Remote Control ns-1

by Andy McNab

  The whole area was dotted with hotels. We walked across the road to one about four hundred yards away, and I went into the lobby and ordered a taxi. Kelly waited outside under the awning.

  As I came out again I said, "When we get into this taxi I'm going to put your hood up and I want you to rest against me as if you're sleepy. Remember, you promised me you'd do exactly what I said."

  The taxi turned up and took us to Georgetown. Kelly leaned against me, and I got her nuzzled in on my lap with her hood up so it hid her.

  We got out on Wisconsin. It was four o'clock, and every body around us looked so normal as they chatted, strolled, enjoyed their shopping. Two hours to go before Pat rang. By five-thirty the Georgetown mall where we were sitting was quite warm and we were both feeling sleepy.

  I was having a coffee, Kelly was having a milk shake, which she wasn't touching because by now she was full of burger. I looked at the display of my watch every half minute until it was five to six. Then I switched the phone on. Good battery level, good signal strength.

  Six o'clock came.

  Nothing.

  A minute past.

  Two minutes past.

  I sat there almost paralyzed with disbelief. Kelly was absorbed in a comic she'd picked out for herself.

  Four minutes past. This was desperate. Pat wouldn't let me down unless he couldn't help it. He knew as well as I did that on operations, if you're a minute late, you might as well be an hour or a day late, because people's lives might depend on it. The attack might have gone in, unsupported by your covering fire.

  There must be a problem. A major problem.

  I kept the phone switched on. Finally, at six-twenty, I said, "Come on, Kelly, we're going to visit Pat."

  Now the normality stopped. There was serious shit coming down. All hope had evaporated. As we came out of the mall, I flagged down a cab.

  Riverwood turned out to be a well-established, upscale area, rows of weatherboarded houses with neat lawns and two European cars in the drive, and smart apartment buildings with underground parking. The shops reflected its wealth, with good bookstores, expensive-looking boutiques, and small art galleries.

  I stopped the cab a block past Pat's street. I paid the driver, and he left us in the light rain. It was getting dark, a bit earlier than it should have, but the cloud cover made everything gloomy. Some cars already had their headlights on.

  "Let's hope Pat's in," I said.

  "Otherwise we'll have to go all the way back to the hotel without saying hello!"

  She looked excited about meeting him. After all, this was the man I'd said would help her go back home. I couldn't be sure if what I had said about her family had sunk in. I didn't even know if kids her age understood that death was irreversible.

  Looking up the hill, I could see that Pat's street was pure Riverwood, broad and elegant, with houses and shops that had been there for years. Above the skyline one or two new apartment buildings seemed to be taking over, but even they looked very ordered, clean, and wealthy. I wasn't entirely sure which one Pat lived in, but it was easy enough to count the numbers and figure it out. We walked past, and I had a clear view into the secure rear parking lot. I saw the red Mustang, redder than Satan's balls. It was a quarter past seven. If he was there, why the fuck hadn't he phoned?

  We went into a coffee shop across the way. The waft of newly ground beans and the blare of rumba music inside La Colombina took me straight back to Bogota; maybe that was why Pat had chosen to live here. We wanted a window seat, which wasn't a problem. The glass was misted up; I cleared a circle with a paper napkin and sat and watched.

  Kelly was doing what she had been told, keeping quiet until I told her not to be. Anyway, Girl! magazine seemed the thing to shut kids up with. I checked the phone. Good signal, plenty of power.

  A waitress came over to take our order. I was going to ask for food even though I didn't really want any because it would take time to prepare it, and then it would take time to eat it, and that way we could spend more time here without it looking unnatural.

  "I'll take a club sandwich and a double cappuccino," I said. "And what do you want, Josie?"

  Kelly beamed at the waitress.

  "Do you do Shirley Temples?"

  "Sure we do, honey!"

  It sounded like a cocktail to me, but the waitress went away quite happily to order it. Kelly returned to her magazine, and I just kept looking out the window.

