Nancy seemed a little taken aback. Nash understood why. She wasn’t used to Paul’s business manner. To her, he’d always been the affable, somewhat daft, lovable husband. She’d only just discovered his position within MI6 and had never seen him in business mode. She appeared impressed.
Harry munched on a protein bar. “What about Pinchot?”
“What about him?” Nash asked.
“Isn’t he another loose end?” She shrugged. “He’s been part of this from the beginning.”
“He may swing by,” Nash said casually.
“What? Why?”
“There was a reason I sent the email unencrypted.” He grabbed a protein bar for himself. “Pinchot was obviously privy to Cavendish’s communications or he’d never have known Cavendish would be in New York. That was up-to-date intelligence he shouldn’t have had access to once he’d been thrown out of Tartarus. I’m betting he’s already on his way, just like Cavendish.”
“Isn’t there a chance he’ll mess things up?”
Nash eyed Hawk. “We have contingencies in place for that.”
The entire group had spent the night going over their detailed plans. Everyone contributed suggestions or posed pertinent challenging questions. Even Nancy and Harry, who weren’t experienced espionage agents, came up with useful ideas. It was certainly a team effort.
Not knowing how much time they had certainly challenged them, but everything was falling into place. Well, almost everything.
“Not wanting to be that guy,” Bishop pronounced, “but we seem to be severely lacking in the weapons department.” He hobbled closer to the table and put his crutches to the side. “I for one don’t want to take on whatever Cavendish is going to throw at us with two starter’s pistols and a packet of Walkers Cheese and Onion crisps.”
“I’d murder a packet right now.” Eva rubbed her stomach. “Actually, I’m famished.”
“I believe we have ammunitions covered.” Nash turned to Hawk. “You want to do the honours?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
With a flourish, the bald Scotsman removed a dusty drop sheet to reveal armaments worthy of a small army. There were collective gasps all round, followed by several impressed whistles. Once again, Hawk had come through. During the satellite phone call, Nash had provided him with precise instructions to locate Nash’s hidden treasure on the grounds of his old family estate. It contained heavy armaments and ammunition as well as a cache of silver and gold, which Nash advised Hawk to use to buy everything else on his extensive list. Hawk had his own stash and had contributed to the haul. In fact, it was his old mentor who provided the inspiration for Nash’s own hoard.
The armaments contained a collection of KS1 Carbine rifles, G17 pistols, boxes and boxes of ammunition, a stash of grenades. Nash noted a few additions Hawk hadn’t mentioned.
Bishop reeled in surprise. “Bloody hell, is that a L2A1 ILAW?”
The man was right. The L2A1 ILAW was an unguided anti-armour rocket launcher designed to be carried by a single British soldier. It wasn’t something one expected to come across on an empty stomach.
Nash leaned over to Hawk. “One day you’re going to tell me the story of how you came across that.”
Hawk rocked on his heels. “I simply forgot to return this baby when I retired. Must be getting forgetful in my old age.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to forget,” Bishop observed.
“In my experience,” Hawk rubbed his beard, “one never wants to be caught short in a firefight.”
“There’s a difference between being caught short and annihilating the opposition.”
In a steely tone, Hawk replied, “I fail to see the distinction.”
Bishop beamed. “I’m not arguing with him.”
“Wise man,” Nash conceded.
There was a lot of lethal firepower on the table, all of which Nash hoped would be redundant, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d created a plan that would hopefully result in minimal casualties, but there were no guarantees. Should things go badly and his team need protection, the weapons were there, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Nash had to conceded there was a lot of hoping and wishing involved in his plan, far more than he’d like.
Nancy elbowed her husband. “Do you have a stash like this in our back shed?”
“Only a couple of Challenger 2 tanks. Nothing to worry about, my love.”
Giving her husband a side-eye, Nancy replied, “In the past I would have thought you were joking. Now I’m not so sure.”
Nash picked up a box of pistols, extracted one and stripped it down to its components in seconds, laying the pieces on the table. “This is a standard issue self-loading, semi-automatic, short recoil, locked breech, tilting barrel pistol. The G17 is made with a high-strength nylon-based polymer created by Glock which increases durability. You’ll all be drilling with these until they become part of your body.”
Harry raised her hand. “All of us?”
“All of you, yes.”
Harry beamed. “Smashing.”
“Almost all.” Eva was uncustomarily sheepish. “I’ve had a chat to Nance, and given her current medical condition of sperm poisoning—”
“Ewww.”
“— she, Paul and I have agreed she needs to get the fuck off the battlefield.” She turned to her friend. “I’m going to miss seeing the Irish hellhound kicking arse and taking names, but none of us could live with ourselves if anything happened to little Eva.”
Nancy twisted her mouth to the side. “I’m not naming this sprog after you, you Aussie tart.”
The two shared a hug.
