by Andy McNab
‘Ah, now, that would be nice.’ Neither could help but smile as Sundance shook the lighter to try to get it working. ‘We could all go back to the garage, couldn’t we? Things could get interesting again.’
The garage was in south London. That was where they’d beaten the shit out of me while we waited for the Yes Man to come and explain the facts of life: that I would be going to Panama or else.
I straightened up and turned to walk away. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘Ah, now, that’s a shame.’
As I went back to the house, I saw that Sundance wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He pulled the Volvo into the kerb and parked, and they set about filling the car with smoke.
14
Carmen was in the living room, watching transfixed as Lorraine Kelly guided her GMTV audience through the minefield of organic moisturizers.
‘I’ve just had a call from work.’
She couldn’t be arsed to look up.
‘I’ve got to go to a meeting at one o’clock – I’ll have to leave in a minute to make sure I get there on time. There’s some sort of emergency going on.’
What else could I do? Lock the front door and just hope Sundance and Trainers got bored and went away? No, I’d see if the Yes Man could find someone else. Shit, I was even prepared to beg if I had to.
Carmen was tracing the cracks in her face with her fingertips, her eyes still glued to Lorraine. If she knew what was coming, she wasn’t going to make it easy for me. I spoke up a little. ‘You know how these things sometimes drag on, and I might not get back tonight. Just in case that happens, I’ll need somebody to take Kelly to Chelsea in the morning.’
For a moment I wondered if she’d heard anything I’d said. ‘Oh dear, I don’t know,’ she said finally. ‘I’d have to ask Jimmy. I don’t think he’d be happy about the traffic. What with the congestion charge and everything . . . And then there’s the parking. How long would we have to wait?’
‘Just under an hour. Look, I’ll pay the petrol and the—’
‘We can afford petrol, you know.’
‘But you just said . . . What’s the problem, Carmen?’
‘Well, I mean, what will we tell the neighbours? No one knows she’s seeing a psychiatrist.’
‘You’re not going to have to put a fucking sign up. And for the millionth time, it’s no big deal. Kelly isn’t mentally ill, she just needs help with some stuff, that’s all.’
‘Well, and can you blame her, poor thing, the life she’s had? Pushed around from pillar to post, having to listen to your foul language all the time . . .’
I couldn’t take any more. This woman was so negative I could actually feel her draining the energy out of me. She’d spent her entire life either sniping at other people or feeling sorry for herself, and she wasn’t about to change. The only thing that would do that was a two-pound ball hammer to the back of her head.
‘Thanks for the support, Carmen.’ I turned and got out, tempted to add something sarcastic like, ‘I don’t know why I’ve paid a shrink all these thousands of pounds when I’ve got you on hand’ – but I didn’t think of it until I was in the corridor.
I was looking forward to the next bit even less. I was just about to confirm everything I knew Kelly felt about me.
I needn’t have worried. It had already been done. As I went down the flowered carpet to her room, Kelly was standing outside her door. I couldn’t read the exact expression on her face – anger, disbelief, disappointment, abandonment, maybe a mixture of them all. But I knew it meant I was in the shit. ‘I don’t believe you, Nick.’ She was so close to tears she almost choked on the words.
‘I don’t have a choice, Kelly. It’s just a meeting. All being well, I’ll—’
‘There’s always a choice, Nick. That’s what you keep saying, isn’t it? Why don’t you just say no to them, eh?’
‘It’s not that easy.’ I went to stroke her head but she jumped back as if I’d touched her with a Taser.
‘Don’t.’ She moved backwards into her room. ‘Fucking hypocrite!’
I heard a gasp of shock from Carmen. Either Lorraine had suggested going non-organic on the moisturizer front or she’d been eavesdropping. Either way, I’d be to blame.
Kelly slammed the door but it didn’t have a lock. I knocked gently. ‘Let me explain. No, don’t let me explain – just let me come in and say I’m sorry.’