  The drinks arrived. When we were alone again, I said, "What is that?"

  "Cherries and strawberries, mixed with Sprite."

  "Sounds disgusting. Can I have a sip?"

  It tasted to me like bubblegum, but it was obviously what kids liked. She was guzzling it down almost frantically.

  The sandwich mountain arrived. I didn't need it, but I ate it anyway. In my days in the SAS and since, I'd learned to think of food the way an infantryman thinks of sleep: Get it down you whenever you get the chance.

  Things were running their natural course in the coffee shop; it was now coming up to three-quarters of an hour that we'd been sitting there, and you can stay in a place only for so long without arousing suspicion or drowning in coffee.

  Kelly made the decision for me as she spoke.

  "So now what are we going to do?"

  I put some cash on the table.

  "Let's zip you up and see if Pat is home."

  We went out and walked past Pat's apartment once again.

  The car was still there. I was desperate to know one way or another what was going on. If it was just that he didn't want to play anymore, that was fine. But I couldn't really see that; I knew that he wanted to help. There was a problem, without a doubt. But I needed it confirmed; then I could reassess and make a plan without him in it.

  As we walked back down the hill, Kelly asked, "Do you actually know where Pat lives?"

  "Yes I do, but I know he's not there yet. We've just walked past his place and I couldn't see him."

  "Can't you phone him?"

  I couldn't contact him directly; if the phone was tapped, I didn't want anyone to make the connection between us. I'd promised not to compromise him. But she'd just given me an idea all the same.

  "Kelly, do you want to help me play a trick on Pat?"

  "Sure!"

  "OK, this is what I want you to do."

  We kept on walking and started to do a circuit around the area. We practiced and practiced until she said she was ready to go. We got to a phone booth about three blocks away, an open booth attached to the wall. I brought the receiver down to Kelly's level.

  "Ready?"

  She gave me a thumbs-up. She was excited; she thought this was great.

  I dialed 911, and about three seconds later Kelly was shouting, "Yes, I've just seen a man! I've just seen a man on the second floor, eleven twenty-one Twenty-seventh Street and and he's got a gun and the man's shot, and and and he's got a gun please help!"

  I put my hand on the hook.

  "Good one! Now, shall we go and see what happens next?"

  I picked a different route back. This time we were going to approach from the top of the hill and walk down toward the apartment building. By now it was properly dark, and still very wet. Heads bent in the rain, we made it to Twenty-seventh Street, turned right, and started walking slowly down the hill.

  I heard its siren first, louder and louder, then the flash of its emergency lights as a police cruiser sped past us. Then I saw other blue and red lights, all flashing in the darkness in the area of the apartment.

  As we got closer I made out three police cars. An unmarked car turned up, a portable light flashing on the roof, just above the driver.

  We walked farther down and came to a bus stop. All I was doing was watching and waiting--much like everybody else--as a small crowd had gathered.

  "Are they all coming for Pat?" Kelly asked.

  I was too busy feeling depressed to answer; the sight of an ambulance arriving had pole axed me. I stroked her head over her
coat hood.

  "I'll tell you about it in a minute. Just let me watch what's happening."

  A quarter of an hour went by. Local TV news crews were in sight. I then saw them come out: two guys with a gurney, and on top was a corpse in a body bag. I didn't have to see the face to know who was inside. I only hoped it had been quick for him, but judging by the condition of the Browns I had a terrible feeling that it hadn't.

  I said quietly, "We're going to go now, Kelly. Pat's not there tonight."

  I felt as if my most treasured possession had been stolen from under my nose, and I knew that I'd never get it back. Our friendship had been rekindled after all these years, and this was the price Pat had paid for it. I felt lost and desperate, as if I'd got detached from the rest of my patrol in hostile territory, without a map, or a weapon, and no hint of which way to go.

  He was a true friend. I would miss the man with no ass.

