and packed it away, full of frustration. I wanted to know more. At the same time I was on a high. If we made it back to the UK with this stuff, I'd have cracked it with Simmonds.
It was 3:30 a.m. There was nothing to do but wait for three hours or so until the first wave of aircraft started to arrive and depart, creating enough activity for us to blend in.
I let the backrest down a bit and tried to get my neck into a comfortable position, but I couldn't relax. My mind was racing. The whole operation in Gibraltar had been a setup so that PIRA and the Colombians could keep making money.
That was one thing, but where did Kev and I fit into the scheme of things? I lay there and listened to the patter of rain.
For Euan and me it had all started on March 3, less than a week before the shootings. We were both on different jobs and had got lifted off and sent to Lisbum, HQ of the British army in Northern Ireland. From there it was a quick move by Puma to Stirling Lines in Hereford, England, the home of the Special Air Service.
We were taken straight to regimental headquarters, and the moment I saw the china cups and cookies outside the briefing room I knew that something big was in the offing. Last time that had happened, the prime minister had been here.
The room was in semidarkness and packed. There was a large screen at the back of a stage and tiered seats so that everyone got a good view.
We were looking for somewhere to sit when I heard, 'Hey, over here, dick spot Kev and Slack Pat were sitting drinking tea. With them were the other two members of their four-man team, Geoff and Steve. All were from A Squadron, doing their six months on the counterterrorist team.
Euan turned to Kev and said, 'Know what this job is about?'
'We're off to Gib, mate. PIRA's planning a bomb.'
The commanding officer got up on the stage and the room fell silent.
'Two problems,' he said.
'Number one, a shortage of time. You leave immediately after this briefing. Number two, shortage of solid intelligence. However, Joint Operations Committee wants the Regiment to deploy. You will get as much information as we know now, and as it comes in during your flight and once on the ground.'
I thought. What the fuck are Euan and I doing here? Surely it would be illegal for us to work outside Northern Ireland? I kept my mouth shut; if I started querying the decision, they might send me back and I'd miss out.
I looked around and saw members of RHQ, the operations officer, and the world's supply of intelligence corps. The final member of the team was an ammunitions technical officer, a bomb disposal expert on attachment to the counter-terrorism team.
Someone I had never seen before moved toward the stage, a tea cup in one hand, a cookie in the other. He stood to the right-hand side of the stage by the lectern. There was an overnight bag by his feet.
'My name is Simmonds, and I run the Northern Ireland desk for the intelligence service from London. The people behind you are a mix of service and military intelligence officers.
First, a very brief outline of the events that have brought us all here today.'
Judging by the bag, it looked as if he would be coming with us. The lights were dimmed, and a slide projector lit the screen behind him.
'Last year,' he said, 'we learned that a PIRA team had based itself in southern Spain. We intercepted mail going to the homes of known players from Spain and found a postcard from Sean Savage in the Costa del Sol.'
A slide came up on the screen.
'Our Sean,' Simmonds said with a half smile, 'told Mummy and Daddy he was working abroad. It rang a few alarm bells when we read it, because the work young Savage is best at is bomb making.'
Was he making a joke? No, he didn't look the sort.
'Then in November two men went through Madrid airport on their way from Malaga to Dublin. They carried Irish passports, and in a routine check the Spanish sent the details to Madrid, who, in turn, passed them with photographs to London. It turned out that both passports were false.'
I thought to myself. Stupid timing by them, really. Terrorist incidents in Northern Ireland tended to decrease in the summer months when PIRA members took their wives and kids to the Mediterranean for a fortnight of sun and sand. The funny thing was that the RUC--Royal Ulster Constabulary-also took their vacations in the same places, and they'd all bump into each other in the bars. These two characters had drawn attention to themselves; if they'd passed through Malaga airport during the tourist season, they might have gotten away with it.
It turned out that one of the passport holders was Sean Savage, but it was the identity of the second man that had made everybody concerned.
Simmonds showed his next slide.
'Daniel Martin McCann.
I'm sure you know more about him than I do.' He gave a no-fucking-way sort of smile.
'Mad Danny' had really earned his name. Linked to twenty-six killings, he had been lifted often, but had been put away for only two years.
To British intelligence, Simmonds said, the combination of McCann and Savage on the Costa del Sol could mean only one of two things: either PIRA was going to attack a British target on the Spanish mainland, or there was going to be an attack on Gibraltar.
'One thing's for sure,' he said.
'They weren't there to top off their suntans.'
At last there was a round of laughter. I could see Simmonds liked that, as if he'd practiced his one-liners so the timing was just right. Despite that, I was warming to the man.
It wasn't that often you got people making jokes at a briefing as important as this one.
The slide changed again to a street map of Gibraltar. I was listening to Simmonds but at the same time thinking of my infantry posting there in the 1970s. I'd had a whale of a time.
'Gibraltar is a soft target,' Simmonds said.
'There are several potential locations for a bomb, such as the Governor's residence or the law courts, but our threat assessment is that the most likely target will be the garrison regiment, the Royal Anglians. Every Tuesday morning the band of the First Battalion parades for the changing of the guard ceremony. We think the most likely site for a bomb is a square that the band marches into after the parade. A bomb could easily be concealed in a car there.'
He might have added that from a bomber's point of view it would be a near-perfect location. Because of the confined area, the blast would be tamped and therefore more effective.
'Following this assessment we stopped the ceremony on December 11. The local media reported that the Governor's guardhouse needed urgent redecoration' slight smile 'In fact, we needed time while we gathered more intelligence to stop it needing rebuilding.'
Not as good as his last one, but there were still a few subdued laughs.
'The local police were then reinforced by plainclothes officers from the UK, and their surveillance paid off. When the ceremony resumed on February 23, a woman, ostensibly taking a vacation on the Costa del Sol, made a trip to the Rock and photographed the parade. She was covertly checked and was found to be traveling on a stolen Irish passport.
'The following week she was there again, only this time she tagged along behind the bandsmen as they marched to the square. Even my shortsighted mother-in-law could have worked out that she was doing recon for the arrival of an Active Service Unit.'
There was loud laughter. He'd done it again. I wasn't too sure if we were all laughing at his jokes or at the fact that he kept on telling them. Who the fuck was this man? This should have been one of the most serious briefings ever. Either he just didn't give a fuck or he was so powerful no one was going to say a word against him. Whatever, I could already tell his presence in Gibraltar would be a real bonus.
Simmonds stopped smiling.
'Our intelligence tells us that the bombing is to take place sometime this week. However, there is no sign that either McCann or Savage is getting ready to leave Belfast.' He wasn't wrong. I had seen both of them, stinking drunk, outside a bar on the Falls Road just the night before. They didn't look that ready to me. It should take them quite a while to prepare for this one or maybe this was part of the preparation, having their last night out before work started.
