Crisis Four

by Andy McNab

  ‘Got it.’ Sarah turned into number seventeen’s parking lot.

  We climbed the wooden stairs and entered the apartment. The first impression was, brown. There was a brown sofa and chair around a TV, and a log fire in the fake-stone fireplace, with a chain-mail curtain to protect the brown carpet. The living area was open plan, with the kitchen area facing us as we went in. At the far end of the room was a set of sliding patio doors with insect mesh on the outer side, which led to a small balcony.

  The place smelled clean and looked comfortable. In the bedrooms, blankets, sheets and towels were all laid out, ready for use. In the kitchen there was a welcome pack of coffee, powdered creamer and sugar. Sarah went into the bedrooms, closing the blinds. I slipped into the kitchen area and switched on the freezer, turning the dial to ‘rapid’. The sound of the motor powering up was too noisy, so I put the fridge on as well.

  She came back into the living room as I was putting the kettle on. ‘Now what?’ she asked, closing the patio-door blinds to cut out prying eyes.

  ‘Nothing. You stay here, I’ll go and get food. I’m starving. The kettle’s on, why not make a brew?’

  I drove to the nearest store, which was part of a gas station, and bought the normal supplies – a couple of subs, crisps, canned drinks, washing and shaving kit. Then I used my call card to dial Metal Mickey from a phone booth on the forecourt. There was no answer from his extension at the embassy, not even voicemail, and the switchboard wouldn’t take messages. Baby-G told me it was 18:36. He must have finished for the day. I tried to remember his home number; I couldn’t, shit. It got binned with the 3C.

  I returned to the apartment. Sarah was lying on the sofa half asleep, TV on and with no coffee made. I threw her a sub and a bag of crisps, and turned to reheat the water. The yellow freezer light told me it was still working overtime to achieve quick freeze.

  Sarah eventually reached out and started to pull open her food. I poured water into the coffee mugs.

  The annoying thing was that everything she’d said made sense; she’d done nothing to show she was lying. Why should she trust anyone back in London? I knew from first-hand experience that the Firm were as slippery as eels in baby oil.

  I turned round to face her as I placed the coffee on the breakfast bar. She was lying back with the sub on her chest, one mouthful missing. She’d closed down. I knew how she felt. I was knackered and my head was starting to spin. I desperately needed sleep. I checked that the front door was locked and crashed out on one of the double beds, on top of the piles of sheets, towels and blankets.

  It was still dark when I woke. I turned and felt another body next to me. I hadn’t heard or felt her come into the room.

  As my eyes adjusted to the dull light from the streetlamps through the blind, I could make out her shape. She was facing me, curled up, her hands together, supporting her head. It sounded as if she was having a bad dream. She mumbled to herself and started to move her head against the folded blanket. She’d never appeared more vulnerable. I just lay there, looking at her.

  Her skin glowed in the warmth of the room, but her brow was furrowed. For a moment, she almost seemed to be in pain. I reached out to touch her, just as she gave a small cry, tossed and turned once, then settled again. I could still smell the scent of apple shampoo in her hair.

  I figured I’d been pretty good at keeping people at arm’s length ever since I was a kid. It didn’t make life completely fucking brilliant, but it kept me going and it sure as hell helped avoid disappointment. This was different, though. Very different.

  She murmured again and snuggled closer to me. I didn’t know how to deal with this at all. First Kelly, now Sarah. Any minute now I’d be checking out estate agents’ particulars for the dream cottage with roses round the door. The full catastrophe. It scared the shit out of me.

  I’d never been the world’s best when it came to staying in one place, and I started to have this uncomfortable feeling that keeping on the move suited me so well because it meant I didn’t have to think too much about what I was running away from, or what I was heading towards.

  I could hear the TV still going in the next room. A woman was trying to sell us a great deal on a barbecue set. I rolled over, sat up and pulled at the corner of the blind. It wasn’t raining, but I could see from the rivulets on the windows that we’d had another downpour during the last few hours. The backlighter of Baby-G told me it was 02:54.

