Aggressor

1

The one-bar ran around barking orders into the open door of one of the Portakabins and the marines moved forward. We did exactly as we were told; we each had a muzzle in our face.

We waited for instructions; the trick is to show no sign of fear, or any other emotion that might spark people off. Be neutral; do what you’re told, when you’re told.

‘You! You with the dark hair,’ the marine closest to me shouted. ‘Get out of the vehicle, and get out real slow. The old one, stay where you are.’

I stifled a grin. Charlie wasn’t going to like that one bit.

More marines tumbled out of the Portakabins into the square, clad in body armour and Kevlar helmets but not carrying weapons. I had the feeling we were about to meet the reception committee.

I got out slowly, making sure they saw my hands at all times, and that I made no jerky movements.

The guy covering me came round to my side of the vehicle and stopped a couple of metres away, his barrel pointing into the centre of my chest. He leaned into the weapon, butt firmly in the shoulder, aiming down rather than up so that if he had to shoot, there’d be less chance of the round hitting someone else on the way out.

It was now Charlie’s turn to be hollered at. I heard rather than saw him step down from the wagon. I wasn’t going to turn round until the man with the semi-automatic said he wanted me to.

Two or three rubberneckers stuck their heads out of the windows on the far side of the square. Awhole lot of others came right outside and gathered in a circle around us.

‘What’s happening, man? They steal the 110? Must be Russians.’

‘Nah, drug dealers.’

‘No way. They’re terrorists, man. Fucking militants.’

These guys obviously spent more time watching reruns of Fantasy Island than checking the local news, but I knew it was only a matter of time before they made the connection with Baz.

My escort gripped the spacer bar on my cuffs and yanked my hands in front of me, and a couple of his mates gave me a brisk search. They didn’t seem at all pleased about us nicking their wagon.

A set of hands grabbed each of my arms and half carried, half dragged me along the hard standing and up two wooden steps. We turned down a wide, windowless corridor. Grey lino covered the floor and extended six inches up each wall instead of skirting board. Fluorescent light bounced off glossy white walls.

The marine ahead of us was clearing a path through the onlookers. ‘OK, guys, the show’s over. Back in your offices, please. We got this situation under control. Come on, people, let’s move here.’

We arrived at a pair of windowless double doors, heavily scuffed at the bottom where they’d been repeatedly opened with the help of a boot.

We barged through three or four sets in all before we finally stopped outside a bare room, furnished only with a single aluminium chair and a table.

Charlie was no longer behind me. I didn’t like that at all.

One of the guys pushed me inside.

The lino-and-white-wall combo was clearly all the rage in this neck of the woods.

They turned me round and sat me down. Then, without saying a word, one of them grabbed the spacer bar and yanked my cuffed hands behind my head. The weight of my arms pulled it into the back of my neck, so I tried to hunch up, to take some of the pressure off my wrists.

I was pulled back up by the hair. ‘Sit straight, you fuck.’

Four guys and a woman stayed in the room with me, all in uniform, with radio earpieces and pistols in black nylon leg holsters. One of them kept hold of my spacer bar, his knuckles digging into the back of my neck.

Their eyes drilled into me.

The woman stood in front of me. ‘Undress.’

If she was here to embarrass me, she was a lifetime too late. I’d had to eat my own shit before now, and I’d do it again if it stopped them climbing aboard me. Anything was better than getting a kicking.

The cuffs were released and blood rushed back into my hands as I started to pull off my kit.

Except for the gentle hum from the air-conditioner vents high on the wall, the room was silent.

She dug into her box of tricks and snapped her hands into a pair of surgical gloves. I noticed a badge with two snakes coiled around some kind of stick on her lapel. Medical corps.

I stood with my clothes in a heap at my feet, awaiting instructions, though I had a good idea where this was leading.

She pointed to the chair. ‘Sit down.’

I did as I was ordered and the four guys formed a semicircle in front of me. One of them had a can of mace at the ready; another held a Taser. It was almost as if they were willing me to start something.

The metal was cold on my bare back and arse but I didn’t have time to think about it. The woman pushed my head back and dug around in my mouth with a spatula.

I could smell smoke on her shirt. I hoped she wasn’t too pissed off about being called away from her cigarette break, because I had the feeling this was about to get very intimate.

I wondered what they were looking for. Drugs? A miniature bomb under my tongue? Or were they just putting me through the wringer?

More important, where was Charlie?

She put the spatula aside, and probed around my gums with a finger.

What next? A free orange suit and daily trips to the interrogation room on a handcart? Who the fuck did they think I was?

She checked my ears, then dipped back into the box for a party-size tube of KY jelly. I was obviously going to get the full Saddam.

She squeezed some onto the first and middle fingers of her right hand. ‘Stand up, bend over and touch your toes.’

