'Do I get any of my people?' asked Alex.
'No. You either use ours or you go without.'
'Understood.' He frowned.
'Look, you don't fancy a drink or something, do you?'
'Didn't the roses work, then? I forgot to ask.' Her tone was amused.
He paused. Took a deep breath.
'Do you fancy a drink or not?'
But the phone had already gone dead.
EIGHTEEN.
'So,' said George Widdowes.
'You're really sure about this? You're sure that you'll be able to tackle Meehan when he comes?'
'Yes,' said Alex.
'I am. So far he's had everything his own way. He's been able to pick the time and the place. Now we re going to force his hand.'
The MI-5 desk officer and the SAS captain were sitting in the ante-room to Angela Fenwick's office in Thames House.
'Tell me,' said Widdowes.
'Basically,' explained Alex, 'we bait a trap. As you know, there's a For Sale sign outside your house. What's going to happen is that you're going to move back there for a few days and in three days' time you're going to supervise the loading of all your stuff into a removals van. Is the place very full?'
Widdowes shook his head tiredly.
'Not very. This is strictly necessary, is it, all this house-moving routine?'
'We've got to do it properly. And it'll make sense to Meehan. You're afraid and you feel isolated out there by yourself, so you're moving back to London.
Maybe you've even been ordered to move back to London. Whichever, you're going to miss the place and, given that there are a couple of armed policemen patrolling the property, you decide it'll be safe to stay there for the last few nights.'
'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
