by Andy McNab
Then it was back to the studio, where the anchorwoman spoke for a few moments. They flashed up a shot of the target house, with blue-and-whites all over the street, and cut to a close-up of the cameras mounted on the wall.
A few seconds later they broadcast the pictures that killed any hope I had of boarding the 12.25 to Vienna.
3
A few seconds of fuzzy, black-and-white CCTV footage flashed up, at the point where I’d turned back to the house after dropping Red Eyes.
They reran it, then freeze-framed on my face. The image was blurred, but they made up for that by cutting to an artist’s impression. It was the first drawing anyone had ever done of me, and I wished they hadn’t.
The next CCTV clip showed us both masked up as I got into the Audi and Charlie opened the gate. So it was official. I was in the shit. It didn’t matter if they were calling me Baz’s killer, or Red Eyes, or even all three of us. They had a face and were looking for it.
Head down, I made my way across the road to the terminal and the endless check-in queue. I found Charlie and got eye to eye. As I walked away, he followed.
I headed for the toilets. I stood at a urinal and Charlie took the one next to me. All the cubicle doors were open; we were alone.
‘It’s hit the news. You’re OK, but they got my face.’
Charlie wasn’t fazed. ‘What we going to do?’
‘We’re doing nothing, mate. You’re going to catch the flight. I can’t risk it — even if I make it airside, what if I get pinged? There’s TVs in there, mate. I’m better off staying landside. Maybe I’ll try for Turkey by road.’
There was no hesitation from him. ‘I’ll hire a car. We’ll get to the border by tonight, dump the car, and walk across. Piece of piss. Let’s go.’
He started to move but I grabbed his arm. ‘I don’t need your fucking hands disco-dancing all over the country. Besides, they even check what you look at online. For sure they’ll be checking car hire, and will be asking questions before you get the key in the door. Too risky. Take the papers, get the flight, get to Crazy Dave, and stand by. As soon as I get into Turkey I’ll give you a call and see you in H. I think we can still get you the rest of the money.’
Charlie wasn’t listening. ‘Wait here.’ He shoved his laptop bag at me. ‘Bung the tape and papers in here. Just in case you get lifted, at least I might have something here that’ll get you out the shit. Follow me, lad.’
He turned and walked out of the toilet, striding towards the terminal exit as I shoved everything in the bag, like a fumbling PA following in the wake of his boss.
Why couldn’t he just do what he was told for once? I got up level with him.
‘Fuck it, Charlie, just get the flight. I got an idea how to get your cash, it might even get me out of the shit as well.’
He still wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the glass exit doors. ‘We’re wasting time, lad. Once we’re out of here we can worry about money. But for now, just shut the fuck up and follow.’
We walked out of the terminal. ‘Wait here.’ Charlie carried on straight towards a young guy in a blue sweatshirt, sitting at the wheel of the 110.
Charlie had his serious, purposeful warrant officer face on as he marched up to the vehicle. The driver, a young white guy with a crew cut, watched him all the way to his window. A green, heavy-plastic sleeve lay on the dash. It was the 110’s work ticket folder, a log of the hours and mileage done, and had DUTY VEHICLE stencilled across it.
Charlie tapped on the glass and motioned him to wind it down.
‘Duty driver? You dropping off or picking up?’ Charlie spoke like he was giving the guy a bollocking for having done something wrong. Soldiers tend to react better to that tone of voice, because nine times out of ten they have.
‘Dropping off.’
Charlie exploded. ‘Dropping off, SIR! What camp you from, son?’ He turned and pointed at me. ‘Stay where you are! I haven’t told you to go anywhere. Bring my bag here.’
I jerked my head. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, bring it here, man. At least be of some use. I don’t know who I’m even handing it over to. What the fuck is wrong with this man’s army?’
I joined him and handed over the bag. Charlie made a show of looking for papers in the side pocket, eventually back to the driver. ‘What camp are you from?’
