Authors: Chris Ryan
Now that we were getting close to the RV I was worrying about letting Concha meet Seb. Even if Concha could be trusted it would blow his cover for good, and his bosses in the Firm would raise hell. I couldn't see that there was any other option, though. It was vital that I contact Seb to arrange for a message to be sent; blowing Seb was the price British intelligence was going to have to pay to avert a second Falklands War.
Our eyes were accustomed to the darkness now. Crouched down among the grass on the edge of the slope I could discern a tall chimney rearing into the sky some way off to our right.
"That is the mine," Concha breathed in my ear. Her voice was deliciously husky. "It is broken now, but it used to reach up nearly ten metres."
I thought for a moment. Time was passing and it was urgent we reach the RV point without delay, but I feared walking into another trap. "We'll wait here a few minutes," I decided. "Just in case there's an ambush party out there."
We squatted, shivering, on the ground while the minutes ticked by. The train we had heard seemed to be stopped in the town and I was aware of a blend of different noises: a car horn, dogs barking, the thump of a stereo system carried on the wind.
"We'll move up slowly along this side of the track," I told Concha quietly. "Keep low. That way an enemy will show up against the sky and the light behind. If you see or hear anything drop flat and don't move." She squeezed my hand in answer.
Side by side we crept through the snow along the edge of the track, probing the darkness. As we neared the chimney every nerve in my body was on edge. None of the rest of the team would have given away the location of the RV, not yet anyway. They were trained to resist interrogation and would hold out for a day or so at least. My worry was that Seb had been taken. The Argentines would not be squeamish about torturing one of their own caught working for the enemy. If he had been broken we could be walking straight into a trap.
The ruins of the old mine were visible now, mantled in snow. We moved cautiously from one patch of shadow to another. Against the whitened ground we were all too visible.
Concha stopped and squeezed my hand. I had spotted it too close under a broken wall, moonlight glinted on metal. A vehicle, waiting for us.
We flattened ourselves in the snow. Our eyes searched the darkness, scanning for the telltale flicker of movement that would indicate a tensed marine waiting in ambush, finger on the trigger of his assault rifle, ready to blast us the instant we stepped into the open. The vehicle looked like Seb's Toyota at this distance, but if it were a trap that would be the bait to lure us in to capture or death.
I checked the track for footprints or tyre marks. If I were the officer leading an ambush platoon I would have brought my men silently up the railway and posted them among the ruins to cover all approaches, with orders to wait until we got to within five metres before triggering the ambush lamps. My ears strained for any whisper of static from a personal radio or the faint click as a safety catch was switched to automatic fire.
I couldn't make out if there was someone inside the Toyota or not. Seb could be waiting there, sitting with a gun trained on his spine and a promise of freedom if he co-operated.
We waited for at least ten minutes. The night stayed still. Under normal circumstances I would have waited until I was sure, but now there was nothing for it but to take a risk. It was either that or let the Argentine attack on the Falklands go ahead. I got Concha to her feet and we crept forward again. The automatic was in my hand, held low and ready to fire at the first suspicious movement. Two people and a single side-arm would stand no chance at all if it was a trap, but it made me feel better.
Grabbing Concha's hand, I ran with her across the intervening fifteen metres of open snow to the shelter of the wall, expecting any moment to have blinding lights flash in my eyes and hear the shouted command to halt. We reached the wall and flung ourselves against it, our breath smoking in the frozen air. The Toyota was five metres away with its rear towards us. As far as I could tell it was empty. I counted to thirty and stepped forward, the gun held out and cocked. I had seven shots in the magazine. If we were challenged I'd save the last one for the girl. After what I'd witnessed of Argentine interrogation procedures I didn't want her to fall into their hands alive again.
Snow crunched under our feet as we approached the Toyota. If there was anyone waiting they must have heard us by now.
I was a metre from the vehicle when a metallic snick in my rear brought me up short. I sprang round and knocked Concha to the ground, out of the line of fire. My right hand was extended, finger on the trigger ready to shoot, heart hammering.
