Last Light

He stared at me, straining his eyes to his extreme left. He was flapping, thinking he had a date with a 5.56mm round at any moment.

I smiled.

"Speak English?"

There was a nervous shaking of his head as I moved a few paces towards him.

"Cpmo est aT He nodded shakily as I got the bergen on.

"Bien, bien."

I put my thumb up and gave him a smile.

"Good, good." I

wanted to bring him down a bit. People who think they have nothing to lose can be unpredictable but if he thought he was going to live, he'd do as he was told.

I wasn't really sure what to do with this boy. I didn't want to kill him because it might turn noisy, and there wasn't any time to try to tie him up properly. I didn't want to take him with me, but there wasn't any choice. I couldn't just let him run wild not this close to the house, anyway. I jerked my head.

"Vamos, vamos."

He got to his feet and I pointed towards the Land Cruiser with the

M-16.

"Camion, vamos, camion." It wasn't exactly fluent, but he caught my drift and we moved.

At the wagon it was simply a matter of shoving the bergen and rifle into the back, then manoeuvring him into the passenger foot well with the M-16 muzzle twisted into his shirt and lying across my lap. The safety catch was on automatic, and my right index finger was on the trigger. He got the message that any movement on his part would be suicide.

The key was in the ignition. I turned it and selected Drive, and we were moving.

The Land Cruiser was shiny and new, still with its showroom smell, and it gave me a strange sense of security. As we headed for Clayton and the city I looked down at my passenger and smiled.

"No problema."

I knew there wouldn't be any problems from him. I'd just seen a wedding band on his finger and knew what he would be thinking about.

The rain was coming early today by the look of the multiple shades of grey, so low now that they were shrouding the rugged, green peaks in the far distance. It wouldn't be long before the sky opened big-time.

What was I to do with my new mate? I couldn't take him through the toll. I might be in a lot of trouble there as it was, if it was now being watched.

We passed one of the playgrounds between the married quarters and I stopped, got out and opened his door. He stared down the barrel of the beckoning M-16.

"Run. Run."

He looked at me, confused, as he climbed out, so I kicked him on and waved my arm.

"Run!" He started legging it past the swings as I got back into the driver's seat and headed for the main drag. By the time he found a phone and made contact, I'd be in the city and well out of the area. I was certainly safe from the air: nothing was going to be flying when the skies opened. I checked the clouds once more, just to make sure.

I also checked the fuel: just under full. I had no idea if that was enough, but it didn't matter, I had cash.

The M-16 was shoved between the door and seat as I hit the main drag and headed for the toll booth.

THIRTY-THREE

The 4x4 pitched and rolled along a waterlogged jungle track, launching walls of water and mud in all directions. I was just glad to be doing it with windows closed and air-conditioning humming. Maybe ten more minutes until I reached the clearing and the house.

The rain had started as soon as I hit El Chorrillo, slowing everything down. By the time I joined the Pan Am Highway, it was dropping from the sky like Niagara Falls, and had carried on like that for the next hour. After that, the cloud had stayed really low and threatening all the way to Chepo. I stopped off at the store the old Indian had been sitting outside two days before, and bought a couple of Pepsis and a plastic bag of little sponge cakes. When those were gone I dug around in the bergen for the sesame bars and water.

There was no drama on the next bit of road apart from the mud and the water. I gave a bit of thought to having to ditch the wagon later on, but the main preoccupation was getting back to the house and persuading those two to help me.

Maybe there was a way that Carrie could get George to stop it. Maybe they knew how to themselves. Maybe if I ripped the dish off the roof ... Maybe, maybe.

Bouncing along the track, I came into the clearing to see that the cloud had lifted. But there was no sun yet, and no one to be seen. Both their wagons were parked outside the house, and the generator was chugging as I passed the tubs, hitting the horn as it seemed to be the thing to do around here.

As I got nearer the house I saw Carrie come to the mozzie door and stare out.

I parked the Land Cruiser and climbed out into the humid air. She opened the mozzie screen for me as I stepped on to the veranda, clearly trying to work out the Land Cruiser.

I waited until the hinges stopped squeaking. 'I'll explain that later ... There's been a fuck-up Charlie's already handed over the guidance system ... last night... There's more."

