Cross Fire - By Andy McNab Page 0,48

said about the boy not being important. If I found him, I might find Dom. That was why the Yes Man hadn't got a river view.

Nothing stood out at first glance. The laptop looked steam-driven, and the GameBoy wasn't even from this century.

Then something caught my eye. A Vodafone USB modem. They'd only come out a few months ago, but you couldn't move for the adverts.

By the time I rejoined Siobhan, there was a blank index card and a pen waiting for me on the coffee-table. I sat down with a big smile. I could smell the soap on my hands as I wrote out my number.

I got to my feet and handed her the card.

She looked at it as we headed towards the front door. I kept my eyes busy. The alarm-system keypad was midway up the wall. Another little blue light flickered below the picture rail.

I hooked my holdall over my shoulder.

She glanced past me at the dark wet street. 'Don't you want me to call you a cab?'

'It's OK. I'm going to walk for a while.'

We shared a nod. 'Thanks again for the coffee.'

I headed down the steps, and when I hit the street, I turned right. My mobile was out the moment I heard the door shut.

I hit the new number I'd burnt into my brain. It was fine to talk in clear. These mobiles were secure. Calls were masked by white noise, courtesy of the Firm's version of the Brahms secure speech system, developed by GCHQ. Not even the NSA could eavesdrop.

It gave four rings.

I pulled up my collar against the damp. 'You're sure the house only has their two registered mobiles and the landline?'

I heard the rustle of paper at the other end. 'Only three numbers registered. Why?'

'And just a PC desktop on broadband, yeah?'

'Correct.'

'I need to check something out tonight. I'll call you.'

There was no reply. The telephone went dead. Not much of a one for small-talk, the Yes Man.

I didn't give a fuck. I was in control, and I planned to keep it that way.

36

I must have looked a complete dickhead as I checked into the Conrad with my holdall and the world's supply of cheap shopping bags. The other guests' bags said Gucci and Hugo Boss, but mine were from Spar, a corner chemist's, an electronics shack and a charity shop. The receptionist had raised an eyebrow at the half-drunk two-litre bottle of own-brand cola sticking out of one of the carriers.

It was just as well she hadn't seen the rest of the stuff now spread out on the bed in my very swanky room. There were a couple of shower caps, floral-patterned with some frilly stuff round the sides, a notebook and pencil, a box of forty pairs of surgical gloves, a pair of scissors, a little keyring torch, and a SIM-card reader that I'd have to work out how to use before I left.

I also had some fishing-line. I hadn't been able to find an angling shop, so I'd bought a reel of four-pound breaking-strain stuff off one of the guys on the banks of the Liffey. Twenty-pound would have been ideal, but this would have to do.

There'd been an amazing number of druggies down by the river. Even at this time of night, young guys looking like ghosts shivered under blankets beneath a bridge not a stone's throw from Bertie's Pole. I tried to talk to one to ask where the fishermen hung out, but he just stared back, too out of it to string an answer together. This city really did have a problem. But then again, show me one that didn't.

I had also bought new boxers and socks and a couple of long-sleeved T-shirts. I might be spending the Firm's money on this posh room but even I wouldn't squander it on hotel laundry when it was cheaper to buy new.

Especially for tonight, I'd bought some grey trousers in a charity shop and yet another shitty brown fleece. I'd also picked up a black balaclava I'd found on a shelf of odd gloves and woolly hats. In the old days, the housing-trust shop would have made a few bob selling them in this part of the world. I'd given the old dear at the till a big grin when I'd handed it over. 'Let the good times roll.'

None of the stuff needed much doing to it, apart from a bit of remodelling to the cola bottle. I poured myself another glass before tipping the rest away

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