him. 'If you want Damien on the team, then you have to take Ivan as well,' she said briskly. 'That's the deal. Take it or leave it.'
'Don't give me orders,' Matt retorted. 'I make my own choices.'
Alison turned around to face him, her eyes alight with indignation. 'You were an inch away from being a dosser. You make crap choices.'
Matt turned away. Inside, he was fighting down the desire to snap back at her. Stay calm, he reminded himself. Turning quickly, he walked back to the door, glancing at Damien. He had known him since they were in primary school, and he reckoned he could read his friend's face like a tabloid newspaper: whatever he was thinking was right there in a 72-point black headline. Right now Damien could see a prize a few inches away from him, but feared it was about to be snatched away.
I'll lay out the facts, and let the team take the decision. What else can I do?
He walked through to the main room. 'If we're doing this, I want proper Regiment rules to apply,' said Matt, standing next to the window. 'Everyone's equal. We take decisions as a group. Everyone pulls his weight. No flapping, no panicking – and if you fuck-up you say sorry and move on. OK?'
Around the room, he could see four men nodding back. Two of them were SAS and two weren't, but whatever their background, they were all warriors.
'We've all agreed to take part in this mission,' he continued. 'But I'm about to give you the details. If you don't like the sound of it, you are still free to go. Nobody's forcing you to do anything. But after this discussion, if you're still up for it, you're committed. There's no backing out. OK?'
He looked through the room again. No dissent.
Matt nodded towards Alison. 'This is Alison. She's a senior MI5 officer. It's her plan, and Five are going to be helping us with logistics, materials and planning.
'We're hitting a boat on the Mediterranean,' Matt continued. 'It's running gold and diamonds for al-Qaeda. There will be at least thirty million dollars in gear on board. Fenced, it should be worth ten million.' Damien cast him a look of confirmation. 'We get to keep the money, no questions asked.'
He looked into their eyes. It was more than they had expected. Unbelievably more. Behind the expressions he could see the calculations being made: two million translated into treatment for the children, a new house and car for the wife, escape from the Provos, or respect among the gangs in Camberwell. Fear and desire and escape. Those were the currencies being traded.
'Two million each?' said Cooksley.
'In cash?' added Reid.
'You heard it right,' said Matt. 'The mission should take a month, from today to pay-day. We'll take a day to tell our families, whoever. After that, silence. We're out of contact until it's over. We're all here for our different skills. Cooksley, Reid, and I are all ex-SAS. We know about fighting. Damien is an old pal of mine, and he knows everything about boats. He's also going to help us fence the goods. And Ivan . . .' Matt paused, looking across at the Irishman. 'Well, I've told you about Ivan.'
Matt looked towards Reid. The calculations again: working with a Provo against the money he desperately needed. Swallow some pride, Matt thought. Get used to it.
'How dangerous is it going to be?' said Ivan.
Matt glanced towards Alison.
'Usual risk, high but acceptable,' she said. 'They'll be armed, and they'll do their best to kill you. Against that, you'll have training, numbers and equipment on your side.'
'I meant afterwards,' said Ivan. 'You steal from al-Qaeda, they're going to come after you.'
Another good question, thought Matt. He might be a Provo, but he's sharp. He glanced back towards Alison, noting the hesitation in her eyes. It was the first time he'd seen that: every other question pitched at her she had batted straight back with total self-belief. Not this time.
'There's no such thing as a safe mission,' she said slowly. 'From your different backgrounds, all of you
'Don't give me orders,' Matt retorted. 'I make my own choices.'
Alison turned around to face him, her eyes alight with indignation. 'You were an inch away from being a dosser. You make crap choices.'
Matt turned away. Inside, he was fighting down the desire to snap back at her. Stay calm, he reminded himself. Turning quickly, he walked back to the door, glancing at Damien. He had known him since they were in primary school, and he reckoned he could read his friend's face like a tabloid newspaper: whatever he was thinking was right there in a 72-point black headline. Right now Damien could see a prize a few inches away from him, but feared it was about to be snatched away.
I'll lay out the facts, and let the team take the decision. What else can I do?
He walked through to the main room. 'If we're doing this, I want proper Regiment rules to apply,' said Matt, standing next to the window. 'Everyone's equal. We take decisions as a group. Everyone pulls his weight. No flapping, no panicking – and if you fuck-up you say sorry and move on. OK?'
Around the room, he could see four men nodding back. Two of them were SAS and two weren't, but whatever their background, they were all warriors.
'We've all agreed to take part in this mission,' he continued. 'But I'm about to give you the details. If you don't like the sound of it, you are still free to go. Nobody's forcing you to do anything. But after this discussion, if you're still up for it, you're committed. There's no backing out. OK?'
He looked through the room again. No dissent.
Matt nodded towards Alison. 'This is Alison. She's a senior MI5 officer. It's her plan, and Five are going to be helping us with logistics, materials and planning.
'We're hitting a boat on the Mediterranean,' Matt continued. 'It's running gold and diamonds for al-Qaeda. There will be at least thirty million dollars in gear on board. Fenced, it should be worth ten million.' Damien cast him a look of confirmation. 'We get to keep the money, no questions asked.'
He looked into their eyes. It was more than they had expected. Unbelievably more. Behind the expressions he could see the calculations being made: two million translated into treatment for the children, a new house and car for the wife, escape from the Provos, or respect among the gangs in Camberwell. Fear and desire and escape. Those were the currencies being traded.
'Two million each?' said Cooksley.
'In cash?' added Reid.
'You heard it right,' said Matt. 'The mission should take a month, from today to pay-day. We'll take a day to tell our families, whoever. After that, silence. We're out of contact until it's over. We're all here for our different skills. Cooksley, Reid, and I are all ex-SAS. We know about fighting. Damien is an old pal of mine, and he knows everything about boats. He's also going to help us fence the goods. And Ivan . . .' Matt paused, looking across at the Irishman. 'Well, I've told you about Ivan.'
Matt looked towards Reid. The calculations again: working with a Provo against the money he desperately needed. Swallow some pride, Matt thought. Get used to it.
'How dangerous is it going to be?' said Ivan.
Matt glanced towards Alison.
'Usual risk, high but acceptable,' she said. 'They'll be armed, and they'll do their best to kill you. Against that, you'll have training, numbers and equipment on your side.'
'I meant afterwards,' said Ivan. 'You steal from al-Qaeda, they're going to come after you.'
Another good question, thought Matt. He might be a Provo, but he's sharp. He glanced back towards Alison, noting the hesitation in her eyes. It was the first time he'd seen that: every other question pitched at her she had batted straight back with total self-belief. Not this time.
'There's no such thing as a safe mission,' she said slowly. 'From your different backgrounds, all of you
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