Aggressor ns-8

by Andy McNab

‘Open up the back,’ Bastard yelled. ‘I’ll make the coffee myself.’

  Paata muttered something under his breath. I thought I’d probably just learned the Paperclip for ‘fuck off’.

  Charlie took a step back. His ankle looked as though it was about to give way beneath him. ‘Listen, Paata, this isn’t going to work. You got a shovel?’

  ‘I wish,’ Paata said. His expression told me that if he had, he’d use it across the back of Bastard’s head.

  Charlie opened the front passenger door and burrowed inside. He emerged with the rubber mat from the foot well and handed it to me. ‘You might be able to scrape enough mud away from the wheels with this to get some traction, lad.’ He turned back to Paata. ‘What about snow chains?’

  Paata rattled off another sentence or two of Paperclip to Nana, and I heard the side door slide open and close. He reappeared with two sets. Charlie dropped one into each of the furrows I’d scooped behind the tyres and threw in the rubber mat for good measure.

  At Charlie’s signal, Nana revved the engine once more and dropped the clutch. The wheels spun for a second and the Merc rolled straight out of the ruts and back onto firmer ground.

  Bastard didn’t waste any time getting his arse off the tree.

  Nana climbed out. She was dressed in walking boots, waterproof trousers and an expensive black Gore-Tex jacket like Paata’s. She couldn’t have been more than about five foot six, and her features were almost elfin, but there was nothing fluffy about her demeanour. As she headed round the side of the vehicle, she looked as purposeful as a heat-seeking missile.

  She gave the side door a quick double tap. There was a click and it slid open to reveal a bank of TV monitors set in an alloy frame which acted as a bulkhead to the cab, a stack of aluminium boxes, and an even more purposeful man with a huge beard and biceps the size of Bastard’s thighs.

  ‘This is Koba,’ Nana said. ‘I regret we live in dangerous times. Koba makes sure we come to no harm.’

  She wasn’t kidding. Koba wouldn’t have looked out of place wielding a gollock in a Tbilisi graveyard. He studied us silently with dark, hooded eyes, as if trying to decide which of us to headbutt first.

  ‘There’s only room for another three of us here in the back.’ Nana pointed at Charlie. ‘Why don’t you get in the front with Paata and stretch out your leg? It looks painful.’

  Bastard didn’t need a second invitation. He heaved himself inside and I followed. It was obviously an outside broadcast set-up. I put two and two together, and suddenly wished I’d hung on to my stupid hat.

  I’d thought Nana seemed familiar. She’d fronted the camera in the broadcast from the Kazbegi siege.

  4

  I shifted a couple of cables out of the way to make room for my feet. I could see Paata and Charlie through the hatch, framed by the TV monitors, as we set off. Beside them, someone had taped a montage of images from Nana’s recent past.

  One of them showed her in Fiona Bruce mode, posing at a news desk, wearing make-up and an earnest smile. Captions in Paperclip, Russian and English promoted her for some kind of award. She had certainly kept herself busy. She had exposed corruption in all sections of government, ‘unearthing entanglements of network and patronage at all levels’.

  Another shot showed her alongside the Georgian army, covering the siege by Islamic militants in Kazbegi, on the Russian border, not even two weeks ago. According to the cutting, she’d been the first journalist at the scene, and reported live for CNN.

  Nobody talked. Nana was very tense and edgy, and it set the tone. The soundproofing in the cab did a perfect job of muting the rain, and it accentuated the awkward silence.

  Bastard, true to form, remained oblivious. ‘Now where the fuck’s that coffee?’

  Nana reached into one of the large nylon zip bags on the floor and handed him a stainless steel thermos.

  As Bastard unscrewed the top, Koba watched his every move.

  ‘Do you guys work on the pipeline?’ Nana asked. ‘What are you, surveyors? Engineers?’

  Bastard poured himself a generous mug, and the smell of coffee filled the van. ‘Security.’

  She turned to me. ‘You security too? Do you have any ID? Koba likes to be sure about people.’

  ‘It was in my bag, in our Pajero.’ I did my best to look apologetic. ‘We lost everything.’

