by Andy McNab
The whisper became muffled. I could only just hear it.
I dried my right hand in the dust on the side of the wadi then replaced my thumb on the cocking piece. I brought the flare back up into the firing position. Sweat dripped off my forehead and stung my eyes. I shook my head. The sun glared down even more fiercely into my face.
I started to edge round the corner. I could just see BB, sitting beneath an overhang in a stretch of shade, knees up, facing back the way he had come. He had the butt of the M4 in the shoulder, right hand around the pistol grip as he squeezed the forward firing handle between his knees to keep the barrel pointing up to the lip of the wadi. His free hand was around Stefan. He gripped the little boy’s mouth, bringing his head tight against him, to keep him quiet.
I took another pace forwards. I needed to get as close as I could before this went noisy. I thumbed back the cocking piece. Stefan was between us, in the path of a clean shot. He was going to see me first. But that was just fine. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to start the commotion that would get BB to move, to bring the weapon down and turn it towards me. But not just yet.
I kept the weapon up towards the target, my support hand still wrapped around the dominant one, my shoulder forward so my nose was closer to the target than my toes. My right arm pushed the weapon towards BB as my left exerted rearward pressure, so the platform was rigid.
I kept moving forward, closing in.
Stefan saw me, saw my weapon. He screamed into BB’s hand and struggled to free himself as I approached. Not surprisingly, after the events of the last twelve hours, he didn’t seem to know whether I was friend or foe.
I kept both eyes fixed on the target, dead centre of mass of the two bodies. The flare on the end of the tube came into my vision and became my primary focus. The target and the cocking piece were now just blurs. I focused on the flare with both eyes.
BB’s head swung round as he tried to tighten his grip on the boy. His eyes locked onto me. No surprise; no anger. Just confidence. Knowing what he needed to do. His unmoving stare didn’t leave my centre mass. The rest of his body came round, with the weapon, to align itself with his head. The M4 came up.
He let go of the boy. He needed his left hand to grip the firing handle on the forward stock. As Stefan stumbled and fell, BB’s sights came into his focus.
I kept static, keeping a stable platform for the flare.
I let go of the cocking piece and the flare kicked off with a loud bang. A split second later, a blindingly bright ball of flame was burning into his thigh like molten lava. He stumbled backwards, loosing off a short burst into the side of the gully.
The rounds thumped into the dried mud metres away from me.
31
BB’s screams echoed up and down the narrow channel. The magnesium would consume the flesh until all the oxygen in it was used up. He lay in the dust, his body jerking as he took the pain and the shock of being hit. Flesh sizzled and dense white smoke poured out of the open crater in his leg.
Stefan stood transfixed.
I grabbed him with both hands, pushed him, trembling, up the side of the wadi. ‘Go! Go to your godfathers. Go!’
The sounds coming out of him were pure animal fear. ‘Where? Where?’
‘By the plane. Get up there and you’ll see ’em. Go! They’re waiting for you!’
He got to the lip of the wadi but stayed rooted to the spot, looking down at me. I lobbed a stone at him. ‘Fuck off! Go!’
He turned, screaming Russian. I swung back to BB. The M4’s working parts were to the rear. The mag was empty. He’d pinned his hopes on hitting me with those last few rounds before moving on.
The flare had stopped burning. His agony was clear to see. But he still attempted a smile. ‘It was all about the money, mate. That’s all.’
I unscrewed the empty cylinder from the penjector and screwed down onto a new one. There was another little pop as it slid out of the container.
BB heard it too. His head fell back into the sand. His face contorted with pain. The sun beat down on us. He panted as he tried to keep control of his breathing. He’d want to have the last word. He always had.
My shadow fell across him. He looked up, making sure we had eye-to-eye. ‘You know I never gave a fuck about Tracy. I never gave a fuck about her slapper sister. Or Frank. Any of them. Even the boy. Fuck ’em all.’
I leant down and held the flare inches from his forehead. But he still wasn’t going to beg or try to cut a deal. I knew that.
