NS13 Zero Hour (2010)

by Andy McNab

  I came level with the Panda and felt around in the scrub for the keys. Once inside I powered down the window and had one last listen before I fired up the engine.

  Lights extinguished, I moved off slowly, following the road on the bay side of the dock. It started to rain again.

  There was a massive thump on the front of the car. I braked hard.

  A face flew up out of nowhere and banged against the windscreen. For a split second, all I could see was a mass of wet blonde hair and a pair of big scared eyes.

  I threw the engine out of gear. Fuck the handbrake. I jumped out to grab her.

  By the time I got round to the front of the car the girl was already scrabbling along the tarmac. There was blood on her face. Her jeans were soaked. Her feet were bare.

  ‘Lilian?’

  She was swallowed up by the shadows as quickly as she’d appeared.

  I stopped and listened.

  Nothing.

  I jumped back into the Panda. There was a streak of blood on the windscreen. If it was Lillian, I had to get to her before those fuckers did.

  I moved off, nice and slow, windows down.

  13

  I drove across the canal and into the prefab estate. A left took me back towards the Distelweg bridge. I parked up about a hundred metres further on and tucked Brad’s mallet into the waistband of my jeans. I’d move back onto the target on foot and start searching again from there. I didn’t want to take the car through the area twice that night. It was bad drills. Bitch Tits and his mates might still be out there.

  The shop lights splashed across the wet pavements. I was hungry and thirsty, and it was going to be a long night. I went into a mini-mart and bought crisps, pitta bread and a bottle of water. I managed the whole transaction without a single word to the guy behind the counter. I just grunted and paid.

  I jammed the crisps into the bread as I walked past a line of graffiti-covered boathouses. I kept close to the walls and fences of the industrial units, ready to dodge oncoming headlights. I threw the last of the crisp sandwich down my neck as I approached the tile warehouse.

  I heard a cry.

  Then male laughter, followed by grunts and curses, monosyllabic and aggressive.

  I took a couple of steps.

  And heard it again.

  There was a blur of movement from beneath the canopy. The girl ran from the shadows, naked and sobbing. Two guys appeared behind her. Too fast, too powerful. They grabbed her and dragged her back into the darkness.

  It wasn’t hard to work out what they were doing to her. I just needed to know how many of them were doing it.

  Another cry. Part pain, part despair.

  It looked like Bitch Tits was the only one allowed to sample the merchandise on site, and this lot fancied a taster before they dragged her back to him.

  14

  Rhythmic sobs continued to come from under the canopy. I inched forward, fingers closing around the handle of the mallet.

  I heard more grunts and A couple of slaps. There was a muffled, anguished scream followed by a chorus of laughter. The air was heavy with cannabis.

  There were four of them, all fully paid-up members of the neo-Nazi club. Crew-cuts, tattoos and plenty of face metal were the order of the day. The girl was on her knees. Three of them stood around her with their jeans halfway down their thighs. A fourth lounged against the door with a stupid grin on his face, smoking a joint. It was either his turn to chill, or he preferred to watch.

  The girl’s bloodstained face was rounder and younger than the image I had of Lilian. Much younger. She took a couple more slaps to the head to make her work harder.

  A million years of training told me there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t intervene. Bad things happen. This shit went on a million times a day, all over the world. I was here for a job. I wasn’t the UN. I needed to let this run its course. Four guys here raping this girl meant four fewer guarding Lilian. I needed to stop fucking around and get back to the silo.

  But there was another voice in my head. Anna’s voice. What about this girl? What about her parents, her sisters, her brothers? How would you feel if this was happening to someone you cared for, if this was happening to me?

  I looked round for something heavier than the mallet. A bit of scaffolding would have come in handy. A wheel-brace, maybe …

  Then I checked myself. What family? Every scrap of experience and years of fucking up screamed at me: I had to let this one go.

