Last Light ns-4

by Andy McNab

  It was all interesting stuff, but what was more important to me was confirming that Michael would be at university this week.

  "For sure." Aaron nodded.

  "They'll all be headed back. The semester started for most folks last week."

  We headed for the house, driving into Clayton. Aaron explained that now the US had gone Charlie had got his hands on some of the Zone and built on it.

  The only security these days at the guard house was an old guy sleeping on the veranda of the guard room with half a jam-jar of something resembling black tea by his side, looking quite annoyed to be woken up to lift the barrier.

  Clayton might become a technology park one day, but not yet. We passed deserted barrack blocks with tall grass growing between them. The US Army's legacy was still very much in evidence. I could see stencilling on steel plates above every barrack door: Building 127, HQ Theater Support Brigade, Fort Clayton, Panama, US Army South. I wondered if our SOUTH COM bosses during my time in Colombia had sent us our satellite photography and orders from these very buildings.

  The neighbourhood looked as if it had been evacuated before a hurricane. The children's swings between the deserted bungalows and palm-fringed, two-floor apartment blocks were showing the first signs of rust through their blue paintwork, and the baseball ground, which needed a good mow, still had the results of the last game displayed on the scoreboard. US road signs told us to travel at 15 mph. because of children playing.

  We reached the other side of the massive fort complex and headed into the mountains. The jungle closed in on both sides of the narrow, winding tarmac road. I could only see about five metres; after that everything blurred into a wall of green. I'd heard about a patrol in Borneo in the Sixties who had a man down with a gunshot wound. It wasn't fatal, but he did need evacuation. Leaving him comfortable at the bottom of a high feature, all hands moved uphill to cut a winch point out of the jungle so the rescue helicopter could pull him out and cas-evac him to hospital. This was no big deal, and the wounded man would have been airborne by last light if only they hadn't made the fatal error of not leaving anyone with him or marking where he was lying. It took them over a week to find where they'd left him, even though it was less than a hundred metres away at the bottom of the hill. By then he was dead.

  The sun beat down on the windscreen, showing up all the bugs that had smashed against it and been smeared by the wipers. It couldn't have been easy for Aaron to see through.

  This was secondary jungle; movement through it would be very, very difficult. I much preferred primary, where the canopy is much higher and the sun finds it difficult to penetrate to ground level so there's less vegetation. It's still a pain in the arse to travel through, because there's still all kinds of stuff on the ground.

  Grey clouds were starting to cover the sky and make everything darker I thought again about all the months I'd spent living in jungles whilst on operations. You'd come out two stone lighter, and because of the lack of sunlight your skin becomes as white and clammy as an uncooked chip, but I really liked it. I always had a fantastic sense of anticipation when I entered jungle, because it's the most wonderful place to be; tactically, compared with any other terrain, it's a great environment to operate in. Everything you need is there:

  shelter, food and, more importantly, water. All you really have to get used to is the rain, bites by mozzies (anything small that flies), and 95 per cent humidity.

  Aaron leant forward and peered up through the windscreen.

  "Here they are, look right on time."

  The grey clouds had disappeared, pushed out by blacker ones. I knew what that meant and, sure enough, the sky suddenly emptied on us. It was like sitting under an upturned bath. We hurriedly wound up our windows, but only about three quarters of the way, because humidity was already misting up the inside of the windscreen. Aaron hit the de mister and its noise was drowned as the roof took a pounding.

  Lightning cracked and sizzled, splashing the jungle with brilliant blue light.

  An almighty clap of thunder boomed above us. It must have set off a few car alarms back at the locks.

  Aaron slowed the car to walking pace as the wipers went into hyper drive slapping each side of the windscreen and having no effect at all as rain stair rodded into the tarmac and bounced back into the air. Water splattered through the top of the side window, spraying my shoulder and face.

  I shouted at him, above the drumming on the roof.

  "Does this road go straight to Charlie's house?"

  Aaron was leaning over the wheel, busy wiping the inside of the windscreen.