I heard a sniffle and I opened up. She was lying face down on her bed, a pillow over her head. When I came in she flung it away and sat up to face me. ‘I’ve told you so much, Nick. Too much for you to take, was it?’
‘I know I should be able to tell these people to shove it but I can’t. I just can’t.’
She buried her head in her hands. ‘When will you be back?’
‘Not long. Tonight, maybe tomorrow.’
‘OK, off you go.’
I went to touch her but she flinched again. I turned for the door, picking up my Caterpillars and bomber jacket. No one was allowed to wear shoes in Carmen’s house. ‘Hey, listen, make sure Granny doesn’t go into my bag for any dirty washing. I’ll do it when I get back, OK?’
‘Whatever.’
15
It had taken me at least an hour to reach Chelsea Bridge, still seething at George and the Yes Man, and still being followed by the Volvo. The traffic thundered about me as I edged my way back into the flow towards Pimlico and the apartment where Suzy and I had stayed while preparing for the Penang job. The Firm had safe-houses dotted all around the country, but Pimlico seemed to have more than its fair share. They tended to be in mansion blocks that had been divided into self-contained flats, the sort business people used as pieds-à-terre while they were working in London during the week, or as shag pads before going home to their families in the Cotswolds at the weekend. They were good for security because they were impersonal and anonymous.
The flat I was going to was furnished, had a TV and a video, but no phone. The Firm serviced it and paid the bills, but it belonged to an alias company.
After cruising around for about fifteen minutes, I finally parked in Warwick Square. I fed the meter with as many coins as I had, hoping that would be enough. With any luck I’d be on my way back to Bromley within an hour or two.
I walked across the square to number sixty-six with Sundance and Trainers helpfully at my shoulder, and hit the intercom of flat three, which was on the top floor. The voice that answered belonged to Yvette, the Yes Man’s PA-cum-fixercum-who-knew-what. She always spoke softly, as if life was one big conspiracy. I had to put my ear right up to the speaker to hear her ‘Hello?’
‘It’s me, Nick.’
There was a buzz as the front door unlocked and I was pushed into the narrow hallway. It was the kind of push that left me in no doubt that the boys were looking forward to a return match.
When the house had been converted it had obviously been at the expense of the common areas. The staircase was almost directly ahead and I started climbing. The last time this place had seen a lick of paint must have been in the 1980s, when magnolia was all the rage, and the carpet wasn’t a lot younger. Fuck knows what colour it was meant to be.
The staircase turned on itself and followed the woodchip wallpaper up a few landings to the top floor. Yvette was waiting for me in the doorway. Suzy and I had christened her the Golf Club. She had shortish and thin brown practical hair, and was slim, maybe too slim. A night out with Kelly for a few chip suppers wouldn’t have done either of them any harm – even the arse in her skintight jeans was baggy. She was in her mid forties and, from the neck up, wouldn’t have looked out of place at a WI meeting. Her only jewellery was a wedding ring, though, and she was dressed for Everest. I’d seen her in several different Gore-Tex mountain jackets, and the rest of her looked as if it was sponsored by Helly Hansen. I glanced down at her feet. Sure enough, the mountain boots were in place; side-on she looked like Tiger Woods could have used her to drive off from the first tee.
She’d bee
n extremely professional on the Penang job. Even before dropping off the revolver in the Georgetown Starbucks, she’d done all the admin, collated our passports and cover documents, got hold of any information we needed, and relayed instructions from the Yes Man, all without raising her voice above a whisper. Thanks to her, we never had to see him after the initial briefing, which suited me just fine. I decided I really must find a way to kill this man and then take care of Sundance and Trainers before I got old and grey. It would be a job no one would have to pay me for.
She opened the door wider and whispered me inside. ‘Hello, Nick. We never got to say goodbye.’
‘It would have been a bit of a waste of breath, wouldn’t it?’ I whispered back. If I’d talked normally to her, it would have sounded as if I was using a loud-hailer. I hoped I’d never find myself on top of a mountain depending on her to shout for help.
