by Andy McNab
mozzie repellent had already been on this one and the plastic base was just a frosted mess. I didn't care, as long as the red needle pointed north.
The map, compass, gollock and docs would stay on my body at all times once under the canopy. I couldn't afford to lose them.
The last thing I did before getting my head down was thread the end of a ball of twine through the slit drilled into the butt designed to take a webbing or leather sling, and wrap about four foot of it round the butt, cut it and tie it secure. The weapon would never be over my shoulder unless I was climbing a tree.
Only then would I tie the string into the slit in the stock and sling it.
I pushed everything that was left off the bed, and gave the light cord a tug. I didn't want to see the others; it wasn't that I was feeling antisocial, just that when there's a lull before the battle, you get your head down.
Lying on my back, my hands behind my head, I thought about what had happened with Carrie today. I shouldn't have done it. It was unprofessional and stupid, but at the same time, it felt OK. Dr. Hughes had never managed to make me feel like that.
I was woken suddenly. I snapped my wrist in front of my face to check Baby-G, and calmed down: it was just after a quarter past eight. I didn't need to get up until about nine.
The rain played a low, constant drumroll that accompanied the low thud of the fans next door as I rubbed my greasy, clammy head and face, pleased that there hadn't been any more dreams.
The canvas and alloy frame of the cot squeaked and groaned as I turned gently on to my stomach, running through my bergen list. It was then, just now and again above the sound of the rain and fans, that I heard some conspiratorial-sounding murmurs1 should know, I'd done enough of that stuff.
The cot creaked as I slowly swung my feet over the side and stood up. The sound was coming from the computer room, and I felt my way towards the door. A sliver of light from beneath it guided me.
I put my ear to the wood and listened.
It was Carrie. In a whisper she was answering a question I hadn't heard: "They can't come now ... What if he sees them? ... No, he knows nothing, but how am I going to keep them apart? ... No, I can't... He'll wake up ..."
My hand reached for the door handle. Gripping it tightly, I opened the door slowly but deliberately no more than half an inch to see who she was talking to.
The six-inches-by-six, black-and-white image was a little jittery and fuzzed around the edges, but I could clearly see whose head and shoulders were filling the webcam. Wearing a checked jacket and dark tie, George was looking straight into his camera.
Carrie was listening via the headphones as his mouth moved silently.
"But it wouldn't work, he won't buy that... What do you want me to do with him? ... He's next door asleep ... No, it was just a fever ... Christ, Dad, you said this wouldn't happen ..."
George was having none of it and pointed at her through the screen.
She answered angrily.
"Of course I was ... He likes me."
In that instant I felt as if a giant wave had engulfed me. My face began to smart and burn as I rested my head on the door-frame. It was a long time since I'd felt so massively betrayed.
I knew I shouldn't have opened up to her, I just knew it.
You've screwed up big-time ... Why can you never see when you're getting fucked over?
"No, I've got to go get ready, he's only next door ..."
I didn't have the answer to this, but I knew what I had to do.
When I pulled the door open Carrie was clicking away at the keyboard. She jumped out of her seat with shock, the headset wire jerking tight as the headset pulled down round her neck and the screen closed down.
She recovered, bending forward to take them off.
"Oh, Nick -sleep better?"
She knew, I could see it in her eyes.
Why didn't you see the lying in them before?
I'd thought she was different. For once, I'd thought... Fuck it, I didn't know what I'd thought. I checked that the living-room door was closed and took three paces towards her. She thought she was about to die as I slapped my hand hard over her mouth, grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of her head, and lifted.
She let out a whimper. Her eyes were bigger than I'd ever thought eyes could be.
Her nostrils snorted in an attempt to get some air into her lungs. Both her hands were hanging on my wrists, trying to release some of the pressure from her face.
I dragged her into the darkness of the storeroom, her feet scarcely touching the ground. Kicking the door shut so that we both became instantly blind, I put my mouth right up to her left ear.
"I'm going to ask questions. Then I'm going to let go of your mouth and you'll answer. Do not scream, just answer."
Her nostrils were working overtime and I made sure I pressed my fingers even harder into her cheeks to make me seem more scary.
"Nod if you understand."
Her hair no longer smelt of shampoo: I could only smell coffee breath as she gave a succession of jerky nods into my hands.
Taking a slow, deep breath, I calmed down and whispered into her ear once more.
Why are you talking to your dad about me? Who is coming?"
I released my grip from her mouth a little so she could suck in air, but still gripped her hair. I felt her damp breath between my fingers.
"I can explain, please, just let me breathe-' Both of us heard the noise of a wagon approaching as it laboured up the muddy track.
"Oh, God, oh, please, Nick, please just stay in here. It's dangerous, I'll explain later, please."
I hit the light and it started to flicker above us as I grabbed the weapon from the shelf, ripped the plastic from the bolt and rammed the two bundles of ready rounds into my pockets.
She was still begging as the engine got louder.
"Please stay here, don't leave the room I'll handle this."
I moved to the exit door.
"Fuck you turn the light off, now!"
The roar of the engine was right on top of the house. I stood at the door with my ear pressed against the corrugated iron.