I had only one consolation: it was going to be worse for her than me. I’d been saving up all day for a dump.

I felt her finger slide in, have a good dig around, then withdraw.

‘Stand up.’

I avoided looking her in the eye. I didn’t want to give her even the hint of a smile.

The heel of a boot slammed into my back and sent me flying towards the wall. I knew that was just for starters. They’d warm themselves up with a few more of the same before mob rule took over. They really did have hatred in their eyes.

I took the fall, curled up tight, and waited. Boots advanced on me across the floor. I kept my face covered, but one eye open.

One of the radios crackled and the wearer quickly pushed in his earpiece to keep it private. He conveyed whatever had been said to him to the others in hushed tones. They looked at me, clearly disappointed. That was it, then; they must know I was the TV star. It was now Georgian police time. I tried to kid myself it was a better option.

The medic pulled off her glove and deposited it into a plastic bag and bundled all her toys back into the box. She pointed at the chair. ‘Sit.’

I got to my feet, but not quite quickly enough. One of the guys helped me on my way with his toecap.

The aluminium hadn’t got any warmer. I heard the slurp of KY as I shifted position, then the sound of gaffer tape being ripped off a roll.

2

They grabbed my wrists and forced them up against my temples, then got busy with the tape. They wrapped it around my hands and head like a bandage, then down under my chin for good measure.

I clenched my fists as tightly as I could, trying to create some slack in the tape when they’d finished. Even a little bit of play might mean my circulation wasn’t cut off. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, but knowing that I was resisting in some small way made me feel better.

Next they turned their attention to my arms, binding them together just above the elbows, locking them firmly under my chin.

No order was given, but they suddenly stepped back as one and left the room.

I glanced around me. My clothes were gone, and there was no way out.

My hands more or less covered my ears, but I’d heard the door being locked from the outside, and the four ventilation grilles were no larger than letter boxes. Besides, they probably had me under CCTV.

I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. Sweat stung the skin beneath my chin. I must have stayed like that for an hour, maybe more.

I tried to keep optimistic.

I’d fallen in more than my fair share of dung heaps over the years, and while I might not always have come up smelling of roses, I’d been able to keep a certain percentage of me shit-free and easy on the nose.

I’d taken a bit of punishment along the way, but somehow always managed to get away with it. I guessed that was one of the reasons I’d carried on doing these stupid dickhead things.

Try as hard as I might, I couldn’t avoid the thought that maybe this time would be different.

3

I could hear muffled speech in the corridor. I lifted the gaffer tape as far as I could away from my ears. Heated or just frustrated, I couldn’t tell which, but there were certainly a few ‘Goddams’ and ‘No way, their asses are ours’ being bandied around out there. It sounded like something bad was happening for them, but of course that didn’t necessarily mean something good was happening for us.

That cell in Tbilisi suddenly seemed very close again.

Boots and tyres crunched across the gravel.

I hated times like this, not knowing what the fuck was happening. Maybe the police were already here, working on Charlie first? He might not be in great shape these days, but they wouldn’t get much out of him.

They’d probably tell me the old fucker had confessed everything, but I knew the last thing Charlie would do was give them any ammunition. His hands might swing into disco mode and his memory might let him down, but some things are so deeply ingrained they’re second nature.

I spent a moment or two wondering where the silly old fool was. If I got out, did I run around and try and find him? Without a doubt. Even bollock-naked and with my hands taped to my head, I’d still try and break down every door along the corridor until I found him. Then all we’d need were two sets of clothes, our passports and some kind of transport out of here, and Bob’s your uncle.

Back in the real world, I did my best to uncurl myself and stretch my back and legs, trying to relieve the pain in my muscles and the pressure points against the lino.

It started to get cold, so I reversed the process. They’d probably adjusted the air conditioning, to soften me up before they came and read me my horoscope.

Half an hour or so later, I had to stretch out on the floor again, every bone in my body aching. Which god had I pissed off so mightily this time? What wrong turning had led me here, my arse leaking KY jelly, my head mummified with gaffer tape, just when things had started looking up?

Deep down, I’d always known that I’d fuck up big-time one day, but it had never bothered me much.

Until Kelly came along.

Funny how a snot-nosed kid with a moth-eaten teddy bear can make you pay attention.

I was never the knight in shining armour she deserved, and nothing I did would stop me blaming myself for failing to save her life, but even now I was back in my old familiar world I realized normal service hadn’t quite resumed.

I knew I was always destined to be smack at the bottom of the food chain, and I’d almost got to like it. But Kelly made me dare to think for a moment that there might be something better around the corner.

And now Silky was doing it all over again. She’d become my gatekeeper, my interpreter in a world that spoke a language I barely understood.

