by Andy McNab
I left him to adjust himself as I took my flashlight and went outside into the garage for a couple of shovels, one a big trough-type one, used for clearing pathways of snow, the other a normal building-site job. I dumped them on the table and the flashlight went into my snow pants pocket.
Val was trying to work out what I was up to. He was looking at me in the same way as his woman had done in the hotel, as if there was no danger and nothing was happening that might affect him. He appeared to think he was just a neutral observer.
I started ransacking the cupboards, looking for thermoses and food. I was out of luck. It looked as if we'd both had our last hot drink and cracker for a while.
I picked up my mug and downed the last of the coffee as I walked over to him. I put his mug in his hand and indicated that he should do the same. He was soon busy maneuvering his head around the post to meet his hands while I took candles and matches from the cupboard under the sink and threw them into one of the bags.
Once I'd stuffed the comforters on top and done up the zip, I cut him free, motioning him to put the bag on his back. He knew what I meant and used the two handles as if they were straps on a knapsack.
I put on my black woolen hat and ski gloves, then picked up the shovels from the table and used them to guide him out of the door. I walked behind, hitting the light switch. I left the scanner on the table. It would give our position away to use it out there.
I held him as I got the keys from the Volvo. It was my only transport out of here and I wanted to make sure it stayed that way. Once through the garage door we followed the well-worn track in the snow toward the lakeshore. It was pitch-black out here and bitterly cold. The wind was much stronger now, swirling snow stung my cheeks as we moved forward. The helis wouldn't be up around here in this wind.
5
A small Wooden hut housing the wood-burning sauna stood about one hundred feet away along the frozen lakeshore. Beyond it was a wooden jetty, which stood about three feet above the ice.
The Chechen was still ahead of me, leaning into the wind and half turning from the waist to protect his face from the driving snow. He stopped when he got to the sauna, perhaps expecting me to motion him inside. Instead, I sent him round to the right. He obediently stepped out a few feet or so along the jetty.
"Whoa. Stop there," I shouted. "Stop, stop, stop."
He turned round, and I pointed with my pistol down at the frozen lake.
He looked at me quizzically.
"Down there. On the ice, on the ice."
Very slowly, he got down and sat in the snow, then rolled over, tentatively prodding the ice to make sure it would take his weight. I knew it would. I'd been messing about on it for the last two weeks.
Once he was standing I got him to move out of reach while I clambered down, in case he decided he'd had enough of this game and wanted to play stealing cars and driving home.
Prodding him along the ice with the shovels I paralleled the lakeshore.
By taking this route we wouldn't leave any sign from the house, but it meant we were more exposed to the wind. It was just a matter of leaning into it until we'd covered the five hundred feet to the treeline. Once there, we carried on for a bit before I gave him another shout.
He turned again, awaiting new instructions, his head tilted against the wind screaming across the lake. I could hear his labored breathing and just make out the shape of his face as I pointed at the trees to our right. He turned toward them and started to move as the wind buffeted the backs of our jackets.
The snow was no problem at first, no more than about two feet deep, but soon it was up to our waists. He did all the work plowing through it; I just followed in his wake as his boots crunched down until they met compacted surface, lifted up and did the same thing all over again.
We moved another hundred and fifty feet about thirty feet inside the treeline and that was enough. We were in direct line of sight of the house.
Having spent my childhood in South London projects, to me the countryside had always been just a green place full of animals that hadn't yet been frozen or cooked. I hadn't been into all the trapping stuff I was taught while in the Regiment. In fact, I'd forgotten most of it. I'd never felt the need to run around in a hat made out of freshly skinned rabbit. Building shelters, however, was a skill I did keep tucked away somewhere in the back of my head. I vaguely remembered that there would be spaces beneath the spreading boughs of the evergreens at snow level.
Finding what seemed the biggest tree in the forest, I rammed the large shovel into the snow just short of where the lowest branches disappeared. Moving back out of the way so he couldn't hit me with it, I motioned for Val to take off the bag. No problem from him on that one. Then I gave him the other spade.
Val didn't need any further encouragement. The wind was blowing hard, flattening my jacket against my body, and if we were to stay alive out here we had to get out of it soon. The ambient temperature was low enough as it was, but the effect of wind chill took it well below freezing. He might have been wearing a dinner jacket earlier on and heading for a night at the theater, but he was obviously no stranger to physical labor. You can always tell whether someone's used to a shovel.
He worked efficiently, not tearing the ass out of it, obviously knowing better than to let himself break out in a sweat and have it freeze on him later. After a while he stopped digging, got on his knees and started to scoop out snow with his gloved hands; then he disappeared into the cave. A few minutes later, he turned and stuck his head out. I thought I could just about make out the hint of a proud smile from under his hat.
I waved him back inside, throwing the bag in with him. Before I joined him I pulled back the index Finger of my right-hand glove, pushing my trigger finger through the slit. I'd prepared this one just like the leather pair for the buildup.
I followed him head first, with the 88 up, hitting the flashlight button once in cover. The shelter could have taken three people kneeling; once in, I slid round and landed up on my ass with the pistol in the aim. I put the flashlight in my mouth.