  As Pat was being loaded into the ambulance, I forced myself to cut away from the emotion. I turned and started to walk back down the way we'd come, to avoid the police. One of the cars had now left with its siren going and the ambulance was just about to. I imagined the crime scene people inside the apartment, putting on their coveralls and unpacking their gear. Again I tried to make myself look at the situation logically. Pat was gone; now all I had left was Euan.

  We took the first left to get off the main drag, and I listened as the ambulance siren twice went off to maneuver through traffic.

  We kept going along the road. It wasn't a main thoroughfare;

  it was residential on both sides, large houses with wide stone staircases leading up to the front doors.

  I had Kelly's hand. We were walking without talking.

  Feelings about Pat had no place in my mind at the moment.

  What mattered was what information about us he could have given to whoever had zapped him. PIRA or Luther and Co." who could tell? It had to be one or the other. If it was connected with me, of course. Fuck knows what else he could have been up to. However, I had to work on the basis that whoever killed him wanted to know where we were. All Pat knew was the phone number, and that I was going into the PIRA office. OP SEC operational security might have saved our lives.

  I was thinking so hard that at first the voice didn't really register. Then I thought it was Kelly, so I was going to give her hand a bit of a squeeze and tell her to be quiet and let me think. But then it spoke again, a man's voice, low, resolute, and this time there was no mistaking the words.

  "Freeze. If you move, I'll kill you. Stay exactly where you are. Do not move."

  It wasn't a druggy voice, it wasn't a young nervous voice;

  it was a voice that was in total control. I kept my hands where they were.

  Kelly flung her arms around my waist.

  "It's OK, it's all right. They aren't going to hurt you," I lied like a cheap watch.

  His footsteps moved from behind me and to the left. He must have come from the service alley that ran behind the houses we'd just passed.

  He said, "You have two choices. Get smart by keeping still.

  Get dead by moving." The voice was late twenties, early thirties, precise, well drilled.

  It was pointless trying to draw on him. He would kill me the instant I made a move.

  I decided to take choice one.

  More footsteps came from the other side, and somebody was tugging Kelly away. She cried out, "Nick! Nick!" but I couldn't help. Her grip was no match for theirs. She was dragged behind me and out of sight. I still couldn't see anything of the guys who'd caught us. I made myself calm down and accept what was happening.

  The voice started to give me commands in the same no-nonsense, almost pleasant voice. He said, "I want you to raise your hands slowly, and put them on top of your head. Do that now."

  When I'd complied, he said, "Now turn around."

  I turned and saw a short, dark-haired man aiming a pistol at me in a very professional manner. He was standing about ten yards away at the entrance to the alley. He was breathing heavily, probably after running around the streets to find us both. He was wearing a suit, and I saw Velcro. I now knew who had gotten to Pat.

  "Walk toward me. Do it now."

  I couldn't see Kelly. She must have already been taken down the alley. They had got her at last. I pictured Aida's savaged little body as I came toward him.

  "Stop. Turn left." Very low, very calm and confident. As he said it, I heard a car pull up to my right, and out of the corner of my eye I could see it was the blue Caprice from the first motel.

  "Walk." I moved into the alley. Still no sign of Kelly.

  I heard, "Get on your knees."

  I knelt down. I'd never been particularly worried about dying; we've all got to check out sometime. When it did happen I just wanted it to be nice and quick. I'd always hoped there was an afterlife, but not as reincarnation back on Earth.

  I'd hate to find myself back here as something low down the food chain. But I wouldn't mind a spiritual thing where you just become aware of everything from the truth about the creation of humankind to the recipe for Coca-Cola. I'd always known I was going to die early, but this was just a bit too early.

  Nothing was happening and nothing was said. Then what must have been that Caprice drove into the alley behind me, its headlights illuminating the rears of the houses. Each had facing garages and three or four cars parked along the sides of the alley. I could see my kneeling shadow against the wet asphalt.

  The engine was still running, and I heard the doors being opened. There was radio traffic from a different voice;

  this one had an accent that should have been selling hot dogs in New York. He was giving a location.

