TURKISH DELIGHT by Barry Faulkner (ebook reader wifi .TXT) 📗

an assailant’s shin would break his tibia – if aimed a couple of feet higher he’d never have children. And, of course, the button was in the heel. Other than that I had a bulletproof back and front vest, a groin protector that resembled a cricketer’s box, and a one piece black stab-proof onesie that went over everything and zipped up down the front that had thin titanium shin guards sewn in the legs. I also had supple gloves with steel knuckle covers, a balaclava, head torch, night goggles and a small black rucksack that I put them in, slipping in my gun, Woodward’s mobile, and my own phone at the same time.

‘The material is stab-proof, but not bulletproof – so you may feel like Superman inside it, but you’re not,’ Jones warned me. ‘Here, clip this to your belt.’

He handed me the comms battery and the headset that plugged into it before pressing numbers into a keypad on a steel cabinet on the back wall. He opened it and took out a Sig P226 pistol and C8 SFW carbine with two magazines, both full, and a box of ammo for the Sig. I filled the Sig magazine and slotted on the DCF magazine, putting the rest into the rucksack. Next out of the cabinet were two bricks of orange coloured Semtex explosive wrapped in greaseproof paper and two timer fuses. You can drop Semtex on the floor and it won’t explode, it needs the fuse. One brick and a fuse into my rucksack the other into Jones’s.

‘That’s all you get – hopefully you won’t need to use the guns. All the registration marks are filed off, so neither weapon can be traced back to anywhere if you get caught. I expect Woodward told you that as far as the UK is concerned you don’t exist – none of us do – but I am reliably informed that you have past experience in this sort of operation.’ He smiled knowingly at me. ‘Okay, I think we are ready. Sort your comms out,’

I did that and flicked the button on the battery box to on. I could hear Jones as he checked his team.’

‘This is Jones. Comms, are we online yet?’

‘Comms online.’

Good. Williams, you there?’

‘Williams loud and clear.’

‘Good. Taylor, you there?’

‘Taylor loud and clear.’

‘Good.’ He looked at me. ‘Nevis, you there?’

‘Nevis loud and clear.’

‘Good. Williams, update.’

‘Crates have left by lorry and making towards the border – they are through Pyla in the UN buffer zone heading towards Pergamos. Williams out.’

‘Okay, myself and Nevis will take over at Pergamos. Description please, Williams. Jones out.’

‘Three HGVs, all deep green, no markings, driver and mate in each. Williams out.’

‘Right. Williams, you two lot back off now and make ready for plan B.’

‘Will do. Williams out.’

Jones took an internal phone off its base on the wall and stabbed in a number. Somebody must have answered pretty quick. ‘Jones here – we are ready.’ He looked at me. ‘All set?’

‘Yes, I like the code names, Taylor, Williams and Jones .’

He laughed. ‘They are the top three surnames in the UK, we don’t even know what each other’s real names are – saves any confusion.’

He opened the door to the building and almost immediately a UN liveried Transit pulled up as close as it could to the door and its side door slid open. Jones jumped in and motioned me to do the same. As soon as I was inside the door was slid shut by a blue beret UN soldier who stepped through from the rear into the front passenger seat as the driver moved us off.

‘The UN?’ I asked.

‘Of course. They are the peacekeeping force out here, and what we are doing is trying to keep the peace, isn’t it?’ He smiled.

I shrugged and looked out of the one-way tinted side window.

‘Anyway,’ Jones continued. ‘If we had walked across the base dressed like this and taken a British jeep we would have been picked up by satellite and raise concerns in Turkey. A UN van travelling along the UN border on a regular patrol won’t.’

I nodded. Who was I to question the logic in that?

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CHAPTER 12

It was a bumpy ride over an unmade back road to get into the UN buffer zone and then an equally bad road that meandered along between the Greek security fencing; and barbed wire a hundred metres to our left and the Turkish security fencing and barbed wire a hundred metres to our right. Every now and again a watchtower showed above the fence on the Turkish side, but whether they were manned or not, I couldn’t tell. Seeing that there hadn’t been any real flare-up between the two sides since 1974, I doubted it.

After thirty minutes or so the UN soldier in the passenger seat turned and spoke.

‘We are coming up to the forest now, the tree canopy covers the road so you two can jump out here. No watchtowers up here – and Jones, you know where the tunnel is don’t you?’

Jones nodded, ‘Yes.’

The tunnel? This was beginning to sound like a World War Two prison camp escape film.

A couple of minutes later the tree canopy covered the road sheltering it from prying drones, the van pulled up and passenger jumped out and slid the side door open. We jumped out and I followed Jones into the undergrowth towards the Turkish side, hearing the door slide shut behind us and the van drive off. Twenty metres into the bush Jones hit the ground and I copied and lay twelve feet to his right. All was quiet.

‘Give it ten minutes – they fly drones, so if we were seen they should have a patrol up here by then. We’ll be able to hear their vehicles if they do.’

The wait