by Andy McNab
Tailgate peered at his watch, then grabbed the empty Ripcurl. He checked safe and slid his Vector inside. Then, keeping the zip open, he checked that the spare mag was tucked into his cargo pockets and concealed. He leant towards the doors. It had to be a recce of the caravan site. Good skills again. The exfil stage was always a nightmare: a good commander knew he had to grip his team to make sure everything was done correctly because this phase was more dangerous than the infil and doing the job.
Phoenix carried on: ‘If you don’t make it back in time, the embassy will be at the emergency pick-up at zero three hundred hours every twenty-four hours for five days. You got that?’
I knew I had, and Tailgate gave a nod.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll wait in-country – we’re not going to leave you here. We all go home together.’
Tailgate waddled across to the side door on his knees. Phoenix gave the cab panel a couple of knocks and we slowed. A few seconds later we came to a gentle stop.
Tailgate nodded – ‘It’s all good’ – at Phoenix, cut the Maglite and slid the door back. Simultaneously, the passenger door in the cab opened. I saw a fuzzy shape in the gloom that must have been Foma closing the cab door, then standing off the gravel layby in the treeline with his Vector at his side. That went inside the Ripcurl as Tailgate joined him, and Phoenix slid the door closed. The VW rumbled along the tarmac as Yulia hit the Maglite once more.
We took a sharper left and were soon bouncing up and down on rough ground. No doubt the recce would be taking place now. Foma would be checking out the campsite. He wouldn’t be going through the main gate – he’d probably go in through a hedge, look and listen. Tailgate would have his back. Were there people in cars? People doing walk-pasts of the caravans? Was there sign in the dew going backwards and forwards near their two caravans, or even below the windows, when everywhere else at that time of the morning was untouched? They would look, move another bound, look, move another bound, look, move, then probably leave via the reception area, checking that out as well. Then they’d try to check the road. Speed was of the essence and there was a lot to do, but clearly they knew what they were about.
The campsite was a known location, and they’d have to factor in the possibility that it was covered now that they’d been compromised. That was what I would have done.
The van stopped again on the rough track, wherever that was, and this time the engine went off and they kept silent. Phoenix hit the Maglite button, putting us in darkness to make sure he wasn’t bathed in light if the door had to be opened and the Vector had to come up into his shoulder to take on whatever was out there.
I listened to the engine settle down and stop its little taps as it cooled. Soon Phoenix was satisfied there had been enough silence and the light came back on.
‘Okay, the caravan site.’ He pointed at 007. ‘Stay with him in here at all times. The rest of us will pack. I want to be in and out of there in minutes. All weapons will be concealed in the bags at all times. What the Brits see is just another day. Understand?’
007 nodded and there was a grunt from the front.
‘Once we’re packed, we leave for the pick-up point. No speeding, no violations. The embassy will take care of the vehicle and the weapons. Once we’re picked up, mission over, we’re on our way home.’
007 looked down at me, happy that we were all going home together. Then he put a damper on it. ‘If we’re attacked, what about him? Do I kill him and fight with you all?’
Phoenix saw the horror on Yulia’s face. ‘It’s okay.’ He rested a hand on her arm for comfort, then got back to 007. ‘I’ll tell you if things are going wrong. And then I’ll tell you what I want you to do about it.’
Phoenix raised his voice so that the guy in the front could listen. ‘Brief your partners when you get back.’ As he pointed at Yulia, the driver made an ‘understood’ tap against the cab panel and 007 nodded.
Phoenix spoke very clearly, very slowly, his voice softened from command to request for her. ‘We will drop you off at Reception, then go on to the caravans.’ He paused so Yulia had time to understand what was being said. After all, she wasn’t a Wolf. He gave it another second. ‘Maybe no one will be at Reception – it’s too early. But if someone is there, we may need your English again.’ He dug into his jeans, held up a set of keys and dangled them in front of her face. ‘If the place is empty, put these into the returned keys box. Write a nice note for them saying we had to go back to work early. Okay?’
