Last Light ns-4

by Andy McNab

  I undid the knot at the end attached to the hook in the wall and let it fall, then started on the thick rope wrapped round one of the veranda's supports. The other tie fell to the floor, and I left it and stepped off into the mud.

  What now?

  I opened up the back of the Mazda and saw in the light from the veranda that everything had been packed into an old canvas bag. I dragged out the blue towrope, which reeked of petrol, and walked back towards the house.

  I still hadn't answered the question: What now?

  I stepped up on to the veranda and peered through the mesh into the house. Aaron couldn't be seen but Carrie was still in the director's chair, bent over, arms on her thighs, studying the floor. I watched her for a few moments as she rubbed her hair before dabbing her eyes.

  As I bent down to gather up the hammock I realized what I was going to do about it. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn't have the luxury of doing anything other than I'd come here to do: keep Kelly alive.

  I had to keep mission-orientated; that was the only thing I had to concentrate on. Fuck everything else. My sole focus had to be keeping the Yes Man happy: he was the one who could fuck life up big-time for both of us, not whatever was going on down here.

  I cut away from all extraneous thoughts and mentally confirmed what my whole life should have been about since Sunday. The mission: to kill Michael Choi. The mission: to kill Michael Choi.

  With the hammock and tow-rope gathered in my arms I pulled the mozzie screen open just as Aaron tiptoed out of Luz's darkened bedroom and gently closed the door. He put his hands together against the side of his face as he walked towards me.

  I kept my voice low.

  "Listen, I didn't know anything about Carrie, her dad, or any of the other stuff until today. I'm sorry if life is shit, but I've come to do a job and I still need to be taken to do it."

  He rubbed his face so hard that the bristles rasped, and drew a long, deep breath.

  "You know why's she doing this, right?"

  I nodded, shrugged, tried to get out of it, and failed.

  "Something to do with a passport, something like that?"

  "You got it. But you know what? I think she would have done it anyway. No matter how much she hates to admit it, she's just like George, takes the Stars and Stripes gig to the max, know what I mean?"

  He placed a hand on my shoulder and forced a smile. I nodded, not really having a clue what the fuck he was on about, and not really wanting to explore it further.

  There was a pause before he withdrew his hand and held up his wrist to show his watch.

  "Anything you need?" He was right: it was nearly ten o'clock, time to go.

  There is. I put all of that explosive from the hut in one of your tubs, and I've left it down there."

  'You taking it with you?"

  I nodded.

  He took another of his deep breaths, trying hard not to ask why. It seemed there were other things apart from the move north that Carrie didn't talk to him about.

  "OK, gimme five."

  We parted, him to his bedroom and me back to the storeroom. Carrie was still sitting on the director's chair, her elbows on the desk, cradling her head. I left her to it and packed the hammock and other stuff into the bergen.

  The mozzie screen squeaked and slammed as Aaron left to collect the device.

  Remembering that I still needed dry clothes, I went back to the computer room.

  "Carrie?" There was no reply.

  "Carrie?"

  She slowly lifted her head as I walked into the room, not looking too good, eyes and cheeks red. Things had changed: I felt sorry for her now.

  "I need some more clothes." I pulled at my mud-covered sweatshirt.

  "A complete set of stuff."

  It seemed to take her a second to understand what I was saying.

  "Oh, right." She stood up. 'I'll, um ..." She coughed to clear her throat as she left the room.

  "Sure."

  I rummaged around under the cot and shelves for more thin polythene blanket wrappers. With several ripped ones in my hands, I picked up the rifle and checked chamber by pulling the bolt up and back slightly to expose the brass case and head of the round. I already knew it was there, but it made me feel better to see it and know that when I fired I wouldn't just hear a dead man's click. Satisfied, I swathed the muzzle and working parts in polythene again, completing the seal with tape before checking the muzzle protection was still intact.

  Carrie reappeared with a thick brown cotton shirt and matching canvas trousers.

