two.
"This door leads directly into the house?"
"Yes."
"And is there a room without any windows?"
"There's a cellar, yes.
"Perfect. I'll set up my stuff down there. Can you get me there without leading me past too many windows?"
Widdowes nodded and opened the door to the house. Alex, feeling slightly ridiculous, followed the tall Barbour-coated figure on his hands and knees. They reached a door, which Widdowes opened. Alex swung himself on to a descending staircase and took his bag from the older man, who then flicked a light switch and followed him down into the cellar.
It was a decent-sized place, and not too damp. In front of him was a large Potterton boiler, switched off. Against the other walls stood a wine-rack, a carpentry workbench, several bundles of magazines bound with baler twine, a case of Eley shotgun cartridges and a battered travelling trunk.
"I've got a camp bed," said Widdowes.
"I'll bring it down for you.
While he was upstairs, Alex unpacked his case. He left the clothes inside, and arranged the weaponry and kit on the carpentry workbench. There was the Glock 34, its silencer, the laser dot-marker sight on its factory-fitted slide, a spare lithium battery for the laser sight, two boxes of twenty-five hollowpoint 9mm rounds and the Recon knife. There were also a sleeping bag and a tin of black waterproof cam-cream from a survival shop in Euston, a pair of fisherman's felt soled boots from Farlow's of Pall Mall, and an all-black Rip Curl wet suit,
weight belt and jet fins from a diving equipment store in Fulham. For Alex, not usually an enthusiastic shopper, the knowledge that he'd been spending MI-5's money had made for a pleasant morning.
When he reappeared with the camp bed Widdowes appeared disconcerted by this array. In fact, he looked badly scared. His features were flushed and his eyes flickered uneasily about him. Hardly surprising, thought Alex. It couldn't be anything but terrifying to know that you were next on the list of a proven psycho like Meehan.
"Are you OK?" Alex asked.
Widdowes nodded.
"Yes, I'm OK." He laughed nervously.
"You've certainly brought the full armoury with you.
"I'm not taking any chances with this bastard," said Alex.
"He's going straight in the fucking ground. Have you got your own weapon?"
Widdowes reached inside his jacket, withdrew a Colt .38 revolver, spun the chamber and returned it to the shoulder holster.
Alex nodded. Privately he thought that if it ever came to a one-on-one between Widdowes and Meehan the MI-5 man was as good as dead, but he guessed that the heft and weight of the Colt were a good confidence booster. He turned to Widdowes.
"Look, I know you're an experienced field agent and I don't want to get your back up, but a handful of rules for the duration, yeah?"
Widdowes nodded.
"Avoid windows. I doubt he'd try and shoot you but better to be safe than sorry, so if you must go past a window keep moving. Whether inside or outside the house, don't ever present a static target and don't whatever you do speak or shout out to me don't worry about warnings, if he comes anywhere near here I'll see him before you do. I'll have him covered. Behave at all times as if you were alone in the house. Have you met up with the two police guys?"
"Yes. They're MI-5 people, in fact, in police uniforms."
"That's fine. Basically what we need them to do is mooch around the front of the house. Just wander about between there and the road, and stick their necks into the back garden every so often. They should stay together most of the time, smoke the odd fag, that sort of thing. They've got to look like lazy and incompetent jobs worths out to grass and no threat to anyone. Can you make sure they understand that?"
Widdowes nodded again.
"Otherwise, just observe your usual routine. It might help if you put an empty bottle or two out each night give the impression you're hitting the old vino.
That'll encourage him to think..."
"Yeah, I know what you're saying. Nerves shot, soft target..." Alex looked at Widdowes. His darting glances, uneven colour and paper-dry bps confirmed that he was very frightened indeed. He put a hand on the older man's shoulder.
"George, mate, we re in this together and I'm fully aware that your part is the harder one. Honestly. If you can think of a better way of nailing this fucker I'm on for it, believe me.
Widdowes pursed his lips and nodded.
"I'm also sorry to put you through a non-existent house move, but again..."
"That's OK," said Widdowes, forcing an unconvincing smile.
"I've been meaning to sort through all this junk. Get my life into some sort of order. What do you want to do about eating?"
"Well, it gets dark at about eight o'clock and I want to get into position about then. So if we have a feed at sevenish
"I'll knock something up. You're going to wait for him in the river, aren't you?"
"That's the idea."
"Have you considered how you're going to get into position without him seeing you? I mean, we have to assume he's watching the area around the house. Quite possibly from close up.