by Andy McNab
My bare feet left sweat marks for a second or two on the white marble floor as the dogs pulled on their leads and Young Gun struggled to keep them in check. The furniture was classic French; gilded Louis XV seemed to be all the rage with the drug baron who enjoyed the finer things in life. I hoped Katya was impressed.
While we waited inside the main entrance, I studied the portraits hung on either side of it. You could hardly miss them: they were the size of West End cinema screens. A young woman smiled down on us from each of them. They were both the spitting image of their mother, right down to their hairstyle and the way they sat with their hands on their laps.
Miguel pulled open the doors and light poured into the hallway. Our handler led us down a few steps and onto a forecourt the size of a football pitch, where the sun bounced off three glossy black Escalade SUVs with darkened glass and sparkling alloys, as pristine as if they’d just taken a short break from the showroom.
I squinted across to the grass, where Liseth was talking intently into her cell phone. Massive oval sun-gigs almost covered her face, and a baseball cap took care of the rest.
She turned and closed it down as we approached. Judging by what I could see of her smile, she was very happy indeed to be reunited with her three babies after all of fifteen minutes, but she couldn’t have been as happy as I was that the gravel beneath the soles of my feet was more like pea shale than that flint chip stuff that can really fuck you up. She took all four leads from Young Gun, seemingly unaware that one of the harnesses wasn’t attached to something furry and freshly coiffed.
The two guys stayed behind us as we headed off across the turf. We’d gone maybe a dozen steps before she stopped and finally turned to acknowledge me.
‘Get down.’
I clearly hadn’t obeyed quickly enough, as a foot was rammed into me from behind, knocking me into a very pissed-off German Shepherd. It barked and snarled and I covered my face against the bite I thought was coming. My sleeve rode up my arm as I got up off my arse, revealing the puncture wounds that I’d shared with Dino.
She didn’t miss a thing. ‘It seems that dogs don’t love you as much as I love them.’
One of the Escalades sparked up as she set off again, and followed us round from the front of the house. I stayed on all fours, trying my best to keep up, but the dogs weren’t impressed. Maybe Liseth was right. She waffled away to them in Spanish, telling them not to be so naughty. The Escalade’s engine remained a low growl immediately behind us.
The dog nearest me slowed, did a couple of tight circles, then hunched up, spread its hind legs and quivered. Liseth stared at the horizon as it coiled a big one onto the grass. Young Gun jumped out of the 4x4 with a plastic bag over one hand and a bottle of the casa’s finest mineral water in the other. He obviously got all the best jobs.
He gloved up the pile and poured the water over the grass. Liseth glanced down and inspected his efforts then headed off once more as if nothing had happened.
There was nothing but mountainous scrub between the extensive manicured lawns and the far horizon. A cell-net tower, presumably one of their own, punctured the skyline. The sun wasn’t that high and the distant view didn’t yet ripple in the heat haze, but it had been up long enough to dry the grass. I guessed it was mid-morning.
Liseth spoke to me again as she strode on; at least, I assumed it was to me, because she didn’t look down. ‘I used to have someone just like you.’
‘Where is he now?’
She ignored me as I scampered to keep up, one ear on the engine note of the ever-watchful Escalade behind us.
As we approached the rear of the house I could hear shouts, and the rapid thud of hoofs. We rounded the corner and I could see Dino was right: it was almost an exact replica of the front, with balconies and acres of terracotta tiles and stone.
I caught movement on one of the second-floor balconies. She had her back to me, but I knew exactly who it was. Katya turned, leaned forward, both hands on the balustrade, and looked straight at me. At this distance, her expression was impossible to read.
Liseth didn’t miss a beat. ‘She loves it here. You should be more concerned about yourself. You’re the one on a leash.’
18
Fat bastards on polo ponies charged up and down a rich green velvet pitch under a cloudless blue sky. A fleet of horse trucks and SUVs with trailers was parked to one side, bodies running about between them, preparing fresh mounts.
