Line of Fire:

by Andy McNab

  Jack might think I was paranoid, but anything online could be used as a microphone. On a phone, any mobile app with a mic option could be used as a listening device.

  The old-fashioned ways were still popular, too. From an outside wall, ultra-sensitive drills were capable of auto-stopping just as the drill bit sensed the interior paint, so when a miniature mic was inserted into the wall it couldn’t be seen from inside the building.

  There were devices that could zoom into everyday items in a target room, a bag of crisps, a sheet of paper on a desk, vibrating as a conversation took place nearby; it could be used as an amplifier to listen to what was being said. I was right to be paranoid: there was nowhere a conversation could be covert if enough effort had been put in, and we were clearly at the top of the Owl’s effort list.

  The paintings were all dark, I thought, but Rio wasn’t so restrained. He held out his hand and spun around to include them all in one question. ‘Mate, what the fuck is all this about? You been inspired by George W.? He’s just fucked everyone off and started painting to find his soul, repent for his sins or whatever.’

  Jack smiled. What did we know? We weren’t artistic and were never going to understand. He dragged himself across the room, shoulders slumped. It had nothing to do with his disability. He was physically exhausted. He put his arse on his bed and the dogs followed suit, collapsing on the floor at his feet and letting out a sigh. They’d had such a hard day, walking out to the cars.

  Rio and I sat on a grey sofa facing him. Gabe carried on making the brews, opening the cupboards, rooting around. ‘Fuck me, Jack – c’mon, where’s the biscuits?’

  He got no answer. Jack had decided to lie down, picking up his prosthetic leg and putting it down next to the good one, then pulling up his cargoes to get to the joint of metal and meat.

  I thought we needed to get down to it. ‘So, Jack, what about the house? Anything happened up there?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing. It’s not as if I go up there or my mother comes here.’ He flung out an arm and pointed at the desk. ‘Before you ask, I’ve still got control of my stick. And I’m not going to tell you where it is because none of you wants to know. But look over there, at the desk. You see how the light is coming through? I’m doing what you told me, Nick. I’m using the dust.’

  I could see Jack wasn’t one for running round with a can of Pledge, and that was a good thing. He was doing exactly what I’d said. A tiny piece of Sellotape across a door, things arranged in a certain way inside a vehicle, the position of a mouse on a mouse-pad, a hair trapped in a drawer, whatever: if they were not as you’d left them, you’d have a rethink. But you could use dust, too, to see if anyone had been messing around. Sunlight on a TV screen or shelves could show if anything had been moved.

  Jack continued as the leg came apart and he placed the amazing piece of technology beside the bed, next to the dogs. His stump wasn’t red or worn the way that Gabe’s sometimes was with his NHS special. Jack’s looked more like the neatly tied end of an uncooked sausage. ‘I don’t use any other tell-tales because I don’t go anywhere. It’s not as if I take the dogs on long walks, is it? Or go out for romantic dinners.’

  Gabe brought the mugs over to Rio and me, his face screwed up as he passed the dogs. ‘For fuck’s sake, man! Stop feeding them meat. Jesus. You can get your own brew – I’m not going back over there.’ He shook his head, as if that would save him from the gas cloud, which, no doubt, was heading our way. At least it got a smile out of Jack, who had been staring at the ceiling.

  Gabe perched himself on one of the kitchen stools dotted around the place. Jack wouldn’t have been able to stand in the same spot all day, painting all this moody shit.

  I picked up my ‘Don’t Panic, Carry on and Paint’ mug, walked over to the bed and laid an Elephant Hotel envelope on his chest.

  ‘The spare memory stick. Each of us now has her number, and a different statement to identify ourselves. Once you’ve done that, she’ll release the stick to the media. I need the paper back from you before we leave. But you’re bright. It’ll take those two longer to get it into their thick heads so they already have theirs.’

  Jack’s statement was I think my favourite colour is yellow, but judging by the canvases around the place, I should have chosen either black or navy. I headed back to the sofa, and the dogs went back into dream mode after their gas raid.

  I sat on the edge, mug on my thigh. ‘Look, the reason we’re here is that we all have to keep together and get proactive, sort it out. The way out of this shit, gents, is to get close to the Owl. Close to the power …’ I sat back, and prepared for the honk storm. ‘We need to work for him.’

