Aggressor

1

Nana had balls, that was for sure.

She was straight over to confront Akaki and the first of his men who piled through the doors. She seemed to applaud his courageous victory over the cowardly capitalist lapdog, Koba, then she treated them to a blur of hands and Paperclip as she pointed to the satellite dish, the van, the arc lights, the camera.

But I didn’t get to see her whole performance. Another wagonload had swarmed round our side of the Merc and were using their boots and rifle butts to corral us in the corner of the barn, near Baz’s memorial bench. I’d already seen enough, though, to know that whatever she was on about, Akaki’s men were very poor listeners.

I tried to look on the bright side. At least we got to sit down. I also tried to look relaxed and avoid eye-to-eye with the guys herding us. One of them had tucked Koba’s mud-splattered Desert Eagle into his belt.

Bastard’s eyes were everywhere, scanning the crowd.

Some of Akaki’s boys were beginning to pull off their masks, exposing rough bearded faces and blackened teeth. There were a couple of teenagers still struggling to get past the bum-fluff stage, but most of them were in their late twenties or older. Whatever, they all affected the same swagger; they knew they were the big swinging dicks around here. They looked like battle-hardened Afghani mujahideen, right down to their choice of wheels. For a long time now, nobody I knew had called a Toyota pick-up anything but a Taliwagon.

Some had made a beeline for the Merc, and were poking about inside. Others, worryingly, just stared at us with glazed, fucked-up eyes, like the junkies in the graveyard.

Nana was still trying to engage the group near the doors, but they were losing interest fast. Most of them were just giving her lecherous looks and sharing the sort of boys’ talk that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Paata’s eyes never left her. I hoped he wasn’t contemplating playing superhero. One of us dead in the mud was enough.

Charlie still seemed to be looking out for the non-existent back door, and the treeline on the high ground beyond it.

Akaki’s men took a deferential step or two back as he swept Nana to one side and strode into the barn. He stopped and surveyed the scene with wild, crazy eyes. Droplets of rain spilled from his curly black hair. He grabbed a handful of beard and squeezed out a pint or so more.

Nana was steeling herself to confront him when two blood-drenched corpses were dragged into the centre of the barn like dead dogs. They’d both taken several rounds to the torso, but the carefully positioned shots through their hands and feet told the most significant story.

Eduard and his wife had already had their interview.

Nana stormed across the barn, but Bastard was quicker. He jumped to his feet and brushed aside a couple of militants who weren’t quick enough to step out of his way. ‘Akaki, you miserable fuck!’

Akaki pulled his rain-soaked poncho over his head, to reveal a pair of Levi 501s, a US BDU jacket and the kind of woollen jumper that could only have come from the shop where Charlie and I had bought ours. He’d shoved some sort of semi-automatic into his shoulder holster and four extra AK mags in his chest harness.

He didn’t even blink as Bastard approached; just raised a hand to calm anyone shaping up to blow holes in him. The expression on his face was that of a man who’d spotted a relative he’d never much liked, but had to put up with. They knew each other all right.

‘You!’ Bastard’s finger jabbed in Nana’s direction. ‘Fucking Barbara Walters! Give him those papers; tell him I want out of here.’

The Merc’s suspension groaned as he disappeared through the side door.

Akaki ripped Baz’s papers from Nana’s outstretched hand. She kept talking, fuck knows what about, but he was no more in the mood to listen than she had been ten minutes ago. He lashed out with his fist; she took the punch square on the cheek and crumpled to the floor.

Paata sprang to his feet but took the butt of an AK in the chest for his trouble. Nana screamed at him to stay put. Akaki bellowed at her and raised his hand to deliver another slap.

Bastard was firing on all cylinders. ‘Happy now, you demented fuck? Got what you want?’ He jabbed at Akaki with a sausage finger to emphasize every word. ‘I nearly got killed because of you. Now get me out of here!’ He kicked Nana in the ribs. ‘Translate! Fucking tell him! Tell him the police are coming.’

Nana did as she was told; at least I thought she did. The word ‘police’ is pretty much universal.

Akaki just laughed, and one by one his men joined in. Yep, they were really shitting themselves that a couple of blue-and-whites were on the way.

Bastard wasn’t fazed. I saw the outline of the Marriott cassette in his wet jacket pocket.

He turned his attention towards me and Charlie, as if the joke was on us. ‘You two fucks really think I was coming all the way with you?’

He came and stood inches from my face. ‘You know what? I should have gone to the cemetery and done the job myself, instead of hiring a moron with a machete to make a king-size fuck-up.’

He spotted Koba’s weapon and hooked it out of its proud new owner’s belt.

Fuck him; I wasn’t going to flinch this time when he squeezed the trigger.

I looked him straight in the eye as he closed one hand on the grip and brought the other one up for good measure.

Nana screamed Paata’s name but she needn’t have bothered. Akaki roared an order and Bastard got an AK butt on the side of the head before he even saw it coming.

Charlie kicked the Desert Eagle away as it fell to the ground at our feet.

The militant leader stormed across and started yelling at Bastard, punctuating every sentence with a good kick to the American’s prostrate bulk. The fat man only managed to crawl away as his attacker began to tire.

Nana translated. ‘He says you can take Eduard and Nato’s car. If you don’t go now, he will kill you. He says that he imagines he’s not the only person here who would like to see that.’ She paused. ‘And on that score, at least, he is telling the truth.’

Bastard reached Eduard’s corpse on his hands and knees, and delved into the bloodstained pockets like a starving man fighting for food. A set of keys glinted in Paata’s arc lights, and he staggered to his feet. His gut heaved. He stared at me, his nostrils flaring and whistling as his overweight body sucked in oxygen. He had things he still wanted to say, but he’d left them too late.

Akaki grabbed him by the roll of fat above his collar and frogmarched him all the way to the door.

Bastard disappeared from view, but he was still determined to have the final word. When Akaki’s boys had finished applauding their beloved leader’s most recent show of strength, his voice echoed along the rain-soaked track.

‘I want those fucks dead! Kill them!’

2

I was starting to get the hang of Akaki; he wasn’t a big fan of the long game.

He towered over Nana, pummelling her shoulder as he let her know what was on his mind.

Paata kept a watchful eye on the AKs just inches away from them as he translated for us. ‘He wants an interview, right here and now. He has an important message for his fellow Georgians, and wants his words to be recorded for posterity.’ He somehow managed to talk as calmly as if he was discussing overtime rates.