For him, it was bondage time again. Pulling a set of plasticuffs from my pocket, I stuck the pistol into his neck, twisting it into his skin this time. I plasticuffed his left hand to the branch above him. Snow fell on us as I ratcheted the plastic tight We both shook our heads, trying to get it off our faces. With his arm now strapped above his head, Val sat there looking like a gibbon as I got out a candle and matches. The candle provided more light than it would normally have, thanks to the reflection from the brilliant white walls. I crawled back to the entry point, pulled in the shovels and used one to pile snow across the gap. It would keep out the wind.
It was time to get everything else sorted. I emptied the contents of the bag and started to spread out the comforters on the ground.
Contact with the snow would conduct heat away from our bodies about twenty times faster than if we sat on the bedding.
Next, I smoothed out the sides of our hole with a gloved hand so that, as heat rose, the melting snow didn't form drip points and fall on us like rain. That done, I dug a small channel around the edge so that whatever did start to melt would run down the sides and refreeze there.
In situations like this, five percent extra effort always leads to fifty percent more comfort.
The wind was no longer the prominent noise. The rustling of nylon clothing and both of us sniffing or coughing had taken over.
The cave was beginning to look like a steam room as our breath hung in clouds in the confined space. Using the grip end of a shovel, I dug a small tunnel. I needed to be able to see out toward the house, and we needed ventilation. The candlelight wouldn't be seen directly from the house as it was low down and in an alcove; I just had to hope the ambient glow wasn't bright enough to be seen either, because there was no way we could do without it. Even the small amount of heat from a candle flame can help bring the temperature up to freezing point.
On my knees, I looked toward the house-well
, it was out there in the darkness somewhere. Even with this amount of clothing on and some insulation beneath me, my body was still cold because we weren't moving. I readjusted my position so that I was comfortable and could still see outside. Val continued to study me.
At least two very cold, boring hours must have passed with me listening to the wind and Val constantly fidgeting to get feeling back into his arm, when all of a sudden he said, "The Maliskia must have offered you quite a sizable amount of money to keep me alive. I am obviously more of a threat to them than I thought."
I spun round in amazement.
It was a very confident, clear voice. He was smiling. He obviously liked my reaction. "Now that you are alone, I should imagine it will be quite difficult to get me out of the country, to wherever it is the Maliskia want you to take me." He paused. "St. Petersburg, perhaps?"
I stayed silent. He was right: I was in the shit.
"You have a name, I presume?"
I shrugged. "It's Nick."
"Ah, Nicholas. You're British?"
"Yeah, that's right." I turned back to the house.
"Tell me, Nicholas, what did the Maliskia offer you? One million U.S.?
Let me tell you, I am worth considerably more than that to them. What is one million? It wouldn't even buy a decent apartment in London. I know, I have three."
I carried on looking out of the hole. "I don't know who or what the Maliskia are; they sound Russian, but I was employed in London."
He laughed. "London, New York, it doesn't matter. It was them. They would very much like to have a meeting with me."
"Who are they?"
"The same as me, but infinitely more dangerous, I can assure you." He got up onto his knees and a small shower of ice fell as the branch moved.
I couldn't imagine anyone being more dangerous. Russian Organizatsiya (ROC) were spreading their operations around the world, growing faster than any crime organization in the history of mankind. From prostitution to blackmail, bombing hotels to buying Russian Navy submarines to smuggle drugs, all the different gangs and splinter groups were infiltrating nearly every country to the tune of billions of dollars. These people were making so much money it made Gates and Turner look like welfare cases. With that much money and power at stake, I was sure there would be the odd disagreement between different groups.
There was silence for a while as I kept a trigger on the house, then Val spoke again. "Nick, I have a proposition that I think will appeal to you."
6
I didn't respond, just kept my eyes on the house.
"It's a very simple proposition: Release me, and I will reward you handsomely. I have no idea what your plan is now. Mine, however, is to stay alive and at liberty. I am willing to pay you for that."
I turned to look at him. "How? There's nothing in your wallet but photographs."
He tutted, a father addressing a wayward son. "Nick, correct me if I'm wrong, but now that your plan has failed, I imagine you would like to get away from this country as quickly as you can. Release me, return to London and then I will get you the money. One of my apartments is in the name of Mr. P. P. Smith." He smiled; the name seemed to amuse him. "The address is 3A Palace Gardens, Kensington. Would you like me to repeat that?"
"No, I've got it."
I knew the area. It fitted the bill. It was full of Russians and Arabs, people with so much money they owned apartments worth millions and only used them once in a blue moon.
"Let's say that in two days' time, and for the next seven days after that, from noon till four p.m." there will be somebody at that address. Go there and you will receive one hundred thousand dollars U.S."
A drop of melted ice hit me on the cheek. I took a handful of snow from the tunnel and ran it over the drip point, my mood as black as the night I was staring into. What the fuck was I doing freezing in this snow hole? I had half a million dollars sitting here with me, from doing something the Firm (Secret Intelligence Service/ SIS would have paid me a couple of hundred a day for. But I couldn't get at it. My only hope of ever seeing it was Sergei, and fuck knew where he was.
