Crisis Four ns-2

by Andy McNab

  I started a low moaning noise that I couldn't stop. I slowly, slowly rolled my head to find her. She was crouched over Davy. His ID was now around her neck; at a casual glance she would look part of the environment.

  Her loafers tiptoed around him, avoiding the blood, then took the pistol from his belt and the two mags from their carrier.

  I didn't want her to know that I was still alive. I lay as motionless as I could, eyes closed, trying to stifle my own moaning. It wasn't working.

  I sensed her standing over me. I opened my eyes. She was just too far away for me to reach her, even if I'd been able to.

  She looked at her watch and then at me. The weapon came up and stopped in line with her eyes. For the first time in my life I thought of someone I would miss, and I decided that my last thought would be about Kelly. I looked at Sarah and waited. There was a delay, but no emotion, no explanation. Then she said, "You have a child now. I hope you live long enough to see her." She lowered the weapon, checking her watch again as she walked away.

  The tumbler was turned and the door opened. I tried to shout, but it didn't happen. The only sound that came out was a weak rasp.

  "Fuck you!" Blood sprayed out of my mouth. She glanced down at me, no reaction in her eyes.

  There was a pause as she checked outside, then the door closed quietly.

  She was gone.

  The pain was intensifying. I looked around frantically for a panic button or a phone, but I couldn't see too well, things were getting hazy. Two others left to kill Arafat? My ass; it had been her all along. How the fuck did I not see it?

  Being curled up in a ball on the floor wasn't going to do me or the VIPs any good. I needed to do something, even if it didn't work. As I died, I would at least know that I'd tried to right my fuckup.

  My vision was starting to blur. I was taking short, sharp breaths, and my stomach muscles were tensing of their own accord. I moved my hand over a hole in my belly the size of a five-pence piece and plugged it with my thumb. At least I didn't have to worry about an exit wound; I knew it was subsonic ammunition for the silenced Chinese thing. The round would still be kicking around inside me somewhere.

  I dragged myself toward the door, through a pool of Davy's blood, which had started to ooze across the lino, and I was just about to pull myself up to open it when it swung inward and connected with my skull.

  Curled up again in pain as more sparks flashed up in my head, I was just about switched on enough to know that I was stopping the door from opening fully.

  Encountering resistance, whoever it was got their body weight behind the door and pushed hard. I was shunted along the floor until they could get in.

  It was Sarah again. She didn't talk, just closed the door behind her.

  Then, grabbing hold of my feet and avoiding the blood, she started to drag me facedown across the room, grunting with the effort.

  I felt as if I had a magnesium incendiary burning in my stomach. I tried to keep tensed up, and all I could see was a dark trail of blood where my body had just been.

  After four or five paces she dropped my feet on the floor. I moaned as I curled up, trying to reduce the pain as she aimed her pistol at the door.

  It opened. Josh had good news.

  "Hey, guys, it looks like we're going to " I tried to shout a warning, but nothing came. The expression on his face was of utter shock and disbelief, his eyes looking even wider behind his lenses. Sarah was in front of him in a perfect firing position, calmly pointing at his center mass. People take a while for this kind of information to sink in, especially if they're not expecting it, but Josh was catching on fast.

  Sarah maintained her very cool, controlled voice.

  "Close the door, Josh."

  His eyes flicked between the two of us, took in Davy's prostrate body, then mine, and finally settled on the pistol, no doubt trying to work out how the fuck she'd brought it in.

  "Close the door, Josh."

  If Josh was scared, he wasn't showing it. He was taking in all the information;

  without saying a word, he did as he was told and then stood stock still, showing Sarah his hands.

  She said, "You will now turn around and put your hands on your head."

  He knew the routine. If you've got your back to the person who's pointing the pistol at you, you can't assess what's going on.

  "Move out of the blood, then down onto your knees."

  Once you're on your knees, you're very vulnerable.

  She had more instructions.

  "With your left hand, using your thumb and forefinger, take your weapon out. Do it now."