The three of us watched Nana’s hands emphasize every word of her response. She wasn’t backing down.

It was turning into quite a show. Even the guys guarding us were crowding round and tuning in.

‘He’s rambling,’ Paata said, as Akaki turned up the volume another couple of notches. ‘He says he wants to tell the world of his fight for freedom and against corruption. He says he will work to continue this battle, until victory — or until he meets God.’ An edge of concern crept into his voice.

Charlie nodded. ‘He knows he can come out with any old bollocks he wants to now. He’s got the papers, and Baz isn’t here to disagree.’

I was worried about Nana. ‘Why don’t you guys just let him have what he wants? What’s she giving him a hard time about?’

‘She’s telling him it’s a great idea, but we should go and film him in the village. He needs to be seen out in the open, among his people, not cowering in a cattle shed… She says his film needs to have an epic scale; anything less would not do his message justice. She’ll do the edit when she’s back in Tbilisi.’

‘Yeah, right. I bet he’s really buying into that.’

‘She has to try.’ He sighed. ‘He only tolerates people like us as long as we’re of use to him. And when we no longer are, or if we do something that offends him…’

‘We’re history?’

Paata nodded. ‘He slaughtered a French crew not so long ago…’ He cocked his head. He’d heard something he didn’t like. ‘Oh shit… He’s talking about the dish. He knows we can go out live.’

His eyes flicked anxiously between us and Nana. ‘She’s insisting they tape it, and in the village, not here… She’s trying to give us a chance to escape, I’m sure of it.’

I glanced back at Akaki. His arm was raised, ready to give her the good news again. ‘What’s his take?’

‘It’s not good. I’m sorry.’ The blood had drained from his face. ‘She was calling him murdering barbarian scum on camera last week…’ Paata’s voice tailed off.

‘Didn’t go a bundle on it?’

Paata nodded gloomily.

Nana was turning away. She knew when to concede. Akaki gave her a parting kick in the small of the back to help her on her way. It must have been agony, but she was determined not to show it.

She limped the remaining five or six paces to the bench. ‘Here’s the deal…’ The left side of her face was livid red and swelling. ‘No pre-record. We go live or he kills us all now. He wants to sit right here on the bench and address not just his fellow Georgians but the USA too — and he wants to do it live.’ Her eyes bored into Paata. ‘Go and fix up the link.’

Paata hesitated. He knew there was one thing missing from her instructions. I grabbed him as he stood up. ‘Take your time, mate.’

‘No.’ Nana was adamant. ‘Get it rigged, and set up the link. Tell them who we have.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘We — need — the — cavalry… Understand?’

We all did now.

Akaki had some more stuff on his mind. He charged over like a wounded bull, with two of his arse-lickers in tow. Up close, he wasn’t any prettier than he’d seemed from a distance. He was probably still in his thirties, but looked older, partly because any skin on his cheeks not covered by beard was badly pockmarked.

He raised one of his field labourer’s fists and pushed the others out of the way to get to me. His eyes burned into mine.

His two arse-lickers demonstrated how hard they were by grabbing Nana and forcing her to translate as he went into another major-league rant.

‘The murdering scum is telling you that he will kill the servants of the infidel crusaders as surely as we will kill their kings… He says he does this to avenge those of God’s children they kill.’

Akaki prodded me so hard in the shoulder I reeled backwards.

‘He says America has made many accusations against him; they have said that he is a man with a hidden fortune… These are infidel lies… He says that this is what he wants to say to the people of America.’

As I recovered my balance, I saw the screens in the Merc flicker into life again.

The two standing guard behind Akaki saw them too, and started gobbing off to their boss.

‘Excellent.’ Nana tried to look pleased. ‘Charlie and Nick, help me with the camera and lights.’

I returned her smile. It wasn’t all doom and gloom round here then. She was starting to call us by name.

3

Akaki sat, smoked and brooded as we helped Nana lug the camera and lighting gear over to the bench. Several AK muzzles tracked our every move.

The barn roof was no longer being pelted with rain, and the big red puddle around Koba’s head was almost still. The sudden silence inside the barn only seemed to make it harder for Nana to ignore the bodies of Eduard and Nato. Her eyes kept straying back to them. I knew she felt responsible.

I glanced at them once or twice myself. They looked as though they’d been crucified. If the Georgian Times had thought Baz’s body was grisly cargo, I couldn’t wait to see what their headline writers would make of this.

I was pretty much resigned to the fact that, at this rate, we’d be joining them on the inside pages, dangling by the bollocks from a barn door. But there was still a chance. There was always a chance. When Nana’s cavalry arrived, so would the mother of all gangfucks.

It wasn’t long before everything was rigged, even with two of us on the job not really knowing what we were doing. It couldn’t be helped. There’s a limit to how much you can tear the arse out of a task before it’s obvious you’re doing fuck all, and on that front, at least, I was an expert. I’d been an infantryman for ten years.

Akaki groomed his beard with a gap-toothed plastic comb, preparing himself for TV stardom. There was a light either side of him and the camera right in front. He liked what he saw.

Nana fiddled about with the lens for a bit and altered the height of the tripod, but she knew as well as we did that she wouldn’t be able to put this off for much longer. She stuck in an earpiece and plugged it into the camera.

Akaki handed his comb to one of his minions. It looked as though it had recently been dipped in goose fat. The expression on his face said he was ready, and ready right now.

But Nana wasn’t, not quite yet, anyway. She moved to his side and murmured quietly in his ear. He looked at her and tugged thoughtfully at a handful of beard.

After a few more tugs, he started bellowing again, but this time Nana wasn’t his target. Ponchos were going back on. AKs were being shouldered.

Charlie and I were busy looking busy, making needless adjustments to the kit. Nana came back over to us, pointing at the lights and conveying a series of highly technical instructions with her outstretched arms.

‘I’ve told him that if this is to go out live to the US, I need to do a series of links to camera in English. These will be used as trails, to guarantee the biggest possible audience… I’ve also suggested he send some men to scout exterior locations, and round up enough locals for a crowd scene. He understands it’s very important we get this right. We’re going to meet them at the village hall once we’ve closed down the link.’

Three of the Taliwagons were already firing up as the guys clambered aboard.

Akaki was keeping just the two arse-lickers behind. They stood a few metres away, AKs trained on Charlie and me.

I watched the Taliwagons charge up the track, towards the houses nestled among the trees.

