Deep Black

38

Randy was really starting to piss Mickey off, especially since he was now pouring beer over the keyboard because he wasn’t getting his own way.

‘If other countries get it into their heads the Americans can be humbled by strategic resistance, why should they give up their own struggle?’

‘You talking about Uzbekistan?’

‘It’s a fucking nightmare there, mate. Our esteemed president, Karimov, has made himself Dubya’s new best friend.’

I knew courtesy of the Discovery Channel that Uzbekistan had one of the best tables in the Washington Good Lads Club: it had let itself be used as a base for US forces during Operation Fuck Off Taleban, and they’d stayed on as part of the war on terror. Of course, the guardians of freedom and liberty hadn’t jumped up and down too much about their host’s misdemeanours: he’d handed them a strategic position at the heart of Central Asia, the reward for which was a full-dress White House reception and a couple of hundred million dollars in aid.

It was just another load of bollocks. Fuck it, who cared? Well, Rob did, by the sound of it. ‘We’ve got Shi’ites bombing and shooting their way around the fucking country, trying to replace Karimov with an Islamic caliphate. Karimov doesn’t want that. The White House doesn’t want it. Nor do most Uzbekis. But it’s that fucker Karimov who’s causing the drama. He’s crushing religious freedom – creating the very fundamentalism that he and Bush think they’re fighting.’

Rob was having one of his famous intense moments. I generally tried to avoid them: they used up far too many brain cells. ‘He’s closed down nearly all the mosques. Clever move in a country that’s eighty per cent Muslim. There’s just a handful still open in each city for state-sanctioned Friday prayers, but worship anywhere else, any time, and you’re banged up. It’s a fucking nightmare, and if we lose this war here it’s only going to get worse back home – in fact, anywhere that people are pissed off. Got another water?’

I fumbled about in one of the bins. Most of the ice had already melted.

‘The Algerians perked up when they saw France getting annihilated in Vietnam. They thought, right, if they can fuck them, so can we. Here? Just take out the French and insert the Americans and Brits.’

He took the water and shoved it into the map pocket on his cargoes. ‘One for the road, mate. I’ve got to get back before curfew.’

I hadn’t known there was one. ‘What time does it kick in?’

‘That’s the thing, no one’s really sure. Some say ten till four thirty. Others say ten thirty till four. Who knows? Anyway, I’ve got to get back. ‘

Rob fished into his back pocket for the thirty-round curved mag for his AK. A gale of female laughter erupted on the other side of the pool. Pete Holland had his shirt off and was flexing his lats for the Canadian woman. It was his party piece.

Mr Gap was laughing too, but I bet he was really pissed off that a drunk was getting all the attention after he’d been doing all the spadework.

Rob just ignored him. ‘I reckon this great coalition had better start learning from the Algerian experience, because those fucking oiks out there in the desert, they have. And if we don’t sort this situation out we’re going to be here for years and the problem will spread. The Stans are ready to rock for a start – Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, whatever – they’re all up for it.’

I hoped the lecture was over. Rob could be like a dog with a bone. ‘You been eating those history books again, haven’t you?’

He squared up to me. ‘No, mate. I’m just getting a huge education from my man. There’s a few who are talking about a different way, using a different weapon, rather than these things.’ He pushed the front of the mag into its housing on the weapon and it clicked home. ‘What about you, Nick? You interested in finding a different way?’

An agonized gasp from the Canadian saved me having to answer. It was just as well. I didn’t have a clue what he was on about.

Every man and his dog spun round to see what was happening. Lats was trading punches with the flat-tops. He wasn’t coming off best. Goatee was trying to stamp on his head as he got pulled away by do-gooders.

‘That fucker hasn’t changed, has he?’ Rob never had liked him.

‘They’re slavers.’

‘Here already? He’s doing something useful for once, then, ain’t he?’

Rob and I shook hands. There was more gunfire from a few blocks away. Rob racked back the cocking handle and made ready the AK, his right thumb pushing the safety catch on the right-hand side of the weapon all the way up. ‘Tell me I’m not right. There’s got to be a better way. There’s no rich kids out there tonight fighting this war. It’s all soft cunts like me and you were fifteen or sixteen years ago. See yer soon. I’ll call by, see if you find Mahatma.’ He turned and disappeared into the lobby.

Jerry came over as the brawlers were pulled apart. ‘Any luck?’

‘Fuck all.’

‘I see that Pete guy’s doing his bit for international relations. They’re Serbs, apparently. Know what it was about?’

‘Maybe he tried his special-forces chat-up line on them and they didn’t like it.’

He was waiting for the punch line. ‘And?’

‘“Please give us a fuck. I’m special forces. I’ll be in and out before you know it.”’

At that moment Lats broke free from the dogooders and charged at the Serbs again. ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I think he’s pissed off with them because he’s got daughters of his own.’

‘Slavers?’ Jerry knew the score. ‘They’re not wasting any time, are they?’

‘Nope, let’s hope he goes apeshit and kills them, eh?’

He headed for reception to shop for toothpaste and stuff and I went to watch a blizzard on CNN.