Zero Hour (2010) ns-13

by Andy McNab

  Irina stopped for a moment and stared down at Mr Lover Man with a look of the purest hatred. She patted her handbag. He might not have known what it contained, but he got the message loud and clear.

  A split second later, as the door closed behind her, the subservience had gone. He gave it full revs with the Russian abuse. I didn’t have to be a UN interpreter to understand his I’m-going-to-kill-you-you-will-pay-for-this shit.

  I kicked into his chest to shut him up and put my boot firmly on his neck. I powered up his mobile. Scrolling down the list of contacts, I found ‘Lilian E’. I pressed dial. There was nothing. No ring tone; no message service. I memorized the number and checked the call log. Only a handful of local numbers and one international. I memorized that too.

  I leant down to make sure we had eye-to-eye. If he spoke English I’d soon know.

  ‘Tell him if he stays still and answers my questions I won’t hurt him.’

  His eyes were fixed on mine. I could see what he was thinking. What the fuck was an American, Brit, Australian or whatever doing here? I moved behind him, out of his direct sight. I hoped it would make him flap a whole lot more.

  17

  Anna spoke gently to him. She sounded almost motherly. The only word I could make out was ‘Lilian’.

  I got the impression she was casting me as the bad guy. She was the good one, the one he could trust and confide in, the one who wouldn’t rip his head off his shoulders. But his shoulders still tensed as she reached into her coat pocket. They relaxed again as she pulled out her cigarettes and lighter. She tapped out a couple and offered him one.

  As she lit hers, I saw the reflection of the flame glisten on her cheek. She was crying. As she talked to him now, there was a sadness in her voice that almost made me reach for a Kleenex.

  Slobo sucked down a lungful of smoke.

  I turned away and started ripping the place apart. The flat might have been small, but he had an expensive iPod dock and flat-screen TV. The stack of well-thumbed DVDs next to it would have taken a month to work through. Mr Lover Man must have kept them for a quiet night in. I didn’t think German farmyard stuff and hard-core bondage was the way to a girl’s heart.

  The wardrobe was stuffed with clothes that reeked of tobacco and cheap cologne. I glanced round. He was listening intently to Anna, but looked more interested in her cigarettes than in keeping us up to speed on Lilian’s travel plans.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I tipped out a shelf full of rip-off Armani underwear.

  ‘He’s telling me nothing.’ She said it matter-of-factly, as if we were discussing the weather. ‘He just keeps saying that he saw her a couple of weeks ago and hasn’t heard from her since.’

  I opened the bedside cabinet nearest the bathroom door. The drawer was stuffed with packets of condoms and lubricants, four or five chunky square watches and a pair of handcuffs that Irina would no doubt have been treated to if he’d had his way.

  I found his Desert Eagle in the cupboard on the other side of the bed. I lifted it out and pulled back the top slide to check if there was a round in the chamber. There wasn’t. I hit the magazine release catch with my thumb. The empty mag fell into my hand. The weapon was a bit of a metaphor for this dickhead. All bling, no substance.

  He’d probably bought the Israeli-made pistol before he discovered he couldn’t get hold of the ammunition. Or maybe he thought it went nicely with the handcuffs. Perhaps it was a sex thing, the closest he could get to a hard-on.

  I showed Anna the weapon. He turned and looked at me. He was worried, but not yet fearful. He knew it wasn’t loaded. He said something, but it sounded like he was still trying to weasel his way out.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Still the same story.’ Her tone was starting to change.

  I dropped the weapon onto the black, imitation-satin sheets. I knelt down and pulled a large clear plastic storage box from under the bed. Inside it was a small digital camera, Kodak printer, and a carton of photographic paper. I picked out six or seven five-by-eight pictures. The face had been cut neatly out of every one, but I could see that they were all of the same girl. I recognized her shape and the pale, almost translucent tone of her skin. I also recognized the background. Lilian had been posing against the battleship grey wall of the room we were in. I stood up with the pictures in my hand. ‘Anna …’

  She took one of them, knelt down and thrust it at him.

