Touch the Devil

The office of the commanding officer of 22nd SAS at Bradbury Lines Barracks in Hereford was neat and functional, if rather spartan. Most surprising was the CO himself, young for a half-colonel with a keen intelligent face, bronzed from much exposure to desert sun. The medal ribbons above his pocket included the Military Cross. He sat there, leaning back in his seat, listening intently.

When Ferguson had finished speaking the colonel nodded ‘Very interesting.’

‘But can it be done?’ Ferguson asked.

The colonel smiled slightly. ‘Oh, yes, Brigadier, no trouble at all as far as I can see. The sort of thing my chaps are doing in South Armagh all the time. Tony Villiers is the man for this one, I think.’ He flicked his intercom. ‘Captain Villiers, quick as you like, and we’ll have tea for three while we’re waiting.’

The tea was excellent, the conversation mainly army gossip. It was perhaps fifteen minutes before there was a knock at the door and a young man of twenty-six or seven entered. At some time or other his nose had been broken, probably in the boxing ring from the look of him. He wore a black track suit but the most surprising feature about him was his hair which was black and tangled and almost shoulder length.

‘Sorry about the delay, sir, I was on the track.’

‘That’s okay, Tony. I’d like you to meet Brigadier Ferguson and Captain Fox.’

‘Gentlemen.’ Villiers nodded.

‘Brigadier Ferguson is from DI5, Tony. He has a job of the kind to which we are particularly suited. Top priority. Seemed to me it could be your department.’

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