Last Light

by Andy McNab

  There was snorting from his nostrils as they filled up with mucus from shock, and the movement of his chest made me feel I was on a trampoline. I still had one of my legs wrapped around him and could feel the weight of his hips on my knee in the mud. The important thing was that apart from his breathing he was motionless exactly as I would have been in this situation because, like him, I'd be wanting to come out of it alive.

  I untangled my leg while keeping the pressure on his neck with the gollock, and the moment I was free I used my left hand to grab the M-16. Then, still keeping the blade against his neck, I slowly got up, shushing gently until I was hovering over him and could take away the blade.

  He knew exactly what was happening and did the right thing by keeping absolutely still, his face wincing with pain as the blade ran along his neck. It wasn't cut that much, and they weren't deep gashes. Once free, I jumped back and got the M16 on him with just my left hand.

  I spoke gently.

  "Hello."

  His eyes locked on mine, full of fear. I put the gollock to my lips and gave him another shush, nodding for him to get to his feet. He complied very slowly, keeping his hands up even when I began to steer him into the jungle, back in the direction of my kit. There wasn't really enough time to be doing this because more of his crew might arrive at any minute, but I needed to retrieve Carrie's rifle.

  We reached the bergen site and I got him to lie face down while I hurriedly shouldered the Mosin Nagant and sheathed the gollock. I pulled back the cocking piece on the M-16 just to make sure there was a round in the chamber, and that both of us hadn't fucked up.

  He stared at me, straining his eyes to his extreme left. He was flapping, thinking he had a date with a 5.56mm round at any moment.

  I smiled.

  "Speak English?"

  There was a nervous shaking of his head as I moved a few paces towards him.

  "Cpmo est aT He nodded shakily as I got the bergen on.

  "Bien, bien."

  I put my thumb up and gave him a smile.

  "Good, good." I

  wanted to bring him down a bit. People who think they have nothing to lose can be unpredictable but if he thought he was going to live, he'd do as he was told.

  I wasn't really sure what to do with this boy. I didn't want to kill him because it might turn noisy, and there wasn't any time to try to tie him up properly. I didn't want to take him with me, but there wasn't any choice. I couldn't just let him run wild not this close to the house, anyway. I jerked my head.

  "Vamos, vamos."

  He got to his feet and I pointed towards the Land Cruiser with the

  M-16.

  "Camion, vamos, camion." It wasn't exactly fluent, but he caught my drift and we moved.

  At the wagon it was simply a matter of shoving the bergen and rifle into the back, then manoeuvring him into the passenger foot well with the M-16 muzzle twisted into his shirt and lying across my lap. The safety catch was on automatic, and my right index finger was on the trigger. He got the message that any movement on his part would be suicide.

  The key was in the ignition. I turned it and selected Drive, and we were moving.

  The Land Cruiser was shiny and new, still with its showroom smell, and it gave me a strange sense of security. As we headed for Clayton and the city I looked down at my passenger and smiled.

  "No problema."

  I knew there wouldn't be any problems from him. I'd just seen a wedding band on his finger and knew what he would be thinking about.

  The rain was coming early today by the look of the multiple shades of grey, so low now that they were shrouding the rugged, green peaks in the far distance. It wouldn't be long before the sky opened big-time.

  What was I to do with my new mate? I couldn't take him through the toll. I might be in a lot of trouble there as it was, if it was now being watched.

  We passed one of the playgrounds between the married quarters and I stopped, got out and opened his door. He stared down the barrel of the beckoning M-16.

  "Run. Run."

  He looked at me, confused, as he climbed out, so I kicked him on and waved my arm.

  "Run!" He started legging it past the swings as I got back into the driver's seat and headed for the main drag. By the time he found a phone and made contact, I'd be in the city and well out of the area. I was certainly safe from the air: nothing was going to be flying when the skies opened. I checked the clouds once more, just to make sure.

  I also checked the fuel: just under full. I had no idea if that was enough, but it didn't matter, I had cash.

  The M-16 was shoved between the door and seat as I hit the main drag and headed for the toll booth.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The 4x4 pitched and rolled along a waterlogged jungle track, launching walls of water and mud in all directions. I was just glad to be doing it with windows closed and air-conditioning humming. Maybe ten more minutes until I reached the clearing and the house.

  The rain had started as soon as I hit El Chorrillo, slowing everything down. By the time I joined the Pan Am Highway, it was dropping from the sky like Niagara Falls, and had carried on like that for the next hour. After that, the cloud had stayed really low and threatening all the way to Chepo. I stopped off at the store the old Indian had been sitting outside two days before, and bought a couple of Pepsis and a plastic bag of little sponge cakes. When those were gone I dug around in the bergen for the sesame bars and water.

  There was no drama on the next bit of road apart from the mud and the water. I gave a bit of thought to having to ditch the wagon later on, but the main preoccupation was getting back to the house and persuading those two to help me.

  Maybe there was a way that Carrie could get George to stop it. Maybe they knew how to themselves. Maybe if I ripped the dish off the roof ... Maybe, maybe.