  "No, no this is a loop, just access to an electricity sub-station. The new private road to the house leads off from it. I thought maybe I could drop you off where the two join, otherwise I'd have nowhere to go."

  That seemed perfectly reasonable to me.

  "How far to the house from the junction?"

  "If the scale on the imagery is right, maybe a mile, a mile and then some. All you've got to do is follow the road."

  The deluge continued as we crawled uphill. I leant down and felt under my seat, trying to find something to protect my documents. I wasn't going to leave them with Aaron: they were going everywhere with me, like communication codes, to be kept on the body at all times.

  Aaron looked at me. What do you need?" He was still strained forward against the wheel, as if that was going to help him see any better through the solid sheet of rain as we crawled along at about 10 mph.

  I explained.

  "You'll find something in the back, for sure. Won't be long now, maybe two or three miles."

  That was fine by me. I sat back and let myself be mesmerized by the rain bouncing around us.

  We followed the road as it curved to the right, then Aaron moved over to the edge of the road and stopped. He pointed just ahead of us. That's the road that goes to the house. Like I said, maybe a mile, a mile and a half. They say from up there Chan can see the sun rise over the Caribbean and set in the Pacific.

  What do you want me to do now?"

  "First, just stay here and let me get into the back."

  I got out and put my jacket back on. Visibility was down to maybe twenty metres.

  Rain hammered on the top of my head and shoulders.

  I went to the rear of the wagon and opened the tailgate. I was soaked to the skin before I got half-way. I was just pleased not to be in a country where being wet also meant freezing my bollocks off.

  I rummaged around in the back. Four five-gallon US Army jerry-cans were fixed with bun gees to the far end of the flatbed, adjacent to the cab. At least we wouldn't be running out of fuel. Scattered around them were more yellowing newspapers, a jack, a nylon tow-rope and all the associated crap that would be needed for a wreck like this. Amongst it, I found what I was looking for, two plastic carrier bags. One contained a pair of greasy old jump-leads, the other was empty, apart from a few bits of dried mud and vegetable leaves. I shook them both out, tucked my passport, air ticket and wallet into the first and wrapped them up. I put that into the second, gave it a twist, and placed it in an inside pocket of my jacket.

  I had another look round, but found nothing else that could be of any use to me on the recce. Slamming the tailgate, I went round to Aaron's door and put my face up against the gap in the window.

  "Can you give me that compass, mate?" I had to shout to be heard.

  He leant across, unstuck it from the windscreen, and passed it through.

  "Sorry, I didn't think about it. I should have brought a proper one, and a map."

  I couldn't be arsed to say it wasn't a problem. My head was banging big-time and I wanted to get on. Water cascaded down my face and off my nose and chin as I pressed the illumination button on Baby-G.

  "When's last light?"

  "Six thirty, or thereabouts."

  "It's just gone three thirty. Drive well away from here, all the way back to the city, whatever. Then come back to this exact spot at three a.m."

&n
bsp; He nodded without even thinking about it.

  "OK, park here, and wait ten minutes. Keep the passenger door unlocked and just sit in the car with the engine running." On a job, the engine must always be kept running: if you switch it off, sod's law dictates that it's not going to start up again.

  "You also need to think of a story in case you're stopped. Say you're looking for some rare plant or something."

  He stared vacantly through the windscreen.

  "Yes, that's a good idea. In fact the barrigon tree is common in disturbed areas and along roads and-' "That's good, mate, good, whatever works, but make sure the story's in your head by the time you pick me up, so it sounds convincing."

  "OK." He nodded sharply, still looking out of the window and thinking trees.

  "If I'm not here by ten past three, drive off. Then come back round again and do exactly the same every hour until it gets light, OK?"

  His eyes were still fixed on the windscreen as he nodded sharply.

  "OK."

  Then, at first light, I want you to bin it. Stop doing the circuit. Come back for me at midday, but not here wait at the locks, by the trailer. Wait for an hour, OK?"

