Читать книгу Dirty Little Secret - Jon Stock - Страница 30

The platoon of sixteen men from Seal Team 5 sped across Portsmouth harbour in two Zodiac Combat Rubber Raiding Craft, leaving HMS Victory and HMS Warrior to port. The inflatable rubber was bulletproof, but no one was anticipating incoming fire, not until they reached the shore in front of Fort Monckton.

Despite their professionalism, there was unease in the team. Forty-eight hours earlier they had been simulating a terrorist asymmetric swarm attack with the Royal Navy in the Irish Sea. Afterwards, they had spent a drunken evening in the bars of Portsmouth with their colleagues from the SBS. Now they were being told to lift a member of MI6 – allies in the war on terror, last time they checked – from a British military training base, and to expect resistance on the ground. The head of the platoon had queried the order with the captain of USS Bulkeley, who shared his discomfort. But the mission had been confirmed by the head of US Special Operations Command.

The two Zodiacs skidded up the sandy beach at the same time. Seven Seals, armed with M4 carbines, jumped out of each one and ran up either side of the accommodation block, leaving two men to keep guard on the beach. They didn’t know which room Marchant was staying in, so they started from the outermost rooms on the ground and first floors and worked inwards, kicking open the doors and clearing each one.

Lakshmi heard them coming, but she wasn’t frightened. She felt safe in her bed, protected from the outside world by the blankets and the diamorphine hydrochloride that was coursing through her veins. It had already reached her brain, transforming into morphine and triggering her opiate receptors. In turn they had released a sweet surge of dopamine that was orgasmic in its intensity. She knew it all, had studied the medical effects at Georgetown until the words had blurred on the page.

Despite her overwhelming sense of contentment, she still had the presence of mind to hide the syringe in the bedside table moments before the Seals burst in through her door.

‘Hands where we can see them!’ one of them shouted while another made for the bathroom.

‘It’s OK, everything’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m CIA. Lakshmi Meena. ID’s over there.’ She nodded at the bedside table.

‘Where is he? Daniel Marchant? The Brit,’ a more senior Seal asked, coming into the room behind the others.

‘Dan?’ She paused, smiling wanly.

‘Don’t fuck us about, lady. Where is he?’

‘He’s gone home.’