Val knew when to talk and when to shut up and let people think, I went back to watching the house for another hour or so, getting even more cold and miserable.
I was slowly convincing myself that, if Sergei didn't make an appearance, I should take my chances with Val in London. Why not? It wasn't as if I had anything to lose, and I was desperate for the paycheck.
I could only hear the faint noise of the engine at first. It was tucked into the trees somewhere on the track and fighting to be heard above the wind. Then headlights appeared out of the treeline, heading toward the house. The noise got louder as it moved along the track. It was a 4x4 in low ratio. Sergei? It was impossible to tell if it was the Nissan from this distance.
Val had also heard it, and was keeping still so his jacket didn't rustle and drown out the noise.
I watched the headlights briefly illuminate the front of the house before turning into the garage and cutting out.
I heard just one door slam and my eyes moved to the windows. I saw nothing.
I slid over to Val. Passively, he let me check his plasticuffs. They were secure; he wasn't going anywhere unless he happened to have a chainsaw hidden inside his coat. All the same, I wished I'd brought some tape to cover his mouth in case he decided to shout for help. It wasn't until I blew out the candle, so he couldn't use it to burn the cuffs off, and started to push my way out of the snow, that he sparked up. "Nick?"
I stopped but didn't turn. "What?"
"Think about what I have said as you go to meet your friends. My offer is infinitely more profitable for you, and, may I say, safer."
"We'll see." I pushed myself out into the wind and was very much thinking about it, glad that Val wasn't going to scream and shout out.
He knew what was happening. If it was Sergei at the house, Val could forget his offer. By the morning we would be in St. Petersburg and I'd have my money and be on my way back to London.
As I retraced my route the wind was blowing head on, making my eyes stream. I could feel my tears turn to ice. I listened to the trees creak in the gale. Snow, whipped into a frenzy, attacked the exposed skin around my neck and face as I tried to focus on the house and surrounding area.
Kicking on about sixty feet, I checked the house again. The upstairs lights were on now, but there was still no movement inside. Moving off once more, I tried not to get too euphoric about the prospect of Sergei being there, but the feeling that this job could soon be over made the wind seem marginally less powerful.
Once below the sauna, on the lake, I pulled my trigger finger from its glove and pulled out the 88. It was far too dark to see with the naked eye, so I checked chamber with my exposed finger and ensured the mag was on tight, then climbed up onto the bank and moved forward in a semi crouch until I got to the garage entrance.
I was eager to make contact with Sergei, but had to take things slowly.
Only when I actually saw him would I feel safe.
I stood and listened at the garage door, not hearing anything apart from the sound of the wind bouncing it backward against the lock.
Keeping to the right of the frame, I pulled the metal handle down and the wind did the rest, forcing it inward. Fortunately, the bottom scraped along the ground, preventing it from crashing into the woodpile.
On my hands and knees in the snow, I eased my head round the bottom of the door frame.
The Nissan was parked the other side of the Volvo, the light from the ground-floor window reflecting off its roof. Things were looking up, but I'd have to wait a while before jumping with joy.
I moved into the garage and checked that no one was still in the Nissan. Then I pushed the door to, feeling warmer out of the wind.
The entrance to the house was closed, but the warm glow from the window was enough for me to be seen if anyone came out of it.
I moved to the right of the frame, pushing my ear against the door.
I couldn't hear a thing. I moved to the other side of the Nissan and looked in through the window. There was no need to get right up to the glass to see in; it's always best to stay back and use the available cover.
My heart sank. Carpenter. Still dressed in his suit, but now without a tie or overcoat, he was taking pills from a small tin and swallowing them, shaking his head violently to force them down. His mini-Uzi was exposed, rigged up over his jacket and dangling under his right arm, with the harness strap bunching up the material where it crossed his back.
He moved about the room with no apparent purpose, sometimes out of view. Then I saw he had Val's duct tape and ball gag wrapped in his massive hand. He brought them up to his face for a moment, and, realizing their significance, hurled them to the ground. Then he started lifting chairs and smashing them against the walls, kicking our overcoats about the room like a two-year-old in a tantrum.
It wasn't hard to work out what was going through his mind. He'd decided that I had left with Val for the border, leaving him in the lurch. Fair one; I'd think the same. No wonder he was chucking his toys out of the stroller.
The table followed the chairs as the combination of narcotics and rage started to fuck with his head. There was no reason to consider my options; he had just made up my mind for me. Moving back to the outer door, I left him to it.
Checking back every thirty feet as I crossed the frozen lake, after several minutes I saw headlights in the darkness, heading away from the house and back toward the treeline. What the fuck was Carpenter up to?
He probably didn't even know himself.
With legs apart and slightly bent to keep myself stable in the gusts, I stood and watched until the lights disappeared into the night. It was very tempting to go back and wait in the house, but Carpenter might return and complicate matters, and anyway, there was still the police to worry about.