by Andy McNab
In the driver’s footwell, tucked against the seat so it didn’t get in the way of the pedals, was an AK Para version, the same as Rob’s. A spare thirty-round magazine was taped upside down to the one loaded in the weapon. I just hoped it was there for comfort rather than necessity. There was nothing armoured about this Audi and I didn’t fancy the idea of repeating my Baghdad experience as brass-coated lead rounds ripped the tin can to bits.
‘It is a long journey.’ Salkic spoke without turning round. He didn’t sound happy with life. His eyes were glued to the road ahead, as if he was expecting an attack from a side junction at any minute.
I leaned forward between the two seats. ‘Where we going?’
‘It would mean nothing to you, and even if it did, I would not tell you. It’s better that way. Everybody either wants to kiss Hasan or kill him. I protect him from both. Those men who followed you, they do not want to kiss Hasan.’
There was more mumbling on the net and he held up his right hand in case I was about to speak. Those little Motorolas were perfect for close-up comms. They had a range of a couple of Ks, beyond which they couldn’t be listened in to, and because they didn’t produce that big a footprint it was difficult to keep track of them.
He pressed the send button and gave his answer. The front car immediately took a sharp right, but we carried on past the junction and took the next left. Salkic saw Jerry’s concern in the rear-view as the streetlights flashed by, strobing the interior. ‘For our own protection.’
I leaned forward again. ‘How long have you known Nuhanovic?’
Salkic stared ahead at the empty road. It took a while before I got an answer. ‘Hasan is a truly remarkable man.’
‘So I hear. Thank you for passing on our message.’
He stared through the perfectly cleaned windscreen, not a bug splash in sight. The Motorola crackled and he concentrated on what was being said before responding. ‘I gave him your message. He was interested to hear about you being at the cement factory.’
‘How did you come to work for him?’
He turned round very slowly and deliberately, and in the strobed light I could see that his face was set like stone. ‘I do not work for him,’ he said simply. ‘I serve him. He saved me and my sister from the aggressor when the British, the French – everyone – were just standing by and wringing their hands.’
He tapped the driver on the shoulder, waffled off to him, and he nodded and waffled back. It looked like they all felt a similar obligation.
‘Nasir says it was a shock in Baghdad when you asked about Hasan. Nasir begged him to leave the city within the hour. He, too, is always worried about security.’
Salkic faced the front again.
I took the hint and sat back. Before long we were heading out of the city and up on to the high ground. Apart from our headlights, the only light was what spilled now and again from the houses dotting the road.
We were on a metalled single carriageway that snaked its way across the ridge and down into the valley the other side.
Acouple of Ks later, I spotted tail-lights in the distance. They were static, and off to the right. Salkic got on the net and the lights began to move and rejoined the road. We soon closed up behind them.
I leaned forward. ‘Benzil?’
Salkic nodded. ‘I’m the only link to Hasan in Sarajevo. Nasir will take us only part of the way, then I alone will take you on to him.’
Nasir’s seat creaked softly as his weight shifted. There was nothing out there but inky darkness, the headlights catching the odd tree-trunk and house at the roadside as we drove past. A couple of times a scabby dog rushed out from behind one to take us on.
Jerry was doing the same as me, peering out into the night. His hands rested on the camera in his bumbag, as if he was still worried the camera gypsies were about to pounce.
77
Tuesday, 14 October
We had been following the Audi’s tail-lights at a distance for about an hour and forty when Salkic sparked up. ‘We are nearly at the transfer point.’
I guessed the next stage of the journey wasn’t going to be as comfortable. He dug down round his neck and pulled out two keys on a chain, the sort ID tags are attached to. With luck, they belonged to a nice warm vehicle. I didn’t fancy tabbing through the cuds in this kind of weather.
‘Everything you have with you will stay with Nasir.’
Jerry leaned into the space between the front seats. ‘What about my camera? If he lets me take some shots, I’ll—’
Salkic turned to him, his face steely. ‘Nothing must be brought with us. Certainly no electrical devices. We will also search you. Don’t worry, everything will be returned after you have seen Hasan.’
