Last Light ns-4

by Andy McNab

  "Staying here to study while the folks went back up north and got divorced was great," she went on.

  "You know, straitlaced Catholic family gone wrong the rebellious teenage years, father not understanding that sort of stuff." Her glasses pointed my way and she smiled, maybe thinking about those good times as she took another drag. There's even a kind of convention about sleeping with your teacher, you know. Not exactly as a rite of passage, more a visa stamp, proof you've been there. Someone like you would understand that, no?"

  I shrugged, never having known anything about what went on at those places, but now wishing I did.

  She picked up the fully loaded rifle that lay between us. The bolt was back and she checked chamber before laying the weapon across her knees, then slowly moved the bolt forward to pick the top round out of the magazine, feeding it into the chamber. But instead of locking down the bolt as you would to fire, she pulled it back so the brass round was ejected from the chamber with a clink and into the grass. Then she pushed the bolt home again to repeat the action.

  "How does Luz fit in here?" Even as I started to speak I knew I'd fucked up, but it was too late to stop the flow.

  "She isn't your natural child, is she?"

  She might have been: she could have had her with somebody else. I was crashing and burning here. I tried to recover. I didn't mean that, what I mean is, she isn't-' She laughed and cut in to save me.

  "No, no, you're right, she isn't. She's kind of fostered."

  She took a long, reflective drag and looked down, concentrating on the slow ejection of another round as it flew out of the chamber on to the rough grass. I couldn't help but think of Kelly and what my version of fostering had added up to these past three or four years.

  "She was my dearest and only friend really, Lulu ... Luz is her daughter ... Just Cause." She looked up sharply.

  "You know what that is?"

  I nodded. Not that she could see me: she was already looking down again. The invasion. December 'eighty-nine. Were you both here?"

  She pulled back the bolt on the third round and shook her head slowly and sadly from side to side.

  "No one can imagine what a war is like unless they witness one. But I guess I don't need to tell you that."

  "Mostly in places I can't even pronounce, but they're all the same wherever they are shit and confusion, a nightmare."

  The fourth round tumbled out of the weapon.

  "Yep, you're right there. Shit and confusion ..." She picked one up and played with it between her fingers, then took another puff of the spliff, making it glow gently.

  Her head was up now but I couldn't tell if she was looking at me or not as she blew out smoke.

  "Months before the invasion things were getting really tense.

  There were riots, curfews, people getting killed. It was a bad, bad situation only a matter of time before the US intervened, but nobody knew when.

  "My father kept wanting us to move north, but Aaron wouldn't have any of it this is his home. Besides, the Zone was only a few miles away, and whatever happened out here, in there we'd be safe. So we stayed."

  She dropped the round on to the ground, picked up the water and took a long swig, as if she was trying to wash away a bad taste.

  "On the morning of the nineteenth, I got called by my father telling us to get into the Zone because it was going down that night. He was still in the military then, working out of

  DC."

  She had a moment to herself and gave a fleeting smile.

  "Knowing George, he was probably planning it. God knows what he gets up to. Anyways, he'd arranged accommodation for us in Clayton." She took another swig, and I waited for the rest of the story.

  She put down the bottle and got the last out of her herbal roll-up before stubbing it out into the ground, then picking up another round to fiddle with.

  "So we moved into the Zone and, sure enough, we saw enough troops, tanks, helicopters, you name it, to take on Washington state." She shook her head slowly.

  "That night we lay in bed, we couldn't sleep you know what it's like.

  Then just past midnight the first bombs hit the city. We ran out on to the deck and saw bright sheets of light filling the sky, then the sound of the explosions just seconds behind. They were taking out Noriega's headquarters, just a few miles from where we were standing. It was terrible they were bombing El Chorrillo, where Lulu and Luz lived."

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Her voice was devoid of emotion now, her body suddenly still.

  "We went back inside and turned on the radio for news. Pan National had music, and about a minute later there was an announcement saying that Panama was being invaded, and alerting the Dingbats."

