Nick Stone 1 - Remote Control.

by Andy McNab

  It was dark outside, but the shopping mall was packed.

  There was still a possibility that I was being watched, so I stood off and waited before picking Kelly up. Nothing looked unusual; the only thing I had to be aware of was the security cameras. The quicker I got in and out, the better.

  I watched the area for ten minutes, then moved in closer.

  Across from the play center was a sporting goods store; I went in and became an instant basketball fan, studying all the shirts that were part of the display near the window. Kids Have Fun was crammed with kids, but I couldn't see Kelly.

  I hung around the store a bit, went back to the rack, had another look, and caught sight of her. She was sitting on the floor watching a home-cinema type TV She was there with about a dozen other kids, each with a small carton of juice. It dawned on me that the girl did nothing but eat, drink, and watch TV It was a wonder she didn't look more like Slack Pat.

  I went in, presented my identification card, and asked for my daughter. They went through their process of verification, and a few minutes later Kelly appeared with an escort.

  I started to put her shoes on.

  "Hi, Josie, how's it going?"

  She sat there sulking because I'd arrived halfway through a movie. I took that as a good sign; it showed there was a slight trace of normality coming back in. It had been a relief not having her with me for a short while, but at the same time it felt good to have her back. I didn't know quite what to make of that.

  We got a taxi but had it drop us off about four blocks short of the hotel and walked in. It was our only secure area.

  I opened the door. The TV was still on, telling us how great Toyota cars were. I flicked the light switch, told Kelly to stay where she was, and looked inside.

  The beds weren't made and the curtains were closed, so it looked as if the maid had obeyed the sign on the door. She wouldn't have given a damn; it was less for her to clean, and she still got the same money.

  More tellingly, the small pleat was still in the blanket. If I'd seen

  from the doorway that it had been disturbed, I'd have needed to make a very quick decision on whether to just walk away.

  We went inside. Using the TV for support, I leaned to the rear of the bureau, looking into the gap between it and the wall. The match was still in place, covering the pinhead-sized pen mark. Even if they'd noticed that they'd dislodged it when checking under the chest of drawers, it was very unlikely that they'd have put it back in exactly the same position. Looking good so far.

  "What are you doing, Nick?"

  "I'm just checking to see if the plug is in properly. It looked like it was going to fall out."

  She didn't say anything, just looked at me as if I'd had a stupidity leak. Still not looking at her, I got on my knees, ready to look at the drawer.

  "Do you want some help. Nick?"

  "I'd like to hear what's on the TV" She sat down on the bed and went to work on a box of Oreos. This kid was really eating healthy.

  There were three drawers in the low chest; I'd slipped the paper clip in the front left side of the middle one. I got the table lamp and shone it up and down, trying to catch the reflection of the paper clip. I did; the drawer hadn't been opened.

  I got Kelly sorted out, coat off, shoes in the pockets and hung by the door. I cleaned her bed up a bit, gathering up the food wrappers and brushing away the crumbs.

  "Are you hungry?" I said.

  She looked at the half-empty box of Oreos.

  "I'm sorta stuffed, but I'm sorta still hungry."

  "Without a doubt. I'll go and get some food. You can stay here. I'll let you stay up late. But don't tell anybody, it's our little secret!"

  She laughed.

  "I won't!" I realized that I was hungry, too. Pat hadn't left me much at Sub Zone

  "Same routine, OK?" I went through it all over again.

  "I'll put up the do not disturb sign, and you don't open the door for anyone. Do you understand?"

  "Without a doubt."

  I did a double take.

  "You making fun of me?"

  "Without a doubt."

  It wasn't that busy on the street, and the rain had eased. I got more clothes for us both--jackets and coats, jeans and shirts--enough to see us through the next two appearance changes at least.

  Once done, I walked over to the burger joint. As I stood in line I thought how weird this all was. One minute I'm at Vauxhall being briefed for a job, the next I'm trying to remember what flavor milk shake to buy for a child. I wondered if she'd approve of the shirts I'd got her.

  On the way back I checked my watch. It was 9:20; I'd been longer than I expected. Time to turn on the phone. I waited in a shop doorway out of the drizzle.

  It rang right at 9:30. I was excited, but at the same time nervous.

  It might be for Kev. I hit the Receive button.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, it's me. I've got something for you."

  "Great, wait..." I put my finger in my other ear. I didn't want to mishear this.

  "Go ahead."

  "It's one-twenty-six Ball Street. It's in the old part of Crystal City by the river--between the Pentagon and National Airport. Got that?"

  "Yeah." I let it sink into my head. I'd been to the Pentagon before, and had used the domestic airport a couple of times. I had a rough memory of the area.