  Bouncing along the track, I came into the clearing to see that the cloud had lifted. But there was no sun yet, and no one to be seen. Both their wagons were parked outside the house, and the generator was chugging as I passed the tubs, hitting the horn as it seemed to be the thing to do around here.

  As I got nearer the house I saw Carrie come to the mozzie door and stare out.

  I parked the Land Cruiser and climbed out into the humid air. She opened the mozzie screen for me as I stepped on to the veranda, clearly trying to work out the Land Cruiser.

  I waited until the hinges stopped squeaking. 'I'll explain that later ... There's been a fuck-up Charlie's already handed over the guidance system ... last night... There's more."

  My muddy boots clumped on the veranda boards as I passed her and entered the living room. I wanted them both together before they got the news. The fans were blasting away and Aaron was sitting in an armchair facing me, leaning over a mug of coffee on the table.

  "Nick." His little finger was dipping aimlessly into the black fluid and letting it drip on to the wood.

  I acknowledged him as the screen squeaked and slammed, Carrie staying behind me by the door.

  He kept his voice low as he rubbed the side of his forehead, twisting in the chair to check the computer-room door was closed.

  "Michael dead? She told me all about it when she got back." He turned back and took a messy, nervous swig from the mug.

  "No, he's alive."

  "Oh, thank God, thank God." Slumping back in the chair, he held the brew on his thigh, wiping his beard dry with an open palm.

  Carrie was still behind me by the door. She, too, let out a sigh of relief.

  "We've been so worried. My father stood you down last night, missed us by an hour. He said you weren't needed any more and went totally crazy at Aaron when he found out you'd already gone."

  I turned to her, almost whispering, "Oh, he's crazy all right." I slowed down so that there would be no mistake.

  "I think your dad's planning a missile attack on a cruise liner, the Ocaso, tomorrow. It's going to happen once it's in the Miraflores. If he succeeds, a lot of people, thousands, are going to
die."

  Her hand shot to her mouth.

  "What? But you're here to stop ... No, no, no, my father wouldn't-' "George isn't pressing any buttons." I pointed towards the fridge.

  "But he is, the one with the scar on his stomach. You know, the beach babies, your favourite picture." They both followed my finger.

  "I saw him at the Miraflores, running as soon as he saw Aaron and the Mazda. He was also at Charlie's, at his house, on Tuesday, and then here last night. He stayed in the wagon, he didn't want to be seen ... Charlie just told me that he was the one who took delivery ..."

  "Oh, God. Milton..." She leant against the wall, holding her neck with her hands.

  "Milton was one of the Iran-Contra procurement guys in the 'eighties.

  They sold the weapons to Iran for the Lebanon hostages, then used the money to buy other -weapons for the Contr- Oh, shit."

  Her hands fell to her sides, the tears starting to well up.

  "That's his job, Nick, that's what he does."

  "Well, he has just procured himself an anti-ship missile and I think he's going to use it tomorrow on the Ocaso."

  "No, he couldn't, you must be wrong," she stammered. My father would never let that happen to Americans, for Christ's sake."

  "Yes, he would." Aaron had something to say.

  "The DeConcini Reservation. Think on it, Carrie, think on it."

  His eyes were locked on hers, and he spoke with bitter calm, trying hard to keep his voice down.

  "George and those guys ... they are going to take down that ship so the US has just cause to come back. And you know what? He's made us part of it my God, we're part of it. I knew something like this would happen, I told you there was more to this ..."

  Carrie slid down to the floor, maybe realizing at long last what her dad had really got up to all his life.

  I turned to the rasp of bristles being slowly rubbed.

  "She gets into the locks at ten tomorrow morning my God, what are we going to do?"

  But the question hadn't been addressed at me. His eyes were still fixed on her.

  Why'd he get you involved, uh? Maybe you wanted more than a passport. Maybe you wanted a reason for your get-back-to Boston ticket, huh?"

  "I didn't ... and I didn't know, Aaron. Please believe me, I didn't know."

  He paused. I could hear breath travelling in and out of his hairy nostrils as he tried to keep calm, before flicking his eyes at me.

  "You, Nick, have you been used too?" He pointed behind me.

  "Just like her?"

  "It's the story of my life," I said.

  "Carrie, Luz, you will have to talk to George beg him, threaten him."

  I turned, but Carrie ignored me. She just stared submissively at her husband.

  Aaron's voice was still low but now laced with heavy sarcasm as he met her stare.

  "Why should he stop? Hell, he thinks it's a neat idea. So neat he gave his daughter some of the action as a surprise." His eyes became enraged as he forced his mug on to the tabletop and leaned forward.

  "So that means everybody's happy Uncle Sam comes back and saves the day, the money guys, the military, the right-wingers, they all get the Zone back. And, hey, if it goes wrong, other guys take the heat." He pointed at Carrie, his eyes burning into her once more.

  "That's you, and me, and Luz. It's one fuck of a passport out."

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Aaron wasn't done.

  "Our child will be getting letters from her mother on Alcatraz letterhead, and that's if we're lucky. That's if they don't execute you. It's out of control.

  How will we live with ourselves after this?"

  Aaron held up his left hand, displaying his wedding ring.

