The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (interesting books to read TXT) 📕

‘You’re serious, aren’t you.’

‘You’ve done over twenty HALO jumps with the SAS. This is the same thing. The only unconventional bit is the drop out of the wheel housing. Otherwise it’s an ordinary jump.’

Gunnymede pushed his fingers through his hair as he struggled with the concept. ‘That’s not ordinary.’

‘What’s the problem?’ Simons asked, getting testy. ‘If you’re not up to it, it would put us in a bit of a bind. We went to a lot of trouble to divert you from jail and get you on this task.’

‘My task is to find Spangle.’

‘Which is why you’re doing this and no one else.’

‘This is a simple MINs check. Anyone could do it.’

‘You’re forgetting the other reason you were selected. This needs to be kept tight.’

‘Bollocks. You could send an SF operator and he wouldn’t need to know why he was there.’

‘This requires someone who knows why he’s there. Things could change. It needs to be you – what is it you’re so worried about?’

‘All of it. How confident are you the Russians won’t detect the free-fall?’

‘At their best they won’t understand the anomaly in the time it will take you to complete the task and get out of there.’

‘And if you’re wrong, I’ll end up in a Russian prison.’

‘If you don’t go, you’ll end up in a British one.’

‘I’ll take the British one, thanks.’

Simons was about to lose his temper when he managed to hold onto himself. He forced a smile. ‘Gunny ... this is an extremely important task. We have to get to that convoy. It’s highly likely there’s a WMD on it. All evidence points to that. This could be our only chance. Thousands of dead Londoners. Isn’t that what Saleem said?’

Gunnymede sighed heavily. He was trapped. He got to his feet. Simons watched him for any signs. Gunnymede changed his gaze to the ceiling. Simons sensed he was cracking.

Gunnymede finally looked at him wearing the frown of the defeated.

Simons smiled. ‘Good man.’

Saleem stood in darkness on the side of the road at the Kazakhstan border checkpoint while he waited for Taz to complete his dealings with the captain of the guard post. It was an isolated crossing point situated on high open ground miles from the nearest human habitation. A perfect place to cross and not just because of its isolation. The guards were corrupt and looked forward to illegals as a way of adding a bonus to their meagre salaries. In this case, a healthy bonus.

An icy Siberian wind blew from the north east. Saleem was chilled to the bone despite the thick sheepskin jacket, heavy wool jumper and pakol he’d been given on his arrival in Toragundi, northern Afghanistan. In fact, he’d been cold since leaving Syria. Taz told him the desert had thinned his blood. Saleem was cold but he didn’t fancy returning to Syria in order to get warm again. He would never be that cold.

They’d been travelling in a convoy by road for eight days since leaving Toragundi. Over two and a half thousand kilometres to the Kazakhstan Russian border. It was as if the powers that be in ISIS wanted to remove all scent of his trail from Syria by finding a starting point to the UK that was as isolated as possible. You couldn’t get much more isolated than where he was. The convoy had begun the journey with eight vehicles; five Toyotas, an old British four ton Bedford lorry and two Renault vans. The lorry lost its axle the second day crossing Turkmenistan. The initial roads were pretty bad and the lorry, which must’ve been fifty years old at least, had finally given in to the hateful terrain. The roads markedly improved halfway across Turkmenistan. The two vans left them on entering Kazakhstan, diverting to the east of the country on their way to Astana. Two Toyotas headed north into Russia leaving Saleem with the remaining three. The plan was for Saleem to stay with Taz until they reached Kiev, where they’d unload their cargo. Saleem would then make his way to the Belgian coast. The final leg was a boat to England. And then on to the task.

One thing constantly niggled him, though. It was a private pain. There was one other person outside of the very tight circle of trust who had knowledge of his plan. Someone who shouldn’t know. The enemy. Some British Army Intelligence Corps wanker named Gunnymede who should’ve been hung dead seconds after he learned of the plot. How the man had escaped was a mystery. But escape he did. Still, Gunnymede had no knowledge of timings or location, both of which were essential in preventing the operation. What he did know was Saleem. Saleem had to assume Gunnymede had returned to England with news of the threat. Which meant if the security services knew Saleem had left Syria, they would be on the lookout for him. If Saleem’s bosses knew that, they’d pull him from the operation, there was no doubt of it. It was a risk Saleem shouldn’t take. But he was compelled to. He couldn’t let anyone else have the glory. This show was his. The only fear he had was of failing. What truly fuelled his excitement, and indeed confidence, was the sheer simplicity of the operation. The fundamental rule of planning was to keep it simple. And his plan could not be simpler, considering the mayhem it would cause. The next major obstacle was getting into England.

He looked towards the guard post, hoping Taz would be finished soon. He could then start the engine and get warm. Warmer at least. All Taz had to do was pay the bill for getting the vehicles through and pick up the new phones. But Taz was a great talker and was no doubt enjoying some smokes and a few shots