Phoenix waited for Yulia to nod. ‘Tell them we had a wonderful time and will be back as soon as we can because the surf here is so good. Okay?’
Yulia took the keys but it clearly wasn’t okay. ‘How will we be able to pack up if I’ve got the keys to the caravans? If we just leave and don’t pay, won’t they call the police?’
Phoenix smiled. ‘We’ve all got keys. We had copies made because we all must have them. And the British, they always want everything paid in advance. They mistrust people even more than we do. Okay, so you know what to do?’
Yulia wrapped the keys inside a bony fist. The foreign baristas going back to their coffee machines.
That sorted out some of my guesswork. But fuck that. The embassy sorting out the VW and the weapons? I was actually witnessing an act of war between two sovereign states for the second time in less than two months.
No wonder the Owl was all over this like a wet dress – but why use us? That worried me. But unless I got away from this team – with Yulia – I wouldn’t have to worry too much about anything because I’d be fucked.
Phoenix checked his watch and banged against the cab panel. A couple of seconds later the engine turned over.
42
We drove in complete silence. Everybody in the van knew what he or she was doing and how it was happening, apart from me. 007 adjusted himself again over my hands. He was probably as uncomfortable as I was, but without the pain.
After a while, the vehicle came to a halt and Phoenix slid open the side door. Tailgate jumped in with the weapons bag and I heard the door click in the front cab as Foma joined his battle partner. There was no need for any big briefing. All Phoenix got was a nod as Tailgate resumed his position at the back, knees up and resting, as the van moved off. 007 tried to feel he was part of it, adjusting himself to face him and waffling at warp speed about ‘the plan’.
It was only now that I noticed Tailgate’s nails or, rather, the lack of them. They were bitten to the quick, which was unusual for a lad so into his body.
Maybe five minutes later the VW slowed almost to a halt before turning sharp right, then rolling for maybe another fifteen metres or so, stopping with the engine running.
Phoenix stooped at the hatch and peered ahead through the windscreen, then turned back to Yulia. ‘Wait outside and we’ll pick you up – okay?’ Once she’d nodded, he turned and got a hand on the sliding door, using the other to give her a pat on the back. ‘Well done – we’ll be home soon.’
The sliding door was pulled open and the slivers of first light exposed the line of cars by Reception where my team had parked up during the follow. With a guiding hand, he eased her out of the van.
That was good: it meant I just had to get myself free instead of having to drag her out of the immediate danger area as well.
The door was pulled back, and the van rumbled to the right and down the road past the play park. It pulled a sharp left and I knew it was time to focus. We stopped and I heard the handbrake go on, the engine turned off, and silence reigned until birds, doing their early-morning thing, filled the void. Phoenix had got up and was peering through the hatch, probably rechecking that no dew had been disturbed around the caravans and that no one was in any of the cars. Not because he didn’t trust his team, but if the recce had been compromised, the Wolves could have been entering a world of shit as they climbed out.
Phoenix stayed where he was at the hatch and, after maybe thirty seconds, he turned his head to the side so he could address both groups.
‘Remember – a normal day. If the giveaways are not there, we just turn and leave. Weapons only to come out on my order.’ He pointed at 007. ‘Remember, he stays alive. I’ll tell you when he doesn’t need to.’
Phoenix opened the side door gently and I heard the doors opening in the cab too. He stepped out, looking around casually but carefully as he waited for Tailgate to disembark with the weapons bag, then closed the door, shutting out those first slivers of light. We were back in the gloom but some feeble light now penetrated from the hatch.
The team had gone and 007’s body language said he was pissed off he wasn’t with them. He wanted to be with his mates, not babysitting me. He raised his arse a little, still with his knees on the mats controlling me, but twisted to try to check what was happening forward of him, finally raising himself an extra couple of centimetres so he could look through the hatch.
Shit or bust.
I bucked suddenly, pushing up with my arms and ballooned hands until they pressed against his arse, kicking out with my legs, twisting my body, anything to get him off balance. I kept twisting, kept bucking and pulling to get my hands free. He was silent, maybe in shock, maybe embarrassment, more likely because he was too professional to shout for help and risk alerting the third party.
