Firewall (25 page)

He hesitated in the doorway. I waited for him to speak, but he changed his mind and turned to go.

"And hey, Tom?"

His body stayed facing out and he just turned his head. "Yep?"

"Don't have anything to eat when you get up, mate. I'll explain later."

He nodded, and left with a nervous laugh as he closed the door behind him.

I stretched out on the bed and went back to visualizing each phase of the job. I wasn't happy about the prospect of snow and I wasn't happy about not having a weapon. The vegetable knife I'd used to cut the cheese with wasn't much of a substitute.

20

I got up groggily just after eight and took a shower. I hadn't slept since Tom's visit, but because I'd been trying so hard I now wanted to.

Dragging myself to the kitchen for a coffee, I found Liv and Tom in bathrobes sitting on the sofa with mugs in hand. They both looked as tired as I felt, and we exchanged only mumbled greetings. I still had one more thing to do with the kit before I double-checked the lot, so I took my coffee with me to my room and got dressed properly.

At just before nine o'clock I took everything down to the car. Tom was on parade, showered, and dressed. Liv didn't follow us down; she would be emptying the house tonight and was probably already busy getting it sterile. She'd take our bags with her, handing them back with the money in them.

Tom and I faced each other as I checked him out, first his pockets to make sure the only stuff in them was the equipment he needed: daps, spare hook, nylon loop, and money. He didn't need 100 marks in change rattling around in his pockets, just the paper money in a plastic bag tucked into his boot to get food and transportation if he was in the shit. Most important was the Think Pad and cables, jammed into the nylon carry bag hanging over his shoulder but under his coat. I didn't want the battery getting too cold and slow on target. I then had to make sure that none of it fell out, especially his spare hook.

I got him to jump up and down. There were no noises and everything stayed in place in his large, padded blue-check coat. Finally I made sure he had his gloves and hat. "All right, mate?"

"No drama." He sounded convincing.

I put the backpack on over my coat. We looked like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. "Okay, you check me now."

"Why?"

"Because I might have fucked up. Go on."

He checked me over from the front first, then I turned so he could check the backpack was securely fastened. Everything was fine until I jumped up and down. There was a noise coming from the pocket my spare hook was in. Tom looked almost embarrassed as he reached in and brought out the two nails that had been raiding around.

"These things happen," I said. "That's why everyone needs to be checked. Thanks, mate."

He was very pleased with himself. It's amazing what a couple of well-placed nails can do to boost someone's confidence and make them feel they're contributing to things.

Tom and I got into the car and wheels turned just after nine o'clock.

Liv hadn't made an appearance to say goodbye.

He was pretty quiet for the first twenty minutes or so. As I drove, I talked him through each phase again, from stopping the car when we got there, to entering the house and finding what we were looking for, to me turning the ignition back on once I had the Think Pad securely in my possession. I concentrated on being relentlessly positive, not even beginning to suggest that things could go wrong.

We got to the drop-off point after three and a half hours, with me stressing every time I'd had to turn the wipers on to clear the windshield of shit thrown up by cars in front, thinking that the snowfall had started.

Once in the firebreak near the target I killed the lights, but I left th e engine running as I looked over at my passenger. "You all right, Tom?"

When we'd done the drive-past a couple of minutes earlier I'd pointed out the driveway we were going to go down. He took a deep breath.

"Ready to roll, mate. Ready to rock 'n' roll." I could sense his apprehension.

"Right then, let's do it." I got out of the car, closing the door gently onto the first click, just enough for the interior light to go out. Then I unzipped my fly.

Tom was on the other side of the car doing the same, exactly as I'd told him. I could only manage a little dribble as I checked the skies for even the slightest sign of snow. I couldn't see a thing in the darkness, of course, but somehow it made me feel better.

I got the backpack and my coat out of the car and rested them against one of the wheels. It was bitterly cold and the wind was getting up, each gust biting at the flesh of my face. At least we should be out of it as we moved down the driveway, protected by the forest, and the noise of the swaying treetops would help cover any sound we made. The bad news was that the same wind would be bringing the snow.

