by Andy McNab
I wanted to use the last three-quarters of an hour of day light re conning the garbage area. The lift-off might have been a ploy; I wanted to assure myself that nobody was lying in wait. The idea would be to do a complete 360 degrees around the target area, but before that I wanted to go back and give the hotel another look; I wanted to see if there were any police cars outside, to confirm whether it had been an official lift. If Luther and his friends were after a murder suspect, the cops should be up there by now, dusting for prints and taking statements.
I put on my disguise and looked in the mirror at the world's hippest dude well, nearly. If people looked closely, they would think I was the oldest swinger in town. I turned the cap around with the brim now forward, and off I went. I walked straight across the parking lot, crossed the main drag at the intersection, and worked my way back to the Best Western along the roads. I saw nothing. Everything looked perfectly normal; not a police car in sight.
As I walked back I thought about the state that Kev, Marsha, and Aida had been left in. Why hack them to bits? Luther and his friends weren't dope heads they were pros; they did nothing without a reason. They must have wanted it to appear drug related to cover their asses. Given the number of attempts on Kev's life in the past, it would have been perfectly plausible for the police to assume that one of them had finally succeeded, and that the perpetrators had then gone overboard and slain the whole family as a warning to others. But I knew that wasn't the explanation. They had killed Marsha because they'd have had to assume that Kev had passed on whatever he knew, and then they'd had to kill Aida simply because they didn't want witnesses. Kelly owed her life to their having not seen her. It was probably only after the news reports that they realized they hadn't finished the job, that there might be a witness after all.
The way they'd butchered Aida brought back to me a story about the American "hearts and minds" program in Vietnam.
In one region they'd injected the children of a village against smallpox. The Viet Cong came along a week later and cut each child's arm off. It worked: no more hearts and minds programs for them. Sometimes the end justifies the means. I had a sort of respect for Luther and company, but I knew I mustn't fuck around with these people they were too much like me.
Rush hour was now in full swing; it would be dark soon.
The stores were still open and the area was packed with people. It was great for me; it made me just another sucker.
As I walked I had my head down against the rain. I reached the Wendy's parking lot. This time I was nearer the fence;
wiping my new glasses, I looked across the low ground as the rear of the mall came into view.
There was a loud hiss of brakes as a truck backed up to a loading bay. Three other trucks were already parked along side the car where I'd met Luther. But again, just as at the hotel, there were no police investigating the crime scene.
Maybe they didn't like the weather.
Only the bays that were in use were lit. The group of bins where I'd hidden Kelly was pretty much in shadow. One was being filled with the old metal shelving I'd used on Luther.
Even from where I was, I could hear the loud crash and clatter. Kelly must be petrified down there.
No need for a 360; I'd seen enough. As I looked forward deciding where to go now, I watched a bus pull up by a shelter, take on passengers, and drive off again. Maybe that was our way out of here.
But if they'd found Kelly and set an ambush, where was I going to run? I had to work out an escape route. Hijacking cars doesn't work so well in a built-up area it attracts too much attention. Better to use the crowds and confusion. I picked three possible routes.
Hanging around increased the chance of getting busted, so I decided to lift off from the area for a while. I continued on to the stores. I thought I'd get some stuff for Kelly; she'd be needing an appearance change, too. She'd been on the news;
she was famous now.
I bought her a nice big floppy hat. I wanted to tuck her hair up out of the way and hide her face as best I could. I also bought her a thinly padded pink three-quarter-length coat to cover those skinny legs, and a completely new set of clothes to fit a nine-year-old. She was tall for her age, so I thought I'd better get the larger size. Almost as an afterthought, I bought myself some new jeans and a T-shirt.
With a handful of shopping bags I retraced the route along the fence. As I walked away from the stores, their lights still reflected on the wet asphalt of the parking lot. The traffic was slow on the main drag, windshield wipers on full speed.
As I got to the fence I looked left. There was no change.
I kept on walking. As I got level with the stores, the access road started to rise up to meet me. The fence stopped. I turned left down a slippery grass embankment and onto the road that led to the back of the stores. I followed the fence again as I dropped down into the vacant lot.
The rain had turned the dust into mush. I now had the fence to my left and the loading bays to the right. I kept on walking, fighting the temptation just to run to Kelly, grab her, and get the hell out of there. That's what gets people caught or killed.
My eyes must have looked as if I were plugged into the power lines. They were darting everywhere, getting as much information into my head as possible. I wanted to see this am bush before it was sprung. I was committed now. If push came to shove, I'd fucking shove.