  I turned and headed back the way I’d come. I’d have to pull my finger out if I wanted to get this job done by first light.

  When I’d covered about twenty metres I straightened up and shoved the mallet back into the waistband of my jeans.

  Another heartbreaking scream pierced the darkness.

  Fuck it.

  I pulled the mallet out again and turned back.

  I was in auto mode, en route to a possible nightmare. I’d need to be quick and hard - just take them down and run. After that, the girl would have to sort her own shit out.

  I got within a few metres of them. She was still on her knees. The one in front of her looked up just in time to see me jump into the air and bring the mallet down hard a couple of inches above his eyebrows. He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. All I heard was a loud pop as the toughened rubber worked its kinetic shit and he crumpled to the floor.

  I spun round, swung back my arm and zoned in on the guy to my right. He got the good news just above the temple. He groaned and collapsed onto the girl.

  She whimpered and tried to kick him off.

  I turned to the other two. The one with the spliff was still some distance from Planet Earth, and instead of rushing me, the other stupid fucker was pulling up his jeans. I barged against him. He staggered back under the canopy, arms windmilling, and crashed into his mate.

  I didn’t give them a second to recover.

  Mr Windmill’s jeans had slipped back round his knees.

  I swung the mallet from right to left, demolishing his cheekbone and part of his jaw. He howled with pain. It didn’t make up for what he’d done to the girl, but it was a start.

  Mr Spliff threw up his arms to protect himself, but he still wasn’t up to speed. I cannoned into him. As he went down I gave him two more quick hits. He’d managed to cover his head, so I snapped his wrist with the first blow and banged the second into his bollocks. That opened him up big-time. I brought down the mallet right on top of his closely shaven nut. Hard rubber smashed into soft bone with a dull thud. He wasn’t going anywhere fast. He wasn’t going anywhere, period.

  I dug the keys out of the plant pot. The girl held her jumper against her breasts, watching me.

  Two of the bodies stirred.

  I grabbed her arm and dragged her out from under the canopy. I gathered up her jeans and thrust them at her.

  ‘Go! Go on! Fuck off!’

  She stood there shivering, clothes held up in front of her, knees trembling, like the child she was.

  I gave her a shove. ‘Go! Run!’

  Two sets of headlights swept down the road from the direction of the bridge.

  She was so tiny it was easy to pull her out of sight. I pushed her against the wheel of a trailer loaded with pallets as the engine got louder. She struggled, trying to escape. She probably thought I fancied a bit of what the neos had already helped themselves to. I grabbed her by the back of her head, wound my fingers through her hair and pushed her against the tyre.

  The car came into view: a green Passat, two up. It slowed but didn’t stop. I caught a glimpse of long, greasy black hair and matching shirt but couldn’t see their faces. Ten seconds later a blue-and-white did the same. I dragged the girl to her feet the moment it had passed and we started moving in the opposite direction.

  We’d covered a couple of hundred metres when I heard the whoop of a siren, just one quick hit. Blue lights strobed the darkness, glinting off the puddles, then they stopped just as suddenly.

  We kept going.


  She had to come with me now, even though I knew I was giving myself a very big dose of drama. I couldn’t let her get lifted. Tarasov and his box of tricks had better be worth all this shit.

  I flung open the back door of the Panda and shoved her down into the footwell. Then I jumped in behind the wheel.

  ‘You understand English?’

  The only response was some laboured breathing and a cough. She was crying quietly to herself.

  Ten minutes passed. There were no more wailing sirens or blue flashing lights. What the fuck was going on? One of the neos was probably dead, and the others couldn’t have legged it. A broken jaw makes you think twice about doing that. It makes you want to stay very, very still instead.

  A set of headlights appeared in the rear-view. I felt between the seats to make sure she was still hidden. The green Passat rolled past, still two up. I got a better look at them this time. They’d completed my circuit, down past the ferry, up the bay road, then back.