‘Camp Vasiani, sir.’
‘That the only camp in this area?’
‘Yessir.’
‘That’s where we’re going then.’
Charlie bounced back to me, still in bollocking mode. ‘Why weren’t any joining instructions sent to me?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ I said. ‘I sent an email requesting—’
‘Not good enough.’ Charlie was in full flow now. ‘Why isn’t there anyone here to pick us up?’
‘I… I don’t know, sir.’
‘You don’t know, sir? Oh, is that so?’ Charlie opened the rear door, slotted in the laptop and pointed at me. ‘In!’
I saw it now. Charlie wanted me in the front because we were going to do a bit of hijacking.
He glowered at the driver as I got into the front passenger seat. ‘How far to camp?’
‘Just under an hour, sir. But I have to get permission to—’
Charlie’s hand told him to shut up. ‘Just drive. The flights are all leaving now; you’re leaving nobody behind. We’ll sort it out on the way. Can’t your fucking officers even organize a pick-up?’
He jumped into the back as the duty driver leaned across and flicked a switch on his radio, a small green thing tucked into the dash.
Charlie was quick off the mark. ‘Just get going, I don’t need to talk to anyone. No-one seems to know what day of the week it is anyway.’
The driver was flapping as he leaned back towards Charlie. ‘But, sir, I gotta call in when I leave, and I gotta tell them if I dropped off OK. It’s a standing order.’
There was no way we could stop him; it all had to appear routine. After all, Charlie was the one moaning about inefficiency. He was hardly the sort of man who would break a standing order.
‘Well, get on with it then. Let’s go.’
The driver started up the 110 and we left the airport perimeter. Charlie gave me a wink as he waited for the boy to finish speaking into the boom-mike headset.
‘That’s right. Two pax for our locale. But no work sheet?’
He shrugged at whatever was being said in response.
Charlie’s hand loomed over the driver’s shoulder. ‘Give me that.’
He barked into the headset. ‘Who is this?’ There was a pause. ‘Well, Sergeant Jay DiRita, I did not receive any joining instructions, not even the name of the person I have come all the way from Istanbul to see!’
Charlie listened to DiRita. ‘Oh, is that so? You don’t have any visitors scheduled for today? Well, Sergeant DiRita, now you do. We will be there soon to try to make sense of this total cock-up.’
He passed the headset forward to the driver and sat fuming out of the window.
I looked out at the parrot-coloured apartment blocks lining the dual carriageway, and hoped we got out in the cuds soon, so we could bin the driver and head for that border.
I scanned the dashboard. ‘Got a map?’
4
We continued along the dual carriageway towards the city. I glanced from time to time at the parrot-coloured apartment blocks while the duty driver over-concentrated on the road to avoid having to catch the eye of the monster in the back.
The map he’d handed me wasn’t much more than a commercial traveller’s guide to the main drags and towns, but at least I could see the Vasiani region, about thirty Ks north-east of the city. It looked like our current route would take us to the right, around the bottom of Tbilisi, then up towards the camp.
‘You haven’t got a better one, have you? I like to know where I’m going.’
He kept his eyes on the road. ‘’Fraid not, sir. The duty wagon only ever gets to go to an
d from the airport, and once we’re on this road, there’s not a helluva lot of choice.’
He took a right onto a single-carriage road. We were no longer in parrot country. A mile or two later we reached the mountains, and wove our way towards a sky filled with doom-laden clouds, massing for another downpour.
As we made our way down the other side, I saw the glare of brake lights. There were a couple of vehicles ahead of us, both slowing. Our driver changed down through the gears until we were creeping along at walking pace.
A hundred or so metres ahead, grey nylon sandbags had been piled into sangars each side of the road, and large concrete blocks had been positioned between them to channel the traffic.
I heard Charlie shifting in his seat behind me, and knew he’d seen it too. The same thoughts must have been racing through his head: were they going to ask for passports or ID? And even if they weren’t, had they read their papers or watched the news?