  "We're a team, remember? I told you this was wrong. I told you he was lying, I told you he was using you." He slumped back into the chair, wiping his eyes with straight fingers and rubbing his beard in distress as he checked out the computer-room door once more.

  I turned. She was looking down, tears rolling down her cheeks too.

  "I'm contacting him again tonight... It wasn't supposed to be like this."

  That was a start.

  "Good. If I close down the relay board now will you still be able to make contact?"

  She was opening her mouth, but if words came out I didn't hear them. From above us came an unmistakable and ponderous wap wap wap wap wap.

  We all looked up. The noise was suddenly so loud it was as if the roof wasn't there at all.

  Both of them rushed towards the computer-room door.

  "Luz, Luz!"

  I moved to the mozzie screen. I checked back to see them barge into the other room. Shit, it was still on "The webcam, close down the camera!"

  I pressed my nose against the mesh. I wanted the M-16 in the Land Cruiser, but it wasn't going to happen. The two dark blue helis were hovering above the house now, having already disgorged their payload. Pairs of jeans carrying M-16s were closing in on the veranda. Michael must have made the connection with Aaron from the meeting at the locks.

  I ducked back into the room out of sight, just as the other two came running in with a frightened Luz.

  The heli noise was overwhelming. One of them must have been hovering just inches from the roof; the bookshelf was shaking so much that books were tumbling on to the floor.

  The scene beyond the screen was a maelstrom of flying twigs, foliage and mud as men bobbed about, cautiously approaching the veranda and pointing weapons.

  Aaron's face was stone, glaring over Luz's head as they knelt either side of her, curled up in the armchair, her eyes shut tight in fear. Both of them cuddled and tried to reassure her.

  From behind them came shouts in Spanish from the storeroom.

  I could see bodies now on the veranda.

  It was all over. I dropped to my knees and threw my arms up in surrender, yelling at Aaron and Carrie, fighting against the rotor blades to be heard, "Just be still! Be still, it'll be all right!"

  I was lying, I didn't have a clue what was going to happen. But you've got to accept that when you're in the shit you're in the shit. There is nothing you can do but take deep breaths, keep calm, and hope. I thought of my failure, and what that meant, as the pins and needles returned to my legs. This was not a good day out.

  Men spilled into the room from the back of the building at the same instant as the mozzie screen burst open. There was crazed shouting between them as they tried to make sure they didn't shoot each other. I kept my head down in submission and could feel the movement in the floorboards as they stamped about.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flicker as the image on the screen of the PC refreshed itself. Shit!

  I chanced a look up and saw the expressions of relief on their faces that they hadn't encountered any resistance. Over their civilian clothes, they were all wearing black nylon chest harnesses for their spare mags. Four of them surrounded Aaron and Carrie, still crouched around the armchair comforting Luz.

  She was giving out high-pitched, hysterical screams, terrified by the frantically pointed weapons just inches from her face.

  I stayed on my knees, not looking at anyone in particular, just making sure I looked scared which I was. But at least there was one positive; I knew we were being kept alive for some reason, otherwise we'd have been shot on sight. All the weapons that I could see were on Automatic.

  I kept still, looked down, took deep breaths, trying to keep myself calm and my head free but it wasn't happening too well.

  When people get excited and scared with weapons in their hands anything can happen especially as I could see, now that I was viewing them close up and not through an optic sight, that some of these people were only just getting used to having face hair. It only takes one jumpy young man to fire then everyone joins in out of fright and confusion.

  Boots and trainers rushed past as loud instructions came from commanders trying to make themselves heard over the continuous thumping of the rotor blades.

  Radio
s blasted out incomprehensible mush that even they couldn't hear properly.

  The sole of someone's boot kicked me between the shoulder blades to get me down on the floor. I went with it, flat on to my stomach, hands out to break my fall and save my face; then, showing compliance, I quickly placed them on the back of my head. I was roughly searched and lost everything out of my pockets, which made me feel naked and depressed.

  The shiny Nokia went into someone's pocket as the helis' noise subsided, and shouts filled the vacuum, mixed with the din of corrugated iron getting banged and the storeroom being ransacked. I bet anything nice and shiny in there was falling straight off the shelves and into their pockets as well.

  The clatter of rotors slowed gradually and there was the high-pitched whine of the turbos as both engines closed down.

  Carrie and Aaron's comforting sounds to Luz dropped with the noise level as rapid Spanish radio traffic echoed from the storeroom. Everybody else was much quieter in the house now; maybe it had just been the noise of the helis whipping them into a frenzy.

  But then came the sound of lighter rotors. My stomach churned and I knew that an already bad day was about to get a whole lot worse. Maybe the reason we hadn't been killed on sight was that Charlie wanted to see to it in person.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  As the Jet Ranger's rotor blades cut out, I heard the barking of orders and bodies started rushing from the room. Three remained covering us, two nervous young guys, maybe their first time out, and one older, in his early thirties.

  Outside on the veranda I could hear a lot of warp speed jabbering. The boys were probably swapping stories about how particularly good they were during the attack. I kept my head turned to the left.