  I didn’t have long to wait.

  15

  Gabe was like a big bottle of Coke a kid had dropped a Mento into, then screwed the cap back on. An explosion was imminent.

  ‘We should be staying well clear of that fuck, just keep protecting ourselves, getting on with our lives.’ He turned on Rio with an accusing finger. ‘This is your fault. SNS – shit idea. What an arsehole.’

  ‘Thank you. You need arseholes like me or you’ll never get shit done.’ Rio sat back and smiled, hoping to get even more of a honk out of Gabe. He did.

  Gabe’s finger jutted at me now. ‘You can tell the Falcon, or whatever the fuck he’s called, if he doesn’t back off …’

  Rio couldn’t help a smile and a slow nod. He liked the new name. Gabe now pointed his accuser at Jack, to make sure we were all involved. It finally came to rest on me. ‘So, you go and tell him, if he doesn’t fuck off and leave us alone, I’ll be the one on the phone talking shite to Switzerland and taking that fucking information worldwide.’

  Jack started the long procedure of getting up, and the dogs stirred too, suddenly very excited as they rolled onto their fat stomachs.

  I expected Rio to weigh in, but he said nothing and concentrated on his brew. I tried to explain, as calmly as I could: ‘We’ve been pushed into a corner. There’s only one thing to do and that’s to turn around and fight, but just with our heads.’ I held a fist at Gabe. ‘None of this – not yet, anyway.’

  I dropped my hand to the sofa and continued, trying to get my points over as quickly as I could before they all decided I was mad and started to climb aboard me. ‘The easiest way out of this is to get close to the Owl. We need to be in his tent, pissing out. All of us need to be working for him because then we show him we’re not a threat. The SNS idea is a good way of doing that.’

  Rio perked up, but I had to make one thing clear. ‘We’re not calling it that. Okay, back to it. We don’t want a repeat of last night. If one of us, or them, lands up dead it’ll mean more drama. And that is what we’re trying to avoid, more fucking drama. I think we’ve got enough for now.

  ‘Look, it’s ninety-nine point nine per cent recurring that it’s the Owl who’s fucking us about, but we don’t know for certain. That’s another reason why we should approach him – because if it isn’t, we’ve got another problem to sort out and we might need his help.

  ‘All I’m talking about is a mutual contract with him, because we need to think about this shit from his point of view. I think he’d like the idea of having us close by, having us onside. We need him to feel comfortable. We need him to feel it’s not worth his while trying to fuck us over.’

  Gabe took a breath but I pushed on. ‘At the same time, he still needs to understand that we can fuck him over. Think of it as a new Cold War. We are four independent nuclear deterrents, like four Trident subs, just floating about, not hurting anyone. We’re ready to strike if ever one of us comes under attack, right? And on top of that, each of us has access to another Trident sub that will also attack if one of us gives the order.

  ‘The Owl has two problems in getting the memory sticks back, then getting rid of us. First, he must make sure all of us are lifted at the same time so that none of us can attack by releasing the int. And second, even if he does lift us all at once he still doesn’t contro
l the memory sticks, and that’s what he wants. The sticks first, then get rid of us.

  ‘So what we’re offering is assured mutual destruction and neither side wants that, right? And, icing on the cake, we’d get paid.

  ‘Finally, what we all need is … a purpose. Look at you two.’ I pointed at Rio and Gabe. ‘You’re scrubbing around, trying to grab onto your families, or bits of them, because you want some purpose, to feel loved and respected. I get it. It’s what humans crave. But, deep down, you know that isn’t going to happen without you changing, right? Those two women, they can see when a runaway train’s coming towards them. That’s why you were out on your arses in the first place, and that’s why you’re going to be out on your arses permanently unless there are changes.’

  Jack had got himself upright on his bed, with his only foot on the floor. The dogs were at his side, tails wagging, claws scrabbling on the oak as he bent down and picked up his prosthetic.