Peregrino spotted his mother as she headed towards a parasol the size of the O2 centre about thirty metres back from the touchline. He broke from the game long enough to come over and scowl at me from his saddle.
Liseth led me and my fellow dogs into the shade as he returned to the fray. Yet another of her favourite chairs stood alongside a highly polished mahogany table carrying a jug of ice-packed orange juice on a silver tray. There were only two glasses and I guessed one of them wasn’t for me.
What really grabbed my attention as we settled beside her feet was the memorial off to our right. It was about twenty metres by ten, and ten metres high. From the edge of a reflecting pool, gleaming white steps led up to the shrine, flanked by two buttresses, each crowned with a one-metre-tall tripod carved from pink marble.
I remembered visiting Lincoln’s version on my first ever visit to Washington and seeing the words ‘I Have a Dream’ engraved near the spot where Martin Luther King had stood in 1963. I wondered if there was a similar quotation by the Wolf on this one. After all, he too was a great visionary, reformer and defender of human rights.
The real memorial featured on the back of the US five-dollar bill, with the great man’s portrait on the front. It was probably only a matter of time before Liseth had her son immortalized on peso notes.
She saw me staring at her own little piece of Washington, DC. ‘That is where you placed Jesús. He lies there, at rest.’
I hoped the fucker was burning in Hell, but now wasn’t the time to mention it.
The Escalade stopped a little way back, its engine noise barely a murmur as it ticked over just enough to keep the air-con going.
She poured some juice into a glass that almost instantly frosted with condensation. She wrapped a linen napkin around it but didn’t raise it to her lips: she was far too engrossed in the performance of the casa team’s star player.
She looked down at me. ‘My son is an excellent horseman, no?’
I nodded eagerly. ‘Best I’ve ever seen.’
‘And he’s so much happier now that Katya has returned to us. I think this, too, is improving his game.’
She turned back to watch the apple of her eye, apparently failing to recognize that he looked like an over-stuffed chorizo on four legs. ‘He will need a wife soon.’
She took a sip from her glass, returned it to the tray and leaned down to her other three dogs. ‘She will be very happy. She already understands that there are causes greater than the individual, that we must all embrace our destiny. Truly we must, mustn’t we?’ The dogs didn’t respond immediately, so she repeated, but louder: ‘Mustn’t we?’
They barked their agreement, and licked their lips. If they thought their destiny was sharing some of that juice, I reckoned they were about to be disappointed.
She turned back to me. ‘You see, my Shepherds are extremely intelligent. They are fluent in English, just like me.’
I was straight in there. ‘They probably speak it better than I do.’
Something passing for a smile began to take shape behind her sun-gigs but a mobile kicked off and the moment was broken. She rose to her feet and pulled a golden iPhone from her bag. Diamonds glittered round the edge of the screen. Russian oligarchs paid over four hundred thousand US for those pieces of designer lunacy, and I’d read about a Chinese guy snapping one up for more than ten million. It looked like the Mexicans had developed a similar weakness.
She tilted it to shade the screen, flicked answer, and started talking. With one hand holding her mobile to her ear and the other jabbi
ng the air, she was clearly giving someone somewhere a hard time. She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t shouting, but her machine-gun delivery spelt bollocking in any language. I wondered if she’d ever considered learning Cantonese.
She sprang up and strode towards the reflection pool. The Escalade crept forward as she moved out of earshot.
While Liseth gripped whoever was unfortunate enough to have reached out to her on the phone, I watched Peregrino canter across to the trucks. He stopped there for a while, then began to move back in our direction, leading a spare pony by the reins.
Young Gun took this as his cue to lead the Shepherds away and load them into the back of the Escalade. He made it clear Dog Number Four should stay where he was. The whole performance suddenly seemed like it had been carefully rehearsed.
I glanced back towards the house, but couldn’t see Katya. At least I knew she was within reach.
