by Andy McNab
My hands dropped. My Adam's apple was being pushed deep into my throat and I couldn't breathe.
I felt a stabbing pain in my neck and chest. I thrashed and bucked, but more weakly than before. My right hand felt for a syringe. My brain was telling me to breathe, but I couldn't. I saw showers of white stars and the pain subsided. Not good. I gripped the syringe as the world blurred and faded and my head began to explode.
I focused on his eyes, or where they should have been in the shadow above me.
I swung my hand up and stabbed and stabbed.
He screamed and his scream became a howl. His hands loosened on my throat as Dom tried to pull him off me.
I kicked and pushed, looking for a weapon in the torchlight.
Coughing and retching, I scrambled to my feet.
Noah swept Dom aside and got to his knees. His agonized screams reverberated round the room.
I spotted the Mini-Ero's muzzle jutting out from beneath Dom's thigh. I grabbed his foot and pulled him away from Noah's flailing fists, then lunged for the weapon. I gripped the safety and squeezed off the rest of the mag.
Noah jerked like a puppet as he took the bursts, then toppled over on to his mates and lay still.
Everything went quiet for a second or two until real life elbowed its way through the door.
I could hear engines rumbling down the hill and hysterical girls begging for help.
I should have moved but all I could do for now was sit. My Adam's apple was still most of the way down my throat. I could hardly swallow.
Dom was moving, trying to curl up and protect himself. I heaved a blood-soaked sleeping-bag from under Noah.
'Help me, Dom. Come on.'
I pulled him up, got him on my shoulder. I threw the bag over him and headed through the door.
A cold wind blew and headlights bounced across the night sky. Searchlights swung left and right from the top of the Turks' vehicles.
I took the path to the right, the one that headed further uphill. I stepped over Joey's body. Light was flooding from the houses about thirty metres away. Contouring the ground with the heaviest weight I'd ever had on my shoulders, I staggered a few paces, stopped, made a fruitless attempt to get the sleeping-bag round him to protect him from the biting wind, and staggered some more.
My ankles twisted on the uneven footing. Dom felt like he was getting heavier and heavier. His legs bounced off the ground in front of me as I tried to shift his weight more evenly on my shoulders.
We made maybe two hundred more across the face of the mountain, still level with the house, and gradually lost ourselves in the darkness. I unloaded Dom on to the rocks. He didn't react. I got him tucked inside the maggot as best I could and zipped it up. I couldn't see if he had his eyes open. There was starlight, but my night vision hadn't kicked in yet.
I crouched down next to him. A horrible rasping noise came from the back of his throat. 'Oi, Drac – it's Nick. Nick Stone. It's over.'
The kidnap might be. But once I had him sorted out there were questions that needed answering.
He moved an arm inside the bag and tried to grab mine through the material. His grip was weak. His lips moved soundlessly. I thought he might be trying to thank me. I patted him through the bag. 'You owe me big-time.'
His breathing became shallow and rapid. A hand snaked out of the bag and tried to grip my shoulder. His chest heaved and tears streamed from his eyes.
The wind whipped the sweat from my face, then forced its way between my wet back and the Bergen. I was starting to freeze.
I looked up at the commotion round the target. The two wagons were static. The house was lit up like an historic monument. Girls were being wrapped in blankets and comforted. Soon they'd be drinking hot tea and getting medical attention.
I eased Dom's hand off my shoulder. 'Let's get you warm, eh? Not long now. We'll be out of here soon.'
I tried to zip him up some more but he was just too big. The top of the bag came up to his chest. I took off the Bergen and dug inside for the shemag. I wrapped it round his head, then packed away the Mini-Ero and mags. I'd need both hands to grip him now he was in the bag.
From down in the valley, a long line of flashing blue lights was making its way towards us. The cops would be over the moon. They could take the credit for busting yet another freelance torture chamber, and the dead men were all foreigners.
I pulled out the personal mobile and slipped it into the front pocket of my jeans before re-shouldering the Bergen. I gripped Dom in the nylon sleeping-bag and somehow got him back over my shoulder. 'Not far, mate. If they're not broken, your legs will be working by tonight, no drama.'
I started to pick my way downhill. The blue lights were nearly level with me now. Their headlights splashed across a couple of Turkish armoured trucks and their .50-cal gunners looked as though they'd shoot at anything that moved.
I pushed on for maybe another ten minutes, with the buildings and the road to my right, but I couldn't keep it up. Dom was just too fucking heavy.
