Crisis Four

by Andy McNab

  I could hear rotor blades in the sky behind. Moments later a blindingly bright Night Sun searchlight penetrated the darkness and began to sweep the area towards the houses as the helicopter hovered over the lake. It wasn’t venturing too near the scene just yet, probably for fear of someone taking a pot-shot.

  More gunshots echoed in the background. Almost immediately I heard returned bursts of fire and saw the brilliant, almost white, muzzle flash of a 53. I turned back and started to move off.

  My throat was parched; God knew what Sarah’s was like. She must be in shit state. I kept checking behind me as I moved and could see the lights in the houses slowly fading into the dark and rain. We would be in dead ground soon. As I moved, the Night Sun briefly lit up the area around me as it realigned itself while the heli orbited the lake, making hundreds of shadows in the trees as the rotor blades groaned, trying to keep it in a stable position in the wind. The campers were no doubt outside their tents, trying to watch the re-enactment of the Waco siege from the safety of the other side of the lake, pleased that their washed-out holiday had turned out quite exciting after all.

  Below me I could only see the flat roofs of the two houses. More blue flashing lights cut through the trees, but this time on my side of the lake, coming from the left along the track. Yet more police vehicles were also arriving in the carpark across the lake. They’d all got here too fast. My guess must have been correct. My report must have confirmed Elizabeth and Lynn’s speculation about what was going on, and they wanted Sarah out before the seventh cavalry moved in. It seemed that I’d fucked that up a bit; it wouldn’t be long before the area was choked with police and FBI trying to stop the Third World War.

  Shotgun Ned would be a national hero after this. He’d probably be given his own fucking talk show. The police, however, had mortgages and kids to think about; while it was dark they would do no more than contain the area. By first light, however, they’d have all their shit together, maybe even have the Army or National Guard on standby.

  I crested a rise, and as I moved downhill it blocked out all the noise behind me. My first priority was to put as much distance as possible between us and the target before first light.

  As I moved, I could feel Sarah shivering and shaking beside me, screaming inside her gag. If I was feeling bad, she must be in shit state.

  I crossed another small ridge, started to move downhill, and lost my footing in the mud. As I slithered and tumbled Sarah fought to break free and save herself. I had a split second in which to decide whether to hold onto her or let go.

  The decision was made for me. We took another half tumble and slide and came to an abrupt stop against a tree trunk. I’d landed on my back, with Sarah on top of me, her wet hair in my face, breathing hard through her nose like a Grand National winner. My pistol, which had been pushed into the front of my jeans, had gone.

  I let go of Sarah; she wasn’t going anywhere, the weapon was the priority. I never wanted to be without one again. Maglite in hand, the bulb covered by my fingers to minimize the spill of light, I crawled around on my hands and knees sifting through the leaves and mud like a kid searching for a lost toy.

  My knee caught a metal edge as I moved. I checked the safety, wiped off the worst of the mud and shoved it back into my jeans. Scrambling back towards Sarah, I noticed she was breathing much more loudly. That wasn’t right. Then I heard a loud, hoarse whisper, ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get this belt off me – now!’

  She had somehow untied the gag, and was coughing and trying to relieve the soreness in her mouth. ‘Come on!’ She lifted her hands. ‘Get this fucking thing off!’

  She couldn’t see it, but I was trying to hide a laugh. People with accents like hers shouldn’t swear, it just doesn’t work. Besides, she was practically naked, streaked with mud, yet trying to order me around.

  ‘Do it, Nick. Hurry, we must keep moving!’

  There were no more weapon reports from behind us, and a loud-hailer was now being used, probably to give instructions to anyone left in the house. The rain prevented me from hearing what was being said. The heli was out there somewhere, the throbbing of its rotors carried in on gusts of wind.

  What did she mean, we need to keep moving? I looked at her, and couldn’t help it – I started to laugh, and that pissed her off even more.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, hurry up and untie me!’ She held her arms out. ‘Get me out of here before this becomes even more of a fucking fiasco!’