‘Well done, lass.’ Charlie put an avuncular hand on Nana’s shoulder.

She smiled briefly then was back in control. She waved us away from the kit so Akaki could see what was happening. ‘Nick, Charlie, go get in the van. I don’t want him to see your faces when I go live. Go, please.’

She fired some more waffle at Akaki, and he was lapping it up. By the look on his face, he wasn’t too far from suggesting the two of them got a slot together as Georgia’s answer to Richard and Judy.

The lights burst into life as we made our way to the van, and the corner of the barn became Akaki’s little slice of Hollywood.

4

Paata sat hunched in front of us, one earphone on, the other high on his head, ignoring everything but the image of Nana’s face on the screens. We just watched and listened.

‘Yep, that’s OK, Paata. How am I for level? Did you get through? Are they coming? One, two, three, four, five…’

She took a deep breath and composed herself. ‘Five seconds!’ Paata kept his voice level. ‘Yes, they are airborne. String it out.’

I caught Charlie’s eye, and knew he was also thinking that we might still be able to keep our bollocks the right side of the barn door.

Nana just stared into the camera, nodding as the countdown crackled in her earpiece.

‘Two… one… On air…’

‘Standing right here next to me…’ She turned to Akaki and gave him a deep, respectful bow, ‘is a disgrace to mankind, the most despicable gangster ever to walk the blessed earth of Georgia.’

He nodded his acknowledgement then stared back into the camera.

‘And within the last few minutes I have seen documentary evidence of his most appalling act of treachery to date…’

Her voice quavered and Akaki’s brow furrowed.

‘An abominable act… perpetrated by the murderer who sits before you…’

Akaki nodded his appreciation, not understanding a word. I hoped neither of the arse-lickers had taken a year out at Princeton.

Nana smiled and nodded back. ‘Evidence so important that I have to relay it to our beloved nation right now, in case I do not live long enough to hand it over to the appropriate authorities…’

Nana swept her arm to embrace the whole valley, as if describing it as Akaki’s domain.

‘An affidavit was to have been sworn today by a member of parliament whose name I cannot mention because this monster beside me will recognize it…’

Her hand gripped the mike so tightly I could see her knuckles whiten.

’But, tragically, he cannot do that now. He is dead, murdered by Akaki’s men, and others who did not want his evidence to see the light of day. Akaki now has possession of this document, but I have read it from cover to cover… and even if I wanted to, I could never forget the awfulness of what I have read…’

Paata muttered an acknowledgement to somebody into his mike and pressed a button. ‘Five minutes, Nana. Keep going.’

She put a finger to her earpiece and nodded. ‘The representative in question, a personal friend to many, known throughout this land as a man dedicated to fighting the corruption that stains our country, was murdered because he had proof that six members of our government are implicated in terrorist activities, in concert with the man you see before you—’

Paata hit the button again. ‘Correction, Nana. It’s ten, repeat ten minutes. Keep going, you’re doing well. If he gets suspicious, cut the English and switch to the straight interview. OK?’

She fingered her earpiece again.

‘Yes… these six pillars of our establishment will greet President Bush when he arrives in our country this month… and the hands they will extend to him in friendship are as bloodstained as that of the mass murderer, kidnapper, extortionist and drug trafficker they are in league with…’

Charlie touched Paata’s shoulder. ‘This isn’t actually going to the States, is it?’

He shook his head without looking round. We got the idea: shut the fuck up.

‘It hardly bears thinking about, but the objective of this barbarity is to perpetuate the terrorist threat, so that the United States continues to send us aid; aid that doesn’t find its way to feeding our hungry or repairing our hospitals, but lines the pockets of expensive, western-tailored suits…’

Nana’s voice cracked again. Akaki was starting to look concerned.

‘Good news, Nana. It’s four minutes, repeat, four — maybe less.’

‘Unimaginable.’ She nodded. ‘But you must be told…’ She turned her head to Akaki and somehow managed a smile. ‘This… monster… was paid one million American dollars by these politicians to plan and carry out the massacre of sixty women and children last month in the village of Kazbegi—’

She realized immediately that she’d fucked up. Akaki’s head jerked round.

‘Sixty Minutes…’ Nana did her best to smile, ‘has the names of all six politicians, and the former FBI agent involved…’

Akaki had smelled a rat. He muttered something to his arse-lickers.

‘Three minutes, Nana. Hang on in there.’

‘I am now going to expose those murdering and corrupt politicians to the people of Georgia…’

Her eyes flickered to the sky.

I hadn’t heard anything inside the van, but the arse-lickers had; they ran outside and stared into the clouds.

Nana went for it. ‘Gogi Shengelia… Mamuka Asly…’

Akaki was on his feet, his expression thunderous. He swept the camera aside and charged through the barn doors.

Nana kept on going.

‘Giorgi Shenoy… Roman Tsereteli…’

The moment I stepped out of the van I could hear the beat of rotors. The helis must have stayed in dead ground until the last possible moment.

Akaki waved his arm and barked a sequence of orders. The arse-lickers tumbled into their Taliwagon. Akaki lifted his AK.

Nana was on autopilot.

‘Kote Zhvania… Irakli Zemularia…’

The Hueys were virtually overhead. Akaki tried to bring his AK into his shoulder, only to be buffeted by the downwash.

The fourth Taliwagon screamed to a halt alongside him and the arse-lickers pulled him aboard. The heli dipped its nose and headed for the field just to the side of the barn.

Nana was shaking. ‘There will be full exposure of all Zurab Bazgadze’s allegations in a special edition of 60 Minutes soon. Now back to the studio.’

She dropped the mike to her side. By the time Paata had wrapped her in his arms, her whole body was convulsed with sobs.

‘Nana? We have to go.’

She looked over his shoulder at me. ‘I’ll help you, Nick. I’ll help you with the police.’

I shook my head. ‘No time for all that stuff. I’m taking Charlie home; there’s something he’s got to do.’

She shook her head, not understanding. ‘What can be more important than wanting to prove your innocence?’

‘Having the chance to die with your family around you…’

Charlie came up alongside me. ‘See that treeline, lad?’ He pointed to the slope behind the barn. ‘Last one there buys the kebabs.’

5

I looked through the slats. Four Hueys were touching down in the field a hundred metres away. BDU-clad bodies leaped out and took up fire positions.

Paata was out of the van, dragging the camera from its mount, ripping out all the leads. He extended the small antenna that would maintain the link with the satellite dish and keep the feed live.