My muddy boots clumped on the veranda boards as I passed her and entered the living room. I wanted them both together before they got the news. The fans were blasting away and Aaron was sitting in an armchair facing me, leaning over a mug of coffee on the table.

"Nick." His little finger was dipping aimlessly into the black fluid and letting it drip on to the wood.

I acknowledged him as the screen squeaked and slammed, Carrie staying behind me by the door.

He kept his voice low as he rubbed the side of his forehead, twisting in the chair to check the computer-room door was closed.

"Michael dead? She told me all about it when she got back." He turned back and took a messy, nervous swig from the mug.

"No, he's alive."

"Oh, thank God, thank God." Slumping back in the chair, he held the brew on his thigh, wiping his beard dry with an open palm.

Carrie was still behind me by the door. She, too, let out a sigh of relief.

"We've been so worried. My father stood you down last night, missed us by an hour. He said you weren't needed any more and went totally crazy at Aaron when he found out you'd already gone."

I turned to her, almost whispering, "Oh, he's crazy all right." I slowed down so that there would be no mistake.

"I think your dad's planning a missile attack on a cruise liner, the Ocaso, tomorrow. It's going to happen once it's in the Miraflores. If he succeeds, a lot of people, thousands, are going to die."

Her hand shot to her mouth.

"What? But you're here to stop ... No, no, no, my father wouldn't-' "George isn't pressing any buttons." I pointed towards the fridge.

"But he is, the one with the scar on his stomach. You know, the beach babies, your favourite picture." They both followed my finger.

"I saw him at the Miraflores, running as soon as he saw Aaron and the Mazda. He was also at Charlie's, at his house, on Tuesday, and then here last night. He stayed in the wagon, he didn't want to be seen ... Charlie just told me that he was the one who took delivery ..."

"Oh, God. Milton..." She leant against the wall, holding her neck with her hands.

"Milton was one of the Iran-Contra procurement guys in the 'eighties.

They sold the weapons to Iran for the Lebanon hostages, then used the money to buy other -weapons for the Contr- Oh, shit."

Her hands fell to her sides, the tears starting to well up.

"That's his job, Nick, that's what he does."

"Well, he has just procured himself an anti-ship missile and I think he's going to use it tomorrow on the Ocaso."

"No, he couldn't, you must be wrong," she stammered. My father would never let that happen to Americans, for Christ's sake."

"Yes, he would." Aaron had something to say.

"The DeConcini Reservation. Think on it, Carrie, think on it."

His eyes were locked on hers, and he spoke with bitter calm, trying hard to keep his voice down.

"George and those guys ... they are going to take down that ship so the US has just cause to come back. And you know what? He's made us part of it my God, we're part of it. I knew something like this would happen, I told you there was more to this ..."

Carrie slid down to the floor, maybe realizing at long last what her dad had really got up to all his life.

I turned to the rasp of bristles being slowly rubbed.

"She gets into the locks at ten tomorrow morning my God, what are we going to do?"

But the question hadn't been addressed at me. His eyes were still fixed on her.

Why'd he get you involved, uh? Maybe you wanted more than a passport. Maybe you wanted a reason for your get-back-to Boston ticket, huh?"

"I didn't ... and I didn't know, Aaron. Please believe me, I didn't know."

He paused. I could hear breath travelling in and out of his hairy nostrils as he tried to keep calm, before flicking his eyes at me.

"You, Nick, have you been used too?" He pointed behind me.

"Just like her?"

"It's the story of my life," I said.

"Carrie, Luz, you will have to talk to George beg him, threaten him."

I turned, but Carrie ignored me. She just stared submissively at her husband.

Aaron's voice was still low but now laced with heavy sarcasm as he met her stare.

"Why should he stop? Hell, he thinks it's a neat idea. So neat he gave his daughter some of the action as a surprise." His eyes became enraged as he forced his mug on to the tabletop and leaned forward.

"So that means everybody's happy Uncle Sam comes back and saves the day, the money guys, the military, the right-wingers, they all get the Zone back. And, hey, if it goes wrong, other guys take the heat." He pointed at Carrie, his eyes burning into her once more.

"That's you, and me, and Luz. It's one fuck of a passport out."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Aaron wasn't done.

"Our child will be getting letters from her mother on Alcatraz letterhead, and that's if we're lucky. That's if they don't execute you. It's out of control.

