by Andy McNab
‘Nick, I’m so sorry … I’ve made so many … mistakes … Stefan, my baby …’ Her bottom lip trembled. Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Her sobs gave her even more pain.
Genghis applied more pressure on her stomach to keep the fluids inside her. She strained against the agony.
‘Tracy, it’s OK. I’m going to get Stefan back. But I need your help …’
She was trying to listen through the tears and the pain and the din and the vibration of the aircraft as we gathered speed along the runway.
She gave a small nod. Her eyes closed. She tried to breathe through her snot-filled nose.
‘Do you know where they’re going? Do you know what country they’re going to?’
Her head turned to one side. She coughed, trying to clear her throat. Her nose was blocked. Her face contorted.
The Cessna lifted off the runway. The engine pitch changed. Mr Lover Man held Tracy steady as the medical gear slid down towards the rear of the aircraft. He grabbed a bottle of water as it rolled past and opened it with his teeth. He tried to see if she could take some through her cracked and blistered lips.
‘Tracy, do you know where they’re taking Stefan?’
She fought to unblock her nose. She tried a drink. It wasn’t working. It made her cough even more.
‘Kenya … They’re going to Kenya … They’re going to … take him to Georgia … Nick … My baby … A hostage again … Nick, what have I done? My baby …’
I stroked her brow some more as Mr Lover Man held her head straight on the body armour. She couldn’t control it herself any more. My fingers found the mike, to make sure Joe got the message. ‘It’s Kenya, mate.’
He came straight back into my headphones. ‘I fucking knew it, man.’
I stroked her forehead again. As the aircraft levelled off, a hand came up and grabbed my wrist.
Her grip was pathetically weak. Her lips trembled. Tears fell. She tried to focus on me. ‘I’m so sorry, Nick … I always mess … everything up … Why do I always make such a mess of everything?’
She fought the agony. Body fluid leaked out faster than the IV set could get it in.
‘No, you don’t. You and Mong — you didn’t mess that up, did you? You made him so happy, Tracy. He always talked about you. He told everyone how much he loved you.’
She gave a weak smile and tried to clear her throat again, but the pain was too much.
Mr Lover Man checked the drips and dressings. He and Genghis mumbled between themselves.
‘I always get it wrong … The only good things … I have … are Mong … and Stefan …’ She started to break down at the thought of what might be happening to him.
‘It’s OK.’ I unclasped her hand from my wrist and held it in mine. I rocked with the motion of the aircraft. ‘We’re going to get him back. He’s not that far away. We’ll be able to see the plane as soon as it’s light. I won’t let you down, Tracy. I promised Mong I’d always look after you. And Stefan’s part of you. So he’s part of that promise, isn’t he?’
She gave a couple of half-nods before coughing and snotting up. Her hand squeezed mine hard.
‘Nick … I want you to understand. I felt so … alone in Frank’s world. He’s a good man … but his work, his family … We could never be together … Not truly … together … Me and Stefan … would always … be kept in a box … I had … to get away …’
She chugged up a mouthful of blood. I shushed her as she fought for air. ‘I don’t need to know. Just rest. Let the guys sort you out. Let’s get Stefan back.’
‘No, Nick … please … I want you to know … BB knew what I was feeling …’
‘The kidnap plan was his, wasn’t it?’
She just about managed a nod. ‘I knew there was no … happily ever after … for us … But once he’d set it up … he had me … exactly where he wanted me … I got cold feet …’
‘But he threatened to betray you to Frank.’
‘Frank … would have taken Stefan … would have kicked me out.’
‘BB arranged the hijack?’
‘He wanted money … He knew the clan … from the old days … He said … Frank would hand over the money … then be told we were all dead …’
I didn’t tell her that BB had always known Frank’s cash, if there was any, would be a bonus. The serious money was coming from Georgia.
She worked hard on a smile.
‘Me and Stefan … We didn’t want Frank’s … money … We were going … to India …’
Her face muscles suddenly relaxed, and I no longer felt the tension in her hand. From the faraway look in her eyes, part of her was already there.
