Free State Of Emergency: (Tom Buckingham Thriller 3) by Andy McNab

.’ She spat the words with contempt.
    Mandler wagged a finger. ‘Yes, but it’s more personal than that. Those chaps who came out of the services onto the streets, he gave them to believe they were all outsiders together. They may feel he’s rather abandoned them.’
    Another silence fell. Garvey had to remind herself that the clock was ticking. In a matter of minutes she would officially be a mere MP once more. Her thoughts drifted back to Buckingham. ‘Do you suppose he would have pulled the trigger on the gunman if Rolt had been in the room?’
    They gazed at each other for a moment. Mandler said, ‘Interesting to speculate. Buckingham has no love for Rolt. In fact, he’s probably chafing to get out.’
    Garvey cleared her throat. ‘Seems such a shame. Rolt thinks the world of him. His cover is rock solid. Only four of us know what he’s really doing. I say leave him in place.’
    Mandler raised his eyebrows. ‘Buckingham’s his own man. We can’t order him to stay.’
    ‘But surely his value to you as an asset has just shot up. Doesn’t every self-respecting MI5 DG crave a spy in his political master’s camp?’
    ‘Well, I can’t see a way of forcing him to stay in the saddle.’
    ‘Then if I were you I’d bloody well find one.’
    Mandler nodded half-heartedly.
    ‘Do you really think there’ll be others?’
    ‘Other what?’
    ‘Attempts on Rolt’s life.’
    Mandler delivered his default answer. ‘Who knows? Most of Invicta’s members have been trained to kill. If there are any more who’ve got disillusioned …’
    ‘One can only hope.’
    They exchanged a brief smile. In less than an hour Mandler would be answering to a new man. Well, fuck it. She poured herself a refill. If this was what it meant to be a functioning alcoholic, it had its compensations.
    She had one more question. ‘What do you really think about Rolt’s plans? Do you really think any of it could work?’
    ‘“Cutting out the tumour of terrorism, so British children can play safely on our gleaming white streets”?’
    ‘Well?’
    ‘Honestly?’ He took a deep breath, swirled what was left of the Scotch and swallowed. ‘I think it’s going to make everything a great deal worse.’

11
    12.00 local time
Aleppo
    Where was Emma? He had given her the camera twenty minutes ago; she’d told him to wait, promised to return with the driver in ten. Another ten and Abukhan would start to get suspicious about his absence, as would his comrades. Half an hour, and they would know he’d done a runner.
    Overhead, a huge bank of cloud had blotted out the sun and turned the sky to the same dusty grey as the shattered buildings around him. The temperature had plummeted. He was still shaking. For more than an hour he and the others in his platoon had stood motionless as instructed, while one by one the girls were put to death. Every time he blinked, the terrible image of what he had just witnessed flashed up, seared into his brain for ever. He doubled over and threw up the meagre contents of his stomach.
    The man who came out of the basement had on a bright yellow Puffa jacket and sunglasses. He didn’t look like a local; nor did he have any of the natural wariness with which everyone in Aleppo armed themselves.
    ‘Hey, Jamal. Let’s go!’ He spoke in English. He pressed a small translucent box into Jamal’s palm.
    ‘What’s this?’
    ‘The memory card. A copy of the film. She said for you to take it with you. You’ll have to stash it. Come, there’s no time.’
    ‘But I thought she was going to upload it herself.’
    ‘It’s your insurance. So you can show it if you get any problems on your return home. Come.’
    He grabbed him and pulled him along, a key dangling from his other hand. The motorbike was down an alley. Two boys who were guarding it stepped into the shadows as they approached.
    ‘I’m Hakim, by the way. The border’s no more than two hours. You should be in Turkey by nightfall.’ He grinned and clamped