  Slobo’s head jerked back and he spat in her face. She didn’t flinch. She rose slowly and stood over him as he fired off another volley of Russian. She shook her head and went through to the bathroom to clean up.

  ‘Bring back a towel.’

  I picked up the handcuffs. Slobo guessed what was about to happen and started to get up. He’d finally realized he was going to have to take me on. I wasn’t about to encourage him. I dished out another hard slap across the head and took him down with a kick in the solar plexus. I crunched my knee on his neck to keep it on the floor, grabbed his hands and snapped on the cuffs behind his back.

  I grabbed him under his elbows and dragged him to his feet. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to. He had to comply or he was going to be in huge pain.

  I turned him round and shoved him, back first, onto the bed so his cuffed wrists were beneath him.

  I ripped the case off a pillow and shoved it over his head. He wriggled and cursed. I gave him a punch to the side of his face. ‘Shut the fuck up!’

  He fell silent. He might not have known the words but he got the message loud and clear.

  I left him there. He wasn’t going anywhere except maybe back on the floor. I went over to the sink and opened the cupboard underneath. The biggest pan I could find held about three litres. Home cooking obviously wasn’t part of Slobo’s seduction routine.

  Anna emerged with a striped bath towel. She saw me filling the pan from the tap.

  ‘No, Nick, not that …’

  I walked towards her with the full pan. ‘If we don’t, we’re going to be here all day.’

  ‘You might kill him.’

  ‘I’ve had it done to me. I know what I’m doing. You just think you’re dying.’

  18

  I put the pan down beside the bed and dragged him round by his shoulders so his head hung over the edge. I jumped onto his chest. He tried to fight me but with his arms behind him he was fucked. I reached across and picked up the pan. ‘Put the towel over his face. Hold it firmly either side.’

  She hesitated.

  ‘Anna, we have to crack on. No one has ever lasted more than a minute with this. That’s the way it works.’

  She placed the towel over his face but wasn’t really holding it.

  ‘It’s got to be tight. We want to find her, don’t we? This won’t kill him. It’ll just … give him some motivation.’

  She wasn’t at all happy with it, but pulled down either side on the towel. He tried to writhe from side to side. I gripped his face with my left hand under his jaw. ‘Pull harder, for fuck’s sake!’ The towel tautened and became almost like a strap around his head.

  I started to pour, making sure the water fell evenly and constantly over his nose and mouth. It wasn’t long before he was gagging. The reflex was automatic. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

  ‘Anna, hold it tight.’ I controlled him with my weight. ‘Hold it, keep it there!’

  The gurgling and choking continued under the material. He couldn’t breathe. His body went ballistic, kicking out, trying to buck free of me. He thrust out his elbows in a frantic attempt to pull free of the handcuffs. He was probably ripping his own skin. I certainly had when it had been done to me.

  I motioned for Anna to lift the towel. I peeled back the pillowcase far enough to expose his nose and mouth. He coughed up a mixture of water and alcohol-rich vomit.

  I gripped his head with both hands and nodded at the pan. ‘Go and fill it up. Hurry…’

  Slobo couldn’t see anything because the pillowcase was still over his eyes. His
chest heaved up and down for oxygen. His brain couldn’t work out that he was getting all he needed. Waterboarding is guaranteed to get the victim telling everything he knows, and even some things he doesn’t - anything to keep breathing. Physically, it’s like being trapped under a wave, but that’s fuck-all compared to the psychological hell. Your brain screams at you that you’re drowning, that you’re going to die.

  Anna returned with the water. ‘Get ready with that towel again.’ I pulled the pillowcase back over his mouth and took the pan from her.

  He’d be telling himself to keep calm. But he’d know that he couldn’t. He’d already had one taste of this. The second was going to terrorize him.

  I started pouring. His body jerked like he was being Tasered. Then, suddenly, as if someone had thrown a switch, his strength ebbed. He had nothing left to fight with. He knew that death was just seconds away. He’d given up.

  I let Anna take the towel off and pulled up the pillowcase. He puked water and bile.