  I waited five more minutes, but there was no sign of the blue-and-white. I switched on the ignition.

  ‘Stay down …’

  I threaded my way through the housing estate until I came out onto a main. I didn’t know where the fuck I was, but I’d work it out soon enough. There was a lot of trouble by the back seat, and I needed to think.

  15

  I killed the lights and engine the moment I’d nosy-parked in front of the shutter.

  ‘You - stay there.’ I still didn’t know if she spoke any English, but she didn’t move a muscle.

  I pretended to fumble with the keys while I checked my paper telltales. All three were still in position.

  I didn’t hit the light switch inside, just pressed the shutter button. As the car came into view, I could see that she was now sitting next to the child seat, her jumper on. She tilted her head and pushed back her blood-matted hair so she could watch me through the windscreen.

  I got back into the car and gave her a smile. She pulled her jumper down self-consciously over her thighs, but if her face showed any emotion, it was relief.

  I drove into the bay and hit the button again. She remained motionless as the shutter ground its way down. I only hit the light switch when we were in total darkness. The two fluorescent tubes flickered and hummed.

  She looked around her. I tapped on the slightly dented roof and bent down to her level. ‘You’re safe here.’ I gestured with my hand. ‘Come on.’

  She didn’t budge. She looked at me like she had a choice about this and had decided to stay put.

  I pushed down the front passenger seat, leant in and grabbed her arm. She stumbled out onto the cold concrete, clutching her wet and muddy jeans. ‘Let’s try again. What is your name?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Russia? Ukraine? Moldova?’

  Her goosebumps were the size of shirt buttons. She tried to cover herself up.

  I pointed to the stairs at the back of the loading bay and gave her a gentle push. ‘Let’s go. Up there.’

  She stopped at the first landing, awaiting my next command. I steered her all the way to the top floor, keeping behind her so I could check the telltales without her seeing what I was doing. She stood stock still in the middle of the floor, waiting to be told what to do.

  I got a much better look at her now. She was no more than five feet tall and could have been anything from fourteen to eighteen years old. Her dyed blonde hair was thick and wiry, and brushed her shoulders. It needed about a week’s worth of shampooing. She was a skinny little thing: not through lack of food, there just wasn’t anything of her. With high cheekbones and huge dark brown eyes, her face looked bigger than her delicate shoulders and graceful neck seemed capable of supporting. She had no eyebrows. They’d been plucked or shaved. It made her look like a porcelain doll. Or a ghost.

  I pointed to the shower room.

  She looked at me and shivered.

  ‘Let’s go.’ I took her hand. She offered no resistance. She probably couldn’t have even if she’d wanted to. She felt like she weighed less than the mallet.

  I turned on the shower. The cubicle filled with steam. I pointed at the bottle of gel and mimed washing my hair. I showed her the towel, then closed the door and let her get on with it.

  I filled the kettle and flicked it on.

  I was tired, and pissed off with myself for breaking a life-time’s rule. But there was no point beating myself up about it. Even if it hadn’t been the right thing to do, she was here now. I had to deal with it. I threw a couple of Smarties down my neck with a cupful of cold water.

  The kettle clicked off and I made myself a brew with plenty of milk and sugar. I dragged the sleeping bag and airbed out of Bradley’s box. He hadn’t lashed out on the electric-pump option. I didn’t have the energy to inflate it; she’d have to, if she wanted a comfortable night.

  I dug around in my day sack, stripped off and put on a dry sweatshirt. I threw my spare jeans onto the sleeping bag; hers were in shit state. I added a long-sleeved T-shirt, a clean pair of socks and some boxer shorts for good measure.

  Brew in hand, I went into the mailroom. I checked the telltale and pulled out the folder. I wanted to show her Lilian’s picture.

  I sat near the sink with my back against the wall and checked my watch. After 02.00. Fuck, I hadn’t even been here six hours and I was already in rag order.