  The rattle of the helicopter getting closer made us both shut up. It was hard to tell which direction it was coming from. I was peering up, but could see jack shit.

  ‘Come on, get this belt off me and give me your coat!’ She started to use her teeth to pull the knot apart. It wasn’t working. The leather was too tight and wet, and she was shivering too much to get a good grip.

  The helicopter roared overhead. I caught a glimpse of its navigation lights through the trees. At least it wasn’t hovering, or moving in a search pattern – not yet, anyway. I guessed it would be soon. I could see the glimmer of first light beyond the canopy.

  She wanted my attention again. ‘Nick, get this off me and give me your coat. Please.’ Her arms were still thrust towards me. I grabbed hold of the belt and started to drag her along in the mud.

  First light had started to penetrate to the forest floor, relieving the gloom just enough to show my footprints. The rain was starting to ease off; the noise of it hitting the leaves was dying down, along with the wind in the trees. I was starting to feel depressed; I was soaking wet, cold and confused. What was worse, we were leaving an unmissable trail in the mud.

  She could obviously see that I was in no mood for discussion as we moved and she shut up. We came over another rise. Down below us, about one or two hundred metres away at the bottom of a steep gradient, was a river. Maybe thirty metres wide, it was in full flood, a maelstrom of fast-flowing water and foam.

  As we scrambled downhill, all I could hear was the rush of water in front of us. Sarah called out, ‘Slower, slower,’ trying to get her footing. I wasn’t listening. We had to find a way across. With luck it would be the psychological boundary of the search; hopefully they would start from the house and fan out as far as the bank, assuming that no-one would be mad enough to try and cross.

  At that moment I had to be the only person in the world with a good thing to say about El Niño. In theory, it should have been nice and sunny at this time of the year in the Carolinas. Conditions like this would slow the searchers down, and if the weather closed in any further the heli might not be able to fly.

  Closer to the water the tree canopy started to thin. Out in the open it was virtually daylight, and looking up I could see a really thick, grey, miserable sky. It had stopped raining, but in dense woodland you’d never know that; all the moisture is held on the leaves and it still works its way down to the floor. What the fuck, I was soaked to the skin anyway.

  Sarah’s hair was wet and flat against her head. Dried blood ringed her nostrils; I must have slammed my hand into her face quite hard on the bed. She was bleeding from several cuts on her legs, with goose bumps the size of peanuts, and in any other circumstances she’d have needed hospital attention. She was covered in mud, sand, bits of leaves and twigs, and shivering uncontrollably in her drenched and now transparent knickers and T-shirt.

  I let go of the belt and studied the river, trying to look for a safe place to cross. It was pointless. If I’d doubted the strength of the current I only had to look at the chunks of uprooted tree that were surging downstream and crashing over the rocks. Wherever I chose, it was going to be a major drama. So what was new?

  Sarah was switched on; she knew what I was thinking. She sat in a foetal position against a rock on the bank with her arms wrapped around her legs, trying to cover her body for warmth. She looked at the river, then at me. ‘No, Nick. Are you mad? I’m not going, not here. Why don’t we—’

  I cut her off mid-sentence, grabbing hold of
the belt and dragging her a short distance back into the canopy for cover. I didn’t talk to her; there was too much stuff churning round in my head. Instead I started to pull out my shirt from my trousers, then the bottoms of my jeans where they’d been tucked into my boots. I undid the cuffs on my jacket sleeves until everything was nice and loose and water could flow more freely around me. If your shirt is tucked in when you swim, the weight of trapped water that collects can slow you down, then it might drown you. The gloves came off; it was pointless wearing them at the moment, and besides, they looked ridiculous. Sarah was all right, she had fuck all on anyway. I stuffed all my docs, plus hers, into one of the gloves, then pushed that inside the other one and put it back in my jacket. I wondered about the bag; fuck it, I’d have to take it with me. I didn’t want to leave any more sign than was necessary.