How will we live with ourselves after this?"

Aaron held up his left hand, displaying his wedding ring.

"We're a team, remember? I told you this was wrong. I told you he was lying, I told you he was using you." He slumped back into the chair, wiping his eyes with straight fingers and rubbing his beard in distress as he checked out the computer-room door once more.

I turned. She was looking down, tears rolling down her cheeks too.

"I'm contacting him again tonight... It wasn't supposed to be like this."

That was a start.

"Good. If I close down the relay board now will you still be able to make contact?"

She was opening her mouth, but if words came out I didn't hear them. From above us came an unmistakable and ponderous wap wap wap wap wap.

We all looked up. The noise was suddenly so loud it was as if the roof wasn't there at all.

Both of them rushed towards the computer-room door.

"Luz, Luz!"

I moved to the mozzie screen. I checked back to see them barge into the other room. Shit, it was still on "The webcam, close down the camera!"

I pressed my nose against the mesh. I wanted the M-16 in the Land Cruiser, but it wasn't going to happen. The two dark blue helis were hovering above the house now, having already disgorged their payload. Pairs of jeans carrying M-16s were closing in on the veranda. Michael must have made the connection with Aaron from the meeting at the locks.

I ducked back into the room out of sight, just as the other two came running in with a frightened Luz.

The heli noise was overwhelming. One of them must have been hovering just inches from the roof; the bookshelf was shaking so much that books were tumbling on to the floor.

The scene beyond the screen was a maelstrom of flying twigs, foliage and mud as men bobbed about, cautiously approaching the veranda and pointing weapons.

Aaron's face was stone, glaring over Luz's head as they knelt either side of her, curled up in the armchair, her eyes shut tight in fear. Both of them cuddled and tried to reassure her.

From behind them came shouts in Spanish from the storeroom.

I could see bodies now on the veranda.

It was all over. I dropped to my knees and threw my arms up in surrender, yelling at Aaron and Carrie, fighting against the rotor blades to be heard, "Just be still! Be still, it'll be all right!"

I was lying, I didn't have a clue what was going to happen. But you've got to accept that when you're in the shit you're in the shit. There is nothing you can do but take deep breaths, keep calm, and hope. I thought of my failure, and what that meant, as the pins and needles returned to my legs. This was not a good day out.

Men spilled into the room from the back of the building at the same instant as the mozzie screen burst open. There was crazed shouting between them as they tried to make sure they didn't shoot each other. I kept my head down in submission and could feel the movement in the floorboards as they stamped about.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flicker as the image on the screen of the PC refreshed itself. Shit!

I chanced a look up and saw the expressions of relief on their faces that they hadn't encountered any resistance. Over their civilian clothes, they were all wearing black nylon chest harnesses for their spare mags. Four of them surrounded Aaron and Carrie, still crouched around the armchair comforting Luz.

She was giving out high-pitched, hysterical screams, terrified by the frantically pointed weapons just inches from her face.

I stayed on my knees, not looking at anyone in particular, just making sure I looked scared which I was. But at least there was one positive; I knew we were being kept alive for some reason, otherwise we'd have been shot on sight. All the weapons that I could see were on Automatic.

I kept still, looked down, took deep breaths, trying to keep myself calm and my head free but it wasn't happening too well.

When people get excited and scared with weapons in their hands anything can happen especially as I could see, now that I was viewing them close up and not through an optic sight, that some of these people were only just getting used to having face hair. It only takes one jumpy young man to fire then everyone joins in out of fright and confusion.

Boots and trainers rushed past as loud instructions came from commanders trying to make themselves heard over the continuous thumping of the rotor blades.

Radios blasted out incomprehensible mush that even they couldn't hear properly.

The sole of someone's boot kicked me between the shoulder blades to get me down on the floor. I went with it, flat on to my stomach, hands out to break my fall and save my face; then, showing compliance, I quickly placed them on the back of my head. I was roughly searched and lost everything out of my pockets, which made me feel naked and depressed.

The shiny Nokia went into someone's pocket as the helis' noise subsided, and shouts filled the vacuum, mixed with the din of corrugated iron getting banged and the storeroom being ransacked. I bet anything nice and shiny in there was falling straight off the shelves and into their pockets as well.