‘On the beach … Maybe … a small restaurant … Just be happy …’
A coughing fit took her away from her dream. I caught Genghis’s eye. For a moment I thought he was going to crack as well. Then the mask of inscrutability was back in place.
‘Frank … he has … so many … enemies …’
BB had taken full advantage of that. His plan must have seemed pretty close to perfect. But he’d fucked up. He hadn’t written al-Shabab into the equation. He hadn’t reckoned with people who didn’t give a shit about the money and the shagging and the shiny red sports cars.
I gripped her hand and stroked her cheek. I tried to wipe away the tears, but they were falling too fast.
‘Tracy, it’s OK. You’re safe now. Just let these lads sort you out.’
I moved the mike out of the way and bent to kiss her gently on the forehead. ‘I’ve got to go now. I’ve got to get Stefan back. It’ll all be OK. He’ll be with you before you know it.’
She struggled to bring my hand to her lips. ‘I know he will … I trust you … Nick … I … always have …’
I smiled at her.
‘You … and Mong … the only men … I ever … trusted …’
She tried to give a smile back.
I let go of her hand and placed it in Genghis’s palm. He gave it the gentlest of squeezes.
22
First light was peeking over the horizon to our left as India’s bright blue sky and sun prepared to visit Africa again.
Joe was far out to sea. I could just about see the coastline on our right as I moved my head level with his.
He locked eyes. ‘How is she?’
‘Not good, mate.’
He nodded slowly, letting whatever that meant to him sink in. He pulled on his sun-gigs. ‘It’s best looking for these fuckers with the sun behind us. Like a fucking dogfight, man.’
‘That’s exactly what it’s going to be.’
I was sure I could see a slight twinkle in his eye behind the shades.
He kept on scanning the area. I joined in, looking for a little dot in hundreds of miles of empty sky.
‘Just one thing, Nick. What happens if my aircraft gets damaged? What the fuck would you do about that, man?’
I turned to face him. There was a big smile on his leathery face. ‘You going to pay me, man? These fucking things cost over a million dollars. Can you believe that shit? I got a fucking big loan on it, man.’
I smiled right back. ‘You won’t have any worries on that score.’
He got back to the business of flying and monitoring the sky ahead of us.
‘Where are the fuel tanks on those Skyvans?’
Both hands came off the controls again as he started to explain with his hands as well as his mouth. It was like I’d opened the encyclopedia at ‘S’.
‘On that fucking thing? Two Garrett turboprop engines, each driving a three-blade, variable-pitch propeller. Fuel in four tanks, in pairs on top of the fuselage between the wing roots. Each pair consisting of one 182-litre tank and one 484-litre mother. Total fuel capacity, 1332 litres. That’s a lot of fucking fuel, man.’
‘What’s its range?’
‘With maximum payload, about eleven hundred klicks. But there’s no maximum in that shed, man.’
‘Their tanks won’t be full unl
ess they refuelled at Mog …’
‘No, man, but we didn’t either, and they might have extra tanks …’ He brought his hands down to make sure I was following all this closely,‘… in the spaces between the fuselage frames on each side, beneath the main tanks. There’s provision for another four hundred litres. But fuck it, man …’ He put his arms up as if he was firing a rifle. ‘You drill that area and you’re going to hit tanks. That’s all you need to know, man.’
I picked up the AK and tapped the mag. ‘You got tracer in this?’
‘No, but you’d better check.’
I grabbed the magazine with my right hand. I pushed the release catch forward with my thumb and released it from its housing. The selector lever, a long spring-loaded arm, was in the upper safe position. I pushed it down to the fully automatic position before pulling back on the cocking handle to check no rounds were in the chamber. I released the handle, fired off the action by pressing the trigger, and replaced the selector lever back to safe.
Tracer are built with a hollow base filled with a pyrotechnic flare material, often phosphorus. In US and NATO standard ammunition, this is usually a mixture of strontium compounds and magnesium that yields a bright red light. Russian and Chinese tracer generates red or green light, using barium salts. Whatever the colour, the point was that it burnt intensely.