  I stood up slowly, trying not to disturb her, and made my way towards the kitchen. Rubbing my eyes back into life as I passed the mirror on the living-room wall, I saw the face from hell; creases and blotches from sleeping on the towels, and my hair thick with grease, sticking up as if I’d had a good burst from a Tazer. I shuffled to the kitchen, scratching every fold of skin I could reach. It was coffee time.

  Sarah must have heard me banging about. Her voice behind me matched the way I felt and looked. ‘I’d like one of those, please.’ The TV went quiet as she hit ‘off’ on the remote.

  She sat on the sofa, looking sheepishly at the carpet, her arms between her legs, as if she’d been unmasked as human after all. I was expecting her to say, ‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ but she didn’t. Instead she said, ‘I’m sorry about that, Nick, I just felt so alone and scared. I needed to be close to you.’ She looked up at me. Her eyes were full of pain, and something else I couldn’t quite identify, but found myself hoping was regret. ‘You did mean a lot to me, Nick. I just didn’t know how to deal with it at the time. I’m sorry for how I behaved then, and I’m sorry for being so stupid now.’ She paused, searching my face. ‘I won’t do it again, I promise.’

  I turned back to the coffee and tried to sound upbeat. ‘That’s OK, no drama.’

  What I really wanted to do was grab her, hold her tightly and pretend for a moment that I could make everything all right. But I was frozen between my memory of what she’d done to me in the past and what my orders were for the future.

  I plugged in the kettle, feeling more and more confused. I had a crack at dragging myself back to the present. ‘I need Michael Warner’s home number.’

  It didn’t register with her at first. ‘Who?’

  ‘Michael Warner. I want his home number.’

  I turned and glanced at her. It dawned on her that I’d been to Washington. She said, ‘What did you tell them?’ I didn’t think I’d ever seen her look more miserable.

  ‘That I was reviewing your PV. Anyway, I’ve only talked to Metal Mickey.’

  I tipped last night’s mugs into the sink and started again.

  ‘Metal Mickey.’ She started to laugh. ‘Great name!’ Then her mood changed again. ‘Why do you need his number?’

  I brought the coffee over to her, placing it on the low table in front of the sofa. ‘I had some questions I wanted him to research. He might think it odd if I don’t call to get the answers.’

  She thought for a while as she took her first sip, and then recited the number. I didn’t have a pen, but scratched it onto the front of the phone book with my car key and ripped the piece off. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  She put down her brew and stood up. ‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’ She was right, but I wanted to know.

  ‘Fuck him. He’s paid twenty-four hours a day, isn’t he?’

  The call boxes by the pool and courts were only about fifty metres away across the road. To the right of them were the newspaper vending machines, one with USA Today and the other with the Fayetteville Observer-Times. Under the street lighting I could just make out a picture of the forest on the front page of the Times. I couldn’t be arsed to find out what they were saying.

  It really had been raining while we were asleep, and quite heavily, judging by the size of the puddles. It was warm and damp and my sweatshirt was starting to stick to my back. I wished this weather would make up its mind. I got out my bit of phone book and the call card and dialled.

  There was a sleepy ‘Hello?’ from Metal Mickey, very drowsy, but slow
and wary.

  ‘It’s me. Nick. Sorry it’s so early but I couldn’t get to a phone. Have you had any luck?’ I heard the rustling of bedclothes as he got comfortable with the phone in his ear.

  ‘Oh, mmm yes, let me get my eyes on and I’m all yours.’ There was a gap as he fumbled around for his glasses.

  I didn’t want to be on the phone to him all night. ‘Our two friends we spoke about, what are they up to for the rest of this week?’ I turned round to check if anyone was watching. Not that it would be unusual to be out telephoning at this hour, as these apartments didn’t come with a phone. You had to connect your own.

  ‘Well, they’ve finished their work and will spend Wednesday and a bit of Thursday just pressing flesh and having photo opportunities to show how nice they are and how well things have gone during their visit. Isn’t that nice?’

  ‘I’m sure it is, but where? Where is all this happening?’

  ‘Don’t really know. In and around DC, I suppose.’

  ‘OK, mate. Now what about our American friend?’