The clatter of rotors slowed gradually and there was the high-pitched whine of the turbos as both engines closed down.

Carrie and Aaron's comforting sounds to Luz dropped with the noise level as rapid Spanish radio traffic echoed from the storeroom. Everybody else was much quieter in the house now; maybe it had just been the noise of the helis whipping them into a frenzy.

But then came the sound of lighter rotors. My stomach churned and I knew that an already bad day was about to get a whole lot worse. Maybe the reason we hadn't been killed on sight was that Charlie wanted to see to it in person.

THIRTY-FOUR

As the Jet Ranger's rotor blades cut out, I heard the barking of orders and bodies started rushing from the room. Three remained covering us, two nervous young guys, maybe their first time out, and one older, in his early thirties.

Outside on the veranda I could hear a lot of warp speed jabbering. The boys were probably swapping stories about how particularly good they were during the attack. I kept my head turned to the left.

The family were still huddled around the armchair. Carrie was nearest to me as they cuddled and stroked Luz's head. Aaron's eyes burned into her. It was hard to read his expression: it looked to me like pure anger, but then he reached out and stroked her face.

Calmer and more controlled Spanish came from the rear of the house, sounding more cultured than the guys with weapons gob bing off. I tilted my head very slightly and screwed my eyes to the top of their sockets to see what was happening.

Charlie, dressed in a navy tracksuit and white trainers, had three or four others buzzing around him like presidential aides as he strode into the room. He walked towards me, looking as if he had need of nothing, not even oxygen. I felt scared.

There was nothing I could do physically about things at the moment. If I saw the chance to get away I would grab it, but right now I just had to look away from him and wait. Whatever happened, I knew it was likely to be painful.

They came towards me, talking quietly to each other as he was called by one of the bodies still in the computer room, and then there was the squeak of rubber soled trainers on floorboards as the group promptly turned and headed back from where they'd just come.

I glanced up and saw them hunched around the PC as the screen flickered and slowly rolled down the image of the lock as it was refreshed. One was pointing at the picture, talking as if he was giving Charlie a multimedia presentation.

The others nodded and agreed.

I turned my eyes to the armchair. Aaron and Carrie were looking anxiously over Luz's head at the group. Aaron turned and stared back at his wife, his eyes swivelling in their sockets as he leant to kiss a sobbing Luz's hair. The guys were still mumbling on the veranda behind me.

I watched as one of the crew broke away from the PC and came back into the living area. He'd had a change of kit since I stole his Land Cruiser, and now boasted a clean, shiny black tracksuit. His neck was covered with a gauze dressing, held in place by surgical tape, and there was a big smile on his face as he sauntered towards me.

I lowered my eyes, clenched my teeth and tensed up.

He crouched down and cocked his head so we could have eye-to-eye.

"Como esta, amigo?" His prominent Adam's apple bobbed up and down under the blood-spotted gauze.

I nodded.

"Bien, bien."

He gave the thumbs up with a smile.

"Si, good, good."

I kept my body tensed but still nothing happened. He was taking the piss. I couldn't help but smile back as he got to his feet and returned to the crew at the PC, then addressed a few remarks to Charlie, probably telling him I was indeed the same man and maybe confirming to him that I was the only one on the ground earlier.

Charlie seemed very cool about things, not even turning to look at me. Instead he smiled and pinched both cheeks of the

Land Cruiser guy as he handed over the plastic bag carrying my docs. Charlie then went back and muttered to some more of his aides by the screen.

My Land Cruiser friend pulled out my roll of dollars from the bag, before leaving via the storeroom. Seconds later, one of the Hueys sparked up, turbos whining. Some of the lads were being lifted out.

The heli took off, thundering over the roof, as the staff meeting came to an end. They streamed back into the living area, Charlie in the lead, my bag of docs in his hand. He made a beeline towards me. I did my best to bury my face in my shoulder.

His mud-stained trainers stopped a foot or two away from my eyes, so new they didn't even have creases in the nylon yet. I concentrated on my shoulder as he crouched down with a crack of his knees and grabbed my hair. I just went with it: what was the point of resisting?

Our eyes met. His were dark brown and bloodshot, no doubt due to the force of the explosion. His skin was peppered with scabbed-up pockmarks from the shattered glass, and the side of his neck was dressed like that of the guy from the Land Cruiser. But for all that, he didn't look angry, just in command.