What was she doing right now? What was she wearing? What kind of stuff would we do together when I got back? I would take her tandem jumping again for sure, maybe train her to freefall.

I couldn’t believe how much I missed her. For the first time in as long as I could remember, the sum total of my feelings wasn’t ‘bollocks to that’. I was actually looking forward to being with someone, and really wanting it.

If I ever managed to get out of here, I wouldn’t moan at her for the way she strapped her board on top of the VW. I’d even let her play the Libertines all the way from Cairns to Sydney and back again if she wanted to.

In the meantime, I curled myself up again, like the body in the boot of the Audi, closed my eyes and tried to think good things.

It was all I could do for now.

4

I lay on the cold hard floor, my hands locked like a vice to my head, my body numbed by pins and needles, no matter which way I turned, no matter how often I stretched.

At least the room was warming up now; someone had thrown the switch on the air conditioning a few minutes ago and hot air was streaming out of the duct alongside me. I sat up and shuffled across the lino on my arse until I was directly in line with it.

The odd Huey cruised overhead, and I could catch snatches of conversation along the corridor.

They still didn’t seem to know who we were. Drug dealers was a popular choice, and since we were white, we pretty much had to be Russian. Mafia, maybe.

One guy reckoned we were Brits because the driver had said so, but that got short shrift. Everyone knew that Brits were fucking stupid, but not this stupid, surely.

I didn’t allow myself to get too carried away, though, and I was right.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps outside my door, and the good news came through loud and clear. ‘Hey, just heard about these two fucks. They killed that politician, you know, the guy on the news? Yeah, shot the guy in the head twenty times and left him in the trunk of his car. Our guys caught ’em trying to get away.’

I lay there for what seemed like hours, bored now that I knew what was in store.

I moved closer to the door, to try to hear more. Mostly I wanted to know where Charlie was, but I would have settled for the time. All I heard was the squeak of boots and the odd bollocking about the noise.

I was gagging for a drink; it was a lifetime since those espressos at the airport.

I started to feel sleepy and guessed it must be getting late. I tried to nod off, but I couldn’t; every position I tried was just too uncomfortable.

More time passed; then I heard shoes, not boots, approaching down the corridor.

The door was flung open and the room was plunged into darkness.

There were two of them gripping me, one either side. They were in civilian clothes; my left foot pressed against a metal buckle on a pair of muddy loafers, and I was treated to a cocktail of stale nicotine and leather on my right as I got hauled off the lino.

I was prepared to bet all of Charlie’s three quid that the jacket was black.

Then all I could smell was turnips as a scratchy nylon sack was pulled over my head. It came down to my elbows.

My two new best mates exchanged a word or two in Paperclip; I was starting to get the hang of it now. Then they dragged me out into the corridor. Pinpricks of fluorescent light glinted through the weave, and I could see more grey lino through the gap at my waist.

We turned left, through a set of swing doors, then on again, through another.

A gust of cold air played across my bare skin, shrinking everything except the goose bumps. I started to shiver as we moved out onto a short flight of wooden steps.

Chips of gravel punctured the soles of my feet as I was bundled through the open tailgate of a waiting estate car. The back seats were down and I landed on a haphazard combination of scratchy woollen and furry nylon blankets.

I wriggled as far forward as I could, hoping to bump up against Charlie, but my only reward was banging my head against a spare car battery and having my nose attacked by the overpowering stench of urine and damp dog. Another blanket was thrown over me and the tailgate slammed shut.

This wasn’t good.

I had a feeling I knew what kind of policemen these guys were, and you wouldn’t want to stop and ask them the way.

The front doors opened and closed and I felt myself bounce around a bit as the two of them sorted themselves out. The engine fired up and we crunched our way past the Portakabins. I closed my eyes, to try and maintain some sense of direction.

I heard some chat, then the strike of a match, and nicotine-laden smoke began to do battle with the smell of dog.

I wasn’t scared about what might lie ahead. I just felt depressed.

And hungry.

And, much to my surprise, pretty fucking lonely.

5

We came to a halt and the driver wound down his window. He rattled off a series of short, sharp instructions to someone in Paperclip, then I heard the creak of a barrier being raised and the car rolled forward once more.

We rumbled over the kilometre or so of hardcore towards the main and took the left. No surprises there. The Georgians weren’t any fonder of their old mates from the Russian Federation than the Americans were.

We moved smoothly along the metalled road, with only the occasional shake and rattle as we encountered a good old-fashioned pothole.

I tried to time this stretch by counting off the seconds, and got to twenty minutes without a pause.

The two in the front were still enjoying themselves. They switched the radio on and listened to some Georgian songs that seemed to involve a lot of wailing. Maybe it was the same station that played in embassy security huts?