  "Dingbats?"

  The Dignity Battalions Noriega's private army. The station was calling them to arms, calling for everybody else to go on the streets and defend their country against the invaders, all that kind of crap. It was a joke nearly everybody wanted this to happen, you know, get Noriega out.

  "We left the radio on, and turned on the TV to the Southern Command station. I couldn't believe it, they hadn't even interrupted the movie! Aaron got totally freaked out. We could still hear the bombing outside."

  I was listening intently, taking the occasional sip of water.

  "The Defense Department seal soon filled the screen on all the Pan channels, and a voice came on telling everybody in Spanish to stay indoors and keep tuned in.

  And that's exactly what we did. Not that they told us much apart from "Everything's fine, just stay calm." Soooo, eventually we went back out on the deck, and watched more explosions. They were coming from all parts of the city now. There were jets zooming around in the dark, sometimes coming so low we could see their afterburners.

  "This carried on until maybe about four, and then it all went quiet, apart from the jets and helicopters. We really didn't know what to do or think1 was worried for Lulu and Luz.

  "At dawn, the sky just seemed to be filled with helicopters, and smoke coming out from the city. And there was this huge plane, constantly circling. In the end, it was there for weeks."

  The way she described it, it was probably a Spectre gunship: those things can operate day or night, it doesn't matter; it's always a clear day for them. They would be up there, in support of the ground troops, acting like airborne artillery. They have infrared and thermal imaging cameras that can pick out a running man or a square inch of reflective tape from thousands of feet up. They have onboard computers, controlled by operators who are protected inside a titanium cell, to help them decide whether to use their 40mm and 20mm cannons or machine-guns, or if the shit was really hitting the fan below, a 105mm howitzer artillery piece sticking out the side.

  Carrie continued talking, telling me about the Dingbats looting, raping, destroying everything in their path as they tried to escape the Americans. For her and Aaron it wasn't until the day after Christmas that they went back to their house near the university.

  "It was fine ..." She smiled fleetingly again.

  "It wasn't even looted, though some of the locals had been out making the most of the opportunities elsewhere. Somebody had stolen a whole lot of Stetsons from a store suddenly there were about thirty guys in the neighbourhood thinking they were John Wayne."

  I smiled at the image, but her face was soon serious again.

  "The place was an occupation zone, checkpoints, troops, they were everywhere. We were so worried about Lulu and Luz, we went to El Chorrillo to check them out.

  It looked like a newsreel of Bosnia. There were bombed-out buildings, troops with machine-guns cruising round in armoured vehicles with loudspeakers." She mimicked their words: "Merry Christmas, we're soldiers from the United States of America. We're going to be searching your houses very soon, please leave your doors open and sit in the front part of your home. You will not be harmed.

  Merry Christmas." It was so surreal, like a movie or something.

  Her face was suddenly drained.


  "We got to Lulu's walk-up and it was just a heap of rubble. Her neighbours told us she'd been inside. Luz had been sleeping over at Lulu's sister's place in the next block. That was bombed, too, and the sister had been killed, but there was no trace of Luz. It was terrible, looking for Luz after that. I had that feeling, you know, that frantic feeling like when you think you've maybe lost a child in a crowd. The idea of her walking around the streets without anyone to protect her, you know, look after her. Do you know that feeling?"

  I thought of last night's dream. I knew that feeling all right.

  We found her eventually in one of the reception camps, in a creche area with all the other parent less kids. The rest is kind of history. From that day till this, we've looked after her." She sighed. We loved Lulu so much."

  I'd been slowly nodding ever since her question, listening, but troubled by my own thoughts.

  "I have lost friends," I said.

  "All of them, really. I miss them too."

  "Lonely without them, isn't it?" She picked up the last of the water and offered me a share, waiting for me to continue. I shook my head and let her finish it. I wasn't going to let that happen.