He stared at me, his expression impenetrable. I could smell his cologne and hear his steel watch strap jangle as he grabbed my chin with his spare hand.

The palm was soft, and well-manicured fingers pressed into my cheeks. There still was no anger in his eyes, no hint of any emotion whatsoever.

"Why are you people so stupid? All I wanted was some assurance the device wouldn't be used inside Panama. Then you could have had the launch control system. Some form of assurance, that's all." He threw my docs to the floor.

Instead, I have my family threatened ..."

I let the weight of my head rest in his hands, my eyelids drooping as he shook me about some more.

"So I comply and take the rest of your money, you then assure me everything is fine, just business. But still you try to kill my family. Do you know who I am?

What I can do to you, all of you people?"

He held me, looking at me, his eyes giving nothing.

"You are going to use Sunburn against a ship in the Miraflores that's the target, isn't it?" He shook me again.

"Why you are doing it, I don't care. But it will bring the US back that I care about a great deal."

As my face moved from side to side I caught glimpses of my passport and wallet, discarded in their plastic on the floor by the bookshelves, and both Aaron and Carrie, still covering Luz on the armchair, their faces red and set with fear.

Charlie brought his mouth to my ear and whispered, "I want to know where the missile is, and when the attack will take place. If not, well, some of my people here are only a few years older than that one in the chair and, like all young men, eager to display their manhood ... That's fair, isn't it? You set the rules children are now fair game, aren't they?"

He kept my head in his hands, waiting for my reply. I looked into his eyes and they told me what I needed to know: that none of us was going to leave here alive, no matter what we said or did.

It was Aaron who broke the silence, with a scoff: "He's just the hired help."

His voice was strong and authoritative.

"He was sent here to make you hand over the guidance system, that's all. He doesn't know a thing. None of us know where Sunburn is, but I can get on line at eight thirty tonight and find out. I'll do it just let these three go."

I studied Charlie's face as he stared at Aaron. It was a good try on Aaron's part, but a bit naive.

Carrie went ballistic.

"No, no what are you doing?" She begged Charlie, still hovering above me.

"Please, he-' Aaron cut in at once.

"Shut up. I've had enough, it's got to end. It's got to stop now!"

Charlie released my head and I let it fall to the floorboards, the right side of my face taking the hit. He wasn't too keen to have my hair grease on his hands and bent down to wipe it on my shirt before walking over to the coffee table.

Aaron followed him with his eyes.

"Eight thirty I can't do anything until then. That's when I can make contact and find out eight thirty. Just let them go." He stroked Luz's hair.

Charlie muttered instructions to the people around him as he walked towards the kitchen area, not acknowledging me as he passed.

Aaron and Carrie obviously understood what was going on and started to rise with Luz as two guards crossed the floor. Carrie still tried to talk sense into Aaron. What are you doing? You know he'll just-' He was tough with her.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" He kissed her on the lips.

"I

love you. Stay strong." Then he bent down and kissed Luz, before the guards dragged him towards the computer room.

"Remember, Nick," he laughed, 'once a Viking, always a Viking. Some things never change."

He disappeared, jabbering some kind of explanation or apology in Spanish to the men who pulled at his arms.

The mozzie screen squeaked open behind me and commands were shouted at the boys on the veranda. The other two had already been herded into Luz's bedroom, and the door was closed.

Charlie had been inspecting the coffee pot and now checked the mugs. He obviously decided the blend was crap, or the mugs weren't clean enough, so he came back towards me and hunkered down once more, bending his head to connect his eyes with mine.

"Sunday London you were there?"

My gaze remained locked on his. It was like two kids playing stare as I kept my mouth firmly shut.

He shrugged.

"It doesn't matter, not now. What does is the Sunburn1 want it back. Do you know how much you have paid for it?"

I had to blink now, but I remained locked on. Fuck him, we were all dead anyway.

"Twelve million United States dollars. I'm thinking of reselling it good business, I think." He stood, to the cracking of knees once again. He paused and took breath.

"It seems the war down south will escalate quite soon. I should imagine PARC would very much appreciate the opportunity to buy Sunburn, to prepare, let's say, for when the Americans send a carrier fleet to support its troops." He smiled.