  "Are you going to phone me tomorrow?"

  "Yeah."

  "Same time?"

  "Same time. Stay lucky, mate."

  "Cheers."

  And that was it. I turned off the power and repeated the address to myself to keep it in my head. I wasn't going to write it down. If I got lifted, I needed to be sterile.

  On the way back to the hotel, I was feeling quite upbeat.

  Up until now I'd been in the wilderness. I didn't exactly know what I was going to do with this new information, but it was a start. I felt more in the driver's seat.

  We ate and I watched some television with Kelly, but she looked more interested in talking.

  "Hey, Nick, do you watch TV at home?"

  "Some."

  "What's your favorite show?"

  "I don't know. The news, I suppose. We have different programs from you. What's your favorite?"

  "Clueless."

  "What's that, a detective show?"

  "You moron! It's about a girl." She did a very good impression of a Valley girl.

  "What does she do?"

  "She goes shopping."

  By 10:45 she'd fallen asleep. I got out the city guide I'd forgotten to give back at the Latham and looked for Ball Street.

  I followed the river south until I saw National Airport. The target really was very close to the Pentagon, on the west bank.

  I had a little laugh to myself. If it was a PIRA location, they had a lot of balls; they probably drank at the same bars as the boys from the National Security Council.

  There was not a lot I could do at the moment. Kelly was lying on her back, imitating a starfish. I covered her with the comforter, moved all the shit off the other bed, and got my head down. A saying from my infantry days, a lifetime ago, roared in my ears: "Whenever there is a lull in battle, sleep.

  You never know when you are going to get another chance."

  At last I was doing as I'd been told.

  * * * When I woke up it seemed like the same cartoon was on. I must have left the TV on all night. I was dying for some coffee.

  I got up, wet my hair, and looked out the window. The rain had gotten a bit more intense. I went downstairs and collected enough food and drink for three people--which was just as well, seeing the amount that Kelly ate.

  "Wakey wa key I said.

  Kelly still wanted to be marine life but woke up yawning, stretching, then curling up into a ball. I went into the bathroom and started to run a bath.

  She appeared in the doorway with a towel. She was starting to catch on.

  While she was splashing around, I sat on the bed flicki
ng through the news channels. There was nothing about us.

  There had been so many other murders in the homicide capital of the USA that we were old hat.

  She came out, got dressed, and combed her hair, all without a single reminder from me. I opened an eat-from-the-pack carton ofF root Loops for her and poured in some milk, then headed for the shower.

  When I reappeared, all clean and presentable, I said, "We've got to move from here today because the woman wants the room back."

  Her face lit up.

  "Can we go home now? You said Pat was going to help us go home."

  I took her coat off the hanger and slipped her shoes on.

  "Really soon, yes we will. But Daddy needs more time to rest. Pat will find out when it's OK," I said.

  "But first, we've got to do some stuff. It's really difficult for me

  to explain to you what's going on just now, Kelly, but it won't be long. I promise you will be home soon."

  "Good, because Jenny and Ricky are missing me."

  My heart missed a beat. Had I fucked up? Had there been other people in the house?

  She must have read my mind.

  "They're my teddy bears," she explained. Her face went serious.

  "I miss them. And I want to go to Melissa's party."

  I started patting the top of her head. She looked at me; she knew she was being patronized. I changed the subject.

  "Look, I'll show you where we're going."

  I got the map out.

  "This is where we are now, and that's where we're heading--just by the river. We'll get a taxi, find a nice hotel, and we'll make sure they've got cable so we can watch movies. If they haven't, maybe we could go to the movies."

  "Can we see Jungle 2 Jungle?"

  "Sure we can!"

  What the fuck was that? Never mind; at least we'd gotten off the subject of family.

  After checking out and, to my surprise, being offered a one-night rebate, I went upstairs to collect Kelly and the blue nylon sports bag. I left the USP in the toilet tank. It had only one 9mm magazine; I was carrying three .45s with the Sig.

  Leaving the hotel, we turned left and immediately left again. I wanted to get out of sight of the reception desk before somebody thought of asking, "Where's his wife?"

  We hailed a cab, and I asked for Pentagon City. The driver was an Asian in his sixties. He had a map on his seat but didn't bother to look at it. We seemed to be heading in the right direction. Kelly had her hat on; I thought of teasing her that she looked like Paddington Bear, but it would have taken too long to explain.

  The driver asked where exactly I wanted to be dropped.

  "The Metro station, please." I didn't have a clue where that was, but it sounded as good a place as any.

  I gave the old boy his cash and off he drove. The whole area looked new and high rent, both shopping and residential. There was a Ritz Carlton hotel and, a few minutes away, the Pentagon.