Through his pain, he did finally manage a smile. ‘Know what? I didn’t even give a fuck about Mong. I let him die. Risk getting myself killed for a bunch of slopes? Fuck that. He wanted to fight, so I let him. Fuck it. Fuck him.’
He looked up at me. ‘Fuck you, too.’
His breath quickened. Sand coated his face.
I got down on my knees. I wanted to get as close to him as possible. I didn’t want him to miss anything that I was about to say and do.
‘Mong wanted to fight to give me time to do the job we were there to do. He was protecting me. That’s what mates do when they’ve spent time being wet, cold and hungry together. Real mates put their lives on the line for each other. We’re members of the same tribe. That’s something you never, ever got.’
I pressed the flare against his temple. He didn’t even flinch.
‘You’re not going to hear me begging. It’s not going to happen.’
I nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I know.’
He laughed. ‘Better to burn out than fade away, eh?’
‘You’re about to find out.’
I pulled back the cocking piece and let go.
The penjector jumped a little in my hand and I rolled back to see his head already frying. His body jerked about as if he was in an electric chair for the whole six seconds.
I sat in the wadi, not even bothering to move into the shade. I looked at the charred remains of BB’s head. Smoke curled from the entry wound as the last of the magnesium ate down to the bone. It poured out of his closed eyes. The wound in his thigh glistened in the brilliant sunlight.
I kicked off flare after flare into the sky. It was only minutes before Frank’s boys appeared on the bank above me. Stefan was firmly wrapped around Mr Lover Man. He kissed the boy gently, murmured to him; smoothed his hair, shielded him from the sight below.
Genghis was lugging a blue tarpaulin, the sort you find in pound shops. I realized what he had inside it as he slid down to the wadi bed with the bloodstained axe in his hand. It took him three swings to take off BB’s head. It joined Ant’s and Dec’s, and another I supposed must have belonged to the pilot. He spun it closed and slung it back over his shoulder.
He motioned for me to fire more flares. I kicked off another one and followed him up the wadi.
I could hear the Cargomaster up there somewhere but the sun was getting higher so I couldn’t see it. I sat in the sand, loosing off the last two as Mr Lover Man continued to comfort Stefan. Genghis threw the axe into the sand. We all just waited, not wanting to talk, not wanting to celebrate, not wanting to do anything. I was totally fucking drained. Mentally and physically.
The Cargomaster screamed overhead and banked and turned as I started pulling the thorns from my feet.
32
The engine noise was a constant drone in the cargo hold. We were following the coastline, flying low. The lush greenery to the right was Kenya. I was perched between two bundles. Tracy was swathed in a tarpaulin like an Egyptian mummy. The heads were in another. They’d been stowed right at the rear, out of Stefan’s sight.
Genghis was between me and the cockpit. He was either asleep or just lying there, I wasn’t sure. His head lolled on his discarded body armour. The boy was next to Joe, sitting on Mr Lover Man’s lap, being cuddled, cajoled and comforted.
Stefan held a nearly empty bottle of water. Mr Lover Man was fooling about, trying to get him to finish it. He needed to get some liquids down him. There still wasn’t much reaction from the bo
y at all.
I sat staring at the bundles. Mong dead. Tracy dead. Now even BB. It was as if a part of my life had ended too. Maybe it was meant to be. Anna was the important one now. This situation I knew about; her’s I didn’t. I just hoped we’d be able to pick up where we’d left off.
I pulled the iPhone from my pocket. There wasn’t much power left but there were three bars of signal. To try to find some shelter from the noise, I lay down next to Tracy. It wasn’t much help. Finally, with a finger in my other ear, I called her. No mad Arab women this time, just a long, uninterrupted tone. Maybe the French and Brits had bombed the infrastructure to shit.
I cut off. Then I called Jules and went straight to voicemail. ‘Mate, I’m in Kenya, heading to Anna today. I’ll call when I get some more power on this thing.’
Mr Lover Man turned and shouted at Genghis. The cockpit suddenly became a hive of activity. They both peered out of the pockmarked windscreen and Joe gobbed off to air traffic control.