My hands got free of his weight and, still cuffed together, I pushed them up against his head, trying to get his body back so I could reach up towards the roof. He swore under his breath in frustration and anger. I kept reaching up. I wasn’t worried about 007’s hands grabbing at my jacket to pull me to him to regain control. I just had to focus on what I needed to do. That was the way to stop 007 being successful. My numb fingers finally closed around the Maglite as best they could and, pulling it away from its mount, I brought it down on his head. I didn’t know if it was the steel that hit him or my hands, because I couldn’t feel a thing, but I pounded him again and again, bringing my hands up, arms as straight as I could make them so I got more power on the down-swing.
Eventually I heard the resounding thud of steel on skull and suddenly he was more concerned about his pain than he was about me. Fighting the numbness in my legs, I clambered onto my hands and knees and scrambled to the door. I had to drop the Maglite to free my numb fingers to scrabble at the handle, not feeling any resistance against it until it pulled back. As light poured in, hands came for me from behind, grabbing hold of me around the waist. I kicked behind me like a horse, not looking at him, twice, three times.
I staggered out onto the gravel. I didn’t bother to find out what was happening with the rest of the Wolves, whether they were inside the caravans or not. It didn’t matter. I was outside and I was moving.
43
I heard a muffled curse and turned. 007 was on his hands and knees, half in, half out of the van. He would recover soon. I ran the two paces back, grabbed the door and rammed it shut, yanking it along its rail with enough force to guillotine whatever was in the way. I didn’t see where it had made contact but I didn’t care. By then I was moving towards our tents. My legs took a time to get the blood pumping. It was more of a drunken stumble at first, and I was hoping against hope to see the team rolling out of the domes to back me as we headed for Yulia, then got the fuck out of there.
There was no Jeep, no Beamer. No domes.
But there was movement behind me. 007 wasn’t giving up, and I hadn’t expected him to. I turned left and headed for the toilet block. I needed to make distance and get into cover, then double back to lift Yulia.
It wasn’t happening. 007 was making ground, and he was still in control: no shouts; no compromise. I had to stop him.
I reached the block, circled it until I was in dead ground for a few precious seconds while I stopped, chest heaving, back against the concrete block, trying to suck oxygen into my lungs. My face was already drenched with sweat; my clothes clung to me.
Pushing out my right hip to create a platform, I raised my cuffed hands as high as they would go. They were so swollen that the skin either side had joined above the plastic, but that didn’t matter. That was going to help me. It made the cuffs tighter. I swung them down, pulling my wrists apart as they hit my hip. It didn’t happen. The restraining bracket in the little box of the cuffs didn’t break. I lifted my arms again. Do it hard enough and it would happen, I knew. Up, deep breath, and I was just about to bring my arms down again as 007 turned the corner and rammed into me, arms out to take me down.
We went straight down onto the grass together, each scrambling about, trying to recover. I kicked out, bucked against his bulk, trying to get my arms over his head. I’d only survive this if I got him in a bear-hug with the plasticuffs still on.
Snot streamed from his nose in reaction to the effort.
I finally managed to wrap my legs around his body, and got my plasticuffed forearms either side of his head, my hands in front of his face. I pulled back with my bodyweight so the cuffs were against his throat, and pushed with my knees into his back. He knew what was happening but it was too late. I pulled back as hard as I could, opening my ballooned fingers as if that would help the plastic get closer to his throat. His hands shot up to try to pull them away. He’d done a bit of this himself. We both knew it wouldn’t help him much, but it was a natural reaction that was hard to control.
I rolled onto my knees, pulling back my arms even more so I could get the back of his head against my chest. And then I switched direction, leaning forward, forcing his head down, while at the same time pulling back on my wrists so the plasticuffs dug into his windpipe. He wasn’t going anywhere now. He could kick and jerk about all he wanted but the combination of my weight bearing down on the back of his head and the plasticuffs crushing his windpipe would keep him under me.