  "Do you think the US did the right thing?" I asked.

  The bottle was back in her mouth for a couple of sips.

  "It should have come earlier. How could we just sit and watch Noriega the deaths, torture, corruption? We should have done something sooner. When the word was out that he had turned himself over to the US, there were horns sounding all over the city.

  There was a lot of partying that night." An edge of bitterness crept into her voice.

  "Not that it's done any good. With the stand-down from the Zone, we've given everything away." She retreated into her own thoughts for a second or two and I just watched her face get sadder. At length she looked up.

  "You know what, Nick? Back then, something happened that I'll never forget. It changed my life."

  I carried on looking at her and waiting as she finished the water.

  We were back in our house and it was New Year's Day, nearly two weeks after the invasion. I was watching TV with Luz in my arms. Barbara Bush was in the audience of some show and a group on stage started to sing "God Bless America". The whole audience stood up and joined in. Just at that moment, a helicopter flew low over us, right over the house, and I could still hear the giant plane circling overhead and I started to cry. For the first time it made me feel so proud to be American."

  A tear ran down her cheek from behind her sunglasses. She made no attempt to wipe it away as another followed.

  "But you know what? I feel so sad for us now that we could just give away everything down here that people died for back then. Can you understand that, Nick?"

  Yes, I understood, but I never went there. If I did, I wasn't sure that I could navigate my way out again.

  "I met a guy called Johnny Applejack, a Delta Force captain, in 'ninety-three.

  Well, that's what we called him ..." I told her about his patrol going into a Panamanian government office during the first night, and finding three million dollars there, in cash. The only reason all six of the team weren't now driving Porsches was that Johnny radioed it in without thinking about what he was doing.

  "It was only after he got off the air that he realized he'd just kissed goodbye to the patrol retirement fund. I don't know what he's like now, but back in 'ninety-three he looked as if his lottery numbers had come up and he'd just realized he'd forgotten to buy a ticket."

  She smiled.

  There was a pause I was aching to fill as I watched her place her index fingers under her glasses and give each eye a wipe. But I'd done the damage I'd wanted to: I'd broken the spell.

  I pointed at the weapon still across her lap as I got to my feet.

  "Coming back to three hundred?"

  "Why not?"

  I waited as she got up. Her dark lenses zeroed in on me again.

  "The other stuff getting too close for you, Nick?"

  I turned and started counting off another two hundred paces in my head, with her at my side. Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight.

  I filled the space with business.

  "I've been thinking. I need to be back at Charlie's by four tomorrow morning, so I'll have to leave here at ten tonight and we're going to need to work out how I can return this." I held up the weapon.

  "I presume you'll want it back?"

  Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one.

  "Sure do, it's the only present my father ever gave me that had any use. We'll work it out."

  I realized I'd lost the count. I started at forty-five as Carrie's f sunglasses turned to me.

  "Do you know how you're going to do it yet you know, give him a reminder?" Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four.

  "I've had one or two thoughts ..."

  Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight. I looked out at the clearing, then had another.

  "You got any explosive left?

  I saw the pictures, on the cork board." Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five.

  'You are nosy, aren't you?"

  She pointed towards the far treeline that faced the rear of the house. There's a stash of the stuff down there in the shack."

  I was amazed.

  "You mean you've just left it there? In a shed?"

  "Hey, come on. Where are we? There's more to worry about round here than a few cans of explosives. What do you want it ' for, anyway?"

  "I need to make a lot of noise to remind him."

  I couldn't see any outbuildings, just greenery: because of the downhill slope the bottom third of the treeline was in dead ground.

  "Do you know how to use it? Oh, of course stupid."

  "What kind is it?"

  She pulled a face.

  "It goes bang and blows up trees, that kind. George and some of the local guys played with it."

  I'd lost count again. I was guessing eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one, then Carrie stopped to announce: "First one hundred."

  She pointed towards the dead ground.