I got up and moved forward. Mr Lover Man was pointing Stefan’s gaze in the direction of his dad. The G6 couldn’t be missed, even at this distance. The airport was not much more than two tarmac runways, big black scars in the ground that joined each other at a right angle. There were a couple of small buildings and hangars, and light aircraft dotted about. Sunlight flashed on the top left corner of the screen as we began our final approach.
The boy peeped at me over Mr Lover Man’s shoulder. He looked more like Frank by the second. I gave him a smile and a wink but got no reaction. The boy turned, the water bottle still in his hand, and nestled into his godfather’s chest. His hair was plastered with sand.
I looked down at him and realized he was going to be OK. His father loved him; his godfathers loved him. Kids have survived war, famine, even the Holocaust, and still become good, stable people. And, besides, Stefan had something other kids didn’t have. The Frank gene. No doubt even this experience would be turned into an advantage later in life.
I felt a little jealous of him. Both his parents had loved him so much, and Mr Lover Man had given Stefan more cuddles and kisses on the cheek during this trip than I’d ever got in my whole childhood.
The wheels touched down, smooth as silk, and Joe taxied towards the G6 by the junction of the runways.
The boy craned his neck towards the jet. Mr Lover Man took the chance to turn and glance at me. His expression hadn’t changed. Fair one. What the fuck did they care about me? The job was the job. The boy was safe. That was all that mattered.
It wasn’t much of a movie ending, but Frank and the lads had what they wanted more than anything. It was all about the boy.
We stopped behind the G6 and the prop spluttered to a halt. It was a bit of an anti-climax. No bands; no welcoming committee. No mayor to give us the freedom of Malindi.
Joe flung open the cockpit door and climbed straight out to start his inspection. ‘Fucking hell, man. Look at this.’ The Perspex was crazed. The fuselage had a lot of new air-conditioning.
Mr Lover Man left the plane carrying Stefan. I followed Genghis out of the shuttered door. I left them to it and joined Joe. It was very clear that my part in the Frank road show had ended. I just let them get on with it.
Joe pushed a fist into a gash in the aluminium and peeled it back a little more. He peered inside his airframe. ‘What happens now, man? What the fuck’s going on?’
‘I don’t know, mate. All I know is that I’ve got to get to Benghazi.’
His hand shot down to his side as if he’d been given an electric shock. ‘What? You really are fucking crazy, man. Haven’t you had enough of this shit already?’ He nodded towards the hold. ‘Who are they?’
‘Georgians — and a guy who used to be a mate. They wanted the boy. His dad wasn’t on their Christmas-card list, if you know what I mean.’
His hands came up to cover his ears. ‘Don’t want to know any more of that shit, man. Just make sure the dad makes good on my airframe. I’m going to be down the beach very soon, getting some beer and doing fuck-all. While that’s happening, my new machine can be on order. That’s me sorted. What you crazy fuckers do is up to you.’
I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see Mr Lover Man with Stefan still attached to his hip, and Genghis.
Mr Lover Man kissed the boy on the cheek and murmured to him in Russian. Stefan nodded slowly. Mr Lover Man looked at me. His expression hadn’t changed. He still looked like he wanted that axe in the top of my head.
‘You have given us Stefan back. Now you must hand Mr Timis his son.’
He passed him over to me, and I finally got a smile. ‘Thank you, Nick.’ He nodded and stood aside as Genghis held out a hand. Even he came out with a thickly accented ‘Tank you.’
I finished the handshake and headed for the G6. Stefan rested his chin on my shoulder, looking down at the pan.
As I reached the bottom of the steps, Frank appeared in the doorway. He was still dressed in immaculately creased jeans and a crisply ironed, short-sleeved white shirt, with a pen in the breast pocket. But his face wasn’t in such pristine condition. He was crying.
33
As i started up the steps I whispered into the little boy’s ear, ‘Daddy’s here, Stefan! Look!’
His head lifted and turned. At last there was a smile on the boy’s face too. He struggled to release himself. ‘Papa! Papa!’
We reached the door.