There was the rattle of automatic gunfire from the high ground to our right. Akaki’s crew were putting down fire from the village.

The helis’ engines roared and they lifted sharply. The guys on the ground spun around like headless chickens. It was like watching Kazbegi all over again.

One or two shots came from the field as the BDUs began to engage. I hoped they were aimed up at the village and not towards us.

Paata rushed outside, camera on his shoulder, Nana by his side.

I grabbed Charlie. ‘Well?’

He looked at me but didn’t answer.

I ran to the barn doors. ‘Nana! Nana!’

She indicated to Paata what she wanted filmed.

‘Nana!’

She turned back and I mimed the cut-away sign, finger across my throat.

The helis thundered overhead, eager to get out of the contact zone.

‘Go!’ she screamed. ‘Go!’

She turned away and got on with her job.

I skirted round the side of the barn, Charlie following at a hobble.

We scrambled up to the treeline, using the building as cover, and then turned back towards the village, paralleling the road. We had a bird’s-eye view of the chaos below us. BDUs milled around in the field, trying to take cover, not sure where. Maybe they hadn’t got to page two of the textbook yet.

American voices tried in vain to command and control as one-in-four tracer burned down from the militants’ light machine guns, thudding into the grass around their students.

One long burst arced down from the rooftops, scattering earth around the BDUs. They had no choice but to keep moving and get the fuck off the open ground.

Nana crouched against the woodpile outside the barn, talking to camera as the contact went on behind her. Paata panned across the sky as the whirl of rotor blades sounded from the high ground behind the barn.

The Huey was really close, coming in low, and swept over our heads, banking into a steep climb over the field then breaking right, towards the village. The crew were trying to get some kind of fix on the attackers.

Another burst of tracer forced the heli to bank sharp left and disappear back into the dead ground.

Charlie slowed. I grabbed his arm, hooked it over my shoulder, and dragged him along. I slipped in the mud, finally bringing both of us down.

Charlie landed on top of me. ‘Any chance of a breather, lad?’

We lay where we had fallen, trying to catch our breath.

Another sustained burst from above us echoed around the valley. This time there was return fire; the boys in the field had finally got their act together.

Charlie shook his head. ‘Why aren’t those fuckers up there just running for it? Do they really want to take on the army? They all escaped from the same asylum as Koba?’

I dragged him to his feet. Before long, wooden houses began to appear alongside the road below us.

Charlie stopped. ‘Listen, lad… No helis. Must have gone for reinforcements. Now’s our chance.’

6

A tractor and an old Lada sat abandoned at the side of the track, but nothing that looked as though it might get our soaked arses out of here at any sort of speed, even if we could have dodged the militants to our right, and half the Georgian army down below us to our left.

The whole place fell eerily quiet.

‘What about the Taliwagons?’

A burst of automatic echoed round the village before I could answer.

‘Fuck it, let’s go.’ Charlie slid downhill and broke free of the treeline. I followed. He was making for a cluster of small wooden houses that hugged the main drag.

We edged into an unfenced yard and flattened ourselves against the back wall. All the shutters were closed. I heard a frightened child whimper behind them.

Squaddies at the bottom of the road loosed off with their AKs. From higher up, to our right, Akaki’s men gave it back in spades. The barrels of their light machine guns must have been red hot.

A round ricocheted off the wall beside us and screamed up into the air.

I tugged Charlie’s sleeve. ‘Wait here, old one.’

Keeping low, I moved to the corner of the house. A dog started barking inside.

My hair was flat against my head. My trousers were caked in mud. My clothes stuck to me like clingfilm. I was just beginning to realize how hungry and thirsty I was.

I checked Baby-G. We had an hour and a bit until last light, maybe less, given the cloud cover.

I lay down on my stomach, and inched my way along the wall until I could see up and down the road. It was deserted. The villagers were keeping well out of this. I didn’t blame them a bit.

The road stumbled uphill for about a hundred metres before disappearing. The militants’ fire position must have been just beyond the bend. They’d chosen well. They had a clear line of fire all the way down into the valley where the helis had landed.

An American voice barked instructions about 200 to my left and BDUs darted around in response. Nana and Paata would probably be in among them as they pushed uphill, but we weren’t going to stick around and find out.

I made my way back to Charlie. He had his leg elevated against the back wall, rain falling onto his face. ‘The squaddies are getting close.’ I held out a hand. He grabbed it and I pulled him up. ‘I didn’t see Akaki’s crew, but they must be past the bend, a hundred up. We need to get up there and beyond their line. We’ll stay behind the houses.’

‘Well done, lad. So what are we hanging about for?’

I hooked his arm over my shoulder and we started to pick our way through a succession of unfenced back yards.

We’d gone another eighty or ninety metres when the houses veered left with the road. Another twenty or thirty and we’d be well beyond the line of fire.

We hit a fenced compound filled with pigs. It wasn’t worth the effort of getting Charlie over the top. We doubled back up the slope and boxed around it. It all took time, and I didn’t know how much of that we had to spare. The road might not be the squaddies’ only axis of attack. The last thing we needed was to be caught in crossfire.

As we worked our way down again, the militants opened up with their light machine guns.

‘Poor little buggers,’ Charlie muttered. ‘Talk about baptism of fire.’

‘Shut up and get moving.’

I stopped, head up.

‘Listen.’

The firing had come from behind us. We were beyond the contact.

All we had to do now was drop down into the village and see about hot-wiring ourselves some freedom.

7

We emerged beside what looked like the village hall. There must have been an election in the last year or so; the walls were plastered with fading campaign posters. A line of Zurab Bazgadzes beamed down at us.

‘Our carriage awaits, lad.’

ATaliwagon sat just thirty metres away in the middle of the road. It was rusty and dented, but had four wheels and, with any luck, an engine. Best of all, there seemed to be no-one with it.

‘You ready, mate?’

He nodded.

I started running without checking he was behind me.

There was no movement, but the village was far from deserted. Shouts and a burst of automatic blazed from the other side of some buildings to my left, down towards the road.

I headed for the driver’s side and flung open the door.

No keys.

I rummaged around in the glove compartment, the foot well, the door pockets. They were under the seat.

I jumped in and hit the ignition. The warm diesel fired first time.

I heard a shout to my right, and it wasn’t Charlie.

