Crossfire ns-10

by Andy McNab

  'What was going to happen there?'

  He didn't need to draw pictures. We both knew. He was probably the one who would have done it.

  I stood up.

  I wanted him to get his breath back. He still had work to do.

  I undid his day sack. 'Right, Dom,' I said. 'Let's have a look at this boy's party bag.'

  103

  I knew Dundalk well. It was only an hour and a bit up the motorway, and just this side of the border. As a young squaddy in South Armagh's bandit country, I'd often hear PIRA test-firing their homemade mortars down there. It was a sure sign we were going to get zapped within the next couple of days.

  Later, when I was in the Regiment, the area still teemed with known PIRA ASU members, until we were told to do something about it. Who knows? Maybe it really was me who'd killed Little's mate. I hoped so.

  Dom had all the gear from Mr Green's day sack on the floor. They'd come well prepared. There were foot-long strips of thin rubber to tie us up; gaffer-tape for our mouths; even a couple of black motorbike bags with drawstrings to bung over our heads.

  Mr Green had finally managed to control his breathing. I knelt down beside him again. 'I don't want to know, so don't tell me – but if you've got kids and want to see them again, you'll do as you're told. I'm giving you the chance to live, here. You understand?'

  He understood.

  'In a minute, you're going to give that body of yours a shake and load your mate into the back of the wagon. Then all four of us are driving north. On the way, you're going to do what you're supposed to do and call the Brit. You got a name for him?'

  He shook his head. I believed him. The Yes Man was no fool.

  'You'll tell him you've lifted us both and you're on your way. Understood?'

  'Aye.'

  'Which one of you has the keys?'

  He jerked his head in the direction of the spiral staircase.

  'Here's what's going to happen. You're going to stay exactly where you are until I say to move or you'll get this in your fucking ear.' I looked up. 'Dom, get the keys, bring their wagon round the back, then fetch the weapons and unplug that taser upstairs. Don't want to burn the place down.'

  Dom rifled the body on the stairs. The back door opened and closed a moment later.

  Mr Green got a bit more confident. 'What do you think you're going to do when we get there? He'll rip your fucking heart out.'

  'I'll just have to make sure I rip his out first. How many players has he got there in Dundalk?'

  'Fucking loads. Why don't you just let me go? I'll tell you where he is. You can take the car. I don't want any of this shit.'

  I touched his head with the forks. He melted into the floor once more.

  'How many?'

  'Five.'

  'Including the Brit?'

  'No.'

  'Where in Dundalk? Town or outskirts?'

  'West. A farm. It's a scrappy now.'

  That's better. Keep doing what I say and you'll still be around for breakfast.'

  Dom came back and didn't say a word. He ran upstairs and reappeared with the weapons.

  Mr Green's eyes widened. He wanted no part of it.

  Dom went down the stairs again. I repacked the day sack and slid it on to my back. I grabbed Mr Green's.38 and pulled out the plug of Dom's taser.

  'Come on, move your mate. And you'd better dig that phone number out of your head.'

  He got to his feet and made for the stairs. I followed.

  Mr Black was in shit state. There was a charred hole in his back where the forks were still embedded. The nylon had melted and burnt. There wasn't any blood, though, just shiny exposed muscle.

  There didn't seem to be much love lost between the two of them. Mr Green wasn't exactly in mourning as he lifted the body over his shoulder. He headed for the back door and I turned off the lights.

  Dom had the Seat waiting just the other side of the gate.

  'Dump him in the back. Then lie on the rear seats, on your stomach, hands behind your back.'

  I tied the thin rubber straps round his wrists, pulling so tight the skin whitened. Then I sat on his legs and pulled out the mobile.

  Dom closed the gate and jumped into the driver's seat.

  The exhaust billowed in the cold air.

  'All right, mate. North on the M1, first stop Dundalk.'

  He turned the lights on and we rolled out towards the main.

  I gave Mr Green a clip across the back of the head. 'Right, what's his number?'