  I nodded at him. ‘That one is wallowing in his own misery, as if he’s some kind of victim. Fuck knows what he’s got stuck in his head, but the fact is, we’re all deluding ourselves. Do sharks swim about feeling sorry for themselves? Of course they don’t. They wake up, bite shit, chase stuff, look scary, and remind everyone they’re a shark. We need to get our fingers out of our collective arses and do something. If we work for the Owl, we protect ourselves – and we get some dignity, self-respect back. I’m done with brown-nosing to bank managers. I want money in my pocket.’

  I grinned at Gabe. ‘Come on, mate, no job, no home, all you’ve got is a Jeep that stinks.’

  Rio laughed and Gabe jabbed a finger at him. ‘What you got to be so happy about? All you’ve got is some fat fuck sitting on the couch where your lard arse belongs.’

  Rio shrugged and looked at Jack. ‘At least I’m not making the world run out of black paint, like this fucker.’

  Jack had appeared depressed as he was attaching his leg, but as he stood up he was suddenly laughing so much I thought he was going to fall over. The dogs took a couple of paces back while he assessed. ‘Hmm, the Owl or my mother. Tough pick.’

  I had eye-to-eye with each of them. ‘We’ve got nothing to lose by approaching him. I’ll do that. You know, love everyone but never sell your sword, yeah?’

  Rio was the first to fire back. ‘All good, Nick, but what about you? It’s not just about bank managers, is it?’

  I shook my head. ‘Mate, I find myself back being a fifteen-year-old. Square one. I’ve got no money, I doubt if I’ve got a future. I’ve even been walking up the same fucking road towards the same house I lost my virginity in. It’s like I’ve never been away.

  ‘I look at this as an opportunity. I can’t worry about yesterday, because it’s done. I’m not going to worry about tomorrow, because it hasn’t happened yet. What I care about is today. I’m starting out again as a fifteen-year-old, but this time not fucking up.

  ‘We’ve all got to think like that, lads. Clean slate. Fresh start. It’s the only way we’re going to get out of the shit we’re in, financial, family, whatever.’

  Rio had been looking around at the canvases and I wasn’t sure if he had been listening or not. He pointed at one on an easel, with paint that looked wet. ‘Jack, talking of shit, what the fuck is that when it’s at home?’

  I looked at the swirl of black, dark blue, dark red around what I thought was a woman in a Puritan trouser suit, if there was such a thing, with a big white collar. Her mouth was oversized, protruding, like a puppet’s. In the background was what I thought was an onion. It was dark red, the layers had fallen off and were lying on the floor. The Puritan’s hands were skinny and bony and raised, as if grabbing.

  Jack came round the sofa to defend his work. ‘That’s my heart, lads.’ He tapped the canvas a couple of times with a forefinger. It echoed like a drum. ‘It’s being ripped out by this bitch or whoever.’

  Rio thought he’d got it. ‘Mate, I know the feeling. But what you’ve got to learn with women is that when they dump you—’

  Jack’s head was down, his hair falling over his face. ‘She didn’t dump me.’ He looked up again, and this time his eyes were watery. ‘She ripped me off and she ripped me apart.’

  16

  Gabe was quickest off the mark and looked like he was about to start a fight with her. ‘She nicked money?’

  ‘And then some.’ Jack’s shoulders slumped. ‘I went on a dating site. I just wanted company, someone to talk to. I’m stuck here with the dogs, not talking to my mother, so I thought, Why not give it a go?’ He tapped the canvas again and made a drumbeat. ‘Her name is Kate. Divorced. She lived in Manchester but was working in Turkey. She had a son with her, a five-year-old, with a heart condition. A genetic disorder. We hit it off. Similar values. I was upfront about my injury and she wasn’t put off. She got me to move off the site onto Snapchat. We were at it all day and night. She understood my injury because she’d been through the same sort of thing with her son’s problems.’

  He stopped and he was almost apologetic. ‘I felt I knew her so well.’

  Gabe had been nodding slowly. ‘You never met her?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Like I said, she was in Turkey. We arranged to meet. She’d come here, she said, but not with the boy to start with. We’d take it gently. But two days before she was supposed to come, she said she’d been mugged in Turkey and couldn’t make it. She had to pay for Freddie, who was now in hospital and needed surgery. He was in a bad way.’