An Akaki lookalike in a poncho glistening with rainwater was sheltering in a doorway no more than three metres away. His eyes were wide with shock. He came to his senses, dropped the handful of medical supplies he’d been holding, and went for his RPK.

The weapon swung up, almost in slow motion.

He looked beyond me and shouted again, but I shouted louder. ‘Charlie!’

I hunched forward, praying that he’d bounce onto the back before I got sawn in half.

There was a blur of bodies and muzzle flash. The light machine gun jerked and sprayed a short burst into the air, then weapon and owner disappeared under Charlie’s flailing body.

I leaped out and took a running kick at the militant’s head.

My boot connected and Akaki’s mate cried out.

Charlie rolled to one side and grabbed the weapon, and I kicked again. Charlie staggered to his feet and leaned over him, jamming the barrel into his chest. ‘Get his mags, Nick! Get his mags!’

I lifted the poncho. The RPK was basically an AK-47 with a longer, heavier barrel and a non-detachable folding bipod mounted under the muzzle. It could be fed from special box or drum magazines, but also the familiar curved AK-type thirty-round mags. This boy had two of them in a chest harness. I pulled them free and we both legged it into the wagon.

I sawed at the wheel to aim the Taliwagon uphill, away from the square. The fuel gauge gave us just over half a tank.

Charlie pulled back on the cocking handle of the RPK to check there was a round in the chamber. Then he unclipped the mag and pressed his finger down on the top round to see how many were left.

‘What you doing, lad?’

‘Pointing us at Turkey.’

‘No.’ He put a hand on the wheel. ‘Akaki first.’

‘We don’t have time for that.’

His hand didn’t budge. ‘Akaki.’

Fuck it. ‘Just one pass, that’s all you’re getting.’

I threw the wagon into four-wheel and dropped the clutch, swinging us round until we faced the other way. My foot hit the floor.

The poncho had staggered to his feet but now had to dive back into the doorway to get out of the way.

I drove hard for the other side of the square before swinging the wheel right to head downhill. I squeezed the wagon into an alleyway and added a whole new set of dents to its already impressive collection.

We came out into the main drag like a cork from a bottle. The other Taliwagons had pulled in before the bend about 200 metres ahead of us. The militants were putting down a fearsome amount of fire against the BDUs below them. Three bodies lay motionless in the field where the Hueys had landed. The BDUs were still trying to fire and manoeuvre uphill, using the buildings as cover. Now they were closer, Akaki had better targets. Another body lay on the road between them, and I saw a couple of BDUs drag a wounded man into cover just beyond it.

I braked to a halt. Now we were here, I knew Charlie was right. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

I shoved the wagon into first. ‘It’s one pass, make the most of it.’

He turned his back to me and poked the weapon out of his window, wooden stock resting on the door, butt into his shoulder.

A few faces turned as we moved down the road, then went back to their war.

I accelerated.

Seconds later we were level with Akaki’s crew and Charlie fired short, sharp bursts into anything that moved.

The noise inside the cab was deafening, even with both the windows open, and we were choking on cordite. I tried to keep the wagon as steady as I could. The rounds had to make their spots or we’d get a whole shitload in return.

The bodywork took a couple of crunching thuds as the militants got their act together.

Charlie recocked and got off two short bursts.

‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’

I hit the brake and Charlie took aim at a cluster of three men, one of whom, unmistakably, was Akaki. He legged it while the two others tried to shield him.

Charlie’s weapon fell silent.

‘Stoppage!’

He changed mags, his eyes always on the target as it clambered into the back of a Taliwagon.

‘Wait! Wait!’

He recocked and kept the bursts short and sharp. Akaki’s wagon lurched forward and sped back the way we had come.

I braked hard and threw our Toyota into a three-point turn.

As we closed, their rear screen disintegrated and our windscreen took two rounds. The safety glass shattered but stayed intact.

‘Keep going! Go, go, go!’

Charlie kicked out his side of the shattered windscreen. Shards of glass peppered my face, blown back by the wind. More rounds thudded into the wagon. Fuck it, there was nothing I could do but drive.

Charlie rearranged himself in his seat and shoved the RPK’s muzzle through the hole in the screen. Its barrel sizzled in the rain. Charlie fought to keep the thing stable on its bipod and aimed as best he could, firing double taps to conserve rounds.

Akaki’s wagon disappeared about fifty ahead of us.

‘Go right, go right — cut him off!’

I swung the Toyota the way Charlie said, and found myself paralleling Akaki along a narrow mud track between two barns. Charlie held the weapon down to control it. ‘Get your foot down! Get up there before him!’

I fought the wheel as the back of the wagon bucked like a rodeo horse.

We roared back up onto the high ground and passed the village square to our left. I threw the Toyota into a turn as Akaki’s wagon broke out from the other side of the square. Charlie started firing before I’d even rammed on the brakes. ‘Give me a platform. Platform!’

I held the wagon still as Charlie kept firing, short and sharp.

Mud kicked up around Akaki’s wagon. It took hits but kept going.

Another burst.

‘Stoppage!’

Akaki’s wagon crashed straight into the side of the village hall, its wing ripped open. One body jumped out of the back; another fell. The driver stayed put, slumped over the wheel.

‘Hold on!’

Ramming the gearshift into first, I aimed at the body running along the edge of the square.

Charlie worked frantically to change mags as we bounced and shuddered towards the runner. No mistaking who it was.

He turned, brought up his weapon, and fired.

I didn’t know if we were taking hits or not, and I didn’t care. I drove straight at him. ‘Get that fucking thing loaded!’

The wind roared through the windscreen as Akaki turned and started to run again.

Too late; our wing caught him in the small of his back, catapulting him across the road.

I passed him; hit the brakes.

Charlie tried to get out.

‘Stay!’

I threw the Toyota into reverse. The back wheel lifted over his body then came back down onto the road.

The front wheel followed.

I kept on reversing until Charlie could take aim. Two short, sharp bursts thudded into the body on the ground.

As we crested the hill away from the village, my foot never left the floor.

8

‘One down, one to go.’ Charlie had to shout to make himself heard over the wind rush.

‘You pissed?’ I kept my eyes on the road. We were only ten minutes out of the village and however much we needed them, I couldn’t risk lights. What was left of the windscreen my side was shattered. The smashed glass and plastic safety layer protected me from the worst of the wind, but made it even harder to spot the puddles, or any deep hole that might swallow us up.