The game had come to a halt and the players were congregating beside the trucks on the far side of the pitch. The ponies were taking a drinks break around a couple of mobile troughs.
Liseth closed down her iPhone as Peregrino reached us. He sat astride his pony, his eyes channelling hate towards an imaginary target somewhere between my eyes. This boy had plans for me.
Liseth reached for the second set of reins and Peregrino kept hold of his mother’s mount until she had climbed into the saddle. She fed her feet into the stirrups and steered the beast over to me.
‘Now we’re going to have some fun.’
Peregrino sat sucking his teeth as she pointed in the direction of the scrub to my left, about four hundred metres away.
‘OK, now’s your chance. Go!’
I didn’t need any second bidding.
19
The leash snaked behind me as I sprinted for the scrub-line. My ears strained for the thunder of hoofs but the only sounds I heard were whoops of delight from over by the trucks. They’d done this before.
The game was on.
My lungs were already bursting with the bushes still fifty ahead. My legs were pumping as fast as they could, but if my mind was in fifth gear, they felt like they were stuck in third.
Fuck it, I was going as fast as I could. Swinging my arms hard to push my body forward, bare feet pounding on the manicured grass, I finally hit the scrub. My feet were lacerated by stones like knife blades and needle-pointed thorn. I turned and collapsed in a cloud of dust, gulping in oxygen, liquid with sweat.
I watched as the last of the players mounted their ponies. The others were drifting towards Liseth and Peregrino at a gentle trot. All of them wore big leather shin and knee protectors. And they all wielded their mallets, ready for some fun. Fuck that. They wouldn’t have any fun with me. I didn’t mind featuring in Peregrino’s nightmares. I wasn’t after a starring role in one of Dino’s.
The pack broke into a canter towards me. I pushed deeper into the scrub, keeping low so they couldn’t see their prey.
I needed to make distance. If I got away, I’d hide up and come back for Katya tonight. As for Liseth and Peregrino, fuck ’em: Dino was definitely going to get his wish.
Throat burning, I started running, ducking and sidestepping as best I could to avoid the thorns. They cut into the flesh of my arms and I lifted my hands to protect my face. Old growth sliced into my feet as I pushed on.
Behind me, I began to hear the rumble of hoofs on the turf. It was pointless trying to be clever about what I was doing. Zigzagging or any of that sort of shit wasn’t going to help me make distance. I’d just be more knackered when they caught me. These guys had speed and mobility, and they had all day. What I needed was a way of levelling the odds. If not, I was history.
The whoops were joined by shouts and hollers as they entered the scrub. They’d have to spread the pack because of the terrain. Maybe there was a prize for whoever found me. I didn’t care: I kept going, looking for somewhere to hide and wait.
A couple of the shouters were closing in behind me, to the right, getting louder with every passing second. I could hear a cell phone kicking off somewhere.
I kept low but fast, not daring to lose ground. My head was burning. Sweat dripped off my forehead and stung my eyes. Dust caked my face.
Within minutes, I came to a dried-up watercourse, not much more than a dip in the ground, a metre deep and the same wide. I dived into it, pushed my back against the wall, trying to control my breathing so I could hear. The sun glared into my face. I hugged the side of the bank to give myself an extra centimetre of cover, as if that was going to make the slightest difference.
I heard the two horses first. Then their riders: they were chatting, swapping jokes. Having a great day out.
One of their cell phones gave a blast of its ‘Crazy In Love’ ring tone. The other rider sang a couple of bars, treating us all to his best Beyoncé impression, and they both laughed. Those lads must have been the dog’s bollocks on the karaoke circuit.
I heard more shouts in the distance. One of the ponies snorted. I hugged the dirt wall and bided my time. I wanted one target, not two.
The mobile closed down but the Beyoncé impression was still hitting its stride. I didn’t give a fuck: the ponies were moving on.
A minute or so later I could hear another giving a whinny of protest. I couldn’t blame it: one minute you’re mincing around the polo field, the next you’re being forced through a fucking great thorn bush. It was no longer a good day out.