"Lights!"
She pulled the switch.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I eased the door open a couple of inches. With one eye pressed against the gap, I looked to the right, towards the front of the house. I couldn't see a wagon, just the glow of headlights bouncing off the veranda through the rain.
I slipped through the door and closed it gently behind me, leaving Carrie in the darkness. Turning left, I made for the washing area just as two vehicle doors slammed in quick succession, accompanied by a few overlapping shouts not aggressive, just communicating. I guessed the language was Spanish, though I couldn't tell from this distance, and didn't really care.
As soon as I'd rounded the corner I set off in a straight line towards the shack in the dead ground, using the house as cover. I didn't look back. With the weapon gripped tightly in my right hand and my left holding down the ready rounds, I just went for it, crouched low, doing my best to keep my footing in the mud and tree stumps in the darkness.
I moved for maybe two hundred wet and muddy metres before risking a glance back.
The house was silhouetted in the glow of headlights, and the engine noise had faded. I turned and moved on; another twenty paces and the lights, too, slowly disappeared as I gradually dropped down into the dead ground, heading towards the hut.
Turning right, I ran for the other treeline. The back of my throat was dry and I swallowed constantly, trying to moisten it as I fought to get my breath back. At least I was out of the immediate danger area.
Once I'd got about half-way towards the trees I turned right again and started moving up the crest, back towards the house, my Timber lands squelching in the mud and pools of water. I'd been concentrating so hard on what I was doing that I hadn't realized the rain had stopped: it was the racket of the crickets that made me aware.
I slowed when I was maybe a hundre
d and fifty metres behind the house, and started to move more cautiously, now with the butt of the rifle in my shoulder, placing each foot carefully, keeping my body as low as possible. There was still complete cloud cover, and I felt confident I could get closer.
My angle of view gradually changed. I could see the glow coming from the side bookcase window, not strong enough to reach the ground, and then the area in front of the veranda, caught in the headlights of a large 4x4 parked next to the Mazda. On the roof, upside down and strapped on tight, I could see a Gemini, an inflatable rubber boat.
I knew there were tubs in front of me somewhere and I'd be bumping into them soon. Slowing even more, I crouched as low as my legs could bend. The low revs of the engine became audible as I finally reached the rows of white plastic. I got on to my knees and right hand and, with the weapon balanced in my left, moved like a gorilla between the rows. I made three or four movements, then stopped to observe. A small animal rustled nearby and scuttled away between the tubs, which were less than an inch apart. I could hear frenzied scratching on plastic as it ran for its life.
Making sure I didn't get tangled in the irrigation tubes trailing along the ground, I carried on feeling my way through the grass and mud. The noise of the crickets was horrendous, but with luck drowned out any sound I made.
I was starting to get sticky again from a combination of tension and sheer physical effort as I inched forward. The scene on the veranda slowly came into focus: I was about eighty metres away and could see two male figures with Carrie. All three were bathed in light and shadow. One man was quite a bit shorter than the other, and all I could see of him was his dark-checked shoulders, each side of a supporting pillar. He looked as though he had skipped a good few sessions with his personal trainer.
There seemed to be no weapons involved, and I couldn't hear their voices.
Keeping the weapon in my left hand and out of the mud, I eased myself down into a fire position between the tubs, making my movements as slow and deliberate as possible. Gloop immediately began to soak into my front.
The safety catch clicked gently as I twisted it to the right and got a blurred sight picture owing to the rain on the lenses.
Carrie's head filled half the optic through a haze of cigarette smoke, with moths fluttering around the light on the wall behind her. I focused on her face, trying to read it. She didn't look scared as she spoke, just serious.
More smoke blew into my sight picture from the left. I panned and picked up the taller of the two men taking another drag of his cigarette before speaking. He was Latino, round-faced, with a crew-cut and rough-looking beard, and wearing a black collarless shirt. I panned down to see muddy green fatigue bottoms tucked into equally dirty boots. He was quite animated, pointing first at Carrie, then at the shorter man. Something was wrong: I didn't need to lip-read Spanish to know that.
The movements stopped and he looked at Carrie again, expecting some sort of answer. I panned right, on to her. She nodded slowly, as if not too happy with what she was agreeing to, and I followed her as she pulled open the mozzie screen and shouted into the house, "Aaron! Aaron!"
I looked over at the vehicle. Moths, and anything else airborne, were jiggering about in the headlights. It was a CMC, its block shape high off the ground and its body work splattered with mud. All the doors were closed and the engine was still running, probably for the air.
The mozzie screen squeaked and slammed shut. I aimed back towards the veranda and saw Aaron. There weren't any greetings for him: Carrie just spoke to him for less than a minute, then with a nod he went back into the house, a worried-looking man. Carrie and the other two followed. Black Shirt threw his finished butt on to the veranda decking. The check-shirted guy carried an aluminium briefcase that I hadn't seen until then.
He, too, was looking rough, with a patchy bum-fluff beard over his chubby face.
I watched as they passed the bookshelf window, heading towards the computer room. There was nothing else to do now but wait.