  ‘Ask him where the fuck she is.’

  Anna bent closer to his ear, still talking slowly and gently. His chest heaved beneath me.

  I could make out the word ‘Lilian’ again, and then something like ‘Christmas’ or ‘Christine’.

  It was just starting to get interesting when there was a thunderous crash at the door.

  I looked up. Another of those and it was going to part company with its frame.

  19

  I rolled off Slobo’s supine body. ‘Anna! The bathroom! Go in the bathroom!’ Anything to keep her out of the line of sight of whoever was about to bomb-burst into the room.

  She dived over Slobo and scrambled across to the other side of the bed.

  I rolled onto the floor and jammed the web of my right hand onto the butt of Lena’s revolver in the waistband of my jeans.

  Two crew-cut monsters exploded through the door, pistols drawn down, heads swivelling, trying to work out what to do next.

  I sucked in my stomach, wrapped my thumb and three fingers round the grip of the revolver and pulled it out.

  The boy to my left turned and brought his weapon into the aim. My eyes didn’t move. My hand came up and his face blurred as my foresight became pin sharp. I squeezed the trigger as hard as I could to overcome the double action of the hammer. The round kicked off.

  The other one dropped to a semi-squat as the back of his mate’s head splattered against the grey wall behind him. He started firing. I had no idea what at.

  Where was Anna?

  I focused on my foresight once more. The hammer was back in the full-cock position. He brought his weapon round. It completely obscured his face. It didn’t matter. I pulled my trigger and he went down.

  ‘Anna! Anna!’

  She piled through the bathroom door as I got up.

  Slobo was writhing on the bed. He’d taken some rounds. Our second uninvited guest must have seen the Desert Eagle within his reach and decided not to take any chances.

  Anna looked at the two bodies. ‘The BMW?’

  ‘Tarasov’s guys. The car was at the factory.’

  Anna looked at Slobo. ‘Oh, God …’

  His chest was still heaving, but not enough to keep him alive.

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The noise from the corridor was even louder now. TVs had been cranked up to full volume so Slobo’s neighbours could say they hadn’t heard a thing.

  ‘Did you get her new name?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She must have one. The photos - they’ve got to be passport photos.’

  His eyes rolled. ‘Tell him we want her new name. Tell him he’s not in good shape, but I can save him if he gives us the name.’

  I eased his head up to help him speak. This time, Anna didn’t fuck around. Slobo was definitely on his last legs. We needed the answer fast.

  ‘Tell him I can save him—’

  ‘Sure, Nick, I’ll tell him you’re Florence Nightingale. Now shut up.’ Her earlier tone had disappeared completely. She was giving Slobo the good news with both barrels.

  He slurred a few words. Saliva dribbled from his mouth. His head went limp and his eyes stayed open.

  ‘Did you get it?’

  She nodded.

  I let him go.

  I stepped over the bodies and checked down the corridor. There was nothing that would slow us down.

  I came back and looked her in the eye. ‘Take a breath. Are you ready?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Good.’ I gestured towards the first one I’d dropped. ‘Check him for car keys.’ I frisked the other guy’s long leather coat and came up with the Beamer’s.

  We headed out into the corridor, the weapon still in my hand in case we had a drama. We ran down the stairs and out into the street. I pointed Anna to the right and I headed left, eyes peeled for a glint of blue.

  She called out to me.

  I turned to see her pointing at a vehicle that I couldn’t see. Too many others were in the way.

  I ran towards her, hitting the key fob until lights began to flash. ‘You drive.’ I threw her the keys. ‘Lena’s. Go, let’s go!’

  20

  Anna turned about four corners before we hit Constitution Street again. I kept a look-out for any major drama on the street.

  ‘I hope Irina’s OK.’

  Anna swerved to avoid an old guy on an unlit bike. ‘You think they might have got to her first?’

  The Skoda was where we’d left it.

  She slowed down. Through the rain-slicked windows I could see the silhouette of a body in the driving seat. It wasn’t moving.

  I powered down my window. Irina raised her head and wound down hers.

