SAS by Andy McNab

Author:Andy McNab
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Welbeck Publishing Group Limited

36

23.30

Lakeview House, near Keswick, Cumbria

Tom left the Range Rover in a ramblers’ car park. The journey north had given it a thick film of brown road grime. Parked hard up against a huge copper beech with long, overhanging branches, it was almost invisible.

There were no distractions. His phone was off, the battery and SIM card separated so no one could pinpoint him, and he had bought a cheap pay-as-you-go from a service station should he need help, though where that help might come from was another matter. The Range Rover’s GPS was also disabled and the numberplates covered with extra grime. No one knew he was there, not even Phoebe or Woolf. He felt unencumbered and free. He was going to do this his way, alone. He had made ready his pistol and shoved it into the front of his belt. The two spare mags he put in his left-hand jacket pocket, making them easier to get at for a reload.

He trekked up to the top of the ridge and surveyed the valley. It was long and narrow, shaded by the surrounding peaks. In the moonless dark, it had an eerie beauty. Patchwork fields curved up towards rocky outcrops too steep for the snow to settle. Clusters of trees dotted the landscape. A single-track road threaded its way up to the house, dry stone walls on either side. The only passing place was at a gate with a cattle grid. The snow had coated everything, gleaming white in the night-vision goggles and blotting out detail. He was better off using his own eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the dark.

An owl hooted, and a few moments later, its mate. Tom felt in good company. He dropped down to a half-demolished stone croft, presumably the remains of a shepherd’s dwelling, with a decent view of the house and approach. The roof was gone but he had enough cover. He decided to wait there a while to see who else, if anyone, was there, and who might be coming and going.

In the yard in front of the house were two ex-Army Land Rovers with canvas tilts, presumably used on Invicta training exercises. They had a heavy coating of snow and looked as though they hadn’t moved in a while. Next to them, under an awning, there was an elderly Vauxhall Astra with no snow on it but the same even film of grime from a long motorway journey, like the one he had just made.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw more: a single set of recent car-size tyre tracks on the drive, a dull light in one of the upstairs rooms, an orangey glow from the one beneath. Since he was alone he needed to know exactly how many were in there before he made any kind of move. He helped himself to a few swigs of coffee from his Thermos and demolished the roast beef sandwich he had bought at the service station on the M6.

Keeping at

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