The firs covering the high ground to our right made our world darker still. The good news was, we were back on the pipeline, heading for Turkey and Crazy Dave. The five-metre-wide scar ran like a guide rail to our left.

I checked the rear-view. Still no pursuit. Fuck it; I switched on the headlights and put my foot down.

I’d just dropped down into two-wheel to try to eke out the fuel when the headlights picked out a static vehicle at the roadside. It was a rusting, lime-green Lada. The bonnet was up.

‘Thank you, God.’ Charlie reached down and pulled the RPK from the foot well.

I gripped the wheel. ‘Come on, mate, I’ve got to get you home.’

‘Fuck that, lad. We got the first bastard, now let’s finish the job.’

‘What’s the point? He had at least an hour’s head start. He might be in another vehicle by now, and halfway to Turkey.’

‘So what? We check this out, and catch up with him then. I’m going for it. You in?’

As if I was going to leave him and drive on.

I stopped the Toyota and stuck it into first gear, ready to back him. As he climbed out, he pushed the safety lever on the left of the RPK down to the first click, single shot.

He walked around to the back of the Taliwagon, the big RPK in his shoulder, bipod folded up along the barrel.

Once he was level with me, we were ready.

‘Come on then, let’s do it.’

I lifted the clutch and crept forward as he limped beside me, using the wagon as cover. Why he’d got out, I didn’t know. Then it dawned on me. He was enjoying this. He was doing it not only to get Bastard; he was doing it for himself. It was the last chance he’d ever have to do some soldiering, the thing that he was born for.

He stopped short of the Lada and so did I. I kept low in the seat. Bastard still had that Desert Eagle.

Charlie’s eyes were fixed on the treeline, looking for trouble. ‘Stay here, I’ll check for sign.’

He hobbled forward, RPK at the ready.

He didn’t go right up to the car; just circled it, checking the mud for tracks.

He tried the driver’s door. The Lada was unlocked.

Charlie took a quick look inside, then moved slowly up the road, still casting around for sign.

Four or five metres ahead of the Lada, he turned and gave me a thumbs-up.

I rolled towards him and stopped.

He stuck his head through the passenger window. ‘Flat shoes. Leading into the treeline.’ He spoke very quietly, as if Bastard was within earshot. ‘He can’t have gone far; you saw how useless he was. We’ve got the fucker.’

He hobbled off without waiting to see if I was coming.

I killed the engine, grabbed the keys and got out.

9

We moved straight into the trees and started climbing.

Charlie was soon in trouble. I could hear his laboured breathing. He was carrying his injured ankle at a very unnatural angle.

I moved alongside him and put my mouth to his ear. ‘Let’s just do it until we can’t see any more, OK? He could be anywhere.’

It wasn’t as if there was any ground sign we could follow. The floor was covered with pine needles. He stopped and listened, mouth open, his head cocked to the left so his right ear faced dead ahead.

Finding our way back to the wagon again wouldn’t be hard, even in the dark. All we’d have to do was drop downhill until we hit the road.

The rain battered its way through the canopy of firs, and the wind howled.

Charlie set off.

I stayed where I was. I’d be his ears while he moved about five paces ahead.

I drew level with him and he set off again. I wouldn’t move beyond him. I didn’t have a weapon. He was going to be front man. It was the way he wanted it.

He took his time, weapon in the shoulder, forty-five degrees down but ready to swing up, safety still off all the way down to the second click.

He stopped after just one pace. It looked like his ankle had finally packed in on him. He crouched against a tree, looking up the hill.

I spoke into his ear. ‘I’m getting knackered myself, mate. There’s no way that fat bastard’s going to climb any higher.’

Charlie pointed left, parallel to the road. His hand was shaking. He gave me a thumbs-up and adjusted the RPK, ready to move again.

I grabbed an arm before he could do so. ‘You want me to take point?’

He held up a hand and we both watched it shake.

‘Nah,’ he said simply. ‘He owes me, lad. And not just for a fucking bacon sandwich.’

He hobbled four paces to the left, weapon in the shoulder, following the contour of the slope.

I moved up to him again, keeping a bit of distance so our joint mass didn’t present too easy a target.

He was silent for another few seconds, then dropped down into a waist-deep depression carved out by years of running water from the hilltop.

He froze almost immediately, reacting to a rustling noise in the dead ground.

There was a loud shout. ‘Fuck you!’

Then a heavy-calibre shot and a falling body.

Charlie was down.

10

I ran into the dip.

Charlie wasn’t moving, but Bastard was. He was out of sight, but I could hear him pushing deeper into the pines.

I grabbed the RPK and squeezed the bipod legs together to release them. I gave them a tug as I got to the top of the rise and they sprang apart. The barrel supported, I dropped to the ground, pushed safety fully down, and squeezed off a series of short sharp bursts in the direction of the noise. My ears were ringing when I stopped. Smoke curled from the muzzle.

No screams, no begging. Fuck him. I scrambled back down to where Charlie lay on his back in the mud and pine needles, so still he could have been sleeping. I knelt over him and cradled his head, and immediately felt warm liquid on my hands. He was making an ominous, slurping noise each time he drew breath.

I unzipped his Gore-Tex and tore at the hole in his shirt. Blood trickled down my hands. He had a sucking wound. The.357 round had drilled a hole in his chest, just below his right nipple. As he breathed in, oxygen had rushed to fill the vacuum in his thoracic cavity, and the pressure had collapsed his lungs. As he breathed out, air and blood were forced out like air and water from a whale’s blowhole.

‘Nearly stepped on the fucker…’ Charlie coughed blood. ‘I couldn’t pull the trigger, Nick…’ He tried to laugh. ‘Fucking disco hands…’

His body twitched. He was in agony, but the crazy thing was, he was smiling.

But if he was talking, he was breathing — that was all that mattered.

I grabbed his hand and placed it over the entry site. ‘Plug it, mate.’

He nodded. He wasn’t that out of it yet; he understood what needed to be done. With his chest airtight, his lungs would inflate and normal breathing could resume.

‘Got to check for exit wounds, mate. It’s going to hurt.’

I rolled him onto his side, but there wasn’t so much as a scratch on his back. The round must still be in him. A heavy round like that could only have been stopped by bone — maybe his shoulder blade — but a fracture was the least of his problems. We both knew he was in deep trouble.

Charlie began to groan. ‘How’s it look? How’s it look?’

Over and over.

He’d be going into shock soon. I had to act fast, but what could I do? He needed fluids, he needed a chest drain, he needed the wound sealed; he needed the whole fucking cast of ER up here.