I laid him on the ground again and sorted out the sleeping-bag. I held his head and leant in close again. 'Dom . . .' Fuck, I wasn't too sure who smelt worse. 'Dom, I'm going to check the road, OK? I'll be two minutes.'
I slid between two mud houses and made my way down towards Magreb's Hiace. It was locked. So were the two buses. The school was battened down. I needed to get into cover with Dom, and it wasn't just to keep him warm. The blue lights were still heading this way. In another couple of hours it would be light. Fuck the Yes Man, I'd deliver Dom when I was good and ready.
I moved back to the mud houses and sat under a corrugated lean-to with a pile of plastic bowls and a couple of old sacks. Below me, the Gandamack district was lit up again.
No curtains twitched in either house. Their inhabitants were either asleep or just wanted to get on with their lives and send their kids to school.
I powered up the mobile. It rang a couple of times, but I didn't hear where.
'Hello, mate, it's Nick. I'm going to need your van.'
78
'Mr Nick, I come to hotel now?'
'No need. I'm outside. I'm by the school.'
I could hear movement his end as he jumped out of bed and Mrs M gave him a hard time.
'You in the shooting, maybe?'
''Fraid so, mate. I just want your keys, OK? Can you meet me by the wagon? Keep the lights off in your house, OK?'
'I come now, Mr Nick.'
I closed down and went to the van.
A door opened just ahead and a skinny body in a pullover, trousers and flip-flops joined me. We ducked into cover as the flashing blue lights surged past, strobing the mud walls of the houses as they snaked up the hill.
His eyes widened. 'Mr Nick, your face – much blood . . .'
'Don't worry, mate. It's not mine.' I peeled off some notes. 'I just want your van. I'll pay you for it. I've got eight hundred dollars with me.' I grinned. 'You could buy three vans for that, maybe.'
He held up his hands. 'Please, Mr Nick, I no want your money. You already pay. I drive you hotel.'
I got down on one knee and fished in my sock. 'That's the problem, mate. I'm not going back. All that shooting up there . . . It was a prison. There were young girls being tortured and raped. My friend was a prisoner too. I came to get him out, and now I must find somewhere to hide him while he recovers. He's been badly hurt.'
I stood up and offered him the money.
'Let me pay for your van. My friend's behind the houses here. I don't want to involve you in this, mate.'
'No. I drive you. I drive you where you want. I you friend, Mr Nick.'
I punched his arm. I knew I was beaten. 'Give us a hand, then. His name's Dom.'
He followed me into the darkness behind the two houses. The flashing blues had almost reached the target. The Turks' searchlights kept sweeping the hillside.
'Mr Nick, I take you to my brother woodstore, maybe. Not far. In valley.' He looked down at the mess in the
sleeping-bag. 'Oh . . .'
'Dom, this is my mate Magreb.'
He nodded weakly, then kept mumbling, 'Thank you,' over and over. I wished he'd shut the fuck up.
I turned back to Magreb. 'He'll be all right. Come on, let's get him to the van.'
I slid my hands under his armpits and Magreb took his legs. We staggered down the hill.
'You go to bar to find these bad people?'
'No. The people in the bar were all right.' I nodded in the direction of Noah's place. 'The bad ones were up there. So bad they weren't even allowed into the bar.'
'They dead now, Mr Nick?'
'Yes. Very.' I didn't want to beat about the bush. I needed him to know what he was getting himself into.
We lowered Dom on to the ground when we got back to the Hiace, and Magreb went to open the side-door. 'No, mate. We'd better get in the back and you cover us over.'
He didn't miss a trick. 'Checkpoint, maybe?' He opened the tailgate and we lifted Dom in. I followed and unzipped the bag to cover us both.
Magreb stood motionless at the back of the van.
I reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. 'You sure you want to do this?'
He leant towards me, his expression serious. 'I want my children live in peace, Mr Nick.' He pointed at the building beside us. 'I want them go school, be doctor, maybe. Those bad men, I no want here. I want leave us in peace. You make my home little safer now, Mr Nick. You my friend . . .'
I smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze before we went into gratitude overload. 'If we're stopped, act normal. Tell them you're going to work, OK?'
He nodded and stepped back. The tailgate closed, immediately sheltering us from the chill wind.
We huddled together in the space between the seat and the back of the vehicle. I held Dom against my chest to give him as much extra warmth as I could muster. His head rested just below my chin. He moistened his swollen lips and tried to talk. 'Peter . . . I did not kill him, Nick. I did not kill him . . .'
The van lurched off downhill and we were catapulted forward against the seats. I adjusted the Bergen lower down my back. 'Who did?'