  Anna leant across me. ‘Irina, he was a trafficker.’

  She got it straight away. ‘Was?’

  ‘We need to split up now. I’ll keep Lena’s weapon. I’m going to dump it. Will you be OK making your own way back?’

  She gave me a dazzling smile and fired up the Skoda’s engine.

  ‘Nobody saw us or knows about us, OK?’

  Irina nodded. She came out of her space and stayed behind us until the next junction. Then she peeled off to the right.

  I quizzed the Beamer’s dash. ‘Half a tank. Will that get us to the ferry?’ We had to get out of this place, but I wanted to avoid the airport. Ships are less secure and easier to get onto than planes.

  ‘It’s two hours maybe, not far.’

  ‘We’ll give the hotel a miss.’

  ‘I’ll call them later and they’ll bill me. What about the Polo?’

  ‘We just leave it.’ An oncoming vehicle’s headlights splashed across her face as she concentrated on the road. The rain was heavier now. The wipers sounded like a drumbeat.

  ‘And the pistol?’

  ‘I’m going to keep it as long as I can - at least until Odessa.’

  We hit a pothole and the Beamer’s skirting scraped the tarmac.

  ‘What did Mr Lover Man say about Lilian?’

  ‘She’s gone to Copenhagen. A place called Christiania. Have

  you heard of it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a commune inside the city. Slobo said she needed to get

  away for a while. She was pissed off with her father.’

  ‘Does that mean he knew who Tarasov is?’

  Anna kept one hand on the wheel while she fished in her pockets for cigarettes. ‘I don’t think so. He just said “her father”. But he cut off her Facebook, and he moved her along with a new ID. She may think she’s taking a break in Hippie Land, but I think Slobo had other ideas.’

  I powered down my window a quarter of the way as she lit

  up. Spots of rain peppered my face. ‘Do we have an address?’ ‘He didn’t know it. Or if he did, he wasn’t telling me.’ I sparked up my BlackBerry. ‘What’s her new name?’

  ‘Nemova.’

  ‘How did she travel?’

  She took a drag of her cigarett
e. ‘He didn’t say, but I didn’t ask. It wasn’t exactly coffee and chat.’

  My screen lit up and showed four bars. I hit the time and date app. It took a second or two to load. I tapped in Julian’s number. There was a long tone and a short break as he began to receive the call. The green padlock icon would signal secure mode. It rang three times.

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘She’s been trafficked. She’s in Denmark. Some kind of commune, maybe. She’s got a new name. Lilian Nemova. I’ll spell: November - Echo - Mike - Oscar - Victor - Alpha. Worth checking the visa applications again?’

  Julian didn’t answer immediately. He was probably still writing it all down. ‘I’ll get somebody on it. Then I need to inform Mr Tresillian.’

  A deep growl cut in. ‘Already here, Julian. Now listen to me, Mr Stone. Excellent work. Go to Denmark. Find her. A contact and a safe-house will be arranged once you’ve discovered where she is.’ There was a pause. ‘A commune? A fucking commune? I didn’t even know they still existed. Do these people think the world owes them a fucking living?’

  Jules and I weren’t sure who was meant to answer.

  Tresillian filled in the gap. ‘Anyone got anything useful to say?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind dropping out myself one day.’

  The jokes still weren’t welcome. ‘Not on my watch, Mr Stone. Next time we hear from you I trust it will be good news.’

  The phone went dead. Obviously Julian didn’t have anything to say. Or if he did, tough shit.

  Before closing the BlackBerry down I shifted the cursor to the camera icon and clicked on ‘View Pictures’. I spent a few moments willing the minute Cyrillic script to magically translate itself into plain English and leap out at me. ‘I took these of the shipment stacked inside Tarasov’s factory. You see the stencilling on the nearest case? Can you read what it says?’

  She zoomed in on each photograph in turn. ‘Just a series of numbers and letters - the product serial ID, maybe.’ She looked up. ‘Why not run them by Julian? He’ll be able to blow them up on a big screen.’