I got a little smile out of her, and returned the compliment as I walked into the flat. I could hear the Yes Man immediately. Excellent: I was already rehearsing my speech in my head. The small rectangular hallway had bare walls, another riot of magnolia. Directly in front of me was the door to the bedroom, and to the right the bathroom and a rather tattered white MFI kitchen. I went left, following the cheap grey office carpet, and into the living room, which overlooked the startling green of the square.
The Yes Man had his head down, and was taking up the whole of the red velour settee as he flicked through a pile of files and spoke into a cell. Suzy was sitting on one of the chairs, dressed in jeans, black leather jacket, and a jumper nearly the same colour as the carpet. At her feet was a large blue nylon sports bag.
The two remaining chairs stood against the wall. One was taken by a red Gore-Tex jacket I hadn’t seen the Golf Club wearing before, with a thousand pockets and zips. I took the other. Lying between them were two brown briefcases, each attached by about nine inches of chain to a worn steel handcuff.
Nobody said a word. The Yes Man didn’t greet me because he was an arsehole, and because he didn’t, Suzy couldn’t. I didn’t hold it against her. She got a bit overexcited at times, but if I had to work with someone, she was at the top of my list – and not just because the rest of the list were dead.
I sat on the edge of the chair and waited for the Golf Club to prepare a brew. Meanwhile the Yes Man kept nodding as he turned the pages and began to get flustered with whoever was at the other end of the phone. ‘OK . . . yes . . . No! Tell him he will meet them this evening – even if he hasn’t confirmed how many the meet is just as important. Remind him what he is, and that he has no choice.’
He slammed the phone down on the table and speed-read the remaining pages. I’d never seen him like this before; he was really starting to flap. Suzy and I just sat and exchanged glances while he continued reading and nodding. Fuck it, she looked as if she was looking forward to this. I knew Suzy was dying for a B & H, but I bet she wouldn’t be lighting one in front of him. The Yes Man didn’t drink or smoke, and was a born-again Christian – Scientologist, something like that – so he was pretty frightening at the best of times. I wondered if I should introduce him to Josh; perhaps they could bore each other to death.
There was clinking and clanking in the kitchen, and the sound of the electric kettle getting filled.
I leant forward and rested my forearms on my thighs as I watched the Yes Man making notes on the pages that flicked through his hands. His ginger hair was going even more grey around the edges – or it would have done if he’d left it alone, but he’d been at the Grecian 2000 again and I was catching more than a hint of copper.
As always, his blue, diamond-patterned tie was knotted really tight up to the collar. Maybe that was the reason for his permanently blushing complexion. Maybe he did it to try and hide his neck, which always seemed to have a boil on the go. He was in his mid-forties now, and the mind boggled as to what he must have looked like as a kid. The pockmarks all over his face suggested a miserable adolescence. Maybe that was what had turned him into an arsehole.
Judging by the sound of mugs being moved around in the kitchen it wouldn’t be long before the brew turned up, but here in the living room we were still waiting for the headmaster to take assembly. He turned a few more pages and dialled on his cell. I tried catching his eye, but he was just too distracted to notice as he read on and changed his mind about the call.
The clomping of Yvette’s boots on the thin carpet telegraphed her arrival with a tray. She put it down on the small table in front of the settee, and poured the Yes Man’s coffee first. He had what Suzy called Nato standard: white with two sugars. Suzy got black without; me, white without. The Golf Club never forgot a detail.
She sat down in her seat and bent to pick up one of the briefcases. The cuff rattled about on its chain as she manoeuvred the case on to her lap and flicked open the locks. The Yes Man passed a couple of his pages to her, and glanced briefly in my direction before returning to the ones remaining on the table. ‘So glad you could make it on time.’
I looked at Suzy. ‘I think I’m early, actually, even without the prompt at my door. Sir?’ I hated calling him that, but I had to attract his attention somehow. ‘Can I talk to you alone?’
‘What?’
‘There’s something I need to discuss with you.’
