Tested by Fire by David Costa (the little red hen read aloud TXT) 📗

the SAS team to watch too so they had every piece of information he did. He’d also told them about the supposed cosmetic surgery.

The only photos the GARDA and Tom Wilson had of Costello had also arrived. They were of the old Costello; the one Reece knew so well from across the table in the interview room. But if he’d changed his face, as Mary had reported, they wouldn’t be much use.

‘Concentrate on the eyes people. It’s the hardest thing to change,’ he told the team. ‘The CCTV also gives an idea of how he moves. He walks with a slight stoop, head down looking at the ground and keeping his face hidden from the camera.’

When Reece went to bed the team were still in the communications section going through everything they had.

Now awake, he’d taken two paracetamols for the shoulder pain and given an hour, they’d do the trick for a while. After breakfast he assembled the team.

‘Today I want you to check the railway stations, bus stops, and tram routes through the city but especially near the Conference Centre. With a focus on the route in from Warrington. Walk the area again and again and get to know every nook and cranny. I’ll pick Mike up and do the same, then let’s all meet up for a bite of lunch. There’s a Weatherspoon’s beside the Town Hall; we can meet there. It will be noisy, but nobody really pays attention to anyone else, so we should be OK to talk. When you’re out, don’t forget never let your guard down. They’re out there too. I know you won’t, but I have to say it, anyway.’

‘You look tired, David,’ said April, saying what they were all thinking.

Reece laughed. ‘I always look this way when I’m busy need a long shower and a strong coffee and that’s next on my list. Let’s get out there, people, and find these bastards. We don’t have much time to work with so let’s make it count.’

After an almost cold shower and then a large, strong coffee, Reece could feel his body recharging. Standing outside the hanger in the clear morning air, he could see the hustle and bustle of activity around the small airport. He could smell the aviation fuel and see a few of the SAS troopers jogging around the perimeter of the runways keeping up their fitness levels. Mechanics, aircrew, people all mixed together with their own worlds keeping them occupied. Parked up at the end of the runways were three small, single-engine aircraft in the corner of the field close to the farthest hanger. Next to them, a dark Puma helicopter, the one the SAS would use if needs be.

Reece went back inside for one last check with the comms team and found the troop commander with his men around the table going over the CCTV, photos, and maps. Going over the information they have he knew that’s what makes them the best at what they do. The training, the shoot-outs, the flash bangs all leading to the dead opponents and successful compilation of the operations they’re involved in, plan then plan again. The training, the preparation the skill all combined to ensure the best possible result.

‘Have you got everything you need?’ asked Reece.

‘Yes thanks, as they say PPP…Piss Poor Planning is what fucks up the operation so get the plan right and we will get the job right.’

‘Let all your people know that we’ll be out on the ground. We need to keep our comms open and linked.’

‘Will do. See you later.’

The coffee and the shower had done the trick and the paracetamol had finally kicked in, Reece felt better; refreshed, and ready for the rest of the day. Time to pick up Mary; the thought making him feel even better.

The traffic was light on the drive into Manchester which helped him make good time. He parked up and found Mary waiting in the hotel foyer.

Her dark hair hung loosely around her shoulders. Her clothing showed she was ready for a working day with denim jeans with dark blue trainers a tight-fitting jumper with a light blue short jacket.

‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you, what about you?’

‘Not bad,’ he lied. There was no sense in worrying her or telling her he’d spent most of the night between bad dreams and dreams and thoughts about her, with a little shoulder pain put in for good measure.

‘Are you ready for a long day?’

‘Lead on, McDuff,’ she replied.

‘I thought we could start with a drive round the centre. Have you had breakfast?’

‘Yes, I’m OK thanks.’

‘Right, let’s go; we can stop for a coffee later. On the way I can bring you up to date on where we are now. Then I want you to meet the rest of the team later when they grab a bite of lunch, if that’s all right by you?’

‘No problem. Do they know who I am?’

‘They know you’re my agent and your code name. The only questions they’re likely to ask will be about this operation, nothing else.’

‘OK, let’s go.’

 

 

Chapter Thirty-one

The rest of the SG9 team had been out driving around the target area for about an hour. Now they picked up their target they were following on foot. Their unsuspecting quarry, a young white male, didn’t know he was being followed; his every move noted. It was an easy way for surveillance operators to keep sharp and check their communications. Pick a target then follow them for at least one hour without raising the suspicion of the person being followed.

They followed the young man from Deansgate train station into St Peters Square. He’d spent time in some shops moving around the area with a surety that confirmed he knew this part of Manchester. The team took turns, always one in