by Andy McNab
I dug the keys out of the plant pot. The girl held her jumper against her breasts, watching me.
Two of the bodies stirred.
I grabbed her arm and dragged her out from under the canopy. I gathered up her jeans and thrust them at her.
‘Go! Go on! Fuck off!’
She stood there shivering, clothes held up in front of her, knees trembling, like the child she was.
I gave her a shove. ‘Go! Run!’
Two sets of headlights swept down the road from the direction of the bridge.
She was so tiny it was easy to pull her out of sight. I pushed her against the wheel of a trailer loaded with pallets as the engine got louder. She struggled, trying to escape. She probably thought I fancied a bit of what the neos had already helped themselves to. I grabbed her by the back of her head, wound my fingers through her hair and pushed her against the tyre.
The car came into view: a green Passat, two up. It slowed but didn’t stop. I caught a glimpse of long, greasy black hair and matching shirt but couldn’t see their faces. Ten seconds later a blue-and-white did the same. I dragged the girl to her feet the moment it had passed and we started moving in the opposite direction.
We’d covered a couple of hundred metres when I heard the whoop of a siren, just one quick hit. Blue lights strobed the darkness, glinting off the puddles, then they stopped just as suddenly.
We kept going.
She had to come with me now, even though I knew I was giving myself a very big dose of drama. I couldn’t let her get lifted. Tarasov and his box of tricks had better be worth all this shit.
I flung open the back door of the Panda and shoved her down into the footwell. Then I jumped in behind the wheel.
‘You understand English?’
The only response was some laboured breathing and a cough. She was crying quietly to herself.
Ten minutes passed. There were no more wailing sirens or blue flashing lights. What the fuck was going on? One of the neos was probably dead, and the others couldn’t have legged it. A broken jaw makes you think twice about doing that. It makes you want to stay very, very still instead.
A set of headlights appeared in the rear-view. I felt between the seats to make sure she was still hidden. The green Passat rolled past, still two up. I got a better look at them this time. They’d completed my circuit, down past the ferry, up the bay road, then back.
I waited five more minutes, but there was no sign of the blue-and-white. I switched on the ignition.
‘Stay down …’
I threaded my way through the housing estate until I came out onto a main. I didn’t know where the fuck I was, but I’d work it out soon enough. There was a lot of trouble by the back seat, and I needed to think.
15
I killed the lights and engine the moment I’d nosy-parked in front of the shutter.
‘You - stay there.’ I still didn’t know if she spoke any English, but she didn’t move a muscle.
I pretended to fumble with the keys while I checked my paper telltales. All three were still in position.
I didn’t hit the light switch inside, just pressed the shutter button. As the car came into view, I could see that she was now sitting next to the child seat, her jumper on. She tilted her head and pushed back her blood-matted hair so she could watch me through the windscreen.
I got back into the car and gave her a smile. She pulled her jumper down self-consciously over her thighs, but if her face showed any emotion, it was relief.
I drove into the bay and hit the button again. She remained motionless as the shutter ground its way down. I only hit the light switch when we were in total darkness. The two fluorescent tubes flickered and hummed.
She looked around her. I tapped on the slightly dented roof and bent down to her level. ‘You’re safe here.’ I gestured with my hand. ‘Come on.’
She didn’t budge. She looked at me like she had a choice about this and had decided to stay put.
I pushed down the front passenger seat, leant in and grabbed her arm. She stumbled out onto the cold concrete, clutching her wet and muddy jeans. ‘Let’s try again. What is your name?’
Nothing.
‘Russia? Ukraine? Moldova?’
Her goosebumps were the size of shirt buttons. She tried to cover herself up.
I pointed to the stairs at the back of the loading bay and gave her a gentle push. ‘Let’s go. Up there.’
She stopped at the first landing, awaiting my next command. I steered her all the way to the top floor, keeping behind her so I could check the telltales without her seeing what I was doing. She stood stock still in the middle of the floor, waiting to be told what to do.
I got a much better look at her now. She was no more than five feet tall and could have been anything from fourteen to eighteen years old. Her dyed blonde hair was thick and wiry, and brushed her shoulders. It needed about a week’s worth of shampooing. She was a skinny little thing: not through lack of food, there just wasn’t anything of her. With high cheekbones and huge dark brown eyes, her face looked bigger than her delicate shoulders and graceful neck seemed capable of supporting. She had no eyebrows. They’d been plucked or shaved. It made her look like a porcelain doll. Or a ghost.
I pointed to the shower room.
She looked at me and shivered.
‘Let’s go.’ I took her hand. She offered no resistance. She probably couldn’t have even if she’d wanted to. She felt like she weighed less than the mallet.
I turned on the shower. The cubicle filled with steam. I pointed at the bottle of gel and mimed washing my hair. I showed her the towel, then closed the door and let her get on with it.
I filled the kettle and flicked it on.
I was tired, and pissed off with myself for breaking a life-time’s rule. But there was no point beating myself up about it. Even if it hadn’t been the right thing to do, she was here now. I had to deal with it. I threw a couple of Smarties down my neck with a cupful of cold water.