At no stage did they acknowledge I was there. Maybe they’d forgotten me. That would have been nice.

There’d been no steep climbs up or down, so we were still following the valley. Why weren’t we going over the high ground, stopping at the VCP then heading back to the city? And if we weren’t, was that a good or a bad thing? I had a nasty feeling I knew the answer.

Ten minutes more and this definitely wasn’t normal police stuff. We still hadn’t got anywhere near the high ground; if we’d been going back to the city we would have done so by now.

I shuffled around, trying to get more blanket over me. My goosebumps were on the retreat and I wanted to make the most of it while I could.

Something about being warm and cocooned set me thinking about Silky again. I was confused. I knew I’d done the right thing coming here with Charlie, but at the same time, all I wanted now was to be back with her in Australia. Not just as an alternative to lying in the back of a car on my way to what was probably going to be the beasting of a lifetime, but simply because I wanted to be with her. She smelled a whole lot better than these blankets, for starters.

I thought about her lying next to me on the beach, and sitting beside me in the passenger seat of the VW. My mind rambled. I couldn’t think of a single moment with her that hadn’t been good. I thought about the time she said, ‘We’re a good fit, no?’ She was right, we were. I missed her.

So what were we going to do when I got back? There was still the trip to the red centre; to what I called Ayers Rock and Silky and everybody else seemed to think was now Uluru.

Before meeting Silky, I’d have cut away from any fearful thoughts in a situation like this — even cut away from good stuff at the same time. I probably would just have lain here. But fuck it, I liked it this way. There was still sailing in the Whitsundays, and Kakadu National Park, and New Zealand. All the places we’d spoken about when we were travelling together. I wanted to go to them all, and I wanted to go to them with her.

The gearbox made a muffled complaint and the car slowed. We turned onto much rougher ground. I curled up tight.

The engine cut out.

Both front doors opened and there was the crunch of shoes on stones.

The tailgate was lifted and the blanket pulled away. The cold air hit me like a slap in the bollocks.

6

I was dragged past another vehicle, across a stretch of wet grass strewn with rocks and scree.

The night wind chilled me to the bone; my skin was like a freshly plucked chicken’s.

We stopped and I heard the sound of a heavy kick on wood. A door swung open and I was pulled through it into what felt like a sauna. The air was heavy with the odour of damp and bottled gas.

I stumbled forward a few paces then felt pressure on my shoulders. My arse connected with a plastic chair. Above me, I could hear the gentle hiss of burning gas. I leaned forward, clenching my teeth, waiting for them to give me the good news. I expected to get yanked upright any second, but they let me stay as I was.

Then, even more surprisingly, they pulled off the sack.

I kept my head down but my eyes went into overdrive. I was in a small room with rough stone walls and a compacted earth floor. In front of me was a blue plastic collapsible picnic table with metal legs, which looked as though it had come straight out of an Argos catalogue. Two hurricane lamps sat at either end of it, their shadows dancing across the walls. My passport and Charlie’s lay in between them.

The driver and his mate were behind me, breathing heavily after the exertion of frog-marching me from the car.

A pair of US desert boots appeared on the other side of the table. The chinos above them looked as though they’d been inflated by a high-pressure hose. A thin-barrelled.22 semi-automatic was pointing straight at my forehead, held rock-steady in a latex-gloved hand.

When I saw who it belonged to, the Georgian secret police suddenly seemed like the soft option.

My luck had finally run out.

Towering over me was at least 250 pounds of fat, topped off by an all-too-familiar whitewall haircut.

I didn’t like the way he was holding the weapon, but it didn’t look nearly as scary as he did.

Jim D. ‘Call Me Buster’ Bastendorf, the man we’d rechristened Bastard at Waco, had hardly changed a bit in the twelve years since I’d last seen him.

7

I looked down again, but kept my eyes on the weapon.

All of a sudden, my hands felt strangely comfortable round my head. All the same, I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes. I had fucked up and had to accept whatever followed.

If he wanted me to beg, though, he had another thought coming. Fuck him. He was going to do what he was going to do, whatever I did, so what was the point?

I heard him move around the table. His nostrils whistled as he bent closer. Then I felt him jam the muzzle hard into my right hand.

I flinched as the working parts clicked. I couldn’t help it.

I opened my eyes. Bastard was still above me. He liked how I’d reacted; it made him smile.

‘Now, son, who the fuck are you?’

‘You’ve got my passport. Give it a read.’

He looked down at me. I knew from his expression that he still hadn’t made the connection between me, Anthony the Brit fag scientist, and a compound full of dead Davidians, and I wasn’t going to help him out. I was in enough trouble already.

‘You’re no American. Where you from?’ His brow furrowed as he studied my face and let his brain flick back a few pages. ‘I know you from somewhere, don’t I?’

