by Andy McNab
‘Nick?’
She appeared out of the gloom and I pointed her at the nearest two bags. ‘Take these fuckers.’
‘They’re at the kitchen door, Nick.’
I picked up a fourth and fifth bag, one in each hand, and led her back the way I’d come.
It had been a while since I’d hefted a ninety-kilo load, but this was a whole lot more worthwhile than a Bergen full of rocks. Leaning forward, I half shuffled, half ran towards the technical, with Katya not too far behind me. As I reached the wagon the irrigation system went ape-shit and started treating the ranch to its nightly downpour. I dumped the bags on the flatbed and hauled myself up to man the gun.
Katya emerged from the hangar.
‘Fucking – hurry – up!’
Yelling at her wasn’t going to win me a Tree-hugger of the Year Award, but I wanted her close – really, really close.
Vehicles were now kicking off at the front of the house, their headlamp beams bouncing all over the sky. I checked the link, making sure there weren’t any obvious kinks, but kept eyes on the movements of Miguel’s crew. Where the fuck were they going?
The first of Katya’s bags joined mine, then the second.
‘You drive.’ I turned and pointed back towards the rear of the casa, well past where I’d broken cover last night.
‘I want you to drive straight there, OK? But only when I say.’
She nodded, but I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. ‘You see where I mean?’
‘Got it.’
‘Don’t move until I bang on the roof of the cab, OK?’
‘OK.’
She jumped in behind the wheel and fired up the windscreen wipers against the sprinkler spray as two of Miguel’s wagons surged our way along the concrete.
I gave them a couple of hundred metres, making sure the butt was in my right shoulder, left hand gripping it nice and tight, right hand on the pistol grip. I rested the pad of my forefinger on the trigger, ready to take up first pressure. As the lead wagon drew nearer, I closed my left eye and adjusted the weapon until the foresight rested just above its headlights.
When they were about four hundred metres away I started hosing them down with rapid five-shot bursts, controlling the rate of fire rather than just going for it. Each time I squeezed the trigger, the working parts pushed rounds from the feed tray into the chamber, then sucked the empty cases out again. They bounced off my Timberlands as the disintegrating link rattled across the flatbed.
The wagons kept moving towards us; I kept up the five-round routine in return. White tracer pinged off their engine blocks and spun wildly into the air like miniature Catherine wheels until their propellant burned out. They veered off across the grass after the third or fourth burst, once they’d worked out what was going on and their windscreens were paying the price. Then they split up.
I fired at what I could see through the sprinkler haze, at where I thought their drivers might be. One stopped. Fuel must have been leaking from a ruptured tank. The tracer ignited it. The whole area was suddenly a riot of yellow and orange.
The other technical carried on coming, returning fire manically from the rear. I kept my finger on the trigger until there was nothing but a clunk from the working parts as they went forwards but had no more rounds to push into the chamber. I spun round and pounded on the cab roof. ‘Go, go, go!’
She put her foot down and drove off like a maniac – far too fast, slewing, skidding, almost losing it in the water haze. I dropped to my knees to stop myself falling out and banged on the window. ‘Left! Further left!’
We careered past the rear of the casa, then the Lincoln Memorial, which was about to welcome a couple of extra guests.
I checked behind me and couldn’t see any follow-up. We were nearly at the edge of the scrub. ‘Slower! Keep control! Slow down! Stop. Stop here!’
She braked to a halt. I vaulted off the flatbed and grabbed my three bags. She jumped out of the cab and followed suit; she didn’t ask why, or what was inside them.
Checking continuously behind me, I helped her thread each arm through the handles of the first, then threw the second over the top so that they looked like a sagging T. I did the same with mine, but with two on top. It was the only way to carry a big load; the higher on your shoulder, the less effort required.
‘OK, stay close. If you get lost, don’t shout. I’ll find you. Got that? But keep close and there’ll be no drama.’