All of a sudden, to my left, there was a flash in my peripheral vision. I turned to see the last of a match burning in the dark of the CMC's interior, its yellow light illuminating the two dirt-free semicircles on the windscreen.
I brought the weapon back into the aim, and saw a bright red glow from the rear seat. Some long, hard drags were being taken in there. I ran the optic down the side windows of the CMC, but couldn't tell whether or not they were blacked out until another drag was taken. That wasn't long in coming; I couldn't see anything from the side apart from a gentle red triangular glow in the rear door window. It had to be the CMC from the locks. What was the chance of the same VDM? Another long, deep drag illuminated the triangle.
I watched as the cigarette was sucked to death, and the glow disappeared, then slowly brought my weapon out of the aim, resting it on my forearms to keep it out of the mud. At that moment, the rear door furthest from the veranda opened and a body stepped out. I slowly lifted the weapon back into the aim, at the top half of a man taking a piss. I recognized the long features and nose, even without the CMC.
This wasn't good, not good at all. The Pizza Man had been at the locks; the locks were on the webcam here. He had been at Charlie's; I was on my way there now. He knew George; George knew about me. No, this definitely wasn't good.
The mozzie screen squeaked, followed immediately by the two guys stepping down from the veranda as he jumped back into the wagon mid flow The little fat one was still clutching his briefcase. Carrie followed them out but stayed on the veranda, hands on hips, and watched as Blackshirt threw what was left of a cigarette into the mud before they both climbed in.
The engine revved and headlights flooded the area around me as the wagon turned.
I hugged the ground, waiting for the light to wash over me, then got on to my knees and watched and listened as the engine noise and tail-lights faded back into the jungle.
Pulling myself out of the mud, I applied Safe and moved towards the house. As I let the mozzie screen slam back into position, I could see Aaron and Carrie both in Luz's room, comforting her in bed. Neither looked round as I went to the fridge and pulled off the black-and-white beach picture of the Pizza Man. The round magnet keeping it in place dropped and rolled across the wooden floor. I stopped, had second thoughts. There had to be a reason for him not wanting to be seen. Could I make the situation worse for myself if I told them, and they told George? Maybe even jeopardize the job altogether?
I found the magnet and replaced the photograph. I took a deep breath, calmed down and thought business as I headed for the storeroom. The light was on now, and I placed the weapon gently on the cot as Carrie came into the computer room, sat at the PCs, and buried her head in her hands. I closed the door behind her.
Tell me."
She just held her face as if in another time and space as the fans thudded above us. She looked very scared as her face came up to look at me, pointing out towards the veranda. This whole thing is creeping me out have you any idea how crazy those people are? I hate it when they come, I hate it."
"I can see that, but who are they?"
They work for my father. They're doing some sort of operation against PARC, on the Bayanyo somewhere. It's part of Plan Colombia. ' She wasn't just scared but physically shocked. Her hands trembled as she brushed her hair back behind her ears.
"It's a drugs-surveillance thing .. . we have the relay board for their communications. It's secure, so it comes through us, then to George. He said to keep it from you for operational security."
"So why did they break OP SEC by coming when I was here?"
"The webcam ... they're monitoring ships suspected of drug-trafficking on the canal. I was told to close it down before you arrived, but I forgot. Good spy, huh?"
She looked a sorrowful sight, eyes puffed up and red.
"Make Daddy proud. It seemed that when I eventually did close it down, it messed up their other communications, something to do with the relay." She pointed to the mass
of wires under the tables.
"They had to come and fix it. That's what George was telling me when you came in. We didn't want it to get mixed up with the job he's sent you to do-' "Hold on your dad sent me?"
"Didn't you know? He's controlling both operations. Nick, you must believe me, this really is the first time we've done anything like this."
I moved from pissed-off to depressed very quickly. It was just like old times. I sat in the other chair as she sniffled herself back to normality. Aaron came into the room, his eyes darting between the two of us, trying to assess the situation.
She looked up at him, eyes red, wet and swollen.
"I've told him," she said.
"I've told him everything."
Aaron looked at me and sighed.
"I've always hated this. I told her not to get involved." It was as if he was talking to me about our child.
He turned his attention to Carrie.
"George should never have gotten you into this. It isn't worth it for what you want, Carrie. There has to be another way."
This was anger, his lips were wet, but it didn't last long. Taking two paces forward, he threw his arms around her, stroking her head when she laid it against his stomach, making soothing sounds, just as I imagined he'd done with Luz and I used to do with Kelly.
I stood up and walked back into the living room, following my own mud trail back towards the veranda. The mesh door squeaked open and I joined the mozzies by the wall light as I threw the pillows on to the floor and started untying the hammock, feeling quite sorry for both of them, and Luz.
I was very clear about what was happening a total gang fuck Everything she'd said would have made sense, if it weren't for the Pizza Man. If he had seen Aaron at the locks, or even the
Mazda, it made sense why he'd bolted so quickly: if Aaron and Carrie didn't know he was on the ground, then of course he didn't want to be seen by them. I was tempted to tell her, to pump her for more information on him, but no. That would stay in my pocket in case I needed it especially as there was still the question of his going to Charlie's that I couldn't work out.