I pushed the first round out and used it to start flicking the rest out by the base as the spring forced them forward. I aimed them at the right-hand seat.
I couldn’t remember the flash point or the initiation temperature of Jet A1 fuel but I wasn’t taking any chances and neither was Joe. He kept looking at the rounds as they fell onto the right-hand seat. I didn’t want a big fuck-off firework display. I wanted holes. And the AK 7.62 short would make much bigger ones than Genghis’s M4 5.56.
I got to the last round. They’d all been bog-standard plain ball.
Joe sparked up. He was suddenly in full-fight mode. Very calm. Very precise. No profanity. ‘Got him. Half right of the nose. Maybe a klick ahead. Two hundred metres below us. He’s following the coastline.’
I hit Joe on the shoulder. ‘Well, let’s go get the boy, then.’
‘Fucking right, man.’ There was no smile this time.
I started to move to the rear. Joe came back on my cans. ‘You sure this Mr Big Shot will pay for my aircraft if it gets broken? Tell him, if he doesn’t, I’ll reload that fucking mag and come looking for him.’
My cans filled with his laughter as the prop pitch changed, the aircraft banked to the right and we started to descend.
23
I kicked all the shit further back to clear a space and opened the shutter. A gale rushed in. It was like standing at a station with an express train thundering past. I tried sticking my head out. My face got buffeted like I was in freefall. I couldn’t see through my streaming eyes.
I pulled my head back in. All the wrappers from the field dressings and all other bits of crap were caught in a whirlwind around me.
Mr Lover Man had taken my place between the cockpit seats. He shouted at Joe: he wanted to know what was happening. He followed Joe’s pointing finger to the Skyvan on our right. Then he looked back at Genghis working on Tracy.
I cleared more shit out of the way. I wanted a good stable platform for the weapon.
Mr Lover Man tilted his head so he didn’t bang it on the top of the fuselage and stormed towards me. Joe gave me the heads-up in my cans. ‘He doesn’t like you, man. He’s fucking mad. Those hands are massive. Be careful.’
I came forward to meet him. I wanted metal fuselage between me and the sky in case he got weird and tried to chuck me out.
I pulled one of the cans off my ear. ‘Listen, this is the only way to stop them. We don’t know how much fuel they’ve got. We don’t know if we can outrun them. They might have extra tanks. We don’t know what they’re up to. We don’t know what they’re going to do when we get there. So we’ve got to stop them while we can.’
A big finger jabbed into my chest. ‘You kill Stefan …’ It pressed even harder and his face came closer. ‘I kill you.’
I let him get on with it. Now wasn’t the time. Let him make the threat. If I fucked up, we’d see. I nodded and turned back towards the open door. He was good at jabbing and doing the threats but he wasn’t exactly pushing me out of the way to take the shots himself.
I put the can back on as I reached the howling gap. ‘All sorted. Where the fuck are they?’
I was looking out as best I could, craning my neck beyond the cargo door. All I could see was clear blue sky, and ocean below.
‘They’re still half-right. They’re about half a klick forward and higher.’
‘OK.’
I hauled myself back inside. I braced my back against the fuselage opposite the opening, my knees up and my elbows just inside the creases of the knees so I didn’t have bone on bone. I wanted good firm support for the weapon. Legs pressed together, I got the butt of the AK in my shoulder. As the aircraft bumped and buffeted, I pushed the safety to first click.
I was going to have to be good. The AK was designed to deliver massive firepower by hundreds of thousands of Russians advancing over the plains of Western Europe, brassing up whatever was in their way. The AK is at its best firing short bursts on automatic at ranges below about fifty metres. Beyond that, they go wild.
The calibre of the round was in my favour. The 7.62 was designed to take an enemy down first time and keep him down. If Joe could get me in range, whatever I sent across should punch holes in the Skyvan the size of my fist.