I put my coat on and watched Tom do the same as the backpack went on my back. So far so good. He even remembered to close his door slowly to keep the noise down.

After fully closing mine, I pressed the key chain. The lights flashed as I walked round to Tom and made sure he watched me as I placed the key behind the front wheel, covering it with snow. Getting back up, I went to his exposed ear and whispered, "Remember, no flaps." I wanted him to keep his ears exposed two sets were better than one, and I still wanted him to think I needed his help, though I wasn't holding my breath on that one.

He nodded as our vapor clouds billowed together in front of us.

"We're going to have to keep quiet now." I had to force myself to keep my mouth against his ear. This boy needed to do something about his earwax. "Remember, if you want me, don't call, just touch me, then whisper right in my ear. Okay on that?"

"Got it."

"Do you remember what to do if a vehicle comes?"

"Yeah, yeah, make like Superman." His shoulders heaved up and down as he tried to suppress a nervous laugh.

"Okay, mate, ready?"

He nodded and I clapped him on the shoulder. "Right, let's go then." I felt like an old sweat in the First World War trying to coax a young bayonet over the top.

I set off slowly, my ears exposed to the night, with Tom two or three paces behind. When we were about fifteen feet down the driveway I had a check of Baby G. It was just before a quarter to one; hopefully Friends was crap tonight and they'd gone to bed.

We were going down the gentle incline, coming toward the bend that would take us into line of sight of the house, when I stopped, and so did Tom, just as he'd been told to. If I stopped, he stopped; if I then lay down, so must he.

Moving back to him, I put my mouth to his ear. "Can you hear that?" I backed my head away so he could listen.

He nodded.

"Generator. We're nearly there, mate. Need another piss?"

He shook his head and I slapped him on the head in my best what-good-fun-this-is sort of way and started to walk on.

Keeping in the left-hand tire rut, the compacted snow solid beneath our feet, we slowly rounded the bend. All I could hear was the wind high above us, whipping the tops of the pines; the sound of Tom moving behind, and the generator, its throbbing getting louder as we closed in. I looked up at the sky. Fuck it, it didn't matter if it snowed now or not; I was totally focused on doing the job. Even my nose and ears didn't feel as cold as they had last night. There was nothing I could do about the weather and nothing I could do about the conditions of the contract: It was tonight or nothing, and I was desperate for the money.

Once we were virtually in direct line of sight of the house I stopped again, listened, had a good look around, then moved on another eight or nine steps. My night vision had fully kicked in. I'd explained to Tom how to look at things in the dark just above or below an object to ensure a good focus and how to protect his night vision. It was a waste of time explaining why he had to do these things, all he needed to know was how.

From what I could see at this distance there didn't appear to be any lights on in the house, nor anything else to indicate that anybody was up and about. That didn't mean, however, that I was just going to bowl up to the gate. Every few steps I stopped, turned and checked on Tom, giving him a thumbs-up and getting a nod back. It was more for his benefit than mine; I just wanted to make him feel a bit better, knowing that somebody was thinking about him.

We were a few feet short of the gap between the treeline and fence when I stopped again and listened. Tom did the same, one pace after mine.

If they had NVG (night viewing goggles) and were keeping watch, we would find out very soon. There was nothing I could do about it; this was our only approach.

Tilting my head so my ear pointed toward the house, I tried to listen just that little bit harder, my hearing trying to overcome the noise of the wind, while at the same time edging my eyes round in their sockets toward the house to check for movement. I must have looked like a mime artist to Tom.

There was a faint glimmer of light coming from the left-hand shutter on the ground floor; it was far weaker than last night. I could only just see it. Did that mean everyone was in bed, or crowded round the TV?

I put my hand up in front of his face and signaled Tom to wait where he was. Then my fingers did a little walking-sign motion.