  I got my bearings and led Kelly toward the mall. I wanted to visit an ATM to celebrate the start of a new financial day.

  We exited and walked across the supermarket parking lot, then on toward the river. It was strange, because for the first time I felt like I was really responsible for Kelly. I still held her hand when we were crossing roads, but now it seemed natural to keep holding it on the sidewalks, too. I had to admit, it felt good to have her with me, but maybe that was only because I knew it looked natural and therefore provided ideal cover.

  We walked under the concrete freeway bridge that led to downtown D.C. It was very busy. The traffic sounded like muffled thunder; I told Kelly about the scene in Cabaret in which Sally Bowles goes under the railway bridge to scream when things get too much for her. I didn't tell her that was what I'd been feeling like doing for the last forty-eight hours.

  Past the bridge the landscape changed. It was easy to imagine what this area must have looked like maybe fifty or sixty years earlier, because it hadn't been fully developed yet.

  It was full of derelict railway-siding buildings, some of which had been taken over as offices, though much of the area was just fenced off into lots or used as car pounds.

  I looked left and saw the elevated section of the highway disappear into the distance toward downtown Washington. A concrete wall hid all the supports, and a road ran alongside.

  There was no sidewalk, just a thin strip of hard ground, littered with soda cans and cigarette packs. It looked as if people parked up on the shoulders here to avoid the parking charges farther in. There were old, ramshackle buildings everywhere, but the place was still being used. On the right was the dark Street Playhouse, a theater in what had once been a railway warehouse. The tracks were still there, but they were now rusty, and weeds were growing through. From above us came the continuous roar of traffic on the elevated highway.

  We passed a scrap-metal yard, then a cement distribution plant where the boats used to come up the Potomac and dump their loads. I then saw something that was so totally out of place it was almost surreal. A late 1960s hotel, the Calypso, was still standing in defiance of progress. It was marooned in the middle of an ocean of chrome, smoked glass, and shiny brick, as if the owners had decided to give the finger to the property developers who were slowly taking over this dying area.

  It was a very basic, four-story building, built in the shape of an open square; in the middle was a parking lot crammed with cars and pickups. There were no windows on the outer walls, just air conditioners sticking out of the cinder block.

  We turned left; with the highway thundering away above us we walked past the hotel on my right side. We were now parallel with Ball Street, which lay behind it. Kelly hadn't said a word. I was in work mode anyway; if it weren't for the fact that I had hold of her hand, I would probably have forgotten she was with me.

  As we got even with the Calypso I wiped the drizzle from my face and peered up into the gloom. On its roof was a massive satellite dish, easily three yards across. It wouldn't have looked out of place on top of the Pentagon. We turned right and right again. We were on Ball Street.

  From street numbers on the map I knew that the target was going to be on my left. I kept to the right side for a better perspective.

  It was still incredibly noisy; if it wasn't an aircraft taking off from the airport just the other side of the tree line, it was the continuous roar from Highway 1. "Where are we going?"

  Kelly had to shout to be heard above it all.

  "Down there," I nodded. "I want to see if we can find a friend's office. And then we can find a nice new hotel to stay in."

  "Why do we have to move around all the time?"

  I was stumped on that one. I was still looking at the street numbers, not at her.

  "Because I get bored easily, especially if the food's no good. That one last night was crap, wasn't it?"

  There was a pause, then, "What's crap?"

  "It means that it's not very nice."

  "It was OK to me."

  "It was dirty. Let's go to a decent hotel, that's what I want to do."

  "But we can stay at my house."

  A jet had just left the runway and was banking hard at what appeared to be rooftop level. We watched for a while, trans fixed; even Kelly was impressed.

  As the roar of its engines died down I said, "Come on, let's find that office."

  I kept looking forward and left, trying to judge which building it was going to be. There was a hodgepodge of styles old factories and storage units, new two-story office buildings rubbed shoulders with parking lots and truck container dumps. In between the buildings I could just glimpse the trees that lined the Potomac maybe three hundred yards beyond.

  We were in the high nineties, so I knew the PIRA office building wouldn't be far away. We walked on until we got to a new-looking, two-story office, all steel frames and exposed pipe work All the fluorescent lights were on inside. I tried to read the nameplates but couldn't make them out in the gloom without squinting hard or going closer, neither of which I wa
nted to do. One said unicorn but I couldn't make out the others.

  It didn't look much like the sort of Sinn Fein or PIRA offices I was used to. Cable Street in Deny, for example, was a row house on a 1920s residential street; the places in west Belfast were much the same. Had Pat got this right? In my mind I'd been expecting some old tenement. Chances were this was just a front--it would be a commercial business;