  "Affirmative, we're in the service road for Dent and Avon. We are on the south side. You'll see our lights. Affirmative, we have both of them."

  I stayed on my knees with my hands on my head in the rain while we waited for the others to arrive. I heard footsteps coming toward me from the car. I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes, expecting to be given the good news. They walked slightly past me to my right and stopped.

  I didn't hear the second one come up behind me. I just felt a heavy hand grip my own firmly on my head as the other felt for my weapon. The hand pulled out the Sig, and in front of my face I watched him check the safety catch as he released his grip on my hands and, in the same movement, produced a clear plastic bag. I could smell coffee on his slightly labored breath.

  Nothing happened for a moment or two, apart from the rustling of the bag behind me. Into view on my right came a man who looked a bit like a fashion seeker, dressed in a black suit with a mandarin jacket. Fuck me, it was Mr. Armani. He was maybe late twenties, very clean-cut, and dark and smooth. He probably glided over the ground so his shoes never got wet. He was covering me.

  I heard Kelly crying in the background. She must have been in the car. Fuck knows how she got there, but at least I knew where she was. The man behind me continued with the search and placed my stuff in the bag.

  The hot-dog seller was being quite good with her; he didn't sound too aggressive or rough. Maybe he had kids of his own.

  "It's OK, it's OK," he said.

  "What's your name?"

  I couldn't hear her reply, but I heard him say, "No, little lady, I don't think your name's Josie, I think your name is Kelly."

  Good one, mate, at least you tried!

  Car lights stopped on the main road about 150 yards farther down, at the end of the alley. Then the red lights of a car in reverse were coming toward me.

  By now all my stuff was in the plastic bag and being held by whoever was behind me. I was still on my knees, hands on head, with Mr. Armani hovering to my right.

  There were noises of more people behind me. Hopefully they were passersby who would report us. But to whom? My hopes collapsed as I heard the driver get out of the Caprice and start to speak.

  "That's OK, folks, everything's under control. There's nothing to see here."

/>   I was confused. How could they just move people on unless they were law enforcement? Maybe there was a glimmer of hope; maybe I'd be able to talk my way out of this one. I still had the backup disk hidden. Maybe I could bargain with it.

  The reversing car stopped about five yards away and three people got out the driver from the left-hand side, and two out of the back. At first they were in shadow and I couldn't see their faces, but then one walked into the glare of the other car's headlights. And then I knew I was really in for it.

  Luther was looking a little the worse for wear, and he wasn't blowing me kisses. He looked like a pissed-off devil with a large gauze dressing. He was still in a suit, but he wouldn't be wearing a tie for a while. I could tell by the smile on his face that he had a few tricks saved up for me. I guess I'd earned them. He walked toward me. I thought he was going to make a point. I closed my eyes and got ready to take the hit, but he walked straight past. That scared me even more.

  Luther started to talk as he got to the car.

  "Hi, Kelly, re member me? My name's Luther."

  There were some mumblings in reply. I was straining to hear the conversation, but only the adult voice was audible.

  "Don't you remember me? I came to pick your daddy up for work a couple of times. You have to come with me now, because I have been sent to look after you."

  I could hear protests from the car.

  "No, he's not dead. He wants me to collect you. Now come on, move it, you little bitch!"

  Kelly screamed, "Nick, help! I don't want to go!" She sounded terrified.

  Luther walked back to his car with her. He had his arm around her tight to stop her from bucking and kicking. It was all over in a few seconds. Once Kelly was secure in the back of the car, all three drove off. I felt as if I'd been taken down by the fire extinguisher again.

  "Get up." My hands were still on my head, and I felt someone's hand grip onto my right triceps and lift me up. I heard the car behind me move.

  I looked to my right. The short guy had hold of me with his left hand; in his right he had the plastic bag with Kev's mobile, my weapon, wallet, passport, ATM card, and loose change. He turned me around to face the car, which had just finished parallel parking in the road, pointing toward the right. Mr. Annani had me covered.