Boy Soldier Read Online Free Page B
Author: Andy McNab
like that. Foxcroft had been burgled many times – not that there was much worth stealing.
The garden was deserted when Danny arrived with his mobile and the phone directory. He sat on a wooden bench and started to look up numbers. He tried the local recruitment office, the Army Pensions Office and even the National Army Museum. No joy.
While Danny was on the phone, Elena went back to the online search engine. She punched in 'SAS' and was rewarded with a list of sites ranging from Scandinavian Airlines to Surfers Against Sewage.
'Idiot,' said Elena to herself. 'Use your brain, Elena, be specific.' She typed in 'Special Air Services Regiment'. There were pages and pages dedicated to the Regiment. Most were tribute sites run by wannabe warriors or SAS anoraks.
But Elena worked quickly online, swiftly deciding which sites could be discounted and which needed checking out. Eventually she logged onto the SAS Association, an organization for ex-members of the Regiment.
'Nice one,' she said, making a note of the contact phone number.
She shut down the computer and hurried out to the garden.
Danny got through to the SAS Association and after a few brief words was put on hold. He paced impatiently up and down a small patch of grass between two flowerbeds and glanced over at Elena. She had taken his place on the garden bench and was staring at an unopened blue airmail letter she held in both hands. The envelope was addressed to her and bore an unusual stamp.
'Aren't you gonna open that?'
Before Elena could answer, the phone line crackled and a woman's voice came on: 'You did say S. Watts, caller?'
Danny sighed. 'No, F. F for Fergus.'
'And you say he left the Regiment about ten years ago?'
'Something like that. I think he'd be about fifty-two or -three now.'
'Just one moment, caller, I'll check again. You do realize that if he is listed I can't give you an address or number?'
'He's my granddad. I just want to know if he's still alive.'
The woman sounded sympathetic. 'Oh, dear, that's a shame. Putting you on hold, then.'
She was back in less than a minute. 'We do have a Watts, but he's much more recent. Wrong generation completely. They don't all join the association when they leave, you know. Some just seem to . . . disappear.'
'Oh great,' said Danny. 'Now what do I do?'
It was a question that he didn't expect to have answered, but the woman obviously wanted to help. 'Did you say you were calling from London?'
'Yeah, and I'm running out of credit on my mobile.'
'Well, you could try the Victory Club. A lot of the old and bold go there. Someone might remember him.' It wasn't much, but it was a lead. 'Thanks, thanks a lot,' said Danny. 'Bye.' He went over to the bench and sat next to Elena. The envelope was still unopened. 'From your dad?'
Elena didn't sound happy. 'Who else do I know in Nigeria?'
'Don't you want to know what it says?'
'I already know. He's realized the money my mum saved is there for me now, and he wants it. Money's the only thing he's ever been interested in.'
Since turning sixteen, Elena had been allowed to use the money her mum had left her. So far, she had delved into the savings only once, to buy her laptop plus the hardware needed to turn the Foxcroft broadband connection into a hot zone. It meant she could use her machine wire-free anywhere in the building. Elena already had her future mapped out. After university she planned to become a computer scientist, so her state-of-the-art laptop was no toy, it was an investment.
Danny reached over and checked out the stamp on the letter. 'Read it. Maybe you're wrong, and at least you've got someone who wants to be in contact.'
Elena hesitated. She'd been disappointed by her father so many times before. The single birthday card she'd received over the past eight years was tucked away at the back of a desk drawer in her room, along with the one letter he'd written to her mum asking for money. He'd even got Elena's age wrong on the card. But now
The garden was deserted when Danny arrived with his mobile and the phone directory. He sat on a wooden bench and started to look up numbers. He tried the local recruitment office, the Army Pensions Office and even the National Army Museum. No joy.
While Danny was on the phone, Elena went back to the online search engine. She punched in 'SAS' and was rewarded with a list of sites ranging from Scandinavian Airlines to Surfers Against Sewage.
'Idiot,' said Elena to herself. 'Use your brain, Elena, be specific.' She typed in 'Special Air Services Regiment'. There were pages and pages dedicated to the Regiment. Most were tribute sites run by wannabe warriors or SAS anoraks.
But Elena worked quickly online, swiftly deciding which sites could be discounted and which needed checking out. Eventually she logged onto the SAS Association, an organization for ex-members of the Regiment.
'Nice one,' she said, making a note of the contact phone number.
She shut down the computer and hurried out to the garden.
Danny got through to the SAS Association and after a few brief words was put on hold. He paced impatiently up and down a small patch of grass between two flowerbeds and glanced over at Elena. She had taken his place on the garden bench and was staring at an unopened blue airmail letter she held in both hands. The envelope was addressed to her and bore an unusual stamp.
'Aren't you gonna open that?'
Before Elena could answer, the phone line crackled and a woman's voice came on: 'You did say S. Watts, caller?'
Danny sighed. 'No, F. F for Fergus.'
'And you say he left the Regiment about ten years ago?'
'Something like that. I think he'd be about fifty-two or -three now.'
'Just one moment, caller, I'll check again. You do realize that if he is listed I can't give you an address or number?'
'He's my granddad. I just want to know if he's still alive.'
The woman sounded sympathetic. 'Oh, dear, that's a shame. Putting you on hold, then.'
She was back in less than a minute. 'We do have a Watts, but he's much more recent. Wrong generation completely. They don't all join the association when they leave, you know. Some just seem to . . . disappear.'
'Oh great,' said Danny. 'Now what do I do?'
It was a question that he didn't expect to have answered, but the woman obviously wanted to help. 'Did you say you were calling from London?'
'Yeah, and I'm running out of credit on my mobile.'
'Well, you could try the Victory Club. A lot of the old and bold go there. Someone might remember him.' It wasn't much, but it was a lead. 'Thanks, thanks a lot,' said Danny. 'Bye.' He went over to the bench and sat next to Elena. The envelope was still unopened. 'From your dad?'
Elena didn't sound happy. 'Who else do I know in Nigeria?'
'Don't you want to know what it says?'
'I already know. He's realized the money my mum saved is there for me now, and he wants it. Money's the only thing he's ever been interested in.'
Since turning sixteen, Elena had been allowed to use the money her mum had left her. So far, she had delved into the savings only once, to buy her laptop plus the hardware needed to turn the Foxcroft broadband connection into a hot zone. It meant she could use her machine wire-free anywhere in the building. Elena already had her future mapped out. After university she planned to become a computer scientist, so her state-of-the-art laptop was no toy, it was an investment.
Danny reached over and checked out the stamp on the letter. 'Read it. Maybe you're wrong, and at least you've got someone who wants to be in contact.'
Elena hesitated. She'd been disappointed by her father so many times before. The single birthday card she'd received over the past eight years was tucked away at the back of a desk drawer in her room, along with the one letter he'd written to her mum asking for money. He'd even got Elena's age wrong on the card. But now
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