‘Listen, we have you on film, handing over equipment at the Marriott in Istanbul and—’

The first punch was to my right temple and caught me square on. I managed to stay on the chair, but it was a while before my head stopped ringing and splinters of light stopped dancing in front of my eyes.

‘Shut the fuck up! You’re in deep shit, boy! The police want your ass, big-time. You’re responsible for the murder of their answer to that Bob fucking Geldof guy, and they don’t see the funny side of that. And you know what? I’ll give those fucks just exactly what they want if you don’t offer me a little co-operation.’

He hit me twice more. My hands took some of the pain but the second blow took me down onto the hard earth floor and came fucking close to dislocating my shoulder.

‘That’s what I want, co-operation!’

I tensed, eyes closed, knees up to my chest, ready for more.

I didn’t look up.

Bastard was a difficult man to ignore, but in my opinion it was well worth the effort. The heat on my back was good and I made the most of it while I waited for the starbursts in my head to burn out.

The two boys leaned down either side of me and heaved me back up onto the chair. I felt the cold steel of a blade against the right side of my chin. I flinched again, but was patted gently on top of my head.

‘Relax, Nick. The guys are just having a little fun.’ He’d put his Mr Nice Guy hat on, and although it was never going to fit, at least it made a change. ‘They’re just gonna cut the tape off you. Relax, son. We don’t wanna risk slicing out those baby blues now, do we?’

They dug a pair of scissors into the gaffer tape and started to cut and pull. As the tape was yanked away, it took clumps of my hair and eyebrows with it. There was a positive side to it, though; I felt the blood rushing back into my arms.

‘Sit up, Nick. Enjoy the party.’

I tipped my head a little and looked behind me. A patio heater fuelled by a king-size propane gas bottle was doing its bit for global warming, and the two boys were the shiny-headed bouncers I’d seen in the Pajero outside the Marriott. Both were still in black, and the one on the right was giving his gigs a polish.

‘How you doing, Nick, you OK?’ Bastard drew up another plastic chair on his side of the table, all sweetness and light. The weapon had gone but the gloves remained.

An aluminium thermos now sat between the lamps. The passports had gone.

‘Go on, son. Smell the coffee. It’s good and strong.’

I flexed my fingers, leaned forward, took the flask, and started to unscrew the lid. At times like this you’ve got to take whatever’s on offer. You’ve no idea when it’s going to come your way again. Besides, I’d been gagging for a brew for hours.

The two boys behind me shuffled from one foot to the other. I couldn’t decide whether they were just enjoying the heat, or readying themselves for the next bout in the programme. Whatever, it was clear they were still in the red corner, and I was still in the blue.

The venue for tonight’s entertainment was, as far as I could tell, an old farmhouse with exposed roof beams and tiles. The holes in the wall, where I guessed there had once been windows, were blocked with grey nylon turnip sacks like the one I’d been wearing.

I poured hot black coffee into two plastic cups and pushed one across the table with a smile. It smelled really good. ‘Where’s Charlie?’

He took a sip. He knew what I was doing. If I got drugged, he did too.

The coffee stung the cuts on my tongue, but so what? It tasted as good as it smelled, and warmed me all the way down to my stomach.

‘Any chance of my clothes?’

He shrugged. ‘Sure.’ He leaned back in his chair, lifted another grey sack from the floor and tipped my kit out in front of me.

I dressed quickly, checking my pockets as I went. No cash; definitely no passport. Nothing, apart from Baby-G. But then what was I expecting?

‘Has Charlie got his?’ Part of your job under interrogation is to look after your mates. Charlie was in bad enough shape already, without going hypothermic.

Bastard gave me a nod, and sampled a little more of his coffee. ‘You guys look out for each other, don’t you? I like that.’ He put his cup back down on the table. ‘Hey, I’m sorry about what happened just now. But you know’ — he made a pistol with his fingers and pulled the trigger at me — ‘finding out that Chuck had brought someone on the job with him, well, it made me a little crazy.’

He still had a supersize smile glued to his face, but I wasn’t too happy about that. He’d been a little crazy the last time we’d met, and that hadn’t taken us anywhere good.

8

His smile broadened. ‘I like to know what’s going on; I like to get things done my way. I just needed to let off some steam. Guys like us, we need to do that from time to time, don’t we, Nick? You understand.’

I understood all too well. It wasn’t about letting off steam; it was about showing everyone within a 500K radius who was boss.

I took my time tucking in my sweatshirt. This wasn’t about the 110, Baz and the police. This was about something much more important to him, the job.

I sat back down. ‘So help me out here… Having Charlie dropped, once he’d done the safe. That’s getting things done your way, is it?’ I risked a smile too. ‘Looks like it was just as well I came along.’