He groaned again.

Still no need to worry about his airway.

His hand had fallen from his chest. I put the heel of my mine over the hole to keep the seal. He coughed again, and the effort sent him into spasms of pain.

‘How’s it look? How’s it look?’

His face contorted — another good sign. He could still feel it, his senses hadn’t deserted him.

I needed to get him down to the wagon, and I needed to keep the seal while I did so. I’d have to drive back to the village. The guy we’d lifted the RPK from had been standing in the doorway of what looked like a medical station — and the BDUs would have brought trauma packs.

We’d be arrested, but so what? I’d said I’d get the old fucker home, and I would.

‘How’s it look?’

‘Shut up, and think life.’

There was nothing up here I could use to keep the seal, apart from my hand. How the fuck was I going to do that while I got him down the hill?

Bastard would be heading there too. He knew we hadn’t come here by bus. But he wasn’t going anywhere fast. I’d deal with him once Charlie was safe.

I looked down at Charlie’s face. It was swelling like a football.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

I lifted my hand.

There was a hiss, like air escaping from the valve of a car tyre, and a geyser of blood mist.

The round had certainly gone through one of his lungs, maybe both. Oxygen was being released into the chest cavity through any wounds. With me holding the seal, it had nowhere to go. The pressure in his chest had built so much that when he tried to breathe in, his lungs and heart had no way to expand.

I pulled him over onto his right side; blood that had pooled inside the lung poured out like milk from an overturned bottle.

I rolled him back and sealed the hole again.

He was losing consciousness.

11

I had to keep trying. ‘It’s OK, you can talk to me again, mate.’

There was no response. ‘Oi, come on, speak to me, you old twat!’ I pulled his sideburns. Still no response.

I lifted his eyelid.

So little dilation I could scarcely see it.

His breathing had become very rapid and shallow. His heart was working overtime to circulate what fluid was left around his body. There’d be more blood in his chest cavity now, pooling and killing him.

I listened to his breathing. ‘Show me you hear me, mate… Show me…’

There was no reply.

‘I’m going to move you, mate… not long now before we’re out of here. Soon be on a plane, be back in Brisbane… OK, OK? Give me a sign, mate, show me you’re alive.’

Nothing.

I lifted a lid, felt for a pulse.

None of those either.

I touched his face; the smile was still there. It was sign enough for me.

‘Won’t be long, you old fucker. Back soon.’

I picked up the RPK and lunged down the hill. I pulled off the mag as I ran, and pushed down. About ten left. I flicked safety to the first click. Every round had to count.

I checked left at the treeline, towards the wagons.

About 100 away, Bastard swayed from side to side as he stumbled along the road, arms flailing in an effort to maintain his balance.

Keeping in the trees, I followed.

He fell, and floundered for a moment like an upturned turtle.

I slowed almost to a walk, scanning ahead for a decent firing position.

He finally reached the Taliwagon. I watched him head for the driver’s door and lean inside.

I put the weapon on the ground again, bipod in place, and eased myself down behind it.

The iron sights were on battle setting: 300 metres.

I felt surprisingly calm as I brought the butt into my shoulder, closed my left eye and took aim.

As I’d assumed, he was no big-time hot-wire man. He emerged from the cab and kicked the side panel in frustration before moving back to the Lada. A second or two later the engine turned over, but that was all it did.

Wet spark plugs. It must have been what had stopped him in the first place, and nothing had changed.

He persisted, but the battery was draining and it turned over slower and slower.

The wind took the sound and carried it away into the trees, but I watched him screaming out, punching the steering wheel with rage.

He climbed out and started towards the pipeline.

It didn’t matter what his plans were; they weren’t going to happen.

My eyes focused on his body mass. Left eye closed, I aimed low, into his gut.

I took first pressure on the trigger; breathed in, held it.

The foresight was sharp and Bastard was blurred.

Perfect.

I squeezed second pressure.

The weapon jolted in my shoulder and Bastard went down.

There was no movement at first, then his legs started to scrabble in the mud.

I got up. Weapon in the shoulder, bipod down, I moved towards him.

He was beginning to crawl over the pipeline scar, instinct dragging him away from danger. I doubted he even knew he was doing it.

He saw me coming.

He stopped, and curled on his side in the middle of the scar.

Dark, deoxygenated blood oozed from his gut and ran down the shiny chrome of the Desert

Eagle in his belt.

Weapon in the shoulder, eyes on that.357.

I was only a couple of metres away when he held up a hand. He’d been saving his breath until he absolutely needed to speak.

‘Nick, I’ll split my half million with you… Chuck got his half mill…’

I just let him fill the gaps.

‘I’m sorry about the cemetery thing, but I’d taken half his cash, man… I had to tidy up… Loose ends…’

His hand was still up, but more in supplication now than self-protection. ‘You already got two-fifty, right? You said you’d split it down the middle. So I’ll give you another two-fifty… That puts you ahead of us both…’

I heard the rattle of heli rotors in the distance. Bastard heard them too.

‘Hey, Nick, tell you what — I’ll give you it all… Get me back to Istanbul, I’ll arrange the transfer. Come on, man.’

Hand still in the air, he pointed to his jacket pocket. ‘I’ll even give you the tape back. You’re no fool, Nick. You know it’s a good deal. Think about it. Chuck’s gone. You gotta think of yourself now.’

This guy never gave up, did he?

I raised the RPK.

‘Don’t call him Chuck.’

I watched his face relax.

‘Fuck you.’ His hand dropped and went for Koba’s weapon.

I pulled the trigger.

No need to check his pulse.

I dropped the RPK and turned and ran back into the treeline. I had to find Charlie again before it was too dark.

I needed to.

I’d promised Hazel I’d bring him home.

EPILOGUE

It had been a simple funeral.

Hazel and Julie had thrown themselves into organizing every detail, even down to hiring the mini-JCB so Alan could scoop out Charlie’s grave. I guessed it held the demons at bay for a while, kept the two of them in their bubble just a little bit longer.

There’d been no priest in charge yesterday, and no formal prayers. We all just stood round the coffin next to the hole, and everybody said their piece; then we lowered him into the ground, Hazel and Julie on one set of ropes, Alan and me on the other.