What if Kelly wasn't there? I'd call 911 and say I'd seen that girl from the news wandering around the area. Hopefully the cops would get her before Luther's pals did. That was if they hadn't already. I'd then have to take my chances when the Nick Stone manhunt began. Whoever had her would then have my name.
I got to within about twenty yards of the bins, still walking at the same steady pace. I didn't even look around now, because that took time and effort.
I came up to the bins and started to lift away the boxes.
"Kelly, it's me! Kelly! See, I told you I'd come back."
The cardboard was soaking wet, coming apart in my hands. As I pulled the last of it away, I could see she was more or less exactly in the position I'd left her. Curled up, sitting on some dry cardboard. My mind flashed back to how she'd looked when I'd found her in the garage. At least she wasn't rocking, with her hands clamped over her ears. She was dry;
maybe the bogeyman had got in, but at least the rain hadn't.
I stood her up and put her new coat around her shoulders.
"I hope you like pink," I said.
"I got this for you, too." I put the hat on her head to preserve whatever was left of her body heat.
She put her arms around me. I hadn't been expecting it;
I didn't know how to react. I just kept talking to her. She cuddled me harder.
I readjusted the hat.
"There, that'll keep you nice and dry. Now let's go and get you a bath and something to eat, shall we?"
I had the bags in my left arm. She gripped my left sleeve as we walked. It was awkward, but I needed to keep my right hand free to draw my pistol.
The bus was about half full with shoppers and bulging shopping bags. Kelly was cuddled up beside me in the window seat. Her hat was doing its job; her hair was tucked up, and the dropped brim covered her face. I was feeling good. I'd saved her from Luther and his buddies. I'd done the right thing.
We were on our way to Alexandria, an area I knew to be south of downtown D.C. but within the Beltway; we were going there because that was what had been on the destination sign of the first bus to arrive.
Everyone was fed up and wet, and the bus was well misted up. I leaned across and used my sleeve to wipe away the condensation, but it didn't help much. I looked toward the front, where the windshield wipers were working overtime.
The priority was a hotel; we'd have to check into one within the next hour or so, because the later in the day I left it, the more unusual it would look.
"Nick?"
I didn't want to look at her because I knew what she was going to ask.
> "Yes?"
"Why were those men chasing you? Did you do something wrong?"
I could feel her looking at me under her hat.
"I don't know who they are, Kelly. I just don't know." Eyes still fixed on the clear patch of windshield, I said, "You hungry?"
In the corner of my eye, I could see her hat moving up and down.
"Not long now. What do you want McDonald's?
Wendy's?"
She nodded for both, then mumbled something. I was still looking out the window.
"What's that?"
"Mickey D's."
"Mickey D's?"
"McDonald's! You're so out of it!"
"Ah, OK that's what we'll get."
I went back to my thoughts. I would only use cash from now on; I had to assume the worst, which was that we'd been traced through my credit card. Despite that, I'd still call London again. Deep down, I guessed that they'd probably already consigned my records to the shredder, but what did I have to lose?
We drove past a place called the Roadies Inn. It fit the bill. I didn't have a clue where we were, but that didn't matter; I'd sort that out later. I signaled the driver that we wanted the next stop.
When the Roadies Inn had been built in the 1960s it probably looked like a million dollars. Now even the grass outside looked faded, and on the red neon vacancy sign the V and the N were flickering. Perfect.
I peered through the screen door to the lobby. A woman in her twenties was behind the reception desk, smoking, and watching a TV that was on the far wall. I only hoped we hadn't had star billing on the news. Looking past her into the back office, I saw a bald, overweight man, probably late fifties, working at a desk.
"I want you to wait just here, Kelly." I pointed to the wall of the hotel under the upstairs landing that acted as a patio.
She didn't like it.
"I won't be long," I said, starting to walk backward toward the doors.
"Just wait there; I'll be right back." By now I was at the door. I pointed at her as if I were training a puppy.
"Stay, OK?"
The desk clerk was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair was the blondest I'd ever seen, apart from the roots. She glanced away from the TV and said on autopilot, "Hello, can I help you?"
"I'm looking for a room for maybe three or four nights."
"Sure, for how many?"
"Two adults and a child."
"Sure, one moment," and she ran her finger down the register.
The news was on. I turned and watched, but there was nothing about the murders. Maybe we were already old news.
I hoped so.
"Can I have your card?"
I pulled a face.
"Ah, that's where we have a problem. We're on a fly-drive vacation, and we've had our bags stolen. We've been to see the police and I'm waiting for replacement cards, but I'm just running on cash at the moment. I understand you have to have it for the record, but maybe if I pay in advance, and you disconnect the room phone?"