  She switched her attention back to Bastard. ‘We’re planning a documentary about the pipeline. Maybe we could do business one day.’

  Bastard was getting the brew down him. It hadn’t occurred to him to offer some to anyone else. ‘Anti, I guess?’

  ‘Excuse me? Oh, I see.’ She flexed her fingers. ‘Well, don’t you think it’s crazy for an oil pipeline to cut straight through a national park?’

  Bastard took a deep breath. We were about to be treated to his state-of-the-nation speech. ‘Listen, lady, you ain’t getting the big picture. It had to come this way, to avoid the Russians down south. That place of theirs ain’t called Military City Number One for nothing. Hey, it’s you people who call them the aggressive neighbour, not us.’

  It was clear Koba didn’t like Bastard’s tone and Bastard knew it. ‘What the fuck you looking at, Lurch?’

  Koba’s deep-set eyes didn’t even blink.

  Bastard sank the last of the brew and I jumped in to try and stop things escalating.

  ‘And you, Nana? Why are you going to Borjomi?’

  Her eyes narrowed. I knew she didn’t like me; I just hoped I didn’t know the reason why. ‘You probably won’t have heard because it’s just a little local matter, not part of the big picture…’ She glanced at Bastard, but her irony was clearly lost on him. ‘Just over a week ago, militant rebels massacred more than sixty women and children in a village called Kazbegi..’

  I’d seen that look on her face before. Hazel and Julie had used it too. She tried to compose herself.

  ‘A farming family in Borjomi lost their only child in the massacre. A little girl. She was seven years old…’

  She paused again.

  ‘We were with them on Saturday. We’re going back because they are willing to go live and tell us what it is like to live under the tyranny of Akaki, the militant leader. He is no freedom fighter; he’s a self-seeking, dictatorial thug. These poor people live in fear. But this couple, well — they have had enough.’

  Bastard just started laughing. ‘What the fuck are momma and papa gonna do? They think that’s gonna change the world? They think that’s gonna make Akaki drop his pants and run away? Shit, they’ll just get themselves dead. Fucking dumb-asses.’ He nodded at Koba. ‘Ain’t that a fact, Lurch?’

  Koba shifted in his seat. He clearly recognized Akaki’s name, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  Bastard couldn’t contain himself now. He was on a roll. ‘That Akaki… boy, he’s caused us all a few headaches, over the years.’

  ‘Headaches? Headaches?’ Nana shook her head in disbelief. ‘Yes, I suppose you could call them that… Did you hear of the murder of Zurab Bazgadze?’

  She was talking to him, but I had a nasty feeling she was addressing me.

  ‘The saint guy, right? The one who tried to get in the way of the pipeline?’

  ‘With very good reason.’ She glanced at Koba too. Her expression seemed to tell him that he needn’t worry about ripping Bastard’s head off. Any minute now, she’d do the job herself. ‘As you may have spotted, the soil structure around here is extremely unstable. It’s an area of considerable geological complexity, particularly vulnerable to landslides and earthquakes. In the event of pipeline rupture, there’s a risk of catastrophic environmental damage.

  ‘Zurab knew it would devastate the natural springs. Bottled water is Georgia’s number-one export. The people round here, their livelihoods depend on it. No-one championed their cause more vigorously than he did.’

  ‘Zurab, eh? He a friend of yours, missy?’

  ‘He became so. I interviewed him many times over the years; most recently, just bef
ore he died. He was here on Saturday, visiting the bereaved family. He was very good like that. A man of the people. We were to film him at length on Sunday morning, but he had to return to Tbilisi at short notice, so we were only able to grab a few minutes with him…’

  Her look was defiant, but I thought I could see tears in her eyes.

  ‘Now, of course, I wish we’d tried harder to persuade him to stay.’

  I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. ‘You’re 60 Minutes, right?’

  She nodded.

  That figured. The Georgian Times had said that 60 Minutes and Baz had been due to have a love fest when he presented his affidavit.

  ‘We got sensors in the pipes to show up any fractures,’ Bastard said. It was as if he hadn’t listened to a single word. ‘It’d be sealed in days.’