  She never seemed to provide socks or underwear; maybe Aaron didn't use them.

  They went into the protective plastic in the bergen, which I then closed down with the other two mozzie nets on top.

  She watched as I checked my leg. The bandage was covered with mud but that didn't matter; the important thing was that there was no sign of leakage.

  I gave my trousers a good squirt of Deet before tucking them into my very smelly socks, then doused them as well. Once I'd finished the front I got to work on my forearms, my hands, all round my neck and my head, even getting it into my hair.

  I wanted to be armour-plated with the stuff, and I'd go on replenishing it all the time I was on the ground. I carried on squirting it over my clothing and rubbing it in. Anywhere that wasn't covered in mud got the good news. I threw her one of the bottles as she stood, zombie-like.

  "Do my back, will you?"

  It seemed to snap her out of her trance. She started rubbing it roughly into my sweatshirt.

  "I'm taking you."

  "What?"

  "It's my job, I'll take you. I'm the one who wants the passport."

  I nodded. I didn't want to get involved and talk more about it. We had done enough of that. All I wanted now was the lift.

  The rubbing stopped.

  "We ought to be going."

  The half-used bottle appeared over my shoulder.

  "But first I want to tuck my child in."

  She walked out, and I packed all the Deet bottles in the top flap and started to wrap the weapon in the blanket for protection, not too sure if I was looking forward to the ride or not.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The atmosphere was strained as Carrie and I shook around in the cab, following the beam as it bounced off the jungle around us. The wet foliage shone as if it had been coated with varnish.

  For several kilometres her eyes had been fixed on the section of track carved out by the lights, trying to negotiate the ruts that rocked us rhythmically from side to side. I let my head wobble but kept a hand on the rifle between my knees to protect the zero.

  We eventually emerged from the forest and passed through the valley of dead trees. At last she cleared her throat.

  "After all that we have said to each other ... this doesn't need to change things, Nick."

  "Yeah, well, we all make mistakes."

  "No, Nick, it wasn't a mistake, I need you to believe that. What you said means something. I'll never abuse that trust."

  "Is that why you told your dad I had a fever?"

  "Like I said, no one ever need know. I don't lie, Nick."

  Thanks."

  "Am I forgiven?" She glanced at me to check that she really was before her eyes darted back to the track as we tilted left.

  "Can't your dad just give Luz a passport? Surely he can sort that out?"

  "Sure he can, I know that. But he knows I'm desperate. I've never gotten anything from him for free. I always had to earn it first. It was only going to be for locating the relay board. Then it got worse, some food and stores, a few gallons of two-stroke. They didn't want to go to Chepo in case they got recognized, I suppose ... Then you came along."

  I sat and watched her as her eyes concentrated on the driving but her mind was elsewhere.

  "Aaron was right. He told me that once it started it'd never stop, he'd keep using me. You know what? Maybe he's right, but as soon as the passport comes we'll be out of here."

 
"You'll go to your mum's? Boston?"

  "She's got a house in Marblehead, on the coast. I have a job waiting at MIT and Luz is set for school."

  What's the score with your dad? I can't work out if you hate him, love him or what."

  T can't either. Then, sometimes, I even get a little jealous of the attention he gives Luz, and others I think he only does it to keep an eye on me."

  Still concentrating on the road, it seemed it was her turn to open up.

  "I never knew who he really was, what he really did. He just went away, came back sometimes with something he'd pick up for me last minute, normally something totally unsuitable. Then he left again as soon as I'd gotten used to him being around. Mom just waited till I'd left for university and she left, too. He's a cold man, but still my father."

  I tapped the muzzle.

  "He gave you this."

  She turned for a second and a fleeting smile came to her lips.

  "His way of saying he loves you, maybe?"

  "Maybe, but maybe it was only because he forgot to pack it when leaving the Zone after his tour."

  "Aaron said you're very much like him something about stars and stripes?"