The front Audi’s tail-lights glowed red, and stayed on. As we closed, Salkic talked cautiously into his Motorola.
We were almost on top of them before we could see the problem. The way ahead was blocked by a dead cow, and her mates didn’t seem keen to let us through. We couldn’t drive round them because of the barbed-wire fences either side of us.
It looked as if the road ran past a farm. A collection of barns stood just off to the right, rough old things knocked up out of concrete blocks and corrugated iron.
Nasir braked to a complete halt, lifting his foot off the pedal when we’d stopped to kill the rear lights. Then he threw the gearshift into reverse and started backing up as the other driver and a leather boy got out to investigate.
Salkic held the radio near his mouth, his eyes fixed on where we’d just been. ‘This is where we leave Nasir and his people. They will go back to Sarajevo. I will take you to Hasan.’
We stopped about a hundred metres back, lights off, and waited. Nasir was cautious: he knew his drills. A frantic voice screamed over the net. Nasir went for the AK as a huge, dark mass roared out from one of the barns behind blazing lights, bouncing cows out of its way as it aimed for Benzil’s Audi. Jerry pushed back into his seat, transfixed by the mechanical monster’s headlights.
As the truck bore down on them, the leather boys ran back to their car. One of them managed to pull an AK and the muzzle flared in the darkness.
Salkic hollered into his radio, for all the good that was going to do. There was another burst from the AK, but it didn’t stop the Audi getting T-boned dead centre and being bounced back into the fence.
Nasir threw open his door and jumped out at the same time as I did, his AK at the ready, yelling at the other two. I grabbed at Jerry’s coat as rounds started to puncture the bodywork. ‘Out the fucking car!’
The barbed wire buckled as the wheels of Benzil’s Audi dug into the mud for a second or two before it toppled over on to its side. Automatic fire rattled among the barns as the truck ground to a halt, its headlights spilling across the wreckage and the sharply rising ground beyond it.
Rounds hammered into the side panel, inches away from me. Jerry twisted and tore away from my grip. He screamed once and dropped to the tarmac like liquid.
Shit. I fell with him.
His body was still wriggling.
‘I’m OK, OK.’
Nasir was to my right, static and firing at the muzzle flashes that tore through the darkness from the direction of the farm buildings. He was calm and controlled, taking short bursts, making every round count. I didn’t look back, just got my head down and legged it towards what was left of Benzil’s Audi.
More bursts from the right. They were moving positions so they could get rounds into the heap of tangled metal wrapped round the front of the truck. Rounds zinged off the tarmac.
Shit, shit, shit. Don’t look, just keep going.
Another four, maybe five sustained bursts.
I was nearly at the wreckage. The Audi was lying on its left side, wedged against the truck’s radiator grille. The truck driver was slumped over his steering-wheel.
‘Benzil! Benzil!’
I peered through the Audi’s mud-splattered windscreen. There was nobody inside.
; ‘Benzil! Benzil!’
One of the leather boys had been crushed between the two vehicles. I felt about for his weapon among the mangled flesh and steel.
A semi-automatic opened up from the high ground behind me, punctuating the frenzied shouts in Serbo-Croat that echoed all around us. Who the fuck was who?
‘Benzil!’
No weapon found. I lay flat in the mud, using the Audi for cover, wishing I could dig myself into the ground. More rounds ripped into it from the barn, and again from the high ground. One of the leather boys was jumping up and down, yelling to me to move up. Then, as he gave me more covering fire, his muzzle flash illuminated Benzil kneeling by his side.
Fuck it, deep breath. I legged it up the hill towards him, only to be catapulted back down into the mud by the remains of the barbed-wire fence. The more I tried to untangle myself, the more it cut into my jeans and skin. The leather boy shouted something at me before returning fire, as if he thought I was deliberately taking my time.
I kicked free and kept well to the right of him as he squeezed off burst after burst. I saw Benzil again in the muzzle flash, lying at his feet now, waving me over.