He didn’t know it, but I wasn’t going to kill him. There was no need, and it would use up precious time. I just needed to fuck him up enough so I could reach Yulia before Phoenix and his Wolves realized what was up. 007’s legs jerked, his body spasmed, but he was under my control and his systems were closing down. It was enough. I was about to get up and run when I heard flipflops the other side of the block. The sound faded as the holidaymaker went inside. I had to wait now for the sound of a shower or a flush before I started running.
I didn’t get water. Instead I got Vanessa Feltz telling me I was listening to Radio 2, it was five seventeen, and she would be reviewing the front pages very soon. But before that, this from Barry Manilow.
I let go of his neck and staggered to my feet, just as a blur of bodies surged round the corner. Whoever punched me took me down so hard I didn’t get to hear Barry, and the next thing I felt was my body being picked up and thrown over Phoenix’s shoulder in a fireman’s lift.
My head thumped against his hip-bone as he ran. A vague blue shape closed in as we drew level with the entrance to the block, then the van door slid open to reveal Tailgate kneeling in the frame, weapon in the shoulder. He looked first at us and then to his left. I heard a tinny-sounding Barry behind us as Tailgate took aim. Phoenix gave a strangulated shout – ‘Nyet!’ – but it was too late. A dull suppressed double-tap came from Tailgate’s Vector.
He jumped out to make way for me to be thrown in. Looking back, I caught a glimpse of the woman sprawled on her back, arms outstretched, two strike marks in her white towelling gown, centre mass, the circles of blood leaking out growing bigger.
No one shouted or panicked. Foma leapt from the cab and ran to the body as Phoenix hurled me into the van.
I landed between two surfboards. My jaw hit and rubbed against the lumpy wax of one and it was hard not to shout out.
I did a sort of press-up to relieve the pain and to see what was happening outside. Phoenix was bent over, scouring the grass, the first empty brass case in his hand.
007 jumped in after me, coughing and spluttering, scrabbling for the weapons bag, as Tailgate and Foma threw the woman inside. She landed on her back, disturbing the boards that now smashed once again into my jaw as her towelling gown fell open to show her
light blue pyjamas soaking up the blood pouring from two entry points.
Another wave of pain swept through my jaw, but it was nothing compared to the state she was in. Her life leaked onto the roll-mats as Tailgate ran back to the block, grabbed the radio, and jabbed at the buttons to switch Barry off mid-tune, then threw it into the van. Foma flung in the woman’s flipflops to join it as Tailgate jumped aboard. He stepped over the middle-aged, grey-haired corpse as if she was just another Ripcurl bag in his way.
Phoenix followed, tossing the two empty cases inside as the sliding door closed, the cab door closed, and we started up towards Reception.
It was then that I heard an ominous slurping noise in time with the woman’s very shallow breathing. Air was being sucked into her chest cavity as she tried to breathe and collapsing the lung. She might even have taken a round into one to make it worse. She was on her way out.
44
Phoenix gave direction, and Tailgate jumped down beside her. He slapped the heel of one hand over the hole in her chest to reseal the cavity.
As the van negotiated a speed bump, which shook us all, Tailgate gathered up a fistful of robe with the other hand and jammed the fabric hard against the gut wound. He probably knew it was futile – far too much blood had already leaked out – but Phoenix dropped to his knees beside him and looked as if he was going to give it a go. There was no expression of concern on his face, no rushed or urgent movement, just matter-of-fact control as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her over to check for exit wounds as Tailgate carried on with the business of keeping the two holes plugged. The back of her white robe had done what towelling did, soaking it all up, but at least there were no exit wounds that were also going to need plugging.
The worrying thing was that she didn’t react to any of it, but it looked like Phoenix was going to try to save her. Otherwise, why check for exit wounds?
He’d already dropped her back to the mats, turned her head to one side and dug his fingers into her mouth, trying to clear her airway of blood and mucus. He tilted her head to keep the windpipe open and took a deep breath, his bloodstained hands around her jaw and behind her neck, keeping it in position as he then exhaled deeply into her mouth. Her chest rose with the lung inflations because Tailgate had the hole blocked.