  The wind had started to gust strongly and the trees at the top of the canopy on the opposite side of the river were bending and swaying. I looked at Sarah hunching down behind a tree for shelter. Only feet away the water crashed angrily against the rocks.

  I looked along the opposite bank, following the river’s current, trying to work out where we might land up. I could see downstream for about 250 metres, then the river bent round to the right and disappeared from view. The opposite bank was about two or three feet above water level, with plenty of grab provided by foliage and tree roots exposed by the current as it carved into the soil. I had to assume the worst, that there was a massive waterfall just after the bend, and that meant that we had just 250 metres in which to make our way across and get out.

  The ambient temperature wasn’t freezing but it was bitterly cold. On land, we wouldn’t die of exposure if we kept moving, but the river would be another matter. Sarah saw me looking at the water and back at her. She dropped her head and buried it in her arms. The gesture was one of resignation, and recognition of the fact that, if she was telling the truth about wanting to get away, I was her only means of escape.

  The heli was somewhere behind us, doing its stuff between the river and the houses; I couldn’t tell exactly where it was, but it had to be near or I wouldn’t be able to hear the rotor blades groaning as it tried to keep a low hover.

  I went over to her, grabbed hold of the belt and pulled her to her feet. She looked into my eyes. ‘Nick, why not take this thing off? Please. I’m not going anywhere, am I?’

  I ignored her. Gripping the belt with my left hand, I moved down to the water’s edge, keeping my eyes lifted to the sky. I tried to convince myself that the only thing that mattered right now was the helicopter.

  A spit of rocks extending about five metres out looked as if it would give us some sort of platform to begin our crossing; water sluiced over the top and there was no way of telling how deep it was on either side. I hoped Sarah could swim, but if she couldn’t, tough, she should have said. I looked at her eyes and suddenly saw fear there, then I looked at the river again. It was a fair one. There was no way I couldn’t remove the belt. I needed to keep her alive. Her death had to be at a time and place of my choosing.

  As I undid the knot she said very quietly, ‘Thank you.’

  I caught her eye, trying to read the message there, then nodded and moved on, throwing the belt into the bag. She stepped gingerly over the small stones at the water’s edge. ‘Come on!’ I snapped.

  She kept her head down, watching her footing. ‘I’m trying, it’s hurting my feet.’ As we started to wade in she gasped, ‘Oh fuck, it’s so cold!’

  She was right; the water temperature had to be near zero. I told myself just to get in there, get it done, and worry about warming up again on the other side.

  I fought the current until I was up to my waist, with Sarah behind me grasping the strap of her bag which was still over my shoulder. Then, with my next step, I was into fast-flowing water, the current tearing at my leg, threatening to throw me off balance. I grabbed her hand, whether to support myself or to help her, I didn’t know, but no sooner had I lifted my other leg than the weight of water whipped it away from under me and I was being swept downstream. I still clung to Sarah, both of us kicking and thrashing to keep afloat and make some progress towards the opposite bank, but the current was starting to drag me under. If you’re trapped against a rock by water that’s just half a metre high and moving at 12 mph, you’d need to be able to bench press 550 pounds to lift yourself away. We were no contest for the tons of water surging downstream.

  My head was forced under and I swallowed a mouthful of freezing river. I kicked back to the surface, forcing myself to breathe in through my nose, only to choke as I inhaled yet more water. I let go of her. We each had to fight our own battle now. She looked at me, her eyes the size of saucers as she realized what I’d done. That wasn’t my problem; it would only become one if I couldn’t find her body before they did. She still had to disappear without trace.

  I saw her through wet, blurred vision, trying to keep her head up, kicking and swimming and wading like a seal. Then she was sucked under by the current and I couldn’t tell how far across I was. The water kept taking me under, and I was more concerned about sucking in air than getting to the other side. I couldn’t see Sarah at all now, but there was nothing I could do about that. I was in enough shit of my own.

  As I came up again and snatched a lungful of air, I heard a scream. ‘Oh God! Oh God!’ I looked around for her, but saw nothing above the torrent.