One glance at Suzy and she got the hint and made herself scarce, closing the door behind her. Yvette stayed where she was. A private word with the Yes Man automatically included her.
‘Well?’
He hadn’t even looked up. I knew I was on a loser straight away.
‘Sir, I have a personal problem that I need to deal with urgently. I just need a little time to sort things out.’
‘You don’t get it, do you? You have no personal problem, because you have nothing that is personal. That headcase of a child stays with her grandparents, or goes home. It’s as simple as that. What happens to her really doesn’t matter, because you’re going to stay here and do what you’re paid for.’
‘Sir, I understand but—’
‘No buts. Shut up and get on with your job. Do you understand?’
I nodded. For now, what else could I do? Storm out of the flat and straight into two regulators who’d like nothing more than to park me all over their garage? It was too early for that. There had to be another way.
16
He straightened himself on the settee as Yvette went to let Suzy back in. His eyes stayed on his files as the two women passed him, and Yvette handed Suzy and me a Jiffy-bag each from her briefcase. I checked my passport. It was in the name of Nick Snell again. Everything was in order: the date of birth was correct, but some of the stamps had been changed. For starters, the Malaysian holiday visa had disappeared. I checked the worn-looking Bank of Scotland credit cards, making sure they were still valid.
Yvette was helping herself to a sip of brew.
‘Is it the same CA?’
She nodded.
I looked at Suzy, who was doing the same as me, but much more enthusiastically. Her eyes shone, but she was trying to control her excitement in front of the boss.
The Yes Man had put his file to one side when the phone rang again. The Golf Club picked it up and left for the kitchen, although she didn’t need to: it was impossible to hear what she was saying from more than six inches away.
The Yes Man leant forward to pick up his brew, and fixed his gaze on Suzy. That was fine by me. I wanted to be anywhere but here, and it helped if I didn’t have to look at him. ‘The wine bottles that were collected in Penang contained pneumonic plague . . .’ He let the words hang, as if waiting for a reaction. He wasn’t going to get one from me: I wouldn’t have been here if it had been Fat Bastard Chardonnay.
‘That was the last batch produced for JI. We have no idea how much they’ve stockpiled in the last eleven months, but we know they’ve been planning bio attacks for some time now, mainly Far Eastern targets. Meanwhile, ASU [Active Service Unit] members have been disappearing from Malaysia. It see
ms they have ambitions to move further afield, which can only mean one thing. They consider themselves third wave.’
By the look on his face, he probably hoped we’d have to ask him what it meant, but it wasn’t rocket science. Third-wave terrorism just meant these people were switched on and highly technical. They weren’t knuckle-draggers: their greatest weapon was their brains. They knew it wasn’t that hard to access information and, scarier still, they knew where to look. They had already learnt how to develop biological agents – and it was probably only a matter of time before they figured out how to split the atom in the kitchen.
Suzy twisted on her chair. ‘Is that why the barriers are up around the Houses of Parliament?’
He shook his head. ‘The sort of attack they have in mind can defeat any barrier.’ He put down his mug and stared at it for several seconds before jerking his head up and re-establishing eye-contact, this time with us both. ‘The problem we face, as of six hours ago, is that there are already up to six bottles in this country, possibly more. It appears they were brought in as duty-free wine by one of the four-member ASUs. Every available bit of CCTV footage from all ports of entry is being looked at to try and identify who they are – and then, of course, find them.’
The Yes Man’s cell rang yet again in the kitchen, and Yvette answered as she came back into the room, then cut the call. His eyes followed her as she headed for him. ‘We have a source on the ground but so far very little information. The fact is—’ The Golf Club whispered into his ear.
‘You sure?’ He was a worried man.
The Golf Club gave a yes as she went to her chair.
‘Right, source int says that there are twelve bottles, but we still do not know where they are or when they will be used.’ He paused, checking us both to make sure we’d taken in the full weight of his words. Yvette, calm as ever, picked up her coffee and sat back in the chair with the barest rustle of Gore-Tex.