  She laughed: this was obviously well-trodden ground.

  "Aaron only thinks that because, for once, I agree with George on what's gone wrong in this country. Aaron's too stubborn to see it, that's why he wants to stay. He's hoping for a brighter future but it ain't coming on its own. The Zone as he remembers it has gone. We, America, let that happen. It's disgusting."

  "You guys could come back if the canal was threatened.

  Isn't there a clause in the treaty, something in the small print?"

  "Oh, yeah, sure like the Russians are going to invade. I'm not planning my future around it."

  "What's the big deal? After all, you lot gave the thing back, didn't you?"

  She bristled.

  "No Carter did."

  We nearly hit the roof as the wagon bounced out of a rut deeper than it had looked.

  "We built the canal, we built the country. Geographically, it's virtually part of the US coastline, for Christ's sake. People like Lulu died for it and that peanut-munching inadequate threw it away like a Kleenex." She paused.

  "Do you really want to know why it's such a big deal?"

  I nodded.

  "Why not?"

  "OK, there are two major problems to address." Her right index finger sprang upwards from the bucking steering-wheel.

  SOUTH COM drugs interdiction and eradication capability is now about a third of what it used to be before 'ninety-nine. In short, it's history. People like Charlie and PARC are getting a free run. Unless action is taken, and quickly, we lose the drugs war for ever.

  If you think there's a problem now, watch this space." She shook her head in disbelief at her countrymen's folly.

  "You know what I mean, don't you?"

  I did. I'd got to know quite a few of the victims these last few months.

  "So, the only answer was what Clinton did throw a billion plus at Plan Colombia, with troops, hardware, all to kick ass down there. You know what Plan Colombia is, right? Of course, stupid, sorry."

  The suspension creaked and things rattled under the wagon as she fought with the wheel.

  "Without the Zone, we had no alternative but to project further south, take the fight to them in their backyard."

  I was studying the red glow on the side of her face as she concentrated on the track.

  "But it ain't going to work. No way. We're just getting dragged into a long, costly war down there that's going to have little impact on the drug trade."

  Her eyes, still fixed on the way ahead, gleamed with conviction. Her father would have been proud of her, I was sure.

  I'm telling you, we're getting pulled into their civil war instead of fighting drugs. Soon it'll spread into Venezuela, Ecuador and all the rest. This is Vietnam the Sequel. Because we have given away the Zone, we have created a situation where we now need it more than ever. Crazy, no?"

  It made sense to me.

  "Otherwise it'll be like launching the D-Day invasion of France from New York?"

  She gave me a smile of approval, between fighting the ruts.

  "Panama's going to be needed as a forward operating area from which to project our forces, as well as a buffer to stop the conflict spreading into Central America. What Clinton has done is a very dangerous alternative, but without the Zone and what it stands for, he had no choice."

  We lapsed into silence again as she negotiated the last bit of track and we finally hit the road to Chepo.

  "And the most scary, fucked-up thing of all is that China now runs the canal.

  When we left, it created a power vacuum that China's filling. Can you imagine it? Without one shot being fired, Communist China is in control of one of the United States' most important trade routes, in our backyard. Not only that, we actually let the very country that could back PARC in the war take control."

  I could see now what Aaron had been on about.

  "Come on, it's just a Hong Kong firm who got the contract. They run ports worldwide."

  Her jaw tightened as she gritted her teeth.

  "Oh, yeah? Well, ten per cent of it is owned by Beijing they operate the ports at each end of the canal and some of our old military locations. In effect, we've got Communist China controlling fourteen per cent of all US trade, Nick can you believe we let that happen? A country that openly calls the US its number-one enemy. Since 1919 they have recognized the importance of the canal."

  She shook her head bitterly.

  "Aaron's right, I do agree with George, even though his politics have always been to the right of Attila the Hun."

  I was starting to see her point. I'd never look at Dover docks in quite the same way again.