  He nodded some more.

  "Got any questions?"

  He hadn't. I figured I'd given myself enough time, but if there was a cock-up and I didn't make this RV, all was not lost. I could get to a river, clean all the jungle shit off and, with luck, dry myself off if the sun was shining tomorrow morning. Then I wouldn't stand out too much once I got amongst the real people at the locks.

  "Now, worst-case scenario, Aaron and this is very, very important." I was still shouting above the noise of the rain. Rivulets of water ran down my face and into my mouth. If I don't appear at the locks by midday tomorrow, then you'd better call your handler and explain exactly what I wanted you to do, all right?"

  "Why's that?"

  "Because I'll probably be dead."

  There was a pause. He was obviously shaken: maybe he hadn't realized what game we were playing here; maybe he'd thought we really were here for the tree hugging.

  "Have you got that?"

  "Sure. I'll just tell them, word for word." He was still looking through the windscreen, frowning and nodding.

  I tapped on his window and he turned his head.

  "Hey, don't worry about it, mate.

  I'm just planning for the worst. I'll see you here at three."

  He smiled quite nervously. 'I'll tank up beforehand, yeah?"

  I tapped once more on the glass.

  "Good idea. See you later, mate."

  Aaron drove off. The engine noise was drowned by the rain. I walked off the road into the murky, twilight world of the jungle. At once I was pushing against palm leaves and bushes. Rainwater that had been trapped on them sluiced all over me.

  I moved in about five metres to get out of sight while I waited for Aaron to get well away from the area, and plonked down in the mud and leaf litter, resting my back against a tree-trunk as yet more thunder erupted across the sky. Water still found me as it cascaded from the canopy.

  Pushing back my soaked hair with my hands I brought up my knees and rested my forehead against them as the rain found its way from the back of my neck and dripped away over my chin. Underneath my jacket, my left arm was being chewed. I gave the material a good rub and attempted to squeeze to death whatever had got up there, quietly welcoming myself to Aaron's 'cathedral of nature'. I should have looked out for some mozzie repellent in the Miami departures lounge instead of a guidebook.

  My jeans were wet and heavy, hugging my legs as I stood up. I wasn't exactly dressed for crawling around in the jungle, but tough, I'd just have to get on with it. If I was going to hunt, I had to get my arse over to where the ducks were, so I headed back to the loop. For all I knew it might have stopped raining out there by now. Inside the canopy you'd never know because the water still falls for ages as it makes its way down leaf by leaf.

  I turned right on to the single-track metal road: it was pointless moving through the jungle from this distance. The downpour had eased a little, now only bouncing an inch or two off the tarmac, but it was still enough to mean that a vehicle wouldn't see me until it was right on top of me.

  As I started to walk up the road I checked the ball compass. I was heading uphill and west, as we had been all the way from Clayton in the Mazda. I kept to one side so I could make a quick entry into cover, and didn't move too fast so I'd be able to hear any approaching vehicles above the rasping of my soaked jeans.

  I still had no idea how I was going to do this job, but at least I was in an environment I understood. I wished Dr. Hughes could see me now: then she'd know there was something I was good at.

  I stopped and scratched the skin at the base of my spine to discourage whatever was munching at it, then moved on up the road.

  THIRTEEN

  For the best part of a mile of uphill slog I was deluged with rain and drenched in my own sweat, hair plastered to my face and clothes clinging to my body like long-lost friends.

  At last, the rain subsided, and the sun emerged between the gaps in the clouds, burning on to my face and making me squint as it reflected off the mirror of wet tarmac. The Jackie Os went back on. I looked at the compass I was heading west with a touch of north in it and also checked my plastic bags. They'd done their job well: at least I had dry documents.

  Humidity oozed from the jungle. Birds began to call once more from high up in the canopy. One in particular stood out, sounding like a slowed-down heart-rate monitor. Other forms of wildlife rustled in the foliage as I walked past and, as ever, there was the blanket noise of crickets, cicadas, whatever they were called. They seemed to be everywhere, in every jungle, though I'd never seen one.