I poked my head above the bank and saw what I needed. I didn’t waste any time thinking. I leaped up and charged at the fucker side on. The pony sensed my presence before the rider did, and swung violently away from me. I grabbed the mallet in the rider’s right hand and gave it a yank. The strap round his wrist brought his arm with it. A shriek of alarm fought its way through the steel face cage beneath his peaked helmet. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind at all.
The pony went crazy and kept trying to pull away from me. His rider slipped sideways in the saddle. I wrenched his mallet more fiercely to take him down, but his right foot was stuck fast in the stirrup.
The pony twisted and the rider crashed backwards into the dust. I kicked at whatever I could connect with in the centre of what I could see of him and tried to grab the reins as the pony enveloped us in a cloud of dust. The fucking thing kept turning away from me so I decided to bin it, snatched the mallet away from the rider’s wrist and swung it down onto his chest.
He screamed and buckled up as he took the pain. I spun around, finally managed to get hold of the swinging reins and separated his foot from the stirrup.
The pony reared as I scrabbled frantically aboard. Sitting up in the saddle, feet finding the stirrups, I kicked my heels and turned the reins like I’d seen on TV.
It worked. It was happening. But it wasn’t pretty. The guy I’d left in the dirt would soon be on his mobile. I kicked again. The pony got the message. I gripped the reins and felt my arse bounce up and down completely out of synch with the animal. But it was moving in the direction I wanted, and that was all that mattered.
20
The yelling behind me became more urgent and I caught glimpses of horseflesh and brown-leather shin- and knee-protectors through the bush to my right. I pulled the reins to my left and kicked the pony’s flanks. He moved away from the action, but I immediately saw more brown leather and movement ahead. I turned him again to try to head between the two posses.
I heard another chorus of ring tones and clocked what was happening. They were herding me. Well, they could herd me all they wanted. I’d just keep going.
I steered the pony down into the shallow gulch, but the others were already closing in on the high ground either side. The shouts and mobile rings became more frenzied by the second.
The next thing I knew, a body was scrambling down the bank ahead of me, a player with a peaked black helmet and a steel face guard – the full Darth Vader. But instead of a light sabre, this boy had a mallet.
It was too late for any kind of evasive act
ion. I didn’t know how to get this thing into reverse and the pony wouldn’t climb the bank. I dug it in the ribs with my heels. As we got within range, he swung the mallet like a samurai and thumped it hard into the pony’s chest. The wounded beast bucked and reared. A split second later, I was lying in the dust.
Fuck it, I wasn’t about to hang around. I scrambled up the bank, but my assailant was well ahead of the game. He might have been built like Mr Blobby, but he moved like Usain Bolt. He swung his mallet again, struck me on the shin and took me down. For a second or two it felt like I’d been speared by a red-hot poker, but then my leg just went numb from knee to ankle. I couldn’t feel it as I started to crawl.
I looked up as his shadow fell across me. We had quite an audience now, bellowing and cheering from the higher ground, leaning forward on their saddles, enjoying the view, but my number-one fan wasn’t playing to the crowd: this was strictly personal.
The mallet came down again and this time it landed at the top of my right arse cheek. Six inches higher and it would have fucked my kidney; I’d have been pissing blood for the duration. As I tried to get up, Peregrino’s eyes glinted behind the face guard.
The eyes told me he was going to finish me off right there – but I wasn’t going quietly: I was going to take him with me. I managed to haul myself onto my hands and knees as he stepped forward.
All I could do was make this quick. If I could get my teeth within reach of his throat I’d rip the fucking thing out: he’d be as dead as I would be moments later.
A pony was being steered down the cut behind him. ‘Peregrino?’
A woman’s voice.
‘Por qué?’
Liseth’s tone was inquisitive rather than accusing. She was trying to make sense of this. The other players went silent as she approached, kept their mounts steady. None of them knew which way she was going to jump, any more than I did.