‘I didn’t have anything to do with that. Whichever fucks on the top floor’ — he pointed skywards — ‘made that decision, they didn’t ask me along. All I know is that Chuck was going to do the job, and I supplied the support, the kit, the information, that kinda thing. What do you think I am? A fucking animal? Hell, Chuck’s one of us, one of the good guys.’

‘Who’s on the top floor? Military? The oil guys?’

He shook his head slowly and gave me a pitying look. ‘You know what, Nick? I like you, but do you think I’m fucking stupid? Come on, man. All you need to know is: I saved your asses today. You’re a wanted man. Any longer in that camp and you’d have been picked up and shovelled like shit into custody.’ His eyes sparkled unpleasantly. ‘Hey, I know what they do to guys like you in those cesspits. Not good, Nick, not good at all. They’re fucking psychos in there.’

I was sure he was right, but my mind was elsewhere, trying to work out what to say next, how to keep well away from those particular cesspits. The one I was in was bad enough.

‘Hey, enough of that shit. I’m sorry, really sorry, for monstering on you just now. But when I got the news about you two at the camp…’ He laughed a little too loudly and took another mouthful of brew. ‘I guess it’s kinda worrying having a pistol to your head. But you should be thanking me for not letting you get handed over. Those guys in the camp? They got really pissed when they found out you weren’t no fucking terrorist.’ His jowls quivered. He was enjoying every minute of this. ‘Hey, can you believe that?’

I could, actually. If they had been able to stick me with the terrorist label, I’d have been halfway to Guantanamo Bay by now.

I wondered why he hadn’t said anything about the laptop bag. Or the papers and tape. He must be saving it up for later.

‘But, you know what, Nick? You did a helluva job saving your asses out there, considering the problems you had.’

This wasn’t the Bastard I knew. But then, this wasn’t Bastard — this was just a good old boy fronting a set of interrogation techniques, and me shutting up until I needed to speak.

He was deploying what the manual called ‘Pride and Ego Up’. He thought I’d be feeling devastated by the capture, and would respond to praise for a job well done. Any minute now he’d be telling me he understood my feelings, and we’d bond big-time over a few more cups of coffee.

But what he didn’t know was that my pride and ego had been well and truly hung out to dry more years ago than I cared to remember. He’d have to dig a whole lot deeper, if he wanted to find any traces of either.

I nodded to show how glad I was that he understood me. ‘We did all right.’ I got more brew down my neck. ‘Who was that at the house and cemetery?’

‘No idea.’ Bastard shook his head slowly, as if Red Eyes, Stubbly and the man mountain with the machete had all dropped out of a clear blue sky. ‘Whatever, those fucks sure messed up a good operation.’

He leaned across the table, nodding in agreement with himself as he pulled two cigars from his Gore-Tex jacket. ‘People think it’s a science, but they forget about the bit you can’t control, and that’s the target, right?’ He offered me one and I gave a polite shake of my head. But I poured myself some more coffee and got it down my neck, just in case he decided he’d gone far enough with this and it was time to wheel in Bad Cop again.

He lit up and inhaled appreciatively. He seemed to have kicked his old tobacco-chewing habit. Maybe this was his idea of a healthier option.

Was he waiting for me to start gobbing off, trying to fill the dead space? If so, I was going to disappoint him.

No way would I respond to any of this by opening up and saying stuff that could dig me and Charlie a deeper hole. In a strange way, knowing there was somebody else in the shit with me for a change made me feel more confident, and I knew Charlie would be thinking the same. He wasn’t going to let me down; I wasn’t going to let him down either.

‘You know what?’ Smoke poured from his mouth. ‘You turning up with Chuck like that? That was one big surprise. Yessir, he kept that set of cards pretty close to his chest. How’s it working with you guys — you planning on splitting the money?’

I nodded. ‘Down the middle.’

‘That’s one heap of change…’ He sucked on the end of his cigar, as if he suddenly couldn’t make up his mind whether to chew it or smoke it. ‘But I think you should’ve got more, Nick. Seems to me you did the lion’s share, getting you both out of the shit. Only fair, don’t you Brits say?’ He flicked away half an inch of ash. ‘I suppose it was Chuck’s idea to make this a two-hander?’

‘Had to be, didn’t it? Otherwise I wouldn’t have known about it.’

It didn’t sound like he knew anything about Charlie’s disco hands. This time a thread of spit hung between cigar and lip as he drew the Havana away from his mouth.

If you’re anywhere long enough, you tune into the environment. Every house feels strange the first time you go into it, but give it half an hour and you begin to feel at home.

That still wasn’t happening to me here, though; the only familiar elements in this room were the hiss of the gas heater and the smell of cigar smoke.

9

He studied my face, waiting for me to say more.