  I was helpless, just a curled-up bundle of shit. I heard voices in the corridor.

  I recognized the loud Hispanic accents of the two white-shoed women, walking from the direction of the fire doors. Sarah quickly checked her watch again.

  Should I call out? I didn't have the strength. They wouldn't hear me. I looked over at Josh, who I could see side-on. He was considering the same option.

  He wasn't flapping as he obeyed her, his finger and thumb on the pistol grip.

  "I'm taking it out now, Sarah."

  "Good, Josh. Now put it on the floor behind you."

  Keeping his right hand on his head, he flicked the weapon behind him onto the lino. I could see the sweat coming down from his bald head onto his face and the wet patches in the armpits of his jacket as he raised his arm again. Fear is a good thing, there's nothing wrong with that, it's a natural reaction; you've just got to be able to control it. He'd been here before and knew what to do.

  For a moment I had the strange feeling that I was in an audience, looking at actors on a stage. I knew exactly what would be going through Josh's mind. He'd be wondering how he was going to get out of this, and just waiting for the chance to do something about it anything.

  Blood is the same as milk. Drop a carton on the floor and it looks as if three have been emptied. Davy's blood had spread outward and was mixing with mine around my face. I didn't have the energy or inclination to move, I just spat from time to time to try and keep it from going in my mouth.

  Sarah threw Josh's weapon the length of the bowling alley and the clatter echoed around the walls. She checked her watch once more.

  "OK, Josh, this is what you will do. Are you listening?"

  He nodded.

  "You will take me to the Diplomatic Reception Room. You will be my escort. Do you understand?"

  He was very calm as he answered, "I can't do that."

  Americans have this wonderful total conviction about themselves and their country. Even when they're up to their necks in ten types of shit they have this unshakeable belief that everything will be all right, that America is behind them and the Seventh Cavalry will come over the hill at any moment.

  After being captured during the Gulf War, as opposed to asking for things, American prisoners would demand them--they just knew they were on the winning side. In the Regiment, you always knew that if you were in the shit you would never be left behind, and that was sometimes the only thing that helped you through, but the Americans believe that at a national level. I wished I had their confidence.

  Sarah couldn't quite believe what she'd heard.

  "What?"

  Josh said simply, "I will not do that."

  There was a pause, and I watched Sarah's face for a reaction. It wasn't long coming.

  "Josh, you've got some thinking to do, and not a long time to do it in. Think about your children. This is no time to mess about with your family, Josh. Take me to that room or you will die. I've got nothing to lose, I'm going to be dead soon anyway." She had certainly listened to my brief on how to get Josh to do want she wanted. She checked her watch. If she needed to get to the Diplomatic Reception Room before the end of the coffee break, there wasn't much time left.

  "They're great kids. Josh, and they need you. You're all they have left.

  Besides," she smiled her curious little smile, "you could even try to stop me. You can't do
that if you're dead. I'm either going with you, or on my own, with you dead--in ten, Josh."

  I saw his chest rise and fall as his body took in more oxygen to suppress the shock it was experiencing. I could only guess what he was thinking:

  Do I die now? Or do I accept what she's saying, and try to prevent it on the way? At least then I'm going to be alive for a little longer.

  I had blood in my throat and my voice was hoarse as I said, "Take her, Josh. Just do it."

  He looked at me and our eyes locked. I could see for sure what he was thinking now: You fucking asshole. No matter if I had known what she was going to do or not, to him I was now the world's biggest bastard.

  Fair one.

  I looked up at Sarah as she gave the final warning.

  "It's make-your mind-up time." She didn't have long until the coffee break ended.

  He looked at the wall, thought for a few seconds more, and quietly said,

  "OK."

  "If you try to fuck with me, Josh, know this: I will kill you before anyone has time to react. I don't want your president. I just want the other two. But if you fuck with me ... do you understand me?"

  He closed his eyes and nodded. When he opened them again he fixed them on mine. I hoped my eyes were saying: I didn't know this was going to happen, mate, and I'm sorry, so sorry.