  I wasn't fooled by the sunshine or the animals rustling in the foliage. I knew there was more rain to come. The dark clouds hadn't completely dispersed, and thunder still rumbled in the distance.

  I rounded a gentle bend and a pair of iron gates came into view, blocking the road about four hundred metres ahead. They were set into a high, whitewashed wall that disappeared into the jungle on each side. Once I'd confirmed that I was still heading westish, it was time to get back into cover. I eased my way in, moving branches and fronds aside carefully rather than just crashing through. I didn't want to mark my entry point with top sign sign that is made above ground level and which in this case might be seen from the road. A large rubber leaf or a fern, for example, doesn't naturally expose its lighter underside; that only happens if it's disturbed by someone or something brushing past. The leaf will eventually turn back to its darker side so it can gather light, but to the trained eye in the meantime it's as good as dropping your business card. I had no idea if these people would be switched-on enough to notice such things as they drove past, but I wasn't going to leave that to chance.

  Once under the canopy, I felt like I was in a pressure cooker; the humidity has nowhere to go, and it gives your lungs a serious work-out. Rainwater still fell in bursts as unseen birds took flight from the branches above.

  Having moved maybe thirty metres in a direct line away from the road, I stopped to check the compass. My aim now was to head west again and see if I hit the perimeter wall. If I encountered nothing after an hour I'd stop, move back, and try again. It would be very easy to become 'geographically embarrassed', as officers call it: in the jungle the golden rule is to trust your compass, no matter what your instincts are telling you. The wall of green was maybe seven metres away, and that was where I would focus my attention as I moved, to detect any hostiles and find the house.

  As I moved off, I felt a tug on my sleeve and realized I'd encountered my first batch of wait-a-while. It's a thin, twine-like vine, studded with tiny barbs that dig into clothing and skin, much like a bramble. Every jungle I'd been in was infested with the stuff. Once it's caught you, the only way to get clear is to tear yourself free. If you try to extricate yourself barb by barb, you'll be there for ever.

  I p
ushed on. I had to get to the house before last light so I could carry out a decent recce with some degree of visibility. Besides, I didn't want to be stuck in here once it was dark: I'd never make the morning RVs, and would then waste time waiting for midday, instead of preparing for the job I was here to do.

  For the next half an hour or so I headed uphill and west, frequently untangling myself from batches of wait-a-while. At last I stopped and leant against a tree to catch my breath and check the compass. I didn't know what sort of tree it was; for some strange reason I could recognize a mahogany, and this wasn't one.

  My hands were covered with small cuts and scratches now, which hurt like wasp stings.

  I moved off once more, thinking about the CTR. Under ideal conditions, I'd take time to find out the target's routine, so that I could take him on in a killing ground of my choosing; that way, I had the advantage. But I didn't have time, and the only thing I'd learnt from Aaron about Michael's movements was that he would be going in to college at some point this week.

  It's easy enough to kill someone; the hard bit is getting away with it. I needed to find the easiest way of dropping him so there was as little risk to me as possible. I could get all Rambo'd up and storm the place, but that wasn't part of my plan, not yet anyway.

  I saw open space about six or seven metres ahead, just beyond the wall of green, flooded with brilliant sunlight and awash with mud. I moved slowly back into the jungle until it disappeared from sight, and stood against a tree.

  Standing still and doing nothing but take deep breaths and wipe the sweat from my face, I started to hear the world above me once more.

  I was hot, sticky, out of breath, and gagging for a drink, but I found myself captivated by the amazing sound of a howler monkey in the treetops, busy living up to its name. Then I slapped my face yet again to zap whatever it was that had landed to say hello.

  Moisture seeped out of my leather belt as I squeezed it open, tucked in my sweatshirt and generally sorted myself out. I knew that my jeans would soon be hanging off my arse again, but it didn't matter, this just made me feel better.