  I put my mug down and rested my head against my knees. The next thing I knew, I was woken by the sound of her coming out of the shower. I looked up. The towel was wrapped under her armpits. She caught sight of the sleeping bag and all the gear and very nearly smiled. Or maybe I was just kidding myself.

  ‘Drink?’ I pointed at the kettle and made a brew sign with my right hand.

  She looked down at my mug, which was still half full. I took a sip. It had gone cold. I must have been out of it for at least half an hour. She raised a non-eyebrow.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll have one.’

  She brushed past me as she leant down to collect my mug. She smelt of shampoo. Her knees cracked, and she still had chicken skin because of the cold.

  I stood up and stretched while she got busy with the kettle. I wiped the dribble off my chin stubble and pointed at the gear. ‘That is for you. Dry clothes.’ I went through the motions of putting on jeans. ‘Blow up the airbed.’ I made a trumpet out of my hands and puffed through it. ‘For you to sleep … All right?’

  She passed me a steaming mug. The tea was black, with half a kilo of sugar. I fished out Slobo’s Facebook picture and pointed.

  ‘This girl. Her name is Lilian. Was she in the building? Have you seen her?’

  I couldn’t read her expression at all.

  ‘Have you seen her? Lilian. Her - name - is - Lilian …’

  She nodded.

  ‘You have seen her? Today?’

  All of sudden she was scared. I didn’t blame her. It must have taken her back to the last place she ever wanted to be.

  ‘You sure? Lilian - with you?’

  She examined the picture more closely. Her brow furrowed, and she nodded again.

  I dug about in Brad’s goodie box for the packet of cheap biros. On the back of the picture, I sketched the internal layout of the silo complex, based on what I’d seen and Anna had told me. I traced a line into the main entrance and then right, into the first room. ‘Lilian - is she in there? In there with you?’

  She took her time before giving me another nod. I don’t think she needed to think. It was more that she didn’t know what the fuck was going to happen to her next.

  ‘The guards? The bad guys?’

  I treated her to my cartoon gorilla impression, complete with the hands-under-the-armpits thing. It didn’t even get a flicker of a smile.

  ‘The guards, there are four?’ I held up my fingers. ‘Four?’

  She didn’t answer. She burst into tears.

  ‘It’s OK. No one will hurt you now. It’s OK …’

  I went back to my wall, slid down it and took short sips o
f brew. I didn’t want to crowd her. She calmed herself down, got dressed and started blowing up the airbed.

  She avoided eye contact. I didn’t know for sure what she was thinking, but I could guess.

  I finished my brew and went back into the mailroom for the BlackBerry. I sparked it up as I returned to the loading bay. I didn’t yet know whether the girl could speak, but I knew that she could hear.

  The ringing tone went on for longer than before.

  ‘I’ve found her.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘I don’t have much darkness left but I’ll get back there now and try to lift her anyway.’

  Tresillian did his usual party trick. ‘No, you will not, Mr Stone.’

  Not even a ‘well done’ this time.

  ‘But it has to be tonight.’

  There was an uneasy silence at the other end of the line.

  ‘We have a … complication … Once you have lifted the girl I want the building and anyone inside it destroyed. No one who has had contact with Lilian must get away.’

  ‘Destroyed?’

  ‘I want an explosion. I want a spectacular. I want to see it on News at fucking Ten. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘You want me to blow up a building in a major European city?’

  ‘Is there an echo on this line?’

  I fantasized for a moment about blowing up the silo with Tresillian inside it. ‘No, there is not.’

  ‘Very good.’

  ‘But first I need you to attend to another matter. It appears we have a little competition. Stand by, Mr Stone. But don’t move a muscle. Your contact will explain.’

  The line went dead.

  By the time I got back upstairs, the girl was tucked up in the sleeping bag with her hands wrapped around her mug. She looked me in the eye, and I finally got the slightest of smiles.

  I sat back down against the wall and rested my head on my knees once more.