But I wasn’t going to fill any gaps, not while he was still trying to be my new best friend. Later, perhaps, when we got to the page in the manual that had pictures of crowbars and broken bones; that would be the time to gob off enough bullshit to try and keep him and his two Georgian mates off my back.

‘Did Chuck tell you what the job was about?’

I pushed the mug away from me and nodded. ‘Too many people messing about with pipeline security?’

‘Yessir, they sure are. These Georgians are one corrupt bunch of motherfuckers.’ He beamed over my shoulder. ‘But hey, so what? What’s new, fuckheads?’ He continued smiling and nodding at the boys in leather behind me. ‘Don’t worry about those fucks, Nick. Hari and Kunzru there, they don’t understand a word. They’re so shit stupid they can’t even tie their own shoelaces. Ain’t that right, motherfuckers?’

I heard murmurs behind me. This was clearly Bastard’s version of Partnership for Peace, and it was working just the way he liked it.

He leaned forward and took another puff. ‘Yeah, damn right.’ More smoke poured from his mouth. ‘You’re a pretty smart guy, Nick. I’m sure you wanna get this sorry business over with, and get home to your loved ones.’ He clenched the cigar between his teeth and treated me to his widest grin yet. ‘And I’m with you on that one, pal. This is my last job. I got sun and sand to retire to, rolling cigars on dusky senoritas’ thighs — you understand where I’m coming from?’

He waved the cigar expansively at me. ‘You know what, Nick? I should have been more careful when I went to meet with Chuck, then we might not have found ourselves in this… predicament.’ He paused, and gave me a conspiratorial look. ‘I bet the tapes were your idea, eh? Trust Chuck to bring along another guy just as smart. You guys are killing me.’ He stood and shook his head in frank admiration.

Behind me, Hari and Kunzru shifted impatiently. I heard the rasp of a match and caught a blast of sulphur at the back of my throat.

Bastard delved around in his Gore-Tex and pulled out my dark blue passport. It was so new, the embossed gold US eagle on the cover glinted in the light of the hurricane lamp. ‘Not been a citizen long, have you?’

‘No.’

‘What’re you involved in, stateside?’

‘I used to work for a marketing company. They got me citizenship. But I was made redundant a while back, so here I am with Charlie. Can I see him?’

‘All in good time, son. How did you get caught up in this line of work? You ex-military? You tapped into that broker guy, back in the UK?’

It was pointless lying. Of course I was, or Charlie wouldn’t have hired me. ‘I knew Charlie and the broker in the army. Charlie asked me if I wanted work. I did. A dollar doesn’t go far these days, especially when you haven’t been earning for a while.’

He nodded, not believing a word of it; on that score, at least, we were even. ‘I got a problem you can help me with, Nick.’ He picked a speck of tobacco leaf from his lip and studied the wet end of the cigar a little too carefully for more stray bits. ‘You can understand I’m kinda nervous; Chuck tells me he has two tapes of the hotel meets. You were about to say the same, no?’

He didn’t give me time to answer — not that I had any intention of doing so.

‘He also says you’ve got the very thing we’ — he gestured with his hand as if we were all in this together — ‘are in this fucked-up country for…’

I did my best to look completely blank.

‘Those papers…’

What was he saying? That he didn’t have them?

‘You see, those papers… well, the people I work for really need to get their heads around whatever they contain. And those tapes? I could find myself in a very embarrassing situation if they go public… it’d kinda fuck up my retirement plan.’

I could imagine that a video showing someone handing over the kit found in Baz’s boot, and then talking about the job, would fuck up any kind of plan, let alone a retirement one.

He ramped up the smile to full megawatt capacity. If he wasn’t careful, his face was going to explode. ‘I need you guys to help me out, right? You’re just too smart for me, what can I say?’

He leaned across the table and steepled his fingers, cigar and all. That smile must have been killing him. ‘Why don’t we clear this business up tonight, and we can all be on a flight out of this goddamned shithole of a country first thing?’

Hari and Kunzru shuffled their feet again and I prepared for the worst. It must have shown.

Bastard relaxed. ‘Don’t worry about those fucks just yet, son. I’m suggesting an easier way out. What about it, Nick? What do you say?’

What I said was nothing. He was doing a good job of hiding it, but he was hurting. Fuck him, he wasn’t getting any help from me.

‘Nick, we all need to get out of this place. But if you’re gonna fuck me up the ass, there’ll be nothing I can do to stop these two doing what they do best. I can’t let that stuff be out there — you understand that, don’t you?’

I did understand. I understood he was flapping. What had Charlie done with the papers and tape? The only place I could think of would have been checked by a finger and a tube of KY. ‘Let me talk it over with Charlie, see what he thinks.’