He leaned forward to give the driver another bollocking. ‘What’s the VCP for? Do we have to stop?’
‘Yessir. There’s checkpoints on all the approach roads to the city.’
On the far side of the VCP, a rusty old coach leaned precariously under the uneven load of crap strapped to its roof, and a line of cars waited impatiently behind it while soldiers with body armour and AKs checked out its passengers.
Charlie passed me the laptop bag. ‘Sort this thing out. I can’t get it to work.’
‘Yes, sir.’ I took it and got my head down. I made a bit of a meal of opening it up and fucking about with the power button until the screen started to flicker.
We were now the third vehicle in line. A Georgian soldier was heading towards us on the driver’s side, his weapon slung over his shoulder. A group of his mates were gathered on my side of the road, in the shadow of the sangar.
‘Can I have your IDs, sirs? They’ll want them alongside my work ticket.’
‘Unbelievable,’ Charlie fumed. ‘We’re here to help these people, and all they do is mess us around. Do we look like bloody militants?’
The squaddie got to the vehicle in front of us. He leaned down to speak to the driver, who was ready with some kind of ID. They had a bit of a chat and the squaddie pointed to the sky and shrugged, probably moaning about the weather. He took a step back, waved the driver through, and sauntered towards us.
I leaned even further forward, completely absorbed by the problem with the laptop.
‘Sir, I need—’
‘Fuck this.’ Charlie was out of the wagon, his back straight as a ramrod, his shoulders squared.
‘You!’ He jutted his jaw at the Georgian. ‘Stand up straight, man!’
Some orders are understood by every soldier in any language. The squaddie snapped to attention.
‘Why are you holding us up? You think we have all day?’ Charlie was gripping him big-time now. Looking him up and down, inspecting him. This boy was back on the parade ground.
‘Please, sir, he can’t understand you.’ The driver was half out of his cab. ‘Please, let me…’ He tried to placate the angry officer, at the same time as exchanging a knowing look with his fellow squaddie.
Charlie flicked the open map-pocket flap on the Georgian’s combat trousers. ‘What’s this, man? Get your act together! Buttons are there for a purpose; they’re not just decoration! Sort yourself out, soldier!’
I held my breath as Charlie got back into the vehicle. I thought he might have overdone it with his Starship Trooper impression.
The squaddie hesitated for a moment, dark thoughts furrowing his Slavic brow. Then he reached down and fumbled with his trousers. The other guys on stag kept well out of it.
‘Right, let’s get this wagon moving.’
The driver reached for the folder on the dash. I gave the laptop screen my total attention.
He wound down his window and passed the paperwork through as Charlie prodded my shoulder and treated me to the same kind of bollocking.
I nodded obediently and tapped the keys some more, then looked up to the skies for salvation. The Georgian hurriedly flicked open the folder and checked its contents.
Charlie was incandescent. ‘Come on! Get a move on!’
No way did this boy want to be treated to another helping of what Mr Angry had to offer. He scribbled a signature on the work ticket, then handed the driver his millboard for him to do the same. Almost in the same motion, he waved us through.
We negotiated the concrete chicane and came alongside the bus. The driver looked a little concerned about my performance with the laptop, and I could hardly blame him, especially now that I packed it up and passed it back to Charlie.
‘I think everything is fine, sir.’ I glanced at the driver and rolled my eyes. Officers, eh?
The driver hit the net. ‘Hello. Duty Vehicle through checkpoint Alpha. Over.’
‘Roger, duty vehicle. Checkpoint Alpha. Out.’
Charlie sat there glowering. I could almost feel the heat of his anger on the back of my neck, and I knew the boy on my left could too.
I tried a little gentle fishing. ‘What a drag for you… How many of these things do you have to get through?’
‘Just the one, sir.’ I could hear the relief in his voice. The last thing he wanted was for Charlie to get revved up for an encore.