  But his expression told me it was a bit late for that.

  Now that she was going to have an escort, Sarah took off Davy's ID card and put her own one back on. That was detail, and detail counts.

  She said, "Let's go."

  She stepped back from the door as Josh walked toward it.

  "My weapon might be hidden, Josh, but at the slightest sign that you're fucking with me I'll ensure that I get you first."

  He nodded, looked back at me and walked out.

  She followed without giving me a second glance.

  Everything was out of focus; my head was spinning. I was losing too much blood. Between us, Davy and I had the lino pretty much covered.

  But now wasn't the time to worry about that; I had to accept that I'd been shot, and get on with it.

  struggled onto my hands and knees, sucked in a couple of deep breaths and started to crawl over toward the abandoned ID card. Every movement was agony. With each bend of a knee or stretch of an arm I felt as if a red-hot saw was working on my stomach. It took me what felt like forever to cover the ten or so feet. My head was swimming as I tried to pull the nylon loop over my head without disturbing the injury in my guts.

  When I'd finally finished, I couldn't even remember why I'd done it.

  I began crawling to the door, coughing, spitting lumps of blood, moaning to myself like a drunk in the gutter, my clothes, face and hair soaked with my blood and Davy's.

  On my knees, I fumbled with the handle like a panicking child. It was a normal knob, with the tumbler lock in the middle, but I couldn't make my hands work. My fingers weren't listening to my brain, or maybe it was just that they were too slippery with warm red fluid.

  I knew what I was trying to do, but I couldn't accomplish it. Maybe it's true that your life can flash before you as you die. I was suddenly looking down a long tunnel, to when I was about six years old and fell through a glass roof into a garage. I'd been with a gang of older boys, running across the roof as an initiation test. I hit the ground, cut and bruised, and had to fight with the door bolt to escape. I was so scared that I couldn't make any

  sense out of how to pull the fucking thing across, and once I'd gone through all that, there was no way I was going to show them how much it hurt. They let me join their gang.

  My hands started to shake as they slithered around the door handle. I was losing it. I knew I was going to die soon. I didn't care; I just didn't want it to happen until I'd at least tried to stop Sarah.

  I forced myself to calm down, take deep breaths and tell myself what I needed to do, just as I'd done back in that garage. It worked.

  "Help ... help me ..." I tried to shout, but could only manage a weak splutter. Not surprisingly, nothing happened.

  I couldn't just lie there in the doorway and wait. Pressing myself against the frame I scrabbled and pushed myself upright and, head reeling, I half turned, half fell into the corridor. I bent over, leaning against the wall for support, my left hand clutching my stomach. Blood smeared along the white plaster as I stumbled toward Crisis Four.

  She didn't have far to go. If Josh fucked up and got zapped, she'd just have to follow those TV cables and she'd be there.

  My only hope was to find TO. Anyone would be a start. I focused hard.

  There was no red light on outside Crisis Four. Shit. I started to look for a fire alarm, though at that moment I didn't think I'd recognize one if it hit me in the face.

  I felt my reserves of strength ebbing by the second as I swiped the ID card through the machine and tumbled through the door.

  There was a picture on every screen, but they were moving in a slow spin, like a kaleidoscope. I started crawling again.

  I didn't know how I got to TC's chair, let alone off the floor and into it.

  All I knew was that, as I tried with every ounce of whatever strength I had left to focus on the screens, I could see her.

  Sarah and Josh had just come out of the kitchen area. The ERT guy hadn't moved from the area of the brown screens and just turned toward them as they appeared.

  Spitting out the blood and mucus that was gathering in my throat, I hit the microphone switch.

  "Mayday, mayday. Black man, white woman on the first floor. Mayday, mayday ..." I didn't know if it would mean anything to them, but I hoped they'd get the idea.

  There was no reaction from the ERT guy. Then all three slipped out of focus and became a blur. I screwed my eyes shut and opened them again, spitting out another mouthful of crap onto the desk.