  As he recited it, I dialled. 'You might be thinking about being clever and warning him, but remember this. When we get there and the shit hits the fan, he's not going to give a fuck about you. If he wants us dead, he'll think nothing of hosing you down as well. That's if I don't do it first. So think very carefully about what you're going to say.'

  I lifted my head. 'Dom, give us a good bit of engine noise and a few gear changes once we're on the main.'

  We turned left, and Dom obliged. I hit the button and shoved the phone towards Mr Green's mouth.

  'It's me. We've got them… We've just left now… No trouble, both of them can still talk… See you there.'

  He nodded and I pressed the red button.

  I sat back up, still on his legs. 'Now you're going to tell us everything about this scrappy and who's going to be there, and what you would have done if you'd been in the driving seat.'

  104

  Dundalk was a big market town whose main claim to fame during the war had been as a safe haven for bad terrorists. Nowadays most people knew it for having spawned the Corrs. As kids they'd probably practised their harmonies in the front room accompanied by the dull crump of PIRA on homemade mortar.

  The wet streets were all but deserted. I was fucked. My head bobbed up and down and banged against the window as the street-lights strobed past.

  I wasn't the only one. Mr Green had cramp again. I raised my arse a bit so he could fight the spasms, then sat back down on him. With his hands strapped up behind him, about the only other thing he could do was talk.

  Half a mile of ruptured old concrete track led towards the farm. He told us he had to make the call immediately before he turned on to it. At the top of the track there was a cattle grid, then a yard full of crushed cars and piles of tyres. As we drove in, we'd see a line of four old artic containers that housed the reclaimed scrap. I stored all these details. If the landscape deviated in the slightest detail, if the track was mud not concrete, if there was a gate instead of a cattle grid, I'd make him very sorry indeed.

  Finbar was in the second container along from the right. He was kept tied up most of the time. He slept on a big cushion and had a bucket to piss in. I'd watched Dom's reaction under the street-lights as he listened. He kept the Seat on the road, but he gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles were as white as thermal imaging.

  Dom glanced over his shoulder. 'We're nearly out of town.'

  'Start looking for somewhere good and dark to pull in, and we'll get ourselves sorted.'

  The street-lights petered out just after a sign had thanked us for visiting Dundalk. Dom slowed about a mile out of town and turned into a lay-by that led to a picnic area. Our headlights picked out tables and seats, and information boards about the local wildlife.

  I climbed out and stretched. 'Weapons first, mate.'

  Dom went to the back and opened up. I loaded a mag into an AK, pulled back on the cocking handle and released it. It was good to hear the familiar clunk as it rammed a round into the chamber. They'd have heard a lot of those clunks in this part of the world over the past thirty years. Even the cows wouldn't have bothered raising their heads.

  Mr Green must have heard it too. He pressed his face a little bit harder into the seat, like he was hoping it would turn into a black hole. He was probably wondering if we'd bin him now he'd described the Yes Man's procedures and the lie of the land.

  I handed Dom the weapon as we got out of the wagon, and pulled him to one side. 'You sure you want
to do this?'

  'It's OK, Nick. I know what I've got to do…'

  'It's not going to be your best day out. If Fuckface in the back there is telling the truth, there's going to be at least five of them carrying, plus the Yes Man. This might sound corny, but our only hope is to go in with speed, aggression and surprise. You got that?'

  He half smiled. 'SAS?'

  'We control the fuckers, lift Finbar and get the fuck out. Straight off to Siobhan, and take it from there…'

  'What about the Yes Man? We can't just kill him, Nick. He's at the heart of all this. We can use him to expose the whole network.'

  I ignored him. 'Our mission is to get Finbar, bung him in the back of the wagon and get the fuck out. We're not trying to change the world. End of story.'

  'And the Yes Man?'

  I shook my head. 'How many ways are there to tell you this? We've got to kill everyone who tries to stop us – and that means everyone. We've just got to crack on with it – step up to the plate, or whatever you Transylvanians say.'

  He half smiled and lifted the weapon. 'I've never fired one of these in anger. I did my conscription in the forestry service.'

  'Well, we're about to find out how good your basic training was.'