There were still no headlights approaching through the spray, but there would be. I headed into the scrub. We had eight, maybe nine, hours of darkness ahead.
I wanted to get in nice and deep, then double back for the CamelBak.
28
I headed half-right from the vehicle and plunged about a hundred metres through the foliage before I stopped to listen. Then I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet, trying to adjust the weight on my back.
It was just like the old days: a Bergen as big as a removal van, straps cutting into my shoulders, leaning forward to relieve the weight because it was too much hassle getting the fucking thing off and back on.
Katya bumped into me. Her breath came in ragged snorts.
‘Lean forward. Put your hands on your thighs. Let them take the weight.’
‘How far, Nick?’
‘Later.’
She stood there, trying to control her breath.
I couldn’t hear any sign of pursuit, so I grabbed the earphones and moved closer to Katya. I pulled the iPhone out of the pouch and shielded it with my hand. Dino’s face filled the screen.
I lifted the mic to my mouth. ‘You hear me?’
‘Fucking A, I’m still here. But I can’t see shit, man. You both OK?’
‘Both good. We’ve got you. We can see you.’
He burst into a smile, the first real one I’d seen from him in two decades. ‘Is he dead?’
‘Didn’t you see what happened?’
He nodded. ‘Kind of. But is he dead?’
‘Mate, if he’s not, he’s Superman.’
Dino’s smile evaporated. ‘You don’t know he’s dead?’
‘I wasn’t going to go back in there and check his pulse, was I? He was on his last legs even before he blew up. But enough of this shit. I’m going to bin this phone now – you bin your SIM, too. I’ll call you at home as soon as possible and you can work out how the fuck to get us out of here.’
The smile returned. ‘No problema. I’m already on it – see?’
He swept the camera around the room he was sitting in. He wasn’t at home. No dark wood, just lots of cheap yellow pine. Dino zoomed through a glass sliding door to the neon-splashed Costera, where the Acapulco party people were gearing themselves up for a night out on the dancing juice.
Dino reappeared centre-screen. ‘I listened to you, man. I really did. I get it. I get that those two fucks only existed in my head. I’m here for you.’
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
‘Here’s the deal, man. I’ll be on the western outskirts of El Veintiuno – the Acapulco side – about an hour after first light. Copy?’
‘Got it.’
‘I’ll be in a white Chevrolet van. You’re going to have to move ass and find me. I’m not getting out of that fucking van.’
‘Yep, got it. Bin your SIM now, mate.’
I erased the call log. It wouldn’t stop them if they checked the cell system, but it would slow them down a little.
I shoved the earphones into the pouch and threw my SIM card into the undergrowth.
I could hear vehicles closing in on our abandoned technical as I led Katya towards the CamelBak.
A long burst of 5.56 raked the scrub about a hundred metres behind us. They were hoping to drop us now and maybe pick us up in the morning.
The rounds cracked as they went supersonic, then thudded into the dust ahead and to the side of us as they hosed down the whole area, until all I could hear was an almost rhythmic crack thump, crack thump, crack thump a
s they opened up big-time. ‘Keep going, Katya. Stay close!’
It was only effective fire when one of us went down. The trick was to get out of the arc, not stay static in it.
They slammed into the thorn bushes, still slightly ahead and to my left. ‘Stay with me!’
We had cover from view but not from fire; dead ground would give us both.
‘We’ve got to keep moving!’
The next thing I heard was a strangulated scream behind me. Half gasp, half howl of pain.
Another burst ripped through the scrub and the rounds gave a high-pitched whine as they ricocheted off the rocks.
The fire became increasingly relentless as I moved back towards the screams, keeping as low as possible.
‘Where the fuck are you?’
‘Here … here. I’m sorry …’ She groaned. ‘I thought I’d been hit. It must have been rock splinters.’
‘Get up and keep close, like I told you. They aren’t firing at us. They’re firing blind. You’ll know if you’re hit.’
