Before they went into the details of the operation, Fergus wanted to get a couple more things straight. 'I choose the rest of the team.'
It was nothing less than Dudley had expected. 'Agreed.'
'And Danny's not ready. He's never worked in a team. He needs a build-up.'
Dudley stood up and brushed down his overcoat. 'We have little time; the Meltdown crisis is like a ticking time bomb. Ten days maximum, but I need you on the ground as soon as possible.'
Fergus looked at his grandson, and when he spoke, there was a hint of pride in his voice. 'Danny's a quick learner.'
4
SAS training area near Hereford, England They used to call them the 'killing houses', but back in the 1990s, when the press picked up on the term, the Regiment had decided to become politically correct. Now they were known simply by the official name, CQB houses.
At first sight the training area looked like a bizarre cross between a small but deserted town and a war zone. There were houses and blocks of red-brick flats alongside parked aircraft and a variety of vehicles. It all appeared bleak, abandoned and haphazard, but everything had a very specific purpose.
Fergus had wanted Danny to get specialist training and he was getting it. Like a non-swimmer thrown in at the deep end, Danny's only options were to sink or swim, and he was swimming – or at least keeping his head above water. It was tough, but it was meant to be. The Regiment had a saying: Train hard; fight easy. Train easy; fight hard – and die.
Danny's eighteenth birthday had come and gone while they were in Canada, and as far as Fergus was concerned, as his grandson was now part of a professional team, his build-up had to be as hard and tough as any SAS trooper's.
So the instructors were taking little heed of Danny's age and inexperience. They had a job to do and they were doing it. If Danny didn't come up to the mark, it wouldn't be down to them.