  Jack saw everybody’s reaction. ‘I know, I know. But what do you do? I was reluctant, but I kept thinking, What happens if it’s true? This woman I feel I know so well, what happens if she really is the one for me?’

  Gabe wanted to keep this on point. ‘How much did you get fucked over for?’

  ‘Just over four grand.’

  Going by their expressions, the other two hadn’t expected it to be so little either. Nobody said anything, though. Jack was on a roll, so we’d let him get it all out. This was probably the first time he’d been able to vent since it happened.

  But Rio jumped in: ‘That’s not bad, mate. Lesson learnt, yeah, move on?’

  Jack was resting his arse on a stool by the canvas so he could adjust the leg. ‘I wish. That was the cash advance. Then came more medical fees, then it was money for food, money for rent while the boy was in hospital, money for a tax to get out of Turkey.’

  He saw our expressions. ‘I know, a tax, I know. Look, I wasn’t comfortable with it but I’d got so far in I couldn’t get myself out. I was in for over sixty grand, so I just kept going, hoping the feeling was wrong and maybe she was telling the truth. The minute I started to ask about the boy’s treatment, could I talk to the doctors, maybe get the boy repatriated, all contact stopped. I got fucked over, and all I wanted was some company. Can you believe that? Embarrassing.’

  I thought of the body standing in the window of the big house as we drove in. ‘Have you told your mother?’

  ‘You’re joking, right? She’d lap it up. She’d even smile at me having the last of my compensation ripped off me. Even more proof I’m not right in the head.’

  Rio sat back. ‘Shit, that’s harsh. All of it.’

  Gabe stood up and got Jack his brew. ‘Mate, you can have this after all. You deserve it. She send any pictures?’

  Jack pointed at the bed. ‘On the cabinet.’

  Gabe took a hobble past the recollapsed Labradors. Jack put down his mug; he wasn’t in the mood for tea. ‘I doubt they were real anyway. You know what’s really frightening? She got inside my head so quickly and easily. I must be really messed up for that to happen. I just feel so … brutalized.’

  Gabe passed the two prints to Rio, who studied the images as he made an attempt at empathy. ‘Mate, I would have shagged her. I would have fallen for it too. Us guys, we always stay with an uncomfortable lie rather than deal with a harsh truth. I read that.’

  Rio’s head jerked up. ‘In a magazine, last time you were at the c
lap clinic?’

  ‘Whatever. That’s why we’re all sitting here with just each other.’

  It was my turn for the prints. The first one showed a very attractive thirty-something with long blonde hair, perfect teeth, perfect face. The problem was, it filled the frame: no indication of where or when it was taken. It could have been lifted from a modelling-agency portfolio, she was so perfect. The other was of her cuddling the boy, who was nothing like his mother. But that was Photoshop for you. I guessed when you were desperate and lonely you didn’t bother with details. Jack had probably fantasized about this ready-made family he could look after and love. The kid being sick would only have added to the attraction. The moment the scammer found out about Jack’s injuries, they would have decided this fictional woman should have a child who was ill.

  Gabe had a plan. ‘We should find these arseholes, get Jack’s money and rip their heads off.’

  Rio was up for it. ‘But how, mate? You got some online detective superpower we don’t know about? Wind your neck in or that bald head of yours’ll get even more red and blotchy.’

  Gabe couldn’t let go entirely: ‘It’s not right – they can rip off whoever they want but not one of us.’ Then he was heading for the great outdoors.

  Rio grinned. ‘Something I said, super-detective?’

  Gabe fished a pack of cancer sticks from his pocket and gave it a shake at Jack. ‘Want one? It’s easy to start again.’

  Jack didn’t think twice as he hobbled towards the door. The two fat brown things got excited again and, very soon, their claws were clacking on the wood.

  I stood up, mug in hand. Rio looked confused. ‘Are we all taking it up?’

  I waved my hand about, as if to gather them in. ‘Wait. The reason we’re here. Am I going for it with the Owl, or aren’t I? I need to know.’

  Jack was standing there, like a junkie, waiting for his fix. Gabe tapped the pack so a cigarette fell forward. He shot me a glance. ‘It’ll end in tears, Nick. It’ll not be the answer.’