No time to be static. I ran over to Benzil and grabbed hold of his overcoat. ‘Come on, up!’
The leather boy was changing mags, but he was an accident waiting to happen. He was failing to move after each burst; he was going to get hit soon and I didn’t want us anywhere near him when it happened. I kept moving uphill and to the left, dragging Benzil, trying to get us out of the line of fire and back towards what I hoped was a surviving Audi.
I pushed Benzil into the mud as two endless streams of tracer sailed over our heads. The leather boy went ballistic, then stopped firing and crumpled.
‘Stay here!’
I slipped and slid my way back down the slope, finally landing on my arse beside him. He was alive, but wouldn’t be for much longer.
78
The wet, rasping sounds he made as he tried to suck in oxygen were those of a fast-dying man. I reached inside his jacket and felt warm blood pumping over my hand. I wasn’t going to seal the hole: there wasn’t any point. I was just looking for spare mags for the AK.
I was out of luck, but grabbed the blood-wet weapon anyway as the boy stopped breathing, and scrambled back up the hill. ‘Benzil! Benzil! Shout to me!’
‘Here, over here!’
As I joined him, there was a burst towards the barns from further along the hill, parallel with the Audi. It had to be Nasir.
I kept us on the high ground, paralleling the road, trying to confirm who was up on the hill. Benzil was losing strength and spent more time in the mud than on his feet.
‘Nasir, Nasir!’
‘Over here, over here!’ It was Jerry. I still couldn’t see them.
‘Back in the car! Go, let’s go!’
I started dragging Benzil downhill. Each step was clearly agony for him, but that was tough shit: he’d have to sort himself out later.
He stumbled again and cried out. I grabbed a handful of coat and yanked him forwards as rounds thudded into the ground where we’d just been.
‘Come on! Come on!’
Three bodies closed in from my right. Salkic was with them as they scrambled downhill towards the car. The fire from the barns became more concentrated as they worked out what we were doing. Rounds hammered into the Audi’s doors and tyres.
‘Back up the hill!’
I was fighting for air, my clothes soaked with sweat, trying to climb and keep a grip on Benzil at the same time. Nasir was returning fire behind us. ‘Stop! Stop! Stop! Save the rounds! Salkic, where the fuck are you? Tell him to stop firing!’
We carried on climbing. There were no trees, nothing to haul ourselves up on; just mud, grass and rock. I slipped and fell. The AK barrel crashed against the stone, but it would survive. These things were built to be used and abused. I wasn’t so sure about Benzil.
There was still firing from below us, but the tracer was going high. They’d lost us in the dark.
I felt blood leaking down my legs after my tangle with the barbed wire. My throat was parched. I kept my grip on Benzil, kept pulling him upwards.
I yelled across at Jerry. ‘Keep up! We’ve got to keep together.’
Jerry came close, chest heaving and breath rattling in his throat. ‘Where . . . we . . . going?’
‘Fuck knows. Salkic?’
There didn’t seem to be anything leaking out of Jerry apart from sweat. ‘For a second there, I thought you were down for good.’
‘Bastards hit my fanny pack.’
Salkic appeared out of the gloom, fighting for oxygen and so angry he could hardly speak. ‘You are responsible for this! They must have followed me here earlier, and waited.’ He pushed me so hard in the chest I nearly fell over Benzil. ‘You lead them to me!’
Benzil remained in the mud as Salkic started gobbing off to Nasir.
I wasn’t too sure how this was going to play, so pushed down gently on the AK’s safety. Salkic heard the click and so did Nasir. His weapon swung up into the aim. Salkic gently pushed the barrel until it pointed at the mud. ‘God would not have let this happen if it were not for a reason. My job is to take you to Hasan. We serve him, so it will be done.’
I made sure they heard the safety click back where it belonged, then glanced back down at the hill. I could see torchbeams criss-crossing the ground. I waited a second or two for Nasir to calm down. ‘You know what’s the other side of this hill?’