The whole thing was done economy, just the way a tight-arsed Yorkshireman would have wanted it. Silky was in charge of music. A couple of Charlie’s favourite Abba songs blared out from the camper van nearby, and I wondered if his disco hands were behaving themselves when Boney M’s ‘Brown Girl In The Ring’ followed shortly afterwards. That was when Hazel finally stopped holding herself together. The grandkids couldn’t understand. They thought it was her favourite song.

Alan did the catering. The food was OK, but his kids said their dad’s barbecue wasn’t a patch on Granddad’s.

Later that night, Alan had chucked in a DVD for them, but we’d all watched. We felt too numb to do much else, and ninety minutes of Shrek was as surreal a way as any of not brooding about absent friends.

By the time Alan and Hazel were putting them to bed, I was drained. I sat with Silky, watching disembodied images float across the screen, picking up the odd sentence here and there. It was current affairs time of night; President Bush had stopped by in Georgia on his way back from the VE celebrations in Moscow. The event had been covered for CNN by a local reporter, ‘Emmy-nominated Nana Onani’.

I Googled her on Charlie’s ageing PC before we turned in. The 60 Minutes special had gone out; names had been named. Seismic changes were promised, but of course none had yet taken place. Two guys had been shifted sideways, and the other four had retired to their dachas to spend more time with their families.

Akaki threw up a few results, but nowhere near as many as Zurab Bazgadze. His state funeral had been a bit more lavish than Charlie’s. I searched everywhere, but Jim D. ‘Call Me Buster’ Bastendorf didn’t raise a dickie bird.

Now I was taking a final walk-past with Hazel. The plot was set among a clump of gum trees, with a low white fence round it. She’d thought it all out; made sure there’d be room for her as well, in due course.

It was last light and the sun was really low. Dust kicked up by the horses drifted across a blood-red skyline.

I started telling her how he’d been thinking of coming home when I caught up with him. ‘But something stopped him, Hazel. I think I understand. I sort of missed it, too. You know, when you’ve done something for so long, it feels sort of… comfortable. I felt more at home out there with him than I had for ages. I’m sorry; I didn’t try hard enough to persuade him to bin it. I was selfish. I wanted to go along as shotgun.’

She smiled at me and shook her head. ‘I knew the silly bugger wanted to die with his boots on. We’ve been together since we were at school. I knew him better than he knew himself. He thought he’d kept it hidden…’

She stopped to look out across the paddock at the dark silhouettes of the horses.

‘Nick, I always understood what was going on in that thick head of his, and was prepared to live with it… If I couldn’t make him stop, I wanted him concentrating on whatever he’d got himself involved with instead of worrying about me. That way he would stand a chance of coming home safe.’ She smiled again as she headed towards the house. ‘It worked pretty well for thirty years.’

She tucked her arm in mine. ‘I know he wanted to do the right thing — you know, make sure me and the family were OK. But you know what, Nick? I’d trade it all for just a few more minutes with him.’

I stopped and looked up as her grandkids ran shrieking and giggling from the house a couple of hundred metres away and headed in our direction. ‘You know what, Hazel? I think we’d all have liked a bit more time with Charlie… except for Charlie.’

The kids bounded up and hugged their grandmother, still not really sure what to make of things. Julie had told them Granddad had gone to teach the angels how to freefall, and they thought that was a great idea. But then they asked when he’d be coming home.

We reached the house. The VW was outside, all packed, ready to go. Well, sort of. The surfboard only had two bungees holding it down.

Silky came out onto the veranda, arm in arm with Julie. She came down the steps and gave Hazel a final hug, then jumped into the VW. With a bit of luck we’d be in the Whitsundays for breakfast.

Hazel kept her hand on my arm and pulled back to have a last look at me. Her eyes were brimming.

‘Nick, if you see Crazy Dave, don’t forget to thank him for what he’s done for us. The money, getting you two back here — he’s been absolutely wonderful.’

I kissed her cheek. ‘He has, hasn’t he?’

I climbed into the combi. Mother and daughter waved to us from the veranda as we turned down the track.

I leaned forward on the steering wheel, ready for a long night’s drive, thinking about my best mate Crazy Dave.

I’d heaved Charlie into the Taliwagon and followed the pipeline as we’d planned, driving all night without lights, so the helis didn’t see me. From that moment on, Crazy Dave had taken over. He got us picked up on the Georgian side of the border and driven into Turkey. He sorted passports, everything.

He’d got us flown back to Australia, me in Club Class and Charlie in cargo, and then he’d seen to it that Hazel was set up for life. But then, he hadn’t had a whole lot of choice…

As I’d crawled along beside the pipeline that night, I’d mulled over what the fat fuck had said. Bastard’s politico mates had given him a million for the job, but instead of spreading it around he’d skimmed off five hundred grand for his retirement plan.

Crazy Dave hadn’t been far behind.

Charlie had only needed two hundred thousand, and the silly fucker had probably said he’d do anything for it.

So, I made a deal with Mr Good Guy of Bobblestock while waiting in the Club lounge at Istanbul. He’d give Hazel the whole five hundred thousand, telling her it was the agreed fee for the job. In return, I’d hold off telling the guys who knocked on his door how much markup he liked to take, or telling the companies that used him that he had a quality control problem — he didn’t even check if the bayonets had disco hands.

The bit I’d enjoyed most was telling him that if he didn’t get his finger out and have the cash in Hazel’s account by the time me and Charlie arrived in Brisbane, I’d be on the next flight to Bobblestock, to come and separate his bony arse from his wheelchair.

Silky touched my arm. ‘Why the smile, Nick Stone?’

I took my eyes off the track for a second, and grinned at her. ‘Just thinking…’

I’d been thinking about her a lot — for 12,000 miles and plenty of time zones — and normally that would have been her short cut to a P45. I’d have left her in Brisbane, I’d have given her the van. I’d have cut away.

But this time, about 36,000 feet over the Pacific, I’d remembered something someone had once said to me in a car that stank of wet dogs.

‘It’s all about trying to hang on to the balance, lad… make any sense?’

I’d nodded to myself on the plane, and I nodded to myself again now.

‘About what?’

‘About how right you were. We are a good fit, aren’t we?’

She laughed and leaned her head against my shoulder, and if that was what joining the human race was all about, I was up for it.

Something else I’d learned from the expert.

We passed the paddock where the old stallion had used to mope, but not any more. I’d fucked about with the JCB and dug a big hole in the corner of his field, and then I’d put Charlie’s shotgun to his head and given it both barrels. I had an idea that the bay was smiling now as much as Charlie was.