  Somehow, she managed to keep her cool. ‘By which time the whole area would be contaminated. That’s precisely why Zurab got an injunction to stop the pipeline coming this way. But your… friends… got it revoked. Zurab said that the decision came all the way from Washington; that your freedom-loving president intervened.’

  Bastard wasn’t really listening. His face was boiling up nicely, as if he’d just caught this woman setting fire to the Stars and Stripes. ‘Hey, lady, that saint of yours knew you people were getting a good deal out of this. If it weren’t for us, you’d still be living in the dark ages. We’re bankrolling you. We’re giving you independence, freedom and stability — and in exchange for what? A few miles of metal tube. My president is even taking time out to come here and show you guys he means business. What more did your fucking saint Zurab want from us?’

  Koba was looking more and more pissed off. Nana soothed him with a few mumbled words and shook her head sadly. ‘Zurab just couldn’t understand why, if you’re so devoted to democracy and stability, you support a government whose corruption knows no limits. The people see very little benefit from your so-called altruism, so the people think you are just here for the oil.’

  Bastard’s face had turned purple. ‘You know what, lady? I don’t give a fuck. Bazgadze and his kind make me sick right up to my back teeth — complaining about this, complaining about that. Jesus, you were spending all day lining up for bread before we came along, yet all he did was complain about your government, my government, the Russians, the energy corridor. But you know what, lady.’ He put his finger to his temple, compressing the veins until they bulged. ‘I don’t give a shit if the Georgian government are driving round in Cadillacs. That was his problem, not mine.’

  ‘I agree, it was his problem. But it is also mine, and Georgia’s — and make no mistake about this, it’s yours as well. Zurab was right. He knew your country was more interested in oil than democracy. Democracy is just an excuse, a convenient flag to wave. You are behaving no differently here than you do in South America, Africa, the Mid-East. You invest in the military, keep corrupt governments happy, and build bases for your own troops to protect your oil interests. Meanwhile, our people, their people, the people who really matter, get nothing.’

  I leaned back against the aluminium boxes. Charlie’s ‘little guy getting fucked over’ theory was receiving its most articulate airing yet.

  ‘Zurab knew very well that you, America, use the war against terrorism and paranoia about national security to underpin your foreign deployments, while your military becomes the protection force for every oil field, pipeline, refinery and tanker route on the planet. And the price we will all pay is higher than you can possibly imagine. You think it is measured in dollars, but it’s not. It’s measured in blood.’

  There wasn’t a whole lot even Bastard could say to that, but he didn’t have to. Paata turned and leaned back through the bulkhead. ‘We are here.’

  5

  Seconds later, Charlie poked his head through the hatch. ‘Doesn’t look much like the centre of the country’s number-one export business to me, but there you go.’

  I glanced through the windscreen. A few houses were dotted each side of the valley, increasing in number as the road climbed towards a cluster of roofs about 500 away.

  The whole area was lush, green, and very wet. The muddy tracks and rough wooden fences and shacks had an almost medieval flavour. Apart from a handful of chickens scuttling about and a few cows mooching around in the fields to our left, the place seemed to be deserted. The torrential rain was keeping the villagers indoors, and I couldn’t blame them.

  The track ahead of us had been shored up with broken bricks and lumps of wood. Ominously, I didn’t see any sign of a 4x4. I wondered how long it would take us to get to Turkey by horse and cart.

  Charlie turned to Paata. ‘What now?’

  ‘Back to where Nana did the Kazbegi interview. We need to keep the Mercedes out of sight. Nana isn’t everybody’s favourite girl around here. She should be, but she isn’t. She likes to poke her nose into places people don’t want her to.’ His jaw tightened. ‘The farmer let us sleep here, with the truck. He’s a good man. He and his wife are the ones we’ve come back to see.’

  We passed a dilapidated farmhouse, and turned right along a track. We pulled up in front of a huge barn, built of unmilled wood with gaps between the planks, and a roof of heavily patched and rusty corrugated-iron sheets. Paata jumped out to open the doors.

  Bastard took it as his cue to started bumping his gums again. ‘That ID says you gotta help me. I want a truck.’

  ‘I’ll ask Eduard,’ Nana said sweetly. ‘He’s waiting inside.’