She might have nodded, then realized I couldn’t see her, because it was a while before I got an answer.
‘I’m good.’
‘Pick up that bag and stay close.’
29
Several million candle-power lit up the darkness around us. Miguel’s lads loosed off a couple of bursts along it. I felt a thump as a round rammed into the ground far too close to us. The spotlight blazed left and right, searching for targets, creating shadows as it passed through the scrub.
‘Katya, move your arse.’
We’d reached dead ground but it had taken far too long to get there. You have to move at the speed of the slowest; that’s just how it is if you want to keep together, and she wasn’t used to carrying a load.
Katya shuffled up alongside me and I gave her thirty seconds before we moved on. The good news was that the pain in my arse from the polo mallet had now melted away. Also, with the stars out, and a quarter-moon, it was easier to see. I felt good about that, even though it meant it was easier for them, too, to see us if they got close enough.
I still led the way, breaking the trail, then stopping but no longer turning to allow Katya to catch up. When I heard her move up behind me I’d go on a few more steps.
It took me a while to grasp that she was lagging further and further behind. I’d been so determined to make distance that I hadn’t noticed how much she was slowing down.
There was still a good chance she might lose me in the dark and I didn’t want to have to run around calling for her. I pulled my belt from my jeans, made one end into a noose and pulled it tight round her wrist. I gripped the other end along with the bag handle cutting into my shoulder.
I stood still, knees bent, waiting to regain my breath. I could see Katya’s face in the ambient light. She was in a bad way: her hair was sticking up all over the place; she was covered with dust and blood.
‘Katya, look at me.’ I needed her to be in no doubt about what I expected of her. When people flap, they nod and agree to everything without really understanding what’s being said. ‘We’ve got to stay together.’ I looked into her eyes for a sign of acknowledgement. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not far.’
That wasn’t true but, fuck it, there’s a time and a place …
I set off again, lengthening my stride, tugging on the belt, trying to keep upright on the slippery ground as I urged her on. Her gasps and cries told me that her bare flesh was getting zapped left and right by the thorn bushes. I knew she was suffering, but all I could do was grip her and plunge on. At least I knew she was breathing.
I tripped and went down, letting go of the belt so I didn’t take her with me. My two loose top bags fell into the dirt. My knees hit rock and felt like they were on fire, but I stayed where I was, screwing up my face as I waited for it to die down. There was nothing more I could do. I just hoped I hadn’t smashed a kneecap. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath.
‘Nick?’
I grabbed her hand. ‘Give me a minute.’
I shrugged the straps off my shoulders and let the third bag fall. It was as if I was floating on air.
Katya dropped her bags next to me as another burst of fire kicked off on the higher ground. Her brain was probably telling her to get moving, but her body was begging her to stay where she was. This time her body was going to win.
‘I’ve got to get my backpack. It’s a bit further uphill. You stay here with the bags. Don’t move, don’t make any noise. I’ll be ten minutes max. If there’s a drama, you’ll hear it. And you’ll know if you have to get moving without me. Take what you can carry and try to get to Dino.’ I explained the pick-up details to her. ‘If you don’t make it to the road on time, you’re on your own.’
I didn’t wait for an answer because I didn’t need one. I turned towards the casa and headed uphill. My throat was parched; fuck knew what Katya’s was like.
30
I crawled to the edge of the scrub on my stomach. There was still plenty of commotion in the distance; screaming and hollering punctuated by automatic fire. Somebody – maybe Miguel – was having a ballistic fit.
The technical was still burning, about five hundred metres away by the casa. To my right, about four hundred along the scrub-line, at the point where we had entered it, there was another of the fuckers, its power beam jerking left and right across the vegetation. The gunner reacted to the shadows with another long burst.
Fuck ’em. I was here to work out where I was in relation to my passport. No way was I leaving that in a hole in the ground. I wanted to get back to Moscow ASAP. I didn’t want to spend days at the consulate trying to get a replacement using some bullshit ‘I’ve been mugged’ story.