Salkic thought for a second or two. ‘No. Just more hills?’
I checked Baby-G. We had about two hours at the most before first light. If we were caught out in the open in this terrain we’d be fucked.
Benzil was still on his knees, almost sobbing as he gasped for air.
Jerry, too, sank into the mud.
‘Salkic, ask Nasir if he knows.’ It was time to get sorted. ‘OK, I saw one man go down and there’s one by the Audi. Anyone see the other guy? We still got someone out there?’
The one missing would have to fend for himself. I had control of the most important two.
Salkic gobbed off again to Nasir.
I lifted the AK and pushed the magazine catch forward to release the two taped-up mags. I pressed down on the top round in the first mag with my finger. It stopped about two-thirds of the way down: I had about ten rounds left.
Salkic and Nasir were still in dialogue as I turned the mags over and pushed down on the second. It was full, so I slotted it into the mag housing and eased back the cocking handle to check chamber. ‘Anybody else got a weapon?’
Salkic translated. ‘He also has a pistol and two extra magazines. And he says there is a cave the other side of these hills. The aggressors used it to store supplies.’ Salkic took in another couple of gulps of oxygen before continuing. ‘He said that he isn’t sure which valley. It’s been many years since he has attacked it.’
Nasir muttered a few more words to Salkic, who hesitated before translating. ‘Do you know which man you saw dead?’
‘No.’
As Salkic mumbled back to Nasir there was a sudden burst of voice traffic on the radio inside his coat. He pulled it out, maybe hoping it was our missing man.
The radio might have belonged to him, but the gravelly voice that came out of it didn’t. Whoever it was started singing what sounded like a nursery rhyme. Then there was a short, piercing scream. The song continued for a moment, but was interrupted by more screams and the sound of sobbing.
Nasir went apeshit.
Images flashed through my own head of others I’d seen taken prisoner by the Serbs, men strapped to trees who’d choked to death on their own genitals.
Nasir started downhill as the fading screams were replaced by mocking laughter.
‘Salkic, turn that fucking thing off and get him back here!’
I didn’t care what the fuck he wanted to do down there, but now wasn’t the time. We needed a steady pair of hands on a weapon. Salkic ran ahead
of him and held up a hand. I saw Nasir’s shoulders heave as Salkic took a step forward and wrapped him in a hug.
For several minutes they talked to each other in gradually gentler tones. The rest of us kept our distance. At least it gave Benzil time to rest.
The torches below us were still on the move. A vehicle emerged from one of the barns, manoeuvred its way past our Audi, and headed back towards Sarajevo.
Salkic still had Nasir in his arms. They mumbled some more to each other. Both men were crying.
At length, they turned and came back up to us. Nasir carried on uphill a little way before kneeling. There was silence; no one spoke.
I stood up, and helped Benzil to his feet. ‘We need to get going and be over this high ground before first light, out of their line of sight.’
Exhausted as he was, Benzil’s only concern was for others. ‘Is Nasir all right?’
‘He will be,’ Salkic said, ‘but give him time. The man they just killed was his youngest brother.’ He paused. ‘And my brother-in-law.’
79
Nasir was lead scout.
Benzil was next. He was in a bad way, but we had to place him up there so we could keep an eye on him and go at his pace. He tried his best; Jerry, Salkic and I took it in turns to hitch his arm round our necks to help keep him upright.
Nasir was a totally steady hand. He was an old sweat, doubling back from time to time to mutter an encouraging word.
Benzil would just nod and agree. ‘Yes, yes. Thank you.’
After ten minutes or so, he had to stop again. ‘I’m so sorry, Nick. I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Just try and keep going the best you can.’
There was a burst of fire in the valley below us as they cabbied at shadows.
Wind buffeted the summit, clawing at my face, cooling my sweat. At least the plastic coat kept it at bay as we started to slip and slide downhill.
The line was starting to get strung out, and not just because of Benzil. Jerry and Salkic were feeling the pace. Nasir was still up front, slowing down at regular intervals for the rest of us to catch up.