The kettle clicked off and I made myself a brew with plenty of milk and sugar. I dragged the sleeping bag and airbed out of Bradley’s box. He hadn’t lashed out on the electric-pump option. I didn’t have the energy to inflate it; she’d have to, if she wanted a comfortable night.
I dug around in my day sack, stripped off and put on a dry sweatshirt. I threw my spare jeans onto the sleeping bag; hers were in shit state. I added a long-sleeved T-shirt, a clean pair of socks and some boxer shorts for good measure.
Brew in hand, I went into the mailroom. I checked the telltale and pulled out the folder. I wanted to show her Lilian’s picture.
I sat near the sink with my back against the wall and checked my watch. After 02.00. Fuck, I hadn’t even been here six hours and I was already in rag order.
I put my mug down and rested my head against my knees. The next thing I knew, I was woken by the sound of her coming out of the shower. I looked up. The towel was wrapped under her armpits. She caught sight of the sleeping bag and all the gear and very nearly smiled. Or maybe I was just kidding myself.
‘Drink?’ I pointed at the kettle and made a brew sign with my right hand.
She looked down at my mug, which was still half full. I took a sip. It had gone cold. I must have been out of it for at least half an hour. She raised a non-eyebrow.
‘Yeah, I’ll have one.’
She brushed past me as she leant down to collect my mug. She smelt of shampoo. Her knees cracked, and she still had chicken skin because of the cold.
I stood up and stretched while she got busy with the kettle. I wiped the dribble off my chin stubble and pointed at the gear. ‘That is for you. Dry clothes.’ I went through the motions of putting on jeans. ‘Blow up the airbed.’ I made a trumpet out of my hands and puffed through it. ‘For you to sleep … All right?’
She passed me a steaming mug. The tea was black, with half a kilo of sugar. I fished out Slobo’s Facebook picture and pointed.
‘This girl. Her name is Lilian.
Was she in the building? Have you seen her?’
I couldn’t read her expression at all.
‘Have you seen her? Lilian. Her - name - is - Lilian …’
She nodded.
‘You have seen her? Today?’
All of sudden she was scared. I didn’t blame her. It must have taken her back to the last place she ever wanted to be.
‘You sure? Lilian - with you?’
She examined the picture more closely. Her brow furrowed, and she nodded again.
I dug about in Brad’s goodie box for the packet of cheap biros. On the back of the picture, I sketched the internal layout of the silo complex, based on what I’d seen and Anna had told me. I traced a line into the main entrance and then right, into the first room. ‘Lilian - is she in there? In there with you?’
She took her time before giving me another nod. I don’t think she needed to think. It was more that she didn’t know what the fuck was going to happen to her next.
‘The guards? The bad guys?’
I treated her to my cartoon gorilla impression, complete with the hands-under-the-armpits thing. It didn’t even get a flicker of a smile.
‘The guards, there are four?’ I held up my fingers. ‘Four?’
She didn’t answer. She burst into tears.
‘It’s OK. No one will hurt you now. It’s OK …’
I went back to my wall, slid down it and took short sips of brew. I didn’t want to crowd her. She calmed herself down, got dressed and started blowing up the airbed.
She avoided eye contact. I didn’t know for sure what she was thinking, but I could guess.
I finished my brew and went back into the mailroom for the BlackBerry. I sparked it up as I returned to the loading bay. I didn’t yet know whether the girl could speak, but I knew that she could hear.
The ringing tone went on for longer than before.
‘I’ve found her.’
‘Excellent.’
‘I don’t have much darkness left but I’ll get back there now and try to lift her anyway.’
Tresillian did his usual party trick. ‘No, you will not, Mr Stone.’
Not even a ‘well done’ this time.
‘But it has to be tonight.’
There was an uneasy silence at the other end of the line.
‘We have a … complication … Once you have lifted the girl I want the building and anyone inside it destroyed. No one who has had contact with Lilian must get away.’
‘Destroyed?’
‘I want an explosion. I want a spectacular. I want to see it on News at fucking Ten. Do I make myself clear?’
‘You want me to blow up a building in a major European city?’
‘Is there an echo on this line?’
I fantasized for a moment about blowing up the silo with Tresillian inside it. ‘No, there is not.’
‘Very good.’
‘But first I need you to attend to another matter. It appears we have a little competition. Stand by, Mr Stone. But don’t move a muscle. Your contact will explain.’
The line went dead.
By the time I got back upstairs, the girl was tucked up in the sleeping bag with her hands wrapped around her mug. She looked me in the eye, and I finally got the slightest of smiles.
I sat back down against the wall and rested my head on my knees once more.
16
Thursday, 18 March
06.27 hrs
I woke up face down on the carpet. The sleeping bag was draped over me. I opened my eyes to see a pair of bare feet peeping out from under my rolled-up jeans. She leant over me, her hair frizzed almost into an Afro after sleeping on it wet. She had a brew in her hand. Her expression softened as she put the mug down beside me.
I tried to focus on my watch. At least I’d got a couple of hours in. I looked up at her groggily. ‘You OK?’
She didn’t reply. She looked even more like a waif with my clothes hanging off her.