  Paata slid back in and we drove a dozen or so metres into the centre of the barn. It was about three times the height of the wagon, and could easily have taken another six vans each side of us.

  The whole place stank of decay and old manure, but at least it was dry. There were no tools or machinery in sight, not even a bale of hay. All I could see was a roughly hewn wooden bench in the far corner, by the remains of a small fire. It looked like it was where this lot had got their heads down.

  Nana said something in Paperclip to Koba. He nodded, and took up station a few paces to one side of us. He unzipped his jacket as Bastard fell out of the wagon.

  ‘Where’s this Eduard guy? I’ve got some business to take care of.’

  She was trying to keep it light, but I could see she was worried. ‘He’ll be here. He’s not the sort to break a promise.’ She glanced uneasily at Paata, then at me and Charlie.

  Fuck this; there was too much eye contact going on here. It didn’t feel right.

  ‘We’ve got to get going too,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  ‘Eduard will know if there’s transport. I’ll call him.’

  I followed her line of sight to Paata and Koba, and sensed the tension between them. They were on starting blocks, waiting for something.

  I looked back at Nana as she punched the buttons on her cell.

  For just a second, I had a vision of a peasant farmer trundling along a bumpy track, fighting the wheel of his battered Lada as he scrabbled in his pocket to retrieve his Nokia.

  A peasant Georgian farmer, with a cell phone. Who the fuck did he have to call?

  My eyes shot back to Nana. Hers were glued to Koba, and the look between them told me everything.

  She knew. She’d known all along. All that heartfelt, rabble-rousing shit had just been to keep us busy.

  I walked over to Charlie. My eyes were fixed on Koba’s feet, between us and the door. I wasn’t going to join the eye-contact fest and make things worse. ‘C’mon, mate,’ I murmured. ‘We’re off.’

  6

  Charlie backed me as I took a pace towards the doors, ready to take on Koba if he decided to get in our way. It wasn’t something I relished, but we were running out of choices again.

  He took a pace towards us. It had gone noisy.

  I charged at him, head down. Nana screamed, but Koba’s hand moved faster. A split second later, I was staring down a shiny chrome barrel, three or four metres from my face. He covered all three of us, the twit
ch of the.357 Magnum Desert Eagle’s muzzle making it clear that our next sensible move was to get down in the dirt.

  I looked up at Nana. The cell was at her ear.

  ‘Nana, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?’

  Koba swung his boot into my side. I shut up and took the pain, which was a lot more comfortable than a round from a Desert Eagle. It was no accident that the massive, Israeli-built semi-automatic pistol was weapon of choice for every self-respecting US gang member.

  Nana’s eyes flashed beams of hatred down at me as she waffled away in Paperclip, and that didn’t feel much better.

  Paata pulled a couple of aluminium boxes from the van and started dragging them towards us. I heard Baz’s name mentioned a few times before she closed the cell down.

  ‘You know very well what’s wrong. The police are coming.’

  Fuck Koba and that boot of his, it was gob-off-and-play-stupid time.

  ‘But I don’t understand… why pull a gun on us? We haven’t done anything.’ I tightened up for another kick.

  She came and knelt down by my head instead.

  ‘Do you think I didn’t recognize you? You killed Zurab. I don’t just make the news. I watch it too.’

  Stupid wasn’t going to work.

  ‘Wait, Nana… Yes, I was there. Charlie and I were both there. But we didn’t kill him. Akaki did, they were his people.’

  She stared at me coldly, her hand up, blocking me off. ‘So what? The only difference between you is that Akaki got there a little earlier. Was Zurab making too much noise for you? What does it matter? You all wanted him dead. Why else were you there? And this one’ — she aimed a toe at Bastard’s head — ‘he carries government ID. What am I to make of that?’

  Paata was busy setting up his camera stand and lights just a few metres from us.

  Bastard had been uncharacteristically quiet so far, but being face down in the dirt wasn’t going to keep him from his default setting for long. ‘You don’t lump me in with these two fucks, you hear? I’m pipeline security, period. Nothing to do with whatever these fucks got up to. That ID says you gotta help me, so do it.’