'You must believe me . . .' His breath was warm and rancid.
'I know about the drugs, the FCO connection, all that shit. But what's so important about the Dublin film?'
'I did not kill Peter.' The boy was on a loop.
'Listen, mate. You need to level with me here. I need to know what the fuck's happening.'
Magreb had spotted a problem. 'Please, quiet, Mr Nick. Police . . .'
I found Dom's lips with my thumb and forefinger and held them tight. I hugged him to me, and tried to shuffle us a few inches lower. I checked that the bag was covering us as the brakes squealed and the wagon came to a standstill.
I could hear radio traffic. It got louder as Magreb rolled his window down. A voice gobbed off in Pashtun and Magreb responded in kind. It sounded like they were having an argument. It's that kind of language. Vehicles stopped, engines idled. The only words I could make out from Magreb were 'Serena' and 'hotel'.
Dom's breath rasped. I pressed my hand over his face as I heard footsteps making their way round the vehicle. A hazy light washed across the rear window and the cheap nylon sleeping-bag. Dom whimpered. I pulled his head more firmly against my chest. It was pointless flapping. There were only two things that could happen. Either they would find us or they wouldn't. All I could do was shut Dom up and wait.
The light faded and the footsteps moved back to the driver's window. There was another short exchange, and the van jolted forwards. We drove maybe fifty metres further down the track and then on to the metalled road. We were soon cruising along the flat of the valley. 'We're nearly there, Mr Nick.'
I lifted Dom's head and took my hand away from his mouth. Dribble poured down his chin and soon worked its way through my T-shirt.
'Siobhan?'
'She's OK. I saw her a few days ago.'
'Does she know I'm OK? Can I talk to her?'
'Not yet. Let's just get to my mate's brother's place, get your head straight. Then you're going to tell me what the fuck's going on.'
'Nick . . .' His stinking breath was just inches from my face again. 'I did not kill Peter, I swear.'
Magreb was getting a bit worried about the waffle. I didn't think he could hear Dom but he could certainly hear me. 'Mr Nick, please, quiet and stay down, maybe. Just few minutes. Thank you.'
We turned off the metalled road and bounced along another track. The brakes squealed and the van came to a halt. Everything went quiet. 'We here, Mr Nick.'
I didn't know why he was whispering. It wasn't as if he had a Stealth Hiace.
The tailgate opened and I pushed back the sleeping-bag. All I could see were huge wood-stacks, maybe fifteen metres high, tree-trunks, branches, bundles of twigs for tinder. I clambered out. In front of the wagon was a collection of corrugated-iron shacks. TV Hill was to our right, maybe a K away. The target was still floodlit and flashing blue like a UFO landing site.
Either side of us were runs of half-finished buildings, exposed reinforcing rods jutting into the starlit sky. A car drove past on the main the other side of the woodpiles.
We carried Dom over the tyre-rutted mud into one of the shacks. The place stank of old woodsmoke. We put him down on a pile of furry nylon carpets that had been spread across a minging old mattress tucked into the corner. Magreb lit an oil lamp. 'My brother get wood. Three days, maybe.'
There was a fireplace of sorts, with a badly sooted cooking-pot sitting on old embers. Hundreds of books were piled in one corner.
Magreb held the lamp over Dom. I touched his arm. 'Listen, mate, I'll get a fire going, heat up some water. You find some good stuff to drink, OK?'
It got him sparked up. 'Of course, Mr Nick. I get food also. I not long.'
As the rickety old door closed behind him I slipped the Bergen off my shoulders, took the lamp to the fireplace and tucked a couple of blankets round Dom.
The door creaked open again. 'Mr Nick?'
'What's the matter, mate?' As I opened my mouth I knew there were just too many footsteps.
The next thing I heard was 'Stay where you are, son – or you'll get it right now.'
I didn't need to turn to do a headcount. Where you had Sundance, you had Trainers.
'Now face me.'
They were both in the room, carrying shorts. Trainers kicked Magreb off towards the left of the shack. He wasn't controlling his fear too well. Dom just kept quiet and still.
Sundance and Trainers weren't interested in him, or even Magreb. I seemed to be the star of the show.
'Don't move a muscle, you fuck.'
A vehicle rolled over the mud towards us and pulled up. The engine stopped and doors opened.
Two more bodies joined us. Mr Sheen and Top Lip stopped for a moment and glared at me, then picked up Dom and my Bergen. Dom tried to put up a struggle rewarded by Mr Sheen with a blow to his face.
Magreb cowered, forehead down, knees up, arms wrapped round his legs.