Frank held out his arms and took him from me. They hugged each other hard. Tears streamed down Frank’s cheeks as he kissed his son’s face. ‘Oh, my Stefan …’
Frank carried him into the interior, a feast of white leather La-Z-Boy type seats and sofas and thick-pile carpets. I stayed where I was, just inside the door. Frank walked further into the aircraft. He sat down on a curved settee with his son. They embraced and kissed.
Stefan sparked up in Russian. I didn’t know what he was saying but he was tripping over himself as he raced to explain everything that had happened. I heard, ‘Mama, Mama,’ a couple of times.
Frank wiped the boy’s tears from his cheeks. His own were drenched. He couldn’t control himself.
Soon Frank was talking to him gently in Russian and stroking his face. He made some sort of funny, as you do with kids. It didn’t work.
An older woman emerged from the door nearest the cockpit, set into a wall of varnished walnut veneer. She said a gentle but cheerful hello to the boy and stroked his hair.
Stefan knew her. She led him away by the hand, but not before he got one more kiss on the forehead from his father.
Frank watched him all the way to the bedroom, where his son turned and waved.
His Zenith rattled as he beckoned me into the cabin. ‘Nick, please. Come. Sit.’
My attention stayed for a moment on the bedroom door, and then I joined them.
‘Stefan’s wounds need to be cleaned, Nick. And then she will give him something to help him rest until we get back to Moscow.’
I dropped my arse into the curved sofa opposite him. He wiped his eyes and leant forward. His hand came up and shook mine. ‘Nick, thank you. Thank you.’
He offered me a real glass bottle of water. The cap gave a hiss as I untwisted it. I glanced out of the window as I took a couple of big thirsty gulps. Mr Lover Man and Genghis were transferring the tarpaulin bundles into the hold.
‘What happens to the heads?’
‘They’ll be sent to certain people in Tbilisi. As a gift.’
‘Some gift.’
‘I will make the regime in Tbilisi crumble and my country will be free. Georgia is an enemy of Russia, Nick. An enemy of South Ossetia. There will be violence on the streets of Tbilisi very soon. The people I support and finance will make sure of that. Those heads — they are a gift to those who would try to use my son as a weapon against me.
‘I am treating them to a vision of their future — because soon I will have their heads as well. My mother and my father, they were in their seventies when the Georgians came into my cou
ntry. They were old, gentle people, no threat to anyone.’
When Georgia launched its military offensive in 2008 to retake the breakaway South Ossetia, about fourteen hundred locals were killed. Frank’s parents must have been among them.
We both went quiet as Tracy’s body was loaded.
There had been anger in his voice when he spoke about his parents, but now sadness replaced the more familiar Terminator look.
‘We’ll bury her in Moscow. Stefan needs to be close to her always.’
Frank suddenly couldn’t meet my eye.
‘What are you going to tell him?’
He shrugged.
‘If it helps, Frank, when I first saw Tracy in Merca, she was stroking his head and singing a nursery rhyme. What about telling him that his mum has gone to heaven to teach the angels to sing “Three Blind Mice”?’
The tears welled up again in Frank’s eyes. I didn’t think they were just for Stefan. A hand came up, trying to push them back into his head rather than wipe them away.
‘Yes, that will be a very good idea. Thank you, Nick.’
My job was done, but I suddenly felt this might be a new beginning, not the end of days. Maybe what I’d told Tracy was true. Stefan was a part of her. And she was a part of Mong. And Mong? Well, Mong was a part of me, always.
I gave Frank a couple of seconds to sort his face out. ‘And what’s going to happen with Stefan now? Is he going to be kept away from your family?’ I nodded over at the bedroom. ‘Kept in a box with a nanny for the rest of his childhood? It wouldn’t be right, would it, Frank?’
The tears had gone and the old Frank, maybe not the real Frank, was coming back. ‘You really have been working very hard to find out about me.’
I nodded. ‘Part of my job, mate.’
He leant in towards me, the eyes now able to fix on mine. ‘Stefan will be part of my family. My wife’s name is Lyubova. It means “love”. She has much of it. She has had to, Nick. I have not always been a good husband. Some of the women, Lyubova has known about — but she has always loved me.’