  "I'll take you down there after we've-' "Mom! Mom! Grandpa wants to talk!" Luz was yelling for her from the rear of the house.

  Carrie put her hands to her mouth.

  "OK, baby." She sounded quite concerned as she put down the bottle and ammo box.

  "I've got to go."

  She emptied her pockets of the tobacco tin and Zippo then threw them into the ammo box. She turned to me and smiled.

  "She'd ground me."

  Jogging out into the sun to cover the two hundred metres or so to the house, she pointed once more towards the invisible hut in the treeline.

  "You can't miss it.

  Later."

  I left everything where it was and headed for the trees at the bottom of the cleared patch, keeping in the shade of the lot I was under. The hut didn't come into view for a while, and even when it did I couldn't face walking out into the sun to cut the corner. The heat haze that shimmered above the ground wasn't exactly inviting: I was a sweaty mess already.

  I scratched away at my back and followed the shade of the tree-line round two sides of the square, eventually getting to what looked like a wooden outdoor privy. The door hung precariously on the lower rusty hinge and grass grew high right up against the door. Spiders' webs were spun all over the hut as if forming a protective screen. I looked through the gap in the broken door, but didn't see a toilet. Instead I saw two square, dull metal boxes with red and black stencilling.

  This was a gift from heaven: four tin boxes, eight kilos in each. I couldn't understand the Spanish, but made out what was important: it contained 55 per cent nitroglycerine, a high proportion. The higher the amount of nitro, the more sensitive it is; a high-velocity round would easily detonate this stuff as it passed through, which wouldn't have been the case with military standard high explosive, which is shockproof.

  I wrenched open the door and stepped inside. Pulling off the opening key from the side of the top box, I saw the date
on the pasted-on label, 01/99, which I presumed was its Best Blown-up-by date. This stuff must be old enough to have been used when Noriega was in nappies.

  I got to work, peeling the sealing strip of metal just below the lid exactly as if I was opening a giant can of corned beef.

  A plan was already forming in my mind to leave a device by Charlie's gates. If I couldn't drop the target as he moved outside the house, I could take him out while his vehicle waited for the gates to open by getting a round into this shit, instead of him. My fire position would have to be in the same area I'd been in yesterday to ensure a good view of the pool and the front of the house, as well as the road going down towards the gate. I'd have to rig the device so it was in line of sight of the fire position, but I couldn't see that as a problem.

  Sweat was gathering on my eyebrows. I wiped it as it was about to drip into my eyes and pulled back the lid of the tin container to reveal the inner wooden box liner. I cut the string banding with my Leatherman and lifted that too. I found five sticks of commercial dynamite, wrapped in dark yellow grease proof paper, some stained by the nitro, which had been sweating in this heat for years. A heavy smell of marzipan filled the air and I was glad I was going to work with this stuff outdoors. Nitroglycerine can damage your health, and not just when it's detonated. It won't kill you when you handle it, but you're guaranteed the mother of all fearsome headaches if you work with it in a confined space, or if you get it into a cut or it's otherwise absorbed into the bloodstream.

  I took three of the eight-inch sticks and wandered back to the firing point, following the shade of the treeline once more, pulling back the grease proof paper as I walked to reveal sticks of light green Plasticine-type material.

  Minute grey crystals of dried-out nitro coated the surface. Passing the weapon and ammo box, I continued the other two hundred paces to the target area, where I placed them side by side at the trunk of the thickest tree I could find near my paper targets. Then, back at the two-hundred point, I got into my firing position and took a slow, deliberate shot at the black circle.

  The zero was good: it went in directly above the one-shot zero round I'd fired just as it should.

  Now came the acid test, both for the zero and HE (high explosive). Picking up the ammo, weapon and bottle, I took another hundred paces to roughly the 300yard mark, lay down, checked the area to make sure Carrie or Luz hadn't decided to take a wander from the house towards the target area, then aimed at the sternum-sized target of green dynamite.