Remote Control ns-1

by Andy McNab

  "It's got nothing on the situation I can put you in," I said.

  "I've got stuff that would make your lot look not very British at all. I'll blow it to whoever wants to listen. It's not a bluff. I need help to get out of this shit and I want it now."

  There was a pause: the patient parent waiting for a child to stop its tantrum.

  He said, "Your position is pretty delicate, I'm afraid. There is nothing I can do unless you have some form of proof that you're not implicated. I suggest you make every effort to discover what has happened and why, then we can talk and I might be able to help. How does that sound to you? You can carry out your threat, but I wouldn't recommend it."

  I could feel his hand tighten around my balls. Whether they complied or called my bluff, I'd be spending the rest of my life on the run. The Firm does not like being strong-armed.

  "I've got no choice really, have I?"

  "I'm glad you see it like that. Bring what you find."

  The phone went dead.

  My mind racing, I wandered into the shop. I bought a bottle of hair color one wash in, twelve washes out and a hair-trimmer gadget. I also bought a full range of washing and shaving supplies because we couldn't look like a couple of scruffies at large in D.C. Then I filled the basket with bottles of Coca-Cola and some apples and candy.

  I couldn't find a Mickey D's and ended up in a Burger King. I bought two meal deals, then went back to the hotel.

  I knocked on the door as I opened it.

  "Guess what I've got burgers, fries, apple pies, hot chocolate, coffee for me.. ."

  By the wall next to the window was a little circular table and PVC chairs. The shopping bags went on the bed; I dumped the burgers on the table with a flourish, like a re turning hunter. Ripping the bags open to make a tablecloth, I tipped the fries out, opened the ketchup, and we both dived in. She must have been starving.

  I waited until she had a mouthful of burger.

  "Listen, Kelly, you know how grown-up girls are always dyeing their hair and cutting it and all sorts of stuff ? I thought you might like to try it."

  She couldn't have looked less interested.

  "What do you fancy, a really dark brown?"

  She shrugged.

  I wanted to get it done before she understood too much of what was happening. The moment she'd finished her hot apple pie, I led her to the bathroom and got her to take off her shirt. I tested the shower temperature and leaned her over the sink, quickly wetting her hair, then toweled and brushed it. I got the trimmer going but I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing. I realized it was for beards, really, and by the time I'd got the hang of it her hair looked like shit. The more I tried to sort it, the shorter it was getting. Soon it was up around her collar.

  As I studied the bottle of dye, trying to read the instructions, she said, "Nick?"

  I was still reading the bottle and hoping I wasn't about to turn her hair into a ginger fuzz ball

  "What?"

  "Do you know those guys who were chasing you?"

  I was the one who should have been asking questions.

  "No, I don't, Kelly, but I will find out." I thought about it, put the hair dye down. I was standing behind her; both of us were looking at each other in the mirror. Her light blue eyes were now not so red around the edges. That only made my brown ones even more dark and tired-looking. I looked at her a while longer. Finally, I said, "Kelly, why did you go to the hidey-hole?"

  She said nothing. I could see in her eyes that she was starting to question my hairdressing skills.

  "Did Daddy shout "Disneyland'?"

  "No."

  "Then why did you go?" Already this was getting too in tense for me. I needed to do something. I picked up the dye.

  "Because of the noise."

  I started to comb the dye in.

  "Oh, what noise was that?"

  She looked at me in the mirror.

  "I was in the kitchen but I heard a bad noise in the living room and I went and looked."

  "What did you see?"

  "Daddy was shouting at the men and they were hitting him."

  "Did they see you?"

  "I don't know, I didn't go in the room. I just wanted to shout to Mommy to come and help Daddy."

  "And what did you do?"

  Her eyes went down.

  "I couldn't help him." When she looked up again, I saw her face was burning with shame. Her bottom lip started to wobble.

  "I ran to the hidey-hole. I wanted to go to Mommy but she was upstairs with Aida, and Daddy was shouting at the men."