  ‘Ah now, I think we need to meet for that one, Nick. I don’t really want to discuss him on a land line, and a lot of paperwork has come my way that I think you may want to read. I also have the information you wanted about your other friend.’

  Had he found something sensitive, or was he just worried that when his PV review came up, gobbing off on the phone would reflect badly on him?

  I said, ‘OK, mate, I’ll tell you what. Same place as before, at 12.30 p.m. today. You sponsor it.’

  ‘Lovely, I’ll see you then.’ There was a pause. ‘But what about . . . the others?’ He was sounding more like the village gossip with every word.

  ‘What?’

  ‘About your other four friends. You know, the ones who go on holidays to the lakes.’

  ‘Oh yes, those friends. I’d forgotten, I have so many.’

  ‘I know just what you mean, Nick. It’s soooo hard to keep track.’ He paused again. I was going to have to work for this.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Can’t tell you! Well, not over the phone, Nick. I think you need to read what I have for you. It all links in very nicely with Girlie. It’s like a great big jigsaw puzzle. Isn’t it exciting! See you tomorr—’

  ‘Remember, you sponsor.’ I had to cut in to make sure he knew.

  ‘Byeee.’ I didn’t know if he’d understood what I meant, but I’d find out soon enough.

  I replaced the receiver and turned to walk back to the apartment. Sarah was halfway across the carpark and storming towards me. I stayed where I was and let her come to me.

  She was shaking with anger. ‘Are you going to kill me?’ She jabbed my chest with every word. ‘Is that what the phone call’s all about?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ I said. ‘Why would I drag you all the way here—’

  ‘I saw the freezer light, Nick. Don’t lie to me.’

  ‘What? It must have come on when I turned on the fridge.’

  ‘Bullshit! They’re on separate plugs. Do I look stupid? You’re lying to me, Nick!’

  I looked around to make sure no-one was watching. This wasn’t exactly Times Square, and raised voices on the street in the early hours of the morning were sure to bring police or private security cars. I put my finger to my lips. She lowered her tone, but still laid into me. ‘Why don’t you believe me, for Christ’s sake? Why don’t you believe what I’m trying to tell you?’ Her throat tightened and tears welled up in her eyes. It was the first time I’d ever seen her cry. ‘I can’t believe you were going to do that. I thought I meant something to you.’

  I discovered I was feeling guilty, probably as guilty as I ever had.

  ‘What after you froze me, Nick? Was it the wood-shredder to grind me up, like you did with those two in Afghanistan? Bag me up, then down to the river and feed the fish? They ordered a T104, didn’t they? Didn’t they?’

  I shook my head slowly. ‘You’re wrong, Sarah, you are—’

  She wasn’t having any of it. ‘You were going to do the same to me as you did to those two muj, weren’t you? Weren’t you, Nick?’

  I held her by the shoulders. ‘You’re talking shit, the freezer must have been on already. Listen to me, I believe you, I really do, but it changes nothing. I am still going to take you back to London.’ The words were said with conviction; I wasn’t lying about either of those things now. It made it easier as I looked into her eyes.

  ‘But, Nick, if you believe me, you’ve got to help me. You’re the only one I can trust.’ She shook her head and turned her back on me. ‘Hah! What a fucking irony!’

  ‘Sarah, listen, I don’t care what happens in Washington. The only thing I do care about is getting out of here with both of us alive.’

  She turned back to me, tears streaming down her face, then wrapped both arms around my waist and buried her head in my chest. She started to cry even harder; I wanted to do something, but just didn’t know what. I looked up at the clouds and let her get on with it.

  The crying switched back to anger and she pushed me away. ‘You used to care for me, Nick. Haven’t you any fucking boundaries?’ She covered her face with her hands, wiping away the tears. ‘I can’t believe you were going to kill me, or even think of it.’

  ‘No, Sarah, no . . . I wasn’t . . .’

  The crying changed to convulsive sobs. It sounded as if she was having a breakdown. ‘I got it so wrong, Nick, so fucking wrong . . . I thought I had it all worked out . . . all under control . . . I even trusted you. How could I have been so stupid?’