I checked my position in relation to the hangar and knew I had to move twenty metres left before going back into the scrub.
I could see headlights approaching the casa – a line of vehicles coming up the tarmac road, red and blue flashes glimmering through the irrigation haze. I wasn’t that worried about them right now. Vigilantes, local police – I didn’t give a shit who they were. In the dark they’d do no more than contain the area or mince around in the scrub shooting at each other. Concealment was my best weapon.
At first light, however, it would be a different story.
31
We covered seven hard Ks, stopping every hundred or so paces and resting without taking the bags off, then every hour for ten minutes with them all at our feet. Katya didn’t complain. She must have guessed what they contained.
I crested a rise and moved downhill with her coughing and panting behind me. Her lungs were heaving. If I was feeling bad, she must have been in all kinds of shit.
My CamelBak was safely in the bag on my shoulders now that we had shared what was left in the reservoir. Maybe I was too busy congratulating myself on getting that bit right, because my boot landed awkwardly on a rock and I tumbled. I knew not to resist: it would cause me even more injury and we still had a long way to go. Katya fought to break free and save herself, but it was too late. She and her bags came down on top of me.
She tried to wriggle out of her straps as I just lay there, her hair in my face, unable to do anything until she’d sorted herself.
‘My ankle, Nick …’
As soon as she’d managed to roll off me I slid the straps off my shoulders and crawled over to her.
‘Which one?’
‘Left. I felt it go.’
I could see the shape of her calf in the moonlight and ran my fingers gently over the injury.
‘Where does it hurt most? Over the horizontal anterior talofibular ligament?’ You don’t often get the chance to ask a girl that sort of shit. I hoped for a yes. It would indicate less damage than a tear in the major calcaneofibular ligament. Even a mild sprain might also involve other bones and ligaments, but I didn’t have an X-ray unit immediately to hand. Not that it made much difference: no matter what condition they were in, she still needed to get one foot in front of the othe
r.
‘It’s definitely the horizontal anterior talofibular.’
‘So it could be worse.’
She didn’t ask me why I assumed my medical knowledge trumped hers.
I pulled off my shirt and ripped away the sleeves. I strapped up her ankle as tightly as I possibly could. It would loosen as she walked, but any support was better than none.
‘I’m afraid you’ve still got to move on it. Not far, though – maybe three Ks.’
She stood, pushing down on my shoulder as she tried to put some weight on it. ‘Give me a minute.’
I could see the glimmer of first light beyond the horizon. ‘Time’s up.’
I shouldered my first bag again and piled on the other two. She struggled to lift even one. I picked up her two, then had second thoughts. I hoisted one onto my right shoulder and left the other in the dust. We wouldn’t have a dog’s chance of finding it again, but maybe a deserving local would stumble across a nice Christmas bonus.
She didn’t say anything; she didn’t need to.
‘And I’ll still move faster than you.’
She started to laugh, but I was too busy gulping in oxygen to join her as I waddled towards the dawn.
32
We kept going for about forty minutes. I had to stop every twenty paces or so to catch my breath and ease the pain in my back, thighs and arms.
Katya had started to shiver uncontrollably. Her hair was wet with sweat and flat against her head. Her blouse was drenched. Dried blood ringed her nostrils; blood was also seeping from cuts on her legs where they weren’t already smothered in dirt and leaf litter. But she was still with me and we were nearly there.
‘I … I’ve had it, Nick …’ She faltered. ‘Everything’s spinning … Please … We have to stop …’
‘No time. We have to keep going. You understand that, don’t you? We’re fucked if we don’t.’
The only reaction I got from her was a low moan.
‘Katya, look at me!’ I cupped her chin in my hand. ‘We must go on. We don’t have any choice. You must help me, OK?’ I tried to get eye-to-eye. ‘There’s nothing more I can do to help you here. You’ve got to dig deep …’