  "You ran to the hidey-hole?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you stay there?"

  "Yeah."

  "Did Mommy come and call for you?"

  "No. You did."

  "So you didn't see Mommy and Aida?"

  "No."

  The picture of the two of them dead flashed into my mind.

  I put my arms around her as she sobbed. I said, "Kelly, you couldn't have helped Daddy. Those men were too big and strong. Probably I couldn't have helped him, and I'm a grown-up. It's not your fault Daddy got hurt. But he is OK and wants me to look after you until he is better. Mommy and Aida had to go with Daddy. There just wasn't any time to get you."

  I let her cry a bit, then asked, "Did you see any of the men who were chasing us today?"

  She shook her head.

  "Did the men who were with Daddy have suits on?"

  "I think so, but they had like painting clothes over them."

  I guessed what she meant.

  "The sort Daddy would wear to paint the house?" I did the actions of putting on a pair of overalls.

  She nodded.

  "So do you mean they had suits on underneath, but had the painting things on top?"

  She nodded again.

  I knew it; these boys were good they were players. They hadn't wanted to get nasty red stuff all over their nice suits.

  I asked her how many men came out and what they looked like. She was confused and scared. Her lip started to quiver again.

  "Can I go home soon?" She was fighting back the tears.

  "Yes, very soon, very soon. When Daddy is better. Until then, I'm looking after you. Come on, Kelly, let's make you look like a big girl."

  After a rinse I combed her wet hair and got her dressed right away in her new clothes. If we had to move, I needed her dressed, so I told her that the only things she could keep off were her hat, coat, and shoes.

  She inspected herself in the mirror. The new clothes were much too big and her hair was--well, she didn't seem too sure.

  We watched Nickelodeon, and eventually she fell asleep. I lay staring at the ceiling, going through the options, or rather, trying to kid myself that I had some.

  What about Slack Pat? He would certainly help if he could, as long as he hadn't turned into some drugged-up New Age hippie. But the only way I could think of contacting him was through the restaurant he used to rave about. The way he described it, he practically lived there. The problem was, I couldn't remember the name of it, just that it was on a hill at the edge of Georgetown.

  What about Euan? He was no good yet because he'd still be operating in Northern Ireland, and there was no way I could make contact with him until he was back in England.

  I looked over at Kelly. That was how she would have to live now, always dressed, ready to run at a moment's notice. I put the comforter over her.

  I piled all the trash together and put it in the wastebasket, made sure the sign was still on the door and her shoes were in her pockets. I checked chamber in both weapons--the 9mm in Kev's jacket and the Sig in my waistband. No doubt Kelly was going to be in all of tomorrow's papers, but at least if the shit hit the fan we were ready to go. I knew my escape route and would not hesitate to shoot my way out.

  I got my new clothes out of the bag and took them into the bathroom. I shaved, then undressed. I stank; Kev's things were stained with blood from Aida or Marsha, I couldn't remember which. The sweat had thinne
d it, spreading it right up the back and shoulders of his shirt and the inside of his jeans. Everything went into a plastic laundry bag, which I'd throw away in the morning. I had a long, hot shower and washed my hair. Then I got dressed, checked the door lock, and lay on the bed.

  I woke up at about 5:30 in the morning after a terrible night's sleep. I wasn't sure if all the bad stuff was a dream. The only good result was that I remembered the name of Slack Pat's restaurant.

  I thought again about money. I definitely couldn't use credit cards because I had to assume they'd either been frozen or would be used as a trace. It was cash or nothing--not easy in the West nowadays. Pat, if I got to him, would fund me, but I knew I'd have to take advantage of any spare time to get hold of more. Kelly was snoring big-time. I picked up the key card, gently closed the door behind me, checked that the sign was up, and went looking for a fire extinguisher. As I passed the open door to the chambermaid's storeroom I spotted half a dozen wedge-shaped door stops on a shelf. I helped myself to a couple.