  Refocusing, I could see the ERT guy motioning to them to either move out toward the staircase or go back into the kitchen. I lifted my head to look at the picture above, which was showing what was happening on the other side of the brown screens. There were a few people in plain clothes at the far end, but no reaction from them either.

  Fuck it! I tried again.

  "All stations, all stations ..." then stopped, my head resting next to the base of the microphone. The red light wasn't on.

  I started leaving bloodstains over as many buttons as I could reach, wishing I'd taken notice of which ones TO had hit when he turned off the speaker.

  I got a light.

  "Mayday, mayday .. . first floor, first floor. Mayday, mayd--" The ERT guy was switched on and responded immediately, moving toward them.

  Sarah was quicker. She must have seen his face react to the message from his earpiece. She drew her weapon, instinctively aiming from the stomach as soon as it was free of her waistband. Josh dived on her, but too late. She fired.

  The ERT guy dropped like a bag of shit. Then, within a second of the struggle, so did Josh. Fuck, what had I done?

  Sarah turned and ran as the corridor filled with blurred figures in plain clothes and black uniforms.

  The cameras were now cutting from location to location as the main control room tried to get a fix on her as she disappeared off the screen. I knew where she was going.

  I swiveled around on the chair, and with my left hand on my gut, forced myself to my feet. The door shimmered in front of my eyes as if I were looking through a heat haze. I staggered into the corridor. I didn't look around, just turned right and faced the fire doors.

  There couldn't have been much of the stuff left to be pumped around, but adrenaline was getting me up and moving.

  She'd be here soon. The Secret Service would bring the principals down to the shelter until everything was clear, and she'd aim to cut them off.

  I crashed through the two doors and looked up just as Sarah was taking her last steps down the spiral stairs. She was going shit or bust, head down, pistol in hand.

  I couldn't think of anything else to do but throw
myself at her in some sort of rugby tackle. Perhaps it would have helped if I'd ever played a game of rugby.

  I collapsed against her, throwing my arms around her waist and linking them together behind her back as her momentum propelled me backward into the swing doors.

  She was still moving, taking me with her, cracking me on the head with her pistol. By now I really couldn't feel that much. My arms slipped down to her legs and she started to fall with me.

  The fire doors flew open again as we burst through. We both hit the ground and the doors swung back, trapping my lower legs.

  She was stretched out, her back on the floor, and I was wrapped in a mess around her feet. I could make out the pistol was still in her hand.

  My guts wrenched and screamed as I kicked my legs free from the doors and scrambled up her body, slapping my hand down heavily on her forearm to hold the weapon down. She kicked and bucked to try and get me off her. She was like an insect on its back, frantic to get upright.

  I became aware of screaming, shouting and heavy footsteps echoing around the area, but it was as if a mute button had been hit, and everything was happening a long way away.

  I didn't care where the noise was coming from. All that mattered was her left hand, which was going for Davy's pistol now that she couldn't use hers. I could feel it in her waistband as I moved farther up her body.

  Her resistance got stronger; it was as if she were having some sort of fit, her head and body thrashing from side to side.

  I put all my weight on her. It wasn't that difficult, I was fucked. Her hand struggled to work its way between us toward the weapon. Our heads were so close together that I could feel her breath on my face. I had to head-butt her, there was no other way. She reacted noisily. The three times I made contact, I heard the back of her head bounce off the floor. It was messy, but it slowed her up.

  My head now hurt almost as much as my stomach. I was in shit state.

  Keeping my forehead pushed against hers, blood dripping from my mouth and nose, I prized the gun out of her grip as she tried to clear her nose and mouth.

  I rammed the barrel into her windpipe and looked at her, my forehead still putting pressure on hers. She didn't return my stare as I tried to focus, just closed her eyes and tensed her body as she waited for death. Our bodies rose and fell with her labored breathing as the doors were kicked open and I began to make sense of the shouting from behind me.