He nodded as I moved off into the darkness, following the wheel rut toward the gate. I was exposed to the wind once I'd passed the treeline. It was now strong enough to push against my coat, but not enough to affect my walking. Nothing much had changed on the other side of the fence, even the 4x4 was parked in the same position.

On the recce there hadn't been any electrical current running through the fence; I would have known when I'd touched it. If there was some tonight I was just about to find out. Biting off my right outer glove, I pulled the touch glove down and quickly felt the gate, not even taking a breath in anticipation. Fuck it, just get on with it. If it was wired up, the shock wouldn't be any different because I'd hesitated. As I put the gloves back on I checked the padlocks. They hadn't been left undone, not that I'd expected them to be. That would be too much like good luck.

There was no way I could cut the gate chains or fence, because that would compromise the job. The bolt cutters weighing a ton in my backpack were only to get us out of the compound if we were compromised on target without them we'd be running around in there like rats in a barrel. Getting out of a place had always been more important to me than getting in,

21

I headed hack to Tom and out of the wind. He hadn't moved an inch since I'd left him; head down, arms by his side, a vapor cloud rising above him. Slowly easing the backpack off my shoulders, I knelt down in the wheel rut and tugged on his sleeve.

Tom lowered himself to join me.

You only take out one bit of kit at a time from a backpack, then deal with it, which means packing so the first item you want is the last bit you put in. Getting him to keep the backpack upright by holding the bolt-cutter handles sticking out on either side of the top, I undid the clips and lifted the flap. Then, moving some of the toweling that stopped everything from rattling around, I took out one webbing loop and a hook.

Twisting two turns of the strapping around the nail hook, where it emerged from the wood, I handed the device, now with a three-foot loop hanging from it, to Tom. He gripped the wood in his right hand, exactly as he'd been shown, with the hook angled down and protruding between his index and middle fingers. Attaching another webbing loop in exactly the same way to another hook, I handed it over, and he took that in his left hand. I then assembled the other two devices in the same way, and re clipped and replaced the backpack on my back, then took one in each hand.

Looking around at both the target and the sky, I noticed no discernible change in either. I just hoped it would stay that way.

Taking a step closer to Tom, I whispered into his ear, "Ready?"

I got a slow nod and a couple of short, sharp breaths in return. I started to move the last few feet toward the gate.

My eyes were fixed on the house, but my brain was already crossing the fence: It was going to be our most vulnerable time. If things went wrong in the house, fine, I could react. Up there on the fence, we'd be fatally exposed, just like my friend hanging from his jacket cord, watching helplessly as they walked up and shot him.

I stopped, my nose six inches from the gate, and turned.

Tom was two paces behind, head bent to the left, trying to keep the wind out of his face.

Turning back to the gate, I raised my right hand to just above shoulder height, the hook facing the diamond-shaped lattice, and gently eased the bent nail into a gap. The rubber bands around the nail were to eliminate noise, but I'd deliberately left the bend itself exposed: When I heard and felt metal on metal, I'd know it was correctly in position. Otherwise, if weight was applied with the hook badly positioned, there was a possibility of the nail straightening under the strain. That was why we both had a spare device. If there was a drama and one of these things started straightening while we climbed, the other loop and hook would have to hold our weight while the broken one was replaced.

The bend in the nail engaged the fencing with the gentlest of scrapes, the bottom of the strapping loop hanging about a foot above the wheel rut. I inserted the left hook about six inches higher, and a shoulder width apart.

It was pointless at this stage worrying about being so exposed to view from the house. All we could do was just get on with it, hoping they didn't see us. There was no other way. If I'd tried the previous night to find somewhere to cross on the side or rear of the building, I would have left tracks everywhere for someone to spot this morning, and my boot prints sure didn't look like reindeer hooves. Even if I'd been able to recce all the way around, I would still face the problem of sign inside the compound. At least the front of the house was crisscrossed by footprints and tire tracks.