We emerged into a huge valley, with a network of rivers and streams, and at least ten Ks of undulating ground separating the mountains on either side. It was big, tree-covered country out here, Switzerland without the cows.
Even though we had escaped the confines of Tbilisi it was still going to be difficult lifting this thing. The traffic wasn’t anything like as busy as it had been in the city, but there was a constant stream of military trucks, full of bored Georgian squaddies rolling their heads from side to side, and packed-out buses with sacks of spuds and bags and all sorts strapped on top, bouncing between towns and slowing down only to squeeze past each other on the narrow stretch of crumbling tarmac.
We passed yet another of them, heading towards the city, and drove into a depression a couple of hundred metres long. We were in dead ground. It was as good a place as any.
I held up a hand. ‘I need a piss.’
The driver slowed immediately, and pulled up on the grass verge.
I got out and walked round the front of the wagon, so I could position myself on the driver’s side, before moving towards the rear and going through the motions. Charlie also got out and stretched his legs. He wandered past the radiator grille and seemed to spot something. He pointed underneath the bonnet, then looked up at the driver. ‘What is this? Driver, get out!’
The squaddie jumped dutifully out and joined Charlie at the front of the vehicle. I turned and followed, two steps behind.
Charlie was still bumping his gums. ‘Who’s responsible for this wagon? Look at the state of it.’
The driver looked, but he couldn’t see anything wrong. ‘But, sir, I can’t—’
I closed my hands around his mouth and jaw and jumped on his back. I pulled his head into my chest, wrapped my legs around his waist and toppled backwards.
5
I landed in the grass, with him on top of me, and hooked my legs through the inside of his. The boy didn’t resist for a second or two, then he started to kick and flail his arms.
‘It’s OK, mate, it’s OK,’ Charlie said.
I pulled back even harder and kept my body and legs rigid.
‘We’re not going to hurt you, mate. Just calm down. Come on, composure…’ Charlie leaned over him and raised his finger, as if scolding a child. ‘Cool it, son, we’re not here to hurt you. There’ll be no pain.’
He jerked and writhed even more in response, so I reined him in more tightly still.
Charlie went through his pockets and tossed the contents onto the grass. I knew he’d be checking for a cell. If he had one, it would have to be dumped as soon as we were down the road. There’d be no point in calling Crazy Dave with a warning order that he had a lot
of shit to sort out, and no point in taking it with us, in case it was tracked.
He stepped back. ‘Nope, he’s not got one.’
The boy was breathing a little easier now.
Charlie pointed at him again, and this time his tone was almost apologetic. ‘Listen, son, we’re going to take the wagon, and we’re going to leave you here. I know it won’t be your idea of a perfect day out, but just accept it. If you start playing silly buggers, we’re going to have to slap you about a bit, and take you with us. If you behave, we’ll let you go. Now that’s not rocket science, is it?’
He nodded as best he could with his head still compressed against my shoulder.
‘I’m going to let go of you now,’ I said. ‘I want you to just roll off and start walking away. That’s it, mate, that’s all you have to do. OK?’
His breathing slowed a little and he gave something approaching a nod.
‘OK, here we go.’
I released my grip, untangled my legs, and he did exactly as he’d been told.
Charlie kept an eye on him as I got to my feet and moved round to the driver’s door. ‘That’s it, son, just walk away. Well done.’
Charlie jumped into the back seat and I switched on the radio. If anyone was going to start gobbing off about us, I wanted to hear it.
We were good for fuel. The tank was three-quarters full. No surprises there — duty wagons were always topped up after every job, ready for the next.
I glanced over my shoulder. Charlie had the laptop bag on his knees. ‘On the metal or cross country?’ I threw him the map.
‘Shows fuck all.’ He studied it for a few more seconds and shook his head. ‘So I guess we’re committed to this, unless we see a minor they haven’t bothered to include.’
‘It takes us straight through Vasiani…’