  I found the fire extinguisher on the wall by the elevators. I quickly unscrewed the top of it and removed the carbon dioxide cylinder, a nine-inch black steel tube. I put it in my jacket and walked back to the room.

  I put the three spare magazines for the Sig .45 in the left-hand pocket of Kev's jacket and decided I was going to keep the USP in the room. I hid it in the toilet tank. A weapon can stand getting wet in the short term. I just didn't want her to find it and start putting holes in herself.

  I dozed some more, woke up, and dozed again. By 7 a.m. I was bored and hungry. Breakfast was included in the room price, but to get it I'd have to go downstairs to the lobby.

  Kelly started to stir. I said, "Good morning. Do you fancy something to eat?"

  She was all yaw ny sitting up and looking like a scarecrow because she'd gone to sleep with wet hair. Immediately I put the TV on for her, because I didn't really know what to say.

  She looked down at her clothes, trying to work it out.

  "You fell asleep," I laughed.

  "I couldn't even undress you last night. Hey, it's like camping, isn't it?"

  She liked that.

  "Yeah." She smiled, still sleepy "Shall I go and get you some breakfast?"

  She didn't look up, just nodded at the television.

  "Remember, you must do this every time; you never ever open the door. I'll come back using the key. Don't even open the curtains, because the cleaning ladies will think it's OK to come in, and we don't want to talk to anyone, do we? I'll leave the do not disturb sign, OK?"

  She nodded. I wasn't sure how much of it had gone in. I picked up the tray the ice bucket was on, put on my glasses, and went down to reception.

  It was already fairly crowded: people with RVs who couldn't be bothered to sleep in them, and salesmen looking clean, fresh, and straight out of the "appearance counts" section of the manual.

  The breakfast area was made up of two or three tables by the coffeepots under the TV. I took three packets of cereal, bagels and muffins, some apples, then two cups of coffee and an orange juice.

  The desk clerk had just finished her shift and came over.

  "I

  hope everything goes OK. with your passports and all." She smiled, helping herself to a bagel.

  "I'm sure it'll be fine. We're just going to concentrate on having a good vacation."

  "If you need any help, you just come and ask."

  "Thanks." I walked over to the desk and picked up a complimentary USA Today. I also helped myself to a book of Roadies Inn matches from a whole bowl of them and a paper clip that was in a big ashtray full of elastic bands and office supplies, and went back to the room.

  Ten minutes later Kelly was munching on her cereal, glued to Nickelodeon. I said, "I'm going out for about an hour. I've got to do stuff. While I'm away, I want you to wash up and be all nice and clean for when I get back, and have your hair brushed. Are you going to be all right on your own, with your big-girl haircut?"

  She shrugged.

  "Whatever."

  "What are your favorite colors?"

  "My favorite colors are pink and blue."

  "Well, we've got the pink." I pointed at the coat hanging up with her shoes sticking out of the pockets. That had been a bit of luck.

  "Now I've got to get you something blue."

  I gave my glasses a quick clean with toilet paper, put them back in their case and into Kev's jacket, then put my long black raincoat over the top, checking the pocket for the cylinder. I checked my pockets and took out the loose change.

  I wanted to cut down on noise, and always felt better anyway with as little as possible dragging around my clothes.

  I got my Kangol hat in my hand, and I was all ready to go.

  "I won't be long. Remember, let no one in. I'll be back before you know it."

  It had stopped raining, but the sky was still gray and the ground wet. The road was choked with cars heading into downtown D.C. It's a people town; the sidewalks were busy, too.

  I walked briskly to keep pace with the office workers, each with their "Got to get up, got to get going" expression, looking all the time for the ideal place to make some money quickly and get back to the hotel before Kelly started panicking.

