Deep Black

90

Frost glazed the fields and road and sparkled under a clear sky.

The heater was on full blast, but wasn’t up to spec. It couldn’t even demist the windscreen, let alone keep us warm. The back windows, though, were fine. The sacks and diesel cans were probably snug as fuck.

Jerry’s breath billowed round his head as he leaned forward, teeth rattling, to wipe the glass with his sleeve.

I followed suit with my side of the screen. ‘That Kevin Carter photo? The way no one looked past the vulture and the girl to the real story? I reckon I’ve fucked up and not seen the real picture of Nuhanovic.’

‘The real Nuhanovic?’

‘What if Nasir wasn’t in Baghdad looking after Nuhanovic, but there doing business for him? What if he was doing exactly the same as that arsehole Goatee? The competition.’

‘Nuhanovic? Come on . . .’

‘Why not?’

‘Even if you’re right about Nasir, it doesn’t mean Nuhanovic is involved.’

‘Doesn’t it? Remember what Salkic said? They don’t work for him, they serve him. They do jack shit off their own back, they follow his orders. So just what the fuck was he doing in “Chetnik Mama”?’

‘Fuck.’ He slumped back in his seat.

‘You got it. So what was I really seeing at the cement factory? Was he saving the girls, or trading them?’

‘So . . . Zina . . .’

I nodded. ‘Got it again. Tell you what, if I’m right I’ll kill the fucker for you.’

The van lurched into a pot-hole; Jerry groaned and grabbed his abdomen. I didn’t feel too bad about it. The pain would soon disappear. The damage to his face would take a lot longer.

Jerry pulled the rag away from his nose. ‘Not seeing the whole picture . . .’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘That wasn’t my family you met in DC. I don’t know who the fuck the woman was.’

‘So that was all bullshit too?’

He nodded. ‘I am married to Renee. I have got a daughter. They just weren’t the ones you met.’

He leaned back, trying to ease the tension in his neck.

‘She knows nothing about this. She thinks I’m in Brazil covering the elections . . . What if I fuck up, man?’

‘Listen, the only chance of Chloë surviving is if you just do exactly what I tell you and George never finds out that I know. Once we’re back in DC, you stick to the story – whatever that’s going to be.’

I didn’t add that for the rest of his life he must never tell anyone, not even his wife. Whoever she was.

For myself, I felt strangely OK about George stitching me up. I’d always known he wasn’t one for loose ends. I’d become one the moment I wanted a bike instead of him. At least I knew where I stood.

What a set-up. I bet George had enjoyed rigging up the exhibition and the false family as much as any operation he’d ever prepared.

We carried on down the road and I couldn’t help smiling as he told me about his made-up family. ‘The woman didn’t know how to change a diaper. I had to show her. Even then she wouldn’t do it.’

Unless they knew George’s previous, most people would find it hard to imagine that a man representing a western democratic government could act this way. But Jerry had seen a bit of shot and shell in his time, as well as the bullshit that surrounded it. He knew better. But it wasn’t helping him. He just stared out at the frost glinting back at us, hands in his armpits, maybe trying to conjure up comforting images of his little girl. I looked across at him. ‘Listen, just do exactly what I say, OK? Nothing’s going to happen to anyone.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Would he really kill a child, Nick? How’s he get it done? He have some sick fuck on call or what?’

There was no way he was getting any of that kind of information from me. ‘You don’t need to know, because it won’t happen.’

‘Why? Why do it when I’ve fucked you over, man?’

I kept my eyes on the road. ‘I used to work for George. That’s why Kelly’s dead.’

I could feel his stare drilling into the side of my head. ‘George killed Kelly? Fuck.’

I turned. His eyes were glazed, as if he was elsewhere. I knew that look very well: I’d seen it in the mirror often enough.

‘She’d been snatched by some fuck-ups. George was holding me back, not telling me where she was because he didn’t want me going into the house and fucking things up for him. He knew they’d probably kill her, but the job, the fucking job came first. By the time I got there and found her, well . . .’

I felt a jolt in the centre of my chest. The image of her dead body I described to Jerry was as vivid as a photograph.

Jerry wasn’t looking good. ‘Oh, fuck . . .’

I rubbed my hair and cupped my hand over my nose. ‘I took her body back to the States, and Josh and I buried her alongside the rest of her family. It was standing room only in the church.’ I rubbed my hands on my soaked jeans, trying to get rid of the smell. I needed to get back into the real world. ‘I don’t know if she would have been proud or embarrassed.’

I wished I could have fished in my wallet and pulled out a photograph like any other proud parent, but the simple fact was that I didn’t have one. Not one she would have been proud of anyway. Just the one from her passport: her face had been covered in zits that day and I’d had to drag her to the photo booth. There were others from her house, of course, but they were in storage. One of these days I’d get round to sorting all that stuff out.

‘Fuck it, it’s all history now.’ I pushed the gearshift into third as we headed uphill. ‘I don’t want anyone else to have those nightmares. No one deserves them. Except George – but that’ll never happen.’

We both just stared at the road as it was hoovered up by the headlights.

‘Listen, I’m sorry for fucking up your face. I saw the location device, the phone number, the camera thing at the al-Hamra and my head just kind of exploded.’

He had bigger things to worry about. ‘I deserved it. You know, Renee told me once that Buddha said we all have two dogs inside us, one good, one bad, constantly fighting each other. Which one wins depends on which one’s fed.’

‘You don’t have to come, you know. Everybody gets scared when they’ve got things to lose. You’ve still got your family, all that gear – I’ve got fuck-all. I’ll take you back to the barn and go on my own.’

‘Nah . . .’ He gave me as much of a grin as he could manage. ‘It’s just like old times . . .’

I checked the dial. Another three and a bit Ks and we should be hitting our first landmark. The frost was setting in with a vengeance: what had been a light dusting on the tarmac was now more or less solid ice. I just kept it in third and hoped for the best.

I thought about Renee’s dogs, and I knew this was one whole can of chunky Pal I didn’t want to open again.