  "Charlie was one of the group instrumental in pushing the Chinese deal. I wonder what his kickback was freedom to use the docks for business? And you know what? Hardly anyone knows up north the han dover deadline just sort of sneaked up on America. And Clinton? He didn't do a thing."

  She didn't seem too keen on Democrat presidents.

  The threat to the US is real, Nick. The hard reality is that we're getting dragged into a South American war because we gave away the canal to China. The Chinese, not us, are now sitting on one of the world's most important trade routes and they haven't paid a cent for the privilege. It's our bat and ball they're playing with, for Christ's sake."

  I started to see pinholes of light penetrating the blackness ahead: we were approaching Chepo. I gave her a long, hard look, trying to figure her out as we rumbled over the gravel, and she kept glancing rapidly over at me, waiting for some kind of response.

  "I guess this is where I fit in," I said. 'I'm here to stop Charlie handing over a missile guidance system to PARC so they can't use it against US helicopters in Colombia."

  "Hey, so you're one of the good guys." She'd started smiling again.

  That's not the way it feels." I hesitated.

  "Your dad wants me to kill Charlie's son."

  She jolted the wagon to a halt on the gravel, the engine ticking over erratically. I could now see her full face in red shadow. I couldn't make out whether the look in her eyes was shock or disgust. Maybe it was both. It soon became a mixture of confusion and the realization that I had been as economical with the truth as she had.

  "I couldn't tell you because of OP SEC I tried to fight it but couldn't, the lid was still completely off.

  "And also because I'm ashamed. But I've still got to do it. I'm desperate, just like you." I glanced out at the expanse of muddy, water filled potholes caught in the headlights.

  "His name is Michael. Aaron teaches him at the university."

  She slumped in her seat. The locks ... he told me about-' That's right, he's just a few years older than Luz."

  She didn't respond. Her eyes joined mine, facing forward and fixed on the tunnel of light.

  "So, now you have the misfortune of k
nowing all that I know." Still nothing. It was time for me to shut up and just look out at the illuminated mud and gravel as the wagon moved off. Then I turned and watched as she pursed her lips, shook her head and drove as if she was on autopilot.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Friday 8 September We'd hardly exchanged another word as we bounced around in the cab for the next couple of hours.

  I finished getting the bergen out of the back and pulled back on the leaf sight as far as it would go to check that the battle sights were set at 400.

  "Nick?"

  I leaned down to the half-open window. Bathed by the red glow of the dash she was moving the blanket I'd thrown from the weapon, which had landed on the selector.

  "Michael is dying to save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. It's the only way I can deal with it. Maybe it'll work for you."

  I nodded, concentrating more on protecting the zero than trying to justify myself. Charlie should be getting the good news, not his boy.

  "It's certainly going to save one, Nick. One that you love very much, I know.

  Sometimes we have to do the wrong thing for the right reasons, no?" She held my gaze for another couple of seconds, then glanced down at the selector. I wondered if she was going to look up again, but she chose Drive, and hit the gas.

  I stood and watched the red tail-lights fade into the darkness, then waited the three minutes or so it would take for my night vision to start kicking in. When I could see where I was putting my feet, I tied the gollock around my waist, checked for the hundredth time that the map and docs were still secure in my leg pockets, and felt for the Silva compass that hung round my neck under my T-shirt. Then I shouldered my bergen, heaved the tub on top, and held it in place with a straight arm, my left hand gripping the handle. With the rifle in my right, I moved down to the road junction, then headed west towards the house.

  I soon broke out in a sweat under the weight of the load, and could taste the bitterness of Deet as it ran into my mouth. Only three and a half hours of darkness remained, by the end of which I needed to be ready at the gate. As soon as it was light enough to see what I was doing, I needed to place the device and find a firing position in the opposite treeline. It was pointless trying to rig it up in darkness; I'd spend more time rectifying my mistakes at first light than if I'd just done it then in the first place.