  It was too early for a shopping mall, since they didn't open until tenish. And I wasn't in an area with a lot of hotels--they were all farther downtown. There were fast-food outlets but with normally just one way in and out, and too much rest room traffic, they wouldn't be a good choice. A service station would do, as long as it had an outside bathroom that could be opened only with a key obtained from the cashier.

  I'd been wandering around for maybe twenty minutes. I walked through a couple of gas stations that were busy enough, but they were modern, with inside rest rooms.

  Eventually I found what I was looking for, an outdoor rest room with a sign on the door that said key at desk. I checked to make sure that the door was locked, then I walked on.

  I was looking for two things now: somewhere natural to watch the pumps from, and my escape route. Farther up, on the other side of the road, was a run of lawyers' offices, credit unions, insurance brokers, in wonderful 1930s brick detached houses; in between were what looked like well-used alleys. I crossed over, walked down one, and came out onto the parallel street; turning right, I followed the road to an intersection, turned left, then right again up another alley. The whole area was perfect for angles and distance. I made my way back to the gas station by a different route.

  There was a bus stop across the street, about a hundred yards away. I strolled along to it, stood in a doorway, and waited; it had to look natural, I had to have a reason to be doing what I was doing. There were two or three people waiting, then the line got gradually longer, a bus came, and we were back to two or three again. I looked at the destination sign of each bus as it approached, looked fed up that it wasn't the one I wanted, and got back in the doorway.

  People don't carry much cash with them nowadays, especially here in the land of the credit card. The ideal target would be a tourist they tend to carry more cash and traveler's checks but there weren't likely to be many in this part of town.

  Over a period of about thirty minutes there'd been four or five possibles going in to fill up their cars, but unfortunately it seemed that none of them was in need of a shit. I thought about Kelly; I hoped she was sticking to the script.

  A white guy in his late twenties drove up to the pumps in a new Camaro. It carried thirty-day plates while waiting for the new registration. He was wearing a baggy track suit that was red, blue, green, orange, and six other colors, and the world's most flamboyant basketball shoes to match. His hair was shaved at the sides, with the rest pointing skyward. The sound system was booming out bass that I could almost feel vibrating from across the street.

  He filled up and went in to pay. When he came out he was carrying what looked like a small length of two-by-four. He turned left toward the rest room. This was my boy.


  I stepped out of the doorway, turned my collar up, and headed across the road. He was putting his wallet into his track top and zipping up. I'd already checked the garage surveillance cameras; they wouldn't be a problem: they were focused on the pumps to catch drive-aways, not on the far end of the building to catch toilet paper thieves.

  As I left the doorway I was a man who needed a piss and couldn't wait any longer for his bus to arrive. It was unlikely to register with anybody at the bus stop; first thing in the morning people are brooding about the day's work ahead, or about their mortgages or kids or the wife's headache the night before. They're not going to worry too much about a guy going into a toilet. I walked toward the door with just enough spring in my step to look like the man with the world's fullest bladder and went in.

  The room was about twelve by twelve, fairly clean, reeking of bleach. Dead ahead were two urinals, with a sink and a wall-mounted paper-towel dispenser. My boy was in one of the two stalls to the right.

  I could hear the sound of zippers being undone, the rustle of a general sorting out, and a little cough. I closed the door behind me and jammed in the two door stops with my shoe.

  No one would be getting in or out of here unless I wanted them to.

  I stood at the urinal and made it look as if I were taking a leak. My hands were in front of me, but holding the steel cylinder. I'd keep my back to him until he came out to wash his hands. I stood there for three or four minutes. I heard him pissing.

  It stopped, then nothing. This character was taking too long. I swung my head to the right as if to look out of the small, barred window but carried on with the motions of pissing in case for some reason he could see me and was being hesitant about leaving the stall.

  Then, casually looking right behind me, I saw something really bizarre. Through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor I could see one foot, which seemed to be his right, on the ground and facing the toilet. His tracksuit pants weren't bunched around his ankles. I thought. Weird position, but there you go. Then I noticed that the door was open an inch. He hadn't locked it.