‘He’s already told me he’ll do whatever you say. I’m trying to be reasonable with you. Fuck him, man — you gotta start thinking of yourself. You’re the one on the TV; you’re the one ID’d at the cemetery. He’s laughing.’ His throat was tightening with frustration. ‘You’re a wanted man, Nick. Every man and his dog is out there looking for you. Him? He’s got no face. He can walk…’

His gaze became still more intense, but the cracks were beginning to show. It was a bit like watching a volcano starting to erupt. ‘I’m your way out. Where can you go, what can you do, unless I help you? You got no passport, you got no goddam cash. And I’m the only one standing between you and those Georgian fucks out there looking to nail your ass. I can make it happen, Nick — either way.’

He was scraping the barrel. He’d tried the pride and ego thing; tried to be really nice with it, but now he was jumping straight into Pointing Out the Futility, to make me see all hope was lost. But the only thing I could see was Bastard moving into territory he felt more comfortable with, the land of the out-and-out arsehole.

I still didn’t answer.

‘You’re fresh out of options, guy. I can get these two to drive you to Tbilisi right now and hand you over to the fucking animals who call themselves the police in this sorry town… I can make things happen, good or bad.’

He patted the passports in his jacket. ‘You’re in a deep hole, my friend, but I’m throwing you a rope. I can get you out and back stateside. I’m running out of ways here to explain I’m the only one who can do that for you.’

Now he was trying the incentive approach, and after that there was really only one place he could go. We were running out of road.

I leaned forward and down, and tied my bootlaces. I didn’t want to lose them in the course of what I was pretty sure was about to happen. Then I looked up and nodded. ‘I’ll need to talk to Charlie.’

He jumped up and slammed his fist on the table. The flask and cups went flying. Even the guys behind me took a step back. ‘You fuck! I want those papers and tapes! Give me! Your face is on every TV screen in Georgia… You’re in deep shit… The Georgian police are screaming for your blood… Unless you do exactly what I say, I’ll hand you right over to them… You tell me where they are now, or I’ll rip your fucking heart out — you hear me, boy?’

Eyes down, I kept my jaw tight, clenched my teeth, waited for the punches. This time it was Fear Up, and it was working well, because this was what he was born for.

‘Sit up, before I make you.’ He perched his knuckles on the table like an ape, nostrils flared and whistling as his overweight body sucked in oxygen to fuel the outburst.

His gut heaved as he leaned towards me. ‘Things will get very painful, very soon, man. You’re leaving me no choice.’

‘Let me talk to Charlie, square things away.’

His reply was half-shout, half-scream. ‘You got absolutely nothing to talk about.’ His words echoed round the walls and his fists came off the table. He pointed at me with a finger the size of a sausage. ‘You’re getting me fired up, man.’

He stormed round the table and I tensed every muscle, ready to take it. He swung an openhanded slap across the side of my head. The force of it took me straight to the ground.

My head spun. Stars burst in front of my eyes. Instinctively, I curled into a ball.

I sensed him bending towards me. The gust of cigar breath told me I wasn’t wrong. ‘Give up the tapes, give up the papers. I got contacts — high-up, government contacts — that can make good things happen for you. Think about it, asshole. Think about it while I go back to Vasiani and smooth out the mess you made with the army. And you know what? It’s those contacts who are saving your ass now so you got a chance to do the right thing.’

He passed behind me on his way to the door. I relaxed, and a second later his cigar breath exploded just inches from my face. ‘Me? I’m going back to the real world tomorrow, so I gotta clean things up here one way or another.’

He took a slow breath, calming himself down. ‘Tapes and papers, by the time I get back. Or these two fucks will rip them out of you before you spend the rest of your fucking miserable life in a Georgian shithole jail.’

He disappeared behind me. ‘Taking a fucking military vehicle?’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘You call that smart?’

The door opened and closed and he was gone.

He must have signalled to Hari and Kunzru on his way out. They grabbed an arm each and lifted me to my feet. One picked up a hurricane lamp and I got shoved out through a second door into an overgrown walled area at the back of the building.

We moved along a muddy path. I caught a glimpse of stars through a break in the cloud, and another building, about fifty feet away.

Hari — or Kunzru — got busy with the rusty bolt on the door. As it creaked open, I heard a wagon spark up in the distance and drive away.

I was pushed into pitch darkness. The door slammed shut behind me, and the bolt scraped back into place.

I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. I sat down on the hard earth, and tried to get my bearings. There wasn’t as much as a pinprick of light. I listened as Hari and Kunzru made their way back to the propane-heated room we’d just come from, finally slamming the door shut to keep out the cold that was already eating into my bones.

There was a movement beside me and I almost jumped out of my skin.

Then a voice boomed, ‘You took your time, dickhead. I hope you’ve got that three quid you owe me.’