I sat up, stiff and sore from sleeping on the floor, but I’d got used to that over the years. It’s just a matter of how you position your head and shoulders and spread your legs to distribute the weight.
I tore a blank strip off the bottom of the A4 sheet that held Lilian’s picture, grabbed one of the biros and wrote down an address.
I took a sip of the extra-sweet black tea and gave her a grin. Didn’t they have any fucking cows east of Poland?
She retrieved her brew from the sink and went and sat on the airbed. Her knees came up to her chest. Her arms went round them. Her face was expressionless once more.
I had to get this thing moving. Bradley would be here at ten. By then I needed to have dealt with her, sorted myself out, and worked out exactly what I wanted him to do for me to get this job done.
As soon as we’d finished our brews, I pulled myself to my feet. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
I draped my bomber round her shoulders and coaxed her up. I took her hand and, gently but firmly, steered her to the door.
At last there was a reaction. Her eyes were like saucers. She was scared.
I opened the door for her and shooed her out. I let her go downstairs in front of me so I could check the telltales.
She stood shivering on the pavement in her bare feet while I locked up. I didn’t replace the telltales in the door. I wasn’t going to be long, and the less time I was exposed with her on the street, the better.
We started down Papaverhoek towards the main. I almost had to drag her. We passed FilmNoord XXX. The white tarpaulins lining the market flapped and billowed in the distance. The morning traffic buzzed across the junction ahead of us.
I dug into my jeans for the wad and counted out about a hundred euros.
She looked at me blankly. I had to prise open her hand and shove the money into it. ‘Take this. You’ve got to go.’
I handed her the strip of paper and made sure she focused on what I’d written. ‘Go to the Radisson Hotel, Schiphol airport. Taxi - take a taxi, yeah?’
I ran my finger under the address and slowly repeated it.
‘Radisson Hotel. Airport - Schiphol airport. You take a taxi, yeah?’
I pointed to the road that led to the nearest taxi rank. ‘Taxi, that way …’
I hadn’t a clue if she totally understood me, but she got the general drift.
‘A woman …’ I started signing like I thought she was deaf. ‘A lady - with short blonde hair - will meet you. She will help you. Help you go home, yeah?’
Her eyes welled up. I could see she was trying not to, but she couldn’t help it. The tears eventually fell.
I took off my Timberlands and dumped them on the ground next to her feet. She didn’t move. I had to get hold of each of her ankles in turn, lift it into a boot and lace it up.
‘OK, you’ve got money and shoes - so go!’
She stood there.
‘Go - it’s time!’
‘Where am I?’ Her accent was heavy enough for her to be Brezhnev’s daughter, but her voice was clear. ‘What country is this?’ She looked and sounded like the lost child she was.
I didn’t want to hear any more. There wasn’t time. I needed to be back at the safe-house ASAP. ‘You’re in Holland. Amsterdam. You have money. Get a taxi to that hotel. The blonde woman, short hair - she’ll be there to meet you and help you.’
‘I come with you?’
‘I’m leaving tonight. I’m not staying here. The woman will help you.’
I pulled out another couple of hundred. ‘Take a taxi to the airport. And make sure nobody sees you with all this money. Just go.’
I turned away from her.
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s OK. Use it to get home.’
‘No - not for this money. For what you did. For what you did last night.’ She shuffled towards me in the Timberlands, raised herself onto the tips of her toes, and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
I patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and headed off in the direction of the larger of the two ro
undabouts, not wanting to look back.
Chucking a left, I walked for maybe two hundred metres until I spotted a phone box. Anna answered immediately. It was as if she was on stag. Her iPhone only rang once.
‘Listen - one of the girls from the building is heading to you right now, in a cab.’
‘Does she have a name?’
‘Probably. This has to be quick, I have to get back. She’s got dyed blonde hair and no eyebrows. Maybe call Lena and see what she can do for her. I need you able to move at a moment’s notice in case the shit hits the fan.’ I didn’t tell her that it already had.
‘Are you planning on bringing them out one by one?’
It was a half-arsed attempt at humour but it made me laugh anyway.
‘Nicholas?’
‘What?’
‘Be careful.’
17
From where I stood in the shadows by the middle office window, I had a good view of the front door and along about ten metres of road back towards the main. I’d be able to see Bradley coming - and anybody who was behind him.
My watch told me he should be here within the next ten minutes. I’d showered and shaved. I’d been to the market and bought everything I was after - for now, at least. I had new jeans, a ready-faded pair like the ones I’d seen the East European lads sporting in Moldova club land. The sweatshirt was so cheap it felt like a carrier bag, and my brown padded nylon coat wouldn’t be on the catwalks any time soon. The trainers I’d selected to replace my Timberlands didn’t even have a name, but fifteen euros wasn’t going to take me all the way to Niketown.
The sky was grey. The sun occasionally made it through the clouds, but never for more than a few seconds. I tried to concentrate on the street below but I couldn’t get the girl out of my head. That wasn’t good. I hoped things would turn out OK for her, but this wasn’t helping me with my next task. I was writing a mental list of gear I’d need to put the silo on CNN and the BBC - and how to divvy up that list with Bradley. There were a few things I could ask him to get for me, but one or two others I really had to get hold of myself.
