Foxbat Read Free Page A

paused for a few seconds. ‘Look, we weren’t privy to your briefing, but what the hell’s going on in Algeria that’s caused half the Mobility
     Troop of an SAS Sabre Squadron to be scrambled? We aren’t at war with these guys, are we?’
    ‘Not yet, as far as I know, but the Algerians are on edge. There’s an extremist
     terrorist group called GIA operating within the country. They consider anybody who isn’t a Muslim as fair game, so they’ve assassinated tens of thousands of fellow Algerians and a
     bunch of foreigners since ninety-two. According to some authorities, Algeria is the single most dangerous country in the world to visit, including Iraq and Afghanistan.’
    ‘That must be a real comfort to you.’
    Richter grinned at him. ‘You said it. To answer your question, this is a classified
     mission, but it’s really pretty simple: we’re doing the Americans a favour. Their Keyhole birds have picked up unusual activity at several Algerian military bases –
     increased patrols by fighter planes, extra guards posted, that kind of thing – and at Aïn Oussera they’ve cordoned off one particular hangar and posted armed guards around
     it. The Americans are worried that Algeria might be working up its forces to launch an attack on Libya, or maybe Morocco.’
    ‘You’re kidding.’
    Richter smiled grimly in the gloom of the cockpit. ‘Unfortunately not, though I
     don’t think the Yanks have any real clue about this region.’
    ‘Or anywhere else east of New York.’
    ‘There’s that too. But something ’s going on out here, which is why we’re bouncing around in this bag of bolts instead of tucked up in bed back at
     home.’
    ‘So what’s with the hangar?’
    ‘That’s what we’re here to find out. The Americans reckon the Algerians might
     have a bunch of new aircraft, or maybe even a nuke or two, tucked away at Aïn Oussera. The only way to find out is to get someone to take a peep inside the building. And that someone is
     me.’
    ‘But you’re not SAS, right?’ Johnson asked. ‘You’re a
     spook.’
    ‘I’ve been called worse,’ Richter admitted. ‘If I was still in the Navy,
     I’d be the SLJO.’
    ‘Right – “Shitty Little Jobs Officer”? We’ve got one of
     those.’
    ‘Everyone has. And in my section it’s usually me.’
    Yellow Sea, south of Suri-bong, North Korea
    Yi Min-Ho opened the wheelhouse door of the fishing boat and stepped inside. He nodded to the
     skipper and walked over to the radar display, dimly illuminated by red lighting, and peered at the screen.
    ‘We’re clear,’ the captain confirmed. A middle-aged South Korean who’d
     spent his entire life as a professional fisherman, he was quietly pleased that his vessel had been selected for this task. However, he wouldn’t ever admit that either to his crew or to
     the slightly arrogant junior NIS officer now in front of him, who would be carrying out the mission itself.
    ‘No contacts within five miles of us, and nothing moving on the coast. We’re
     tracking south-east, speed just over two knots.’
    Yi Min-Ho was tall for a Korean, with pleasant, regular features, but his ingrained air of
     authority – or perhaps superiority – had already caused some friction on board. ‘And the radar detector?’ he demanded.
    Although in most respects the craft was just a fishing boat, and would pass any routine
     inspection by a North Korean patrol, it had been fitted with several extra items of equipment, all either cleverly concealed or designed to be easily ditched if the vessel looked likely to be
     boarded. The radar-warning receiver was one of these items.
    ‘We’re currently being illuminated by normal coastal surveillance radars, but no
     signs of anything unusual.’
    The fishing boat had made exactly the same journey three times a week for the last month,
     leaving Inchon in South Korea in mid-afternoon and sailing west into the Yellow Sea. Its route took it to a point about twenty miles