pot of money on his head and a load of
priceless intelligence to be got out of him, and he’s sitting there for the
plucking.
Paul?
’
‘Still here, Nine.’
Still here, but looking at the left-hand
screen, as they all are. At the stern of the mother ship. At the shadow on her near
side. At the inflatable dinghy lying flat on the water. At the eight crouched figures
aboard.
‘Paul? Give me Jeb. Jeb, are you
there? I want you to listen, both of you. Jeb and Paul. Are you both
listening?’
They are.
‘Listen to me.’ They’ve
already said they are but never mind. ‘If the sea team grabs the prize and gets
him on to the boat and out of territorial waters into the hands of the interrogators
while you lot are sitting on your arses up the hill, how d’you think
that’s
going to look? Jesus Christ, Jeb, they told me you were picky,
but think what’s to lose, man!’
On the screen, the inflatable is no longer
visible at the mother ship’s side. Jeb’s battle-painted face inside its
scant balaclava is like an ancient war mask.
‘Well, not a lot more to say to that,
then, is there, Paul, I don’t suppose, not now you’ve said it all?’ he
says quietly.
But Paul hasn’t said it all, or not to
his satisfaction. And yet again, somewhat to his surprise, he has the words ready, no
fumble, no hesitation.
‘With due respect, Nine, there is not,
in my judgement, asufficient case for the land team to go in. Or
anyone else, for that matter.’
Is this the longest silence of his life? Jeb
is crouching on the ground with his back to him, busying himself with a kit-bag. Behind
Jeb, his men are already standing. One – he’s not sure which – has his head bowed
and seems to be praying. Shorty has taken off his gloves and is licking each fingertip
in turn. It’s as if the minister’s message has reached them by other, more
occult means.
‘Paul?’
‘Sir.’
‘Kindly note I am
not
the
field commander in this situation. Military decisions are the sole province of the
senior soldier on the ground, as you are aware. However, I may
recommend
. You
will therefore inform Jeb that, on the basis of the operational intelligence before me,
I
recommend
but do not
command
that he would be well advised to put
Operation Wildlife
into immediate effect. The decision to do so is of
course his own.’
But Jeb, having caught the drift of this
message, and preferring not to wait for the rest, has vanished into the dark with his
comrades.
*
Now with his night-vision glasses, now
without, he peered into the density but saw no more sign of Jeb or his men.
On the first screen the inflatable was
closing on the shore. Surf was lapping the camera, black rocks were approaching.
The second screen was dead.
He moved to the third. The camera zoomed in
on house seven.
The front door was shut, the windows still
uncurtained and unlit. He saw no phantom light held by a shrouded hand. Eight masked men
in black were clambering out of the inflatable, onepulling another.
Now two of the men were kneeling, training their weapons at a point above the camera.
Three more men stole into the camera’s lens and disappeared.
A camera switched to the coast road and the
terrace, panning across the doors. The door to house seven was open. An armed shadow
stood guard beside it. A second armed shadow slipped through it; a third, taller shadow
slipped after him: Shorty.
Just in time the camera caught little Jeb
with his Welsh miner’s wading walk disappearing down the lighted stone staircase
to the beach. Above the clatter of the wind came a clicking sound like dominoes
collapsing: two sets of clicks, then nothing. He thought he heard a yell but he was
listening too hard to know for sure. It was the wind. It was the nightingale. No, it was
the owl.
The lights on the steps went out, and after
them the orange sodium street lamps along the metalled track.
priceless intelligence to be got out of him, and he’s sitting there for the
plucking.
Paul?
’
‘Still here, Nine.’
Still here, but looking at the left-hand
screen, as they all are. At the stern of the mother ship. At the shadow on her near
side. At the inflatable dinghy lying flat on the water. At the eight crouched figures
aboard.
‘Paul? Give me Jeb. Jeb, are you
there? I want you to listen, both of you. Jeb and Paul. Are you both
listening?’
They are.
‘Listen to me.’ They’ve
already said they are but never mind. ‘If the sea team grabs the prize and gets
him on to the boat and out of territorial waters into the hands of the interrogators
while you lot are sitting on your arses up the hill, how d’you think
that’s
going to look? Jesus Christ, Jeb, they told me you were picky,
but think what’s to lose, man!’
On the screen, the inflatable is no longer
visible at the mother ship’s side. Jeb’s battle-painted face inside its
scant balaclava is like an ancient war mask.
‘Well, not a lot more to say to that,
then, is there, Paul, I don’t suppose, not now you’ve said it all?’ he
says quietly.
But Paul hasn’t said it all, or not to
his satisfaction. And yet again, somewhat to his surprise, he has the words ready, no
fumble, no hesitation.
‘With due respect, Nine, there is not,
in my judgement, asufficient case for the land team to go in. Or
anyone else, for that matter.’
Is this the longest silence of his life? Jeb
is crouching on the ground with his back to him, busying himself with a kit-bag. Behind
Jeb, his men are already standing. One – he’s not sure which – has his head bowed
and seems to be praying. Shorty has taken off his gloves and is licking each fingertip
in turn. It’s as if the minister’s message has reached them by other, more
occult means.
‘Paul?’
‘Sir.’
‘Kindly note I am
not
the
field commander in this situation. Military decisions are the sole province of the
senior soldier on the ground, as you are aware. However, I may
recommend
. You
will therefore inform Jeb that, on the basis of the operational intelligence before me,
I
recommend
but do not
command
that he would be well advised to put
Operation Wildlife
into immediate effect. The decision to do so is of
course his own.’
But Jeb, having caught the drift of this
message, and preferring not to wait for the rest, has vanished into the dark with his
comrades.
*
Now with his night-vision glasses, now
without, he peered into the density but saw no more sign of Jeb or his men.
On the first screen the inflatable was
closing on the shore. Surf was lapping the camera, black rocks were approaching.
The second screen was dead.
He moved to the third. The camera zoomed in
on house seven.
The front door was shut, the windows still
uncurtained and unlit. He saw no phantom light held by a shrouded hand. Eight masked men
in black were clambering out of the inflatable, onepulling another.
Now two of the men were kneeling, training their weapons at a point above the camera.
Three more men stole into the camera’s lens and disappeared.
A camera switched to the coast road and the
terrace, panning across the doors. The door to house seven was open. An armed shadow
stood guard beside it. A second armed shadow slipped through it; a third, taller shadow
slipped after him: Shorty.
Just in time the camera caught little Jeb
with his Welsh miner’s wading walk disappearing down the lighted stone staircase
to the beach. Above the clatter of the wind came a clicking sound like dominoes
collapsing: two sets of clicks, then nothing. He thought he heard a yell but he was
listening too hard to know for sure. It was the wind. It was the nightingale. No, it was
the owl.
The lights on the steps went out, and after
them the orange sodium street lamps along the metalled track.
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