She was starting to nod her head, but her expression was still the wrong side of sympathetic.
"We're really stuck." I played the wet and sorrowful Brit abroad.
"We've got to go to the British consulate tomorrow and sort out our passports." I brought out some twenty-dollar bills.
It seemed to take a while for it all to sink in.
"I'm so sorry to hear about that." She paused, waiting for more chemicals to interact in her brain.
"I'll get the manager."
She went into the office, and I watched her talking to the bald guy at his desk. From their body language I got the impression he was her father. I felt a drop of sweat roll down my spine. If they refused us a room, we were stranded maybe miles from the next motel and would need to start ordering taxis and raising our profile.
Hurry up! I turned and looked outside but couldn't see Kelly. Fuck, I hoped Mr. Honest Citizen wasn't about to storm in demanding to know who'd left a little girl all alone outside in the rain. I quickly walked to the door and stuck my head outside. She was still there, standing where I'd asked her to.
I came back to the reception desk just as Dad appeared from the back office. The woman was on the telephone, taking a reservation.
"Just making sure our car isn't blocking the way." I grinned.
"I hear you have a problem?" Dad had a vacant smile on his face. I knew we were OK.
"Yes." I sighed.
"We've been to the police and contacted the credit card companies. We're just waiting for it to get sorted out. Until then, all I've got is cash. I'll pay for the next three days in advance."
"That's no problem."
I was sure it wasn't. There was no way our little cash transaction would be finding its way onto the books. What some people call white trash, Kev used to call "salt of the earth";
they might take a while to understand things, but money is money in any language.
He smiled.
"We'll keep the telephone on for you."
I played the thankful Brit and checked in, then Kelly and I bounded up two flights of concrete and cinder-block stairs.
Kelly hesitated outside the room, then looked at me and said, "Nick, I want to see Mommy. When can I go home?"
Shit, not that again. I wished more than anything that she could go and see Mommy. It would be one less problem.
"Not long now, Kelly," I said.
"I'll get some food in a minute,
OK?"
"OK."
Once inside, I lay down on the bed and thought out the priorities.
"Nick?"
"Yes?" I was looking at the ceiling.
"Can I watch TV?"
Thank God for that.
I reached over to the remote and quickly checked the channels, making sure I wasn't going to catch us both on the news.
I found Nickelodeon and stuck with it.
I'd made a decision.
"I'm going out now to buy us something to eat," I said, my mind on the one option that hadn't yet been closed.
"You stay here, the same as before. I'll put the do not disturb sign on the door, and you make sure that you don't open it for anybody. Do you understand?"
She nodded.
The phone booth was next to a Korean grocery store. It was still drizzling; I could hear the noise of tires on wet asphalt as I crossed the road.
I pushed in a couple of quarters and dialed.
I got "Good evening, British Embassy. How may I help you?"
"I'd like to speak to the defense attache, please."
"May I say who's calling?"
"My name is Stamford." Fuck it, I had nothing to lose.
"Thank you, one moment please."
Almost immediately, a no-nonsense voice came on the line: "Stamford?"
"Yes."
"Wait."
There was a long continuous tone; I was starting to think I'd been cut off again. Then, thirty seconds later, I heard Simmonds.
My call must have been patched through to London.
Unflappable as ever, he said, "It seems you're in a spot of trouble."
"Trouble's not the word."
In veiled speech I told him everything that had happened since my last call. Simmonds listened without interruption, then said, "There's not really a lot I can do. Obviously, you understand the situation I'm in?" I could tell he was pissed off with me big-time.
"You were told to return immediately.
You disobeyed an order. You should not have gone to see him, you know that." He was still cool about it all, but under the veneer I knew he
was boiling.
I could just picture him behind his desk in his crumpled shirt and baggy cords, with the family photo and maybe Easter eggs for his family on his desk, next to a pile of red-hot faxes from Washington that had to be attended to.
"It's got nothing on the situation I can put you in," I said.
"I've got stuff that would make your lot look not very British at all. I'll blow it to whoever
wants to listen. It's not a bluff. I need help to get out of this shit and I want it now."
There was a pause: the patient parent waiting for a child to stop its tantrum.
He said, "Your position is pretty delicate, I'm afraid. There is nothing I can do unless you have some form of proof that you're not implicated. I suggest you make every effort to discover what has happened and why, then we can talk and I might be able to help. How does that sound to you? You can carry out your threat, but I wouldn't recommend it."
