Читать книгу Fishers of Men - The Gripping True Story of a British Undercover Agent in Northern Ireland - Rob Lewis - Страница 6

At seven o’clock precisely my team were all deployed in their positions. All had reported their locations to the operations room and were awaiting the radio message from the operator who would hopefully have the first physical contact with Declan. We expected to hear a quick, straightforward transmission to the effect that the subject was through his area and heading to where we were positioned.

Every member of the team carried their own personal weapon, a Browning 9mm semi-automatic pistol. In addition to this basic requirement all of us carried a Heckler & Koch 5.56mm machine gun with folding stock, spare magazines, smoke grenades and first-aid packs. The possible dangers of a new-source recruitment are unknown, and this operation was being carried out only a short distance from an area where we knew that the Provisionals had carried out attacks on previous occasions. All the firearms and equipment that the team carried were hidden well out of sight but could easily be brought into action in a split second, if required.

Fifteen minutes had passed and there was no sign of Declan. No calls had been made to the phone number I had given him, and so I pushed the radio pressel switch. ‘All call signs, this is Romeo. Go mobile, return to your start locations at twenty hundred hours. All call signs confirm. Over.’ All the team came up individually and confirmed that they had received the message and were driving out of the area.

Half an hour had passed and so, with as much speed as we could muster, we headed back to the locations we had been in previously. The team chattered away on the radio, informing each other of their chosen routes back into the area.

The boss’s voice came up on the radio from our operations room. He informed us that a report had come in from a COT to the west of our position, stating that they believed they had observed unidentified armed men moving around approximately one kilometre to their east. That would make their position very close to us. I toyed with the idea of aborting the operation, but decided against it. They were unable to give any more information but would try to keep us fully informed of any new developments. My adrenalin level shot through the roof, and just for my own peace of mind I checked that each of my weapons, the Browning pistol and the Heckler & Koch, was ready. I gently released the safety catch and pulled back the cocking slide on the pistol and saw the glint of brass in the chamber. I knew it was loaded, but I had to check anyway. Everyone else on the job probably did exactly the same. Declan was really an unknown quantity. I sat in my vehicle and thought of the consequences of a set-up. I made sure that the interior light was switched off and gently eased the door open. If I had to get away quickly that would be one obstacle less to deal with.

I slowly brought the Heckler & Koch up from my side and laid it across my lap. I had trained with it hundreds of times, but as I sat there I thumbed the safety catch on and off in anticipation of the worst. My eyes were all over the place – looking in front, checking the rear-view mirror, glancing to both sides in an awkward way, straining to catch sight of any movement around me in the dusk. I quietly whistled to myself, something I had always done when I knew things were not quite right. It was my way of letting myself know I was nervous.