  I didn't want him to dwell on it too much. When he was in front of a camera he might have thought he was invincible, but it's a different story when you're doing the firing and anyone with half a brain is firing back.

  I walked back to the wagon, loaded and cocked my own AK. 'I'll drive now, mate – you sit on Fuckface. Remember, if we don't get stuck in, we lose – then Finbar and Siobhan lose as well.'

  I got in behind the wheel, with the AK across my lap and the two spare mags tucked into my jeans. I waited for him to close the door, then headed on towards Dundalk.

  105

  'I need to see where the fuck we're going.'

  Dom let Mr Green sit up.

  'Left at the next junction. It's about two miles down the road. You'll see the sign for Caitriona Farm on the right. I'll need to call before you drive up it.'

  I handed Dom the phone. 'Number's still on there, mate.'

  We drove on in silence. There was fuck all to say; we just had to do.

  Mr Green was getting his voice back. 'Listen, fellas, just drop me off. I'll do the fucking call, but let me go. Come on.'

  I didn't bother to reply.

  'We're here.' The badly handpainted sign wired to the fence would have looked at home in Kabul. I swung on to the track and stopped.

  Dom tapped the keys and shoved the phone to Mr Green's ear.

  'Aye, yep, it's me. We're turning in now.' He nodded at Dom, who cut the phone and shoved it into his pocket.

  'Dom, shut him up. Use the gaffer-tape and the rubber strapping. Do his legs as well.'

  'Hey, come on, please, let me go, fellas – I won't say anything, I won't do-'

  Dom rummaged in the day sack.

  I drove up a crumbling concrete track on full beam. I flicked on the fancy front fog-lights for good measure. There were no buildings yet, just shiny wet grass.

  'You ready, Dom?'

  I heard the click of his AK's safety lever.

  'You make sure you point that thing at them, not me.'

  I wasn't worried about getting shot. That was the business I was in. But getting shot by one of your own side is a bit of a fucker.

  I checked my own safety. The arm was still up.

  We crested a gentle rise. The farm was spread out below us. Light spilled from the ground floor of what looked like the main house on to a cracked and pitted concrete yard. Wrecked cars were piled haphazardly to the right of it, just as Mr Green had said.

  We rattled over the cattle grid.

  The concrete hard-standing was about twenty metres wide and fifty long. The containers were jammed together in a line and padlocked up between the wrecks. The rest of the yard was like any other scrappy – in shit order. Hosepipes led in all directions from wall-mounted taps outside the house. Oily rags had been dropped where they'd been used. Tyres were stacked four or five high in a long line, like the safety wall at a racetrack. Dirty water puddled the concrete.

  Three guys emerged from the front door and stood waiting. Their cigarettes glowed in the darkness. The full beam and fog-lights hit them and they half turned or shielded their eyes with their hands. They were dressed for Sheriff Street, not the countryside, in jeans, trainers and leather coats. The lights were blinding them and I could see their mouths working as they cursed.

  'Dom, you're going to hold them outside here. If they move, don't fuck about. You OK?'

  'You can depend on me, Nick. I won't let you down. Or Finbar…'

  I stopped the wagon with the three still caught in the beam. I left the engine running. I opened the door and got out. Dom was just behind me.

  Weapon in the shoulder, safety lever down two clicks to single shot, I took one step to the right of the main beam.

  They turned their heads. 'For fuck's sake, turn your lights off, you stupid shite…'

  I kept my voice low. 'Stand still.' I kept moving. 'Stand very still.' I spoke like I was trying to coax a child. 'I have a weapon. Stand still.'

  I took a couple more steps and they saw what was going on.

  'Show your hands! Hands, hands!'

  All three were thirty-something. All three had a cigarette cupped in the right hand where their weapon should have been.

  'Who's got the keys? Keys for the containers. I want the boy.'

  Dom made himself visible on the left. The one in the middle flicked his cigarette to the ground and nodded towards the house.

  I had to go straight in. I didn't know when the next lot might be coming through the door. I moved towards it. It was still ajar. Right hand on the pistol grip, pulling the butt into the shoulder, I pushed it gently with my left.