  I was dragged back down and inhaled more river water. Scrabbling my way to the surface, I saw that this time I was almost at the far side. The current wasn’t dying down, though, because the river curved around to the right and I was on the outside of the bend, where the force of the water was at its fiercest. An eddy caught me and the momentum threw me against the bank. I threw out my hands, trying to grasp an exposed tree root or an overhanging branch, anything I could.

  I shouted for Sarah, but all I got in reply was another mouthful of river. I coughed, trying to force my eyes open again, but they stung too much. Thrashing around blindly, my left hand connected with something solid. I made a grab, but whatever it was gave way. The next thing I knew, my right arm had hooked into a large tree root. The current swung me round and pressed me against the bank, and my feet connected with solid ground. I clung to the roots and took deep breaths to slow myself down. Downstream, nothing was moving in the water but branches and lumps of wood.

  I struggled against the weight of water until I could reach with my free hand and grab another root higher up the bank. I finally hauled myself up until only my feet were left in the water, being forced sideways by the current. One more grab and pull and I was lying on the bank, fighting for breath. I’d never felt such relief. I lay there for more than a minute, coughing up water and slowly feeling some strength return to my limbs.

  As my head cleared, I realized my problems weren’t over. I’d now have to find Sarah, and she could be anywhere downstream. Clearing the banks would expose me to view from the ground, and the river was a natural route for any follow-up to be taking. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the heli, if it came back, would ping me at once.

  There was nothing I could do about any of that; I just had to get on with it and retrieve what I could from this gang-fuck. Turning my head, I could make out the river behind me, blurred by the water in my eyes. There was still no sign of Sarah.

  My soaking clothes weighed me down as I started to stumble along the bank, leaning over the edge from time to time to double check that she wasn’t concealed behind rocks or in some kink in the ground below me. If I couldn’t find her and she was discovered downstream, or even on the coast, I’d just have to accept that it was a big-time fuck-up. However, not yet.

  As I moved, I kept my eyes skinned for somewhere to hide her body if she was dead. Hiding her wouldn’t be the ideal solution, but there was fuck-all else I could do. It would slow me down, carrying her out of the area, and I could always come back in a month or two and finish the job. It needed to be a spot that I could ID at
a later date, and perhaps after a change of season, and one that wasn’t near a hikers’ route or a water course.

  As the current reached the bend and changed direction, its noise became almost deafening. I followed round, the dead ground gradually coming into view. I couldn’t believe it. Just 300 metres further downstream, resting on timber supports driven into the riverbed, was a small footbridge. The story of my life. If I’d been looking for one, it wouldn’t have existed.

  I stopped, looked and listened. The bridge would be on their maps, and anyone sent to follow us would use it to cross.

  As I got to within maybe 150 metres of the structure, I could see that it was made of three thick wooden supports rising up from the river on each side. The walkway, made of what were probably old railway sleepers, was maybe two metres above that.

  In any search pattern the police would use this bridge as a key point, somewhere that it would be natural to go to. Maybe they had already identified it and had a team hidden, waiting for us to cross.

  Should I move into the canopy a bit and then come back to the river further down once I’d boxed round it? No good: I needed to search the whole bank. The way things were going she was probably just a metre from the bridge, dead. I watched for a while longer. The wind bent the treetops and the water crashed along at warp speed.

  At first I thought it was the white water pushing itself against the middle support, with the occasional plume of foam being thrown into the air. It wasn’t. It was Sarah, clinging to the post and reaching up, trying to make the two metres to safety. Time and again her hand moved up the support, only to be ripped away again as the current got hold of her. For a split second I hoped she’d be washed away; then I could concentrate on saving my own arse and getting away, taking any flak when I got back to the UK. Then reality kicked in. There was still a chance I could pull her out and do my job properly.

  I moved back into the canopy and made my approach towards the bridge, lying down about twenty metres short for one last look. She wasn’t making a sound. Either she was switched on enough to know not to scream, or she was just too scared. I didn’t care which, as long as she stayed quiet.