"Buenas tar des came a cool voice from the shadowed corner of the wall.
I crouched, taking aim. "Que horn e$?"
"Son las ocho." The correct response.
My heart rate steadied.
"You are late," Seb remarked, stepping forward, lowering his own pistol a heavy .45 automatic like the one I had taken from Oliveras, evidently the weapon of choice in this region. "Lucky for you I decided to wait."
"I have someone with me," I said, indicating Concha's shadow at my side.
He sighed wearily. "I was expecting the two of you. Hola, Concha, como esta?"
I heard her draw in her breath as she recognised his voice.
"You knew about us? How?" I asked.
"I am a friend to Concha and her group. Ml6 provides funding to the dissidents. I also have a source in the marine barracks. News of your capture and escape reached me at midday. I assumed you would try to reach the rendezvous, so I waited here."
Concha let out a hiss of anger. "You told us the money came from liberal businesses in Buenos Aires!" she burst out. "All the time you are working for British intelligence!"
Seb laughed briefly. "Don't be so naive. The rest of the group understood the source of the funds perfectly; they were not squeamish. They wanted to prevent a war, and so do the British."
Before either of us could speak he went on, "We must hurry. The marines are hunting everywhere for the two of you. Get into the car and stay down out of sight."
Seb drove fast, talking as he went. "They brought the rest of your comrades back to the barracks at the airbase. They are held there along with Julian and the others."
"Have they been questioned yet, do you know?" Concha asked. By 'questioned' I understood she meant tortured.
Seb shook his head. "I do not know. The whole area is in turmoil on account of the killing of Major Oliveras and his driver. The border is closed and there are roadblocks on all routes leading out of town."
"Oliveras' death was an accident," I told him.
"Possibly, but that is not how the Argentinians will view it," he answered drily.
I told him what Josh and I had seen in the hangar the previous night. He seemed unsurprised. "Yes, we have suspected for some while that an attack was being planned. We did not know the precise manner until now, though."
I was still adjusting to the realisation that Seb and she were working together. Evidently Tierra del Fuego was a smaller place than I had realised. I supposed it made sense that a British agent would be in touch with dissident groups.
"Will they abandon the plan now, do you think?" Concha asked. Her voice was still tight with anger at being deceived by him, as she saw it.
Seb slowed to take a corner. We were passing down a wide, well-lit street. In the rear-view mirror I glimpsed tin-roofed houses and empty snow-covered sidewalks. Rio Grande was a depressing place, I decided.
"I did not know what they intended until you told me just now," Seb replied. "According to my informant, however, the marines are on stand-by for action, so we must assume the operation is imminent."
Seb drove us to a single-storey house on the edge of town. He put the Toyota straight into the garage and pulled down the door. Climbing out, I saw a tool bench against the wall at the back.
"Right, let's get these cuffs off," I said. More than anything I wanted my hands free. It violated all my soldier's instincts to be chained. I needed to able to fight again.
Seb nodded and plugged the cable of an angle grinder into an electric socket. For protection I wedged a strip of scrap metal between my wrist and the cuff. Seb put on a plastic safety visor and switched on the machine. The screeching disk bit into the bracelet amid a shower of sparks. It took only a couple of minutes to cut through the hardened steel. The cuff fell open and I slipped my wrist out.
"Now your turn," I said to Concha. I held the handcuff steady and Seb bent to work again. When it was over she straightened up, rubbing her wrist and looking at me. I knew what she was thinking: we had worn the cuffs for more than ten hours; we had nearly died in the blizzard and we'd made love to one another. They were a symbol of something.
Seb wrapped the pieces in a newspaper and threw them into a bin. I guessed he would dispose of the incriminating evidence later. We followed him through into the house.
"Would you like food?" he offered. "How long has it been since you both last ate?"
I looked at Concha and she nodded. We both suddenly realised how hungry we were again; the scraps of corned beef in the hut had barely kept us going. "First though, we need to get a warning message out," I said.