I cocked the weapon and pulled the selector down again, onto single shot. I got back on the mike. ‘Joe, mate, you’ve got to get close and level.’
‘No problem, man. They got any weapons apart from that M4?’
‘We’ll find out soon enough. Make it look like we’re trying to push them towards the land or some shit. I need to find out exactly where the boy is on that thing.’
The revs picked up a notch and I could feel the airframe increase speed. Moments later I saw the Skyvan out of the door. It was forward of us, to the right, and higher in the clear blue sky. We were about a hundred metres away.
‘Get up more, Joe. We need to be at the same level. We need to see through those cockpit windows.’
‘They’ve seen us, Nick.’ Joe’s voice had gone up a notch too. ‘The ramp is coming down.’
24
‘Got it.’
I spotted heads on the ramp as it lowered. I lined up my eye behind the iron sights to check I could clear the left-hand side of the door.
The ramp had gone down halfway. I could see Ant and Dec’s shoulders. They were standing, and they had longs into the shoulder.
I yelled into the mike. ‘Joe! Dive! Dive!’
The engine screamed as we tipped instantly right. I struggled against the Gs as the horizon disappeared. Then I was sliding towards the door. The ocean filled the hole. The sea was rushing up to meet me.
I spread my legs, trying to get my socked feet across the airframe as some kind of brake. Both heels hit the door threshold at the same moment. I started tipping up vertically from the floor.
Joe levelled it out. I dropped back. The air stank of burnt oil. He must have taken the engine near its limits. We surged beneath the Skyvan and out of Ant and Dec’s weapon arcs.
I checked further down the fuselage. Mr Lover Man and Genghis were holding on to Tracy. Genghis lay over her feet. Mr Lover Man was at his shoulder. They must have had their work cut out keeping her in one piece while Joe did his Red Arrows bit.
I checked back through the cargo door. We were low enough to see the sea. The sun beat down on it and bounced back up into the sky. It was almost blinding.
Mr Lover Man shouted. He was glaring at me.
I gave the calm-down sign I’d been using a lot lately. ‘It’s OK, mate.’
Joe wasn’t impressed. ‘They got more than that fucking M4, man. This is what I’m going to do. I’m go
ing to get above him, come right on top of the fucker, crossing the ramp so we can get a good look inside the cockpit. If that ramp keeps open we can still see inside. You got that?’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘They’re going to be looking for us now. I’m not going to fucking hang about, man. No way. So keep sharp.’
‘I’m ready.’
‘I’ll be able to check the cockpit as I come in on top of them. That heap of shit couldn’t outrun a fucking wheelbarrow.’
The Cargomaster tipped right, and then we were suddenly climbing at forty-five degrees, gaining height as the engine screamed. Joe hurled the aircraft round in a tight turn. With blue sky and blue sea and no cloud, I had no point of reference with what was happening, apart from my stomach. I had to grab the struts on the side of the fuselage. I moved to the door, grabbed the rear of the frame with my left hand, keeping the weapon down on the floor with my right.
I saw the horizon. Then I caught a glint of silver. Joe completed his manoeuvre and the Skyvan was two hundred feet directly below us. We surged down. I felt the force of several times gravity. The engine was going ape-shit. All the loose crap inside the cargo hold flew around like slow-motion shrapnel. Some got caught in the drag of the door and was sucked out.
I felt the side of my cheek balloon as I tried to look out.
The Skyvan leapt towards us. My eyes felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets. It was like we were doing a kamikaze dive on it until we were fifty feet away, then Joe pulled the airframe left, towards the rear of the target.
He screamed into my cans, ‘The cockpit! He’s in the cockpit!’
We roared past the open ramp. Ant and Dec, still bollock naked, were kneeling on the threshold of the cargo hold. The ramp was the only protection forward of them.
A thin stream of tracer arced its way towards us. The rounds found their mark. Hot metal ripped through the Cargomaster’s floor.
Joe dived still lower.
Suddenly I was looking up at them. They were trying to move forward on the ramp, trying to get some rounds down.