  I stroked her cheek wordlessly, then ran my fingers through her hair as she carried on.

  ‘You were right . . . you were right. I wanted to be the one, I wanted to do it all myself . . . I wanted it so badly, it just got out of control. Once it started I couldn’t go anywhere for help, I had to go it alone.’ She squeezed me hard and carried on sobbing. ‘What am I going to do, Nick? Or maybe you don’t care?’

  It was pointless asking me. I was still trying to get over my own guilt. Fucking hell, I’d got so far down the line that I’d switched the freezer on. How could I have done that to her? Maybe I didn’t have moral boundaries like normal people. Was I always going to be the freak without emotion?

  She was still in remorse overload; it was as if she was talking to herself. ‘I could have done something about it in the beginning, but no, I wanted to be the one to get the credit. I’m so sorry, so sorry. Oohhh shit, what have I done, Nick?’

  She squeezed her arms around me even more, desperately wanting support. I put my arms around her and she sobbed her heart out. I wanted to give her the comfort she needed, but just didn’t have the tools. I’d never really needed them.

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Sarah,’ I whispered.

  ‘Just hold me, Nick, just hold me.’

  I hugged her tighter. I felt strangely good about what I was doing. We stood there for minutes, rocking gently in each other’s arms, her sobs slowly subsiding. I doubted there were any more tears left for her to cry.

  She wiped her face on my shirt. I tried to lift her chin, but she resisted. ‘I’m sorry, Nick. I’m just so sorry . . .’ She moved away from me and wiped her face with her palms, the sniffles starting to slow down in frequency as she regained some of her composure.

  ‘Sarah, where are they going to make the hit?’

  She looked up, breathless. ‘The White House, tomorrow.’

  ‘How? How will they do it?’ I needed to know for when I called London. It would be my justification for returning with her alive. She was in the shit, I understood that, but so would I be if I helped her and hadn’t prepared my tuppence worth for the inquiry that was bound to follow.

  She sniffed loudly. ‘There’s a photo call on the White House lawn with Clinton, Arafat and Netanyahu. They’ll give a press conference, then there’ll be a ceremony with white doves and songs for peace, kids singing, all that sort of nonsense for the cameras. I don’t know any more. The tw
o that were arriving yesterday from Washington had all the details. The team works in just the same way as we do: no details until the last minute. All we knew was that we were already accredited to enter the White House as news crew.’

  ‘So that’s why the old guy had a suit?’

  She nodded. ‘We were going to be part of Monica Beach. Oh shit, Nick, how did I ever think I could do this on my own?’

  Monica Beach was what the media called the area of the White House that TV crews gave their reports from, because ever since the Lewinsky affair, it had been even more crowded than Santa Monica beach.

  My first reaction was that it sounded more like something out of a B movie than a real plan. ‘It wouldn’t work; they’d never get out of there.’

  The tears started again. ‘Nick, these people don’t care. Survival isn’t an issue. Look who they have for their inspiration. Bin Laden’s devoted his life to driving the Russians out of Afghanistan, and is now doing the same to drive the Americans from Saudi. He both finances and inspires them. Pakistani, Palestinian, even Americans. Dying is not an issue with these people, you know that.’

  I found myself nodding. ‘If you can’t attack your enemy, you attack the friend of your enemy. And what better way to show the world that even the mighty USA can’t protect anyone from Allah’s vengeance, even in its own backyard.’ As I spoke, I realized what a fucking idiot I’d been, just keeping my head down, concentrating on the job, trying not to think about where all this was heading. ‘Shit, Sarah, explain to me in detail, the kids singing and white doves bit.’

  I could see her scrolling through her memory for the information; she took a breath and wiped her nose as she gathered her thoughts. ‘After a press conference, there’s going to be a ceremony involving about two hundred kids. They’ll present a peace blanket made from patches sewn in the US, Israel and Palestine to the three leaders on the White House lawn, in front of the North Portico. The kids will sing songs of peace and white doves will be released as Netanyahu, Arafat and Clinton hold the blanket for the cameras.’