Seb was leading the way into the kitchen. He pulled down the blinds over the window and beckoned us in. He poured coffee into a machine and switched it on.
"The message," I repeated. "It's important. The Argentines may be intending to strike very soon."
Seb turned back to face me. His mouth was grim. "There will be no message," he replied quietly. "I cannot send one."
I took out my gun and cocked the trigger.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
"Seb," I told him, speaking carefully to hold on to my temper. "I don't care what rules you have about security. Get on your radio and send that warning, and do it now." I had worked with spooks before, and I knew their paranoia about having their communications networks compromised.
Seb sighed again and gestured at the fridge. "Help yourself to something to eat. There are fillet steaks in the freezer or I can make an omelette if you prefer."
"Didn't you hear?" I shouted. "Send the message now."
Seb fixed his dark eyes on me. "There is no radio," he answered calmly. I blinked at him. "There is no radio," he repeated. "I do not even know how to use one."
"Don't give me that shit. How the fuck do you make contact with your handlers?"
"I have a cellphone," he explained patiently. "When I need to meet a contact I drive up to the Chilean border till I am within range of San Sebastian and ask for a meeting."
I lowered the gun. "You must have an emergency procedure, though. What happens if you need exfiltration in a hurry?"
He nodded. "In an emergency I can phone a Chilean number and leave a text message."
"So, do that. And hurry."
He shook his head. "That is not possible either. Cellphone calls between here and San Sebastian travel along the landlines beside the coast road. All telephone and radio links have now been cut by the military. Road, rail and air traffic has also been stopped. There is no communication between the Argentine sector of Tierra del Fuego and the outside world."
"Madre de Diosl' Concha exclaimed. "The attack must be for tonight!"
"What about satellite phones?" I suggested desperately. "This is an oil town; the geological teams must use them all the time."
"By law all such devices must be registered with the authorities. At four pm this afternoon the police, acting on the orders of the military governor, seized every satellite phone they could find. There may be a few out in the bush but we could never track one down in time." Seb looked at us both seriously. "Accept this, my friends, we are completely isolated here. There is no way we can send a warning in time."
Concha stared at me, her eyes big with dismay as the full enormity of the position sank home. The Argentines had outwitted us at every stroke. They must have planned this well in advance and put their scheme into effect the moment they realised we had escaped. I looked at the clock on Seb's kitchen wall. It was almost nine pm. If the Argies were timing their assault to hit Mount Pleasant before dawn to catch the garrison asleep, the planes would be loading up shortly.
"We must do something," Concha said. "It will be war otherwise."
"There is only one way we can do that," I told her. "We have to stop those planes taking off."
"It's madness," Concha murmured but I could tell she was thinking about it.
We were sitting over steaks in Seb's kitchen. I had finished mine, while Concha was still toying. She seemed to have lost her appetite. Seb was in another room calling his contact at the base to find out the latest security situation.
"The odds are better than they look," I said. "The marines will be preparing for their mission; the last thing they'll be expecting is to be attacked. Seb and I will slip into the base and do the job. It's what we've been trained for."
I went next door to see how Seb was making out. He was on a mobile phone, speaking in Spanish. He terminated the call abruptly as I entered, as if he did not want to compromise his source. "Your comrades are being held in the guard post at the base. Julian and the others are in with them," he said. "As far as my informant knows they are unhurt; the enemy has been too busy hunting for you two to spend time questioning them."
Concha had followed me through. "I know the guard post," she said. "It is part of the main armoury. I will lead you to it."
"Oh no, you won't," I cut in. "This is no job for a woman."
Seb put a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe it would be as well if she does come," he suggested. "She knows the base well. If we succeed and get out together, so much the better. If we fail," he shrugged, 'what is there for her here?"
Capture and torture, I thought bleakly. Seb was right as usual.
"We'll need white sheets," I said, 'for camouflage in the snow."