  I moved into a tiled hallway. There was a strong smell of cigarette smoke. Voices filtered from a room at the end of the corridor. The beamed ceiling was low. I crouched to present a smaller target as I started along the hall.

  The voices got louder. There was a burst of laughter. Cigarette smoke lingered in the doorway.

  'On a job well done.' I heard educated Belfast. Glasses clinked. 'Shall we go and sort these shites out now, or let the lads play about for a while?'

  I strode into the room, weapon up.

  There were three of them sitting in old, floral-patterned armchairs. The Yes Man was in the middle. The two smoking either side of him were older, in their fifties, faces hard as stone.

  They weren't fazed to see me. They kept hold of their glasses. A bottle of whisky stood at the Yes Man's feet.

  'Playtime's over. Give me the keys for the boy.'

  The Yes Man's eyes flicked between his companions. He was out of his depth now.

  The one on the right held out his hands. 'Sure, sure. Take him and fuck off. Tell you what, I'm going to stand up and reach into my trouser pocket. The right pocket. I have the keys.'

  I nodded.

  'Stone! This is ridiculous…' The Yes Man was recovering fast.

  The guy on the right heaved himself out of his chair. Very slowly, he moved his hand to his trouser pocket; his left was still wrapped round his whisky glass. 'Stay calm, son.'

  The Yes Man was feeling feisty. 'Stop this nonsense, Stone. What's this boy to you?'

  His companion rounded on him. 'Shut the fuck up!' He held up a set of keys and turned to me. 'Let's keep everything nice and calm now.'

  There was a burst of automatic fire outside. The next thing I knew, a whisky glass was flying through the air. All three sprang into action. I had to assume they were going for weapons. I fired a quick double-tap into the one with the keys. A pistol clattered to the floor from his other hand.

  I stood my ground, swivelled slightly right. Both eyes open, I fixed centre mass on the second target, who charged at me, head right down like he was making a rugby tackle, as the Yes Man disappeared through one of the doors behind
him.

  I double-tapped downwards, into his back, and he collapsed on the floor.

  A cloud of cordite rose to join the cigarette smoke. It was like being back in the Jock's bar.

  I scrabbled round the two bodies and found the ring of keys.

  Another burst came from outside.

  I charged back down the corridor. 'Dom, I'm coming out! Dom, don't shoot! Dom!'

  There was no reply.

  I got to the end, gulping for breath. 'Dom, I'm coming out, do you hear me?'

  Nothing.

  Fuck this. Weapon in the shoulder, I moved into the doorway. Over to the right, against the wall, three bodies lay in a heap. One must have taken a chance on Dom not opening up.

  Dom was caught in the Seat's lights. He was frantically kicking and pulling at the lock on the second container. I ran across the yard, past Mr Green, who lay bound and gagged on the greasy concrete. He was moving like a slug, trying to get away.

  'Dom! I've got the keys! Dom, calm down!'

  He'd tried to blow the lock apart. There were strike marks in the steel all round it. Rust had been blasted away to expose shiny metal. He was lucky a round hadn't ricocheted into his head, or gone straight through and hit Finbar. 'Stop, mate – I've got the key.' I pushed him aside. 'Cover me, mate. I don't know who else is out there.'

  I took a deep breath and started trying the keys. The third worked.

  I pulled back on the handle. The locking bar creaked and the door swung open. The light from the Seat flooded in.

  Dom rushed past me. 'Finbar! Finbar!'

  He was just where Mr Green had said, lying on his side, on a large dog cushion. There was a bucket in the corner, surrounded by oily engine parts and wing mirrors. The smell of shit was overpowering.

  'Finbar!' He turned back towards me, eyes wild. 'Nick, he's not…'

  I went over and rolled him on to his back. 'Feel for a pulse…'

  I lifted an eyelid. The eye was glazed and dull. I looked for an entry or exit wound. There was no blood.

  'Finbar!'

  He groaned. He tried to say something. A syringe and the rest of his paraphernalia were scattered over the floor.