"After all, the Russians designed the missile with just one target in mind: the American aircraft carrier."

I was pushed towards Luz's bedroom and opened the door to see both of them lying on the bed in a huddle. Carrie was stroking Luz's hair;

she looked up in terror as the door creaked open, her expression only changing when she saw it was me.

The door slammed shut. I moved over to the bed and sat down beside them with my finger to my lips. We've got to get out of here before these kids get organized."

She looked down at her daughter, kissed her head, and spoke in whispers. What's he doing? He knows nothing. George won't say a-' "I don't know, sssh ..."

I was only just beginning to understand what Aaron was doing, but I wasn't going to tell her.

I got up and went to the window, which was protected by a wire-mesh mozzie screen on the outside. The windows, side-hinged types that opened inwards, were caked with faded, flaking cream paint. The hinges had long since lost their coat, with luck through use. The mozzie screen was held in place by wooden pegs that swivelled on screws.

I looked out and studied the treeline two hundred metres away as Luz sparked up behind me. Is Dad coming?"

Carrie soothed her.

"For sure, baby, soon."

The ground outside was littered with freshly broken terra cotta tiles from the roof. There was intermittent chat and the odd laugh coming from the veranda to my left.

I inspected the window, my mind still very much on Aaron. He wasn't as naive as I'd thought.

"Once a Viking, always a Viking." They slash, they burn, they pillage. They never change. He'd told me that. He'd come to the same conclusion as I had. No way was Charlie letting us out of here alive.

I was expecting some resistance from the windows, but they gave quite easily and opened towards me with just one pull. Immediately closing them again, I went over to the bed.

"Here's what we're going to do. We're going to get out through the window and get ourselves into the trees."

Luz had been looking at her mother but her head jerked towards me. Tears streaked her face. What about Dad?"

'I'll come back for him later. There's no time for this. We've got to go right now."

Luz looked up at her mother and silently implored her.

"We can't," Carrie said. We can't leave him. What will happen when they find us gone? If we stay put and don't antagonize anyone, we'll be all right. We don't know anything, why should they harm us?"

The whine of the turbos on the Jet Ranger started up and the rotors were soon turning. I waited until they reached full revs before putting my mouth to Carrie's ear.

"Aaron knows we're all dead whatever happens even if George does tell him the location. You understand? We all die."

The heli took off as her head fell on to Luz's. I followed to keep contact with her ear.

"He's buying me time to save you two. We must go now, for Luz's sake, and for Aaron's. It's what he wants."

Her shoulders heaved with sadness as she hugged her daughter.

"Mom?"

The tears were infectious. Both of them were sobbing now into each other's hair as the noise of the Jet Ranger disappeared over the canopy.

THIRTY-FIVE

There was still more than an hour to go till last light but I had made my decision. We had to get out of here as soon as we physically could.

Mumbling and laughter still drifted from the front of the house, as if to remind me of the risk we'd be taking. If somebody was on stag at the edge of the veranda, we'd be in full view for the entire two hundred metres. It would take us at least ninety seconds to make that distance over muddy ground, and that's a very long time for an M-16 to have you in its sights.

But who knew what the next hour held? The three of us could be split up and moved to separate rooms, killed, or even put into the remaining Huey and flown out. We had no control over that, and by waiting could end up squandering the chance Aaron had given us.

As I looked through the glass and mesh, it was easy enough to confirm our route half right towards the dead ground, then into the treeline. We'd be moving at an angle away from the front of the house and the veranda, but there'd come a point where we cleared the corner at the back and were in the Huey's line of sight. Would there still be people aboard? Maybe the pilot carrying out his checks? There was no right or wrong about the decision to go now. These things are not a science: if we died, I'd have been wrong; if we lived, I'd have been right.

Once absorbed by the wall of green we'd be relatively safe; we'd just have to contend with a night out on the jungle floor, then spend the next day moving through the canopy towards the dead valley, navigating by paralleling the track.

We'd cross the tree graveyard at night, hiding under the dead wood in the day, until we made Chepo. From there, who knew? I'd worry about that then. As for Aaron, I doubted that he'd last much past eight thirty.

Carrie and Luz were still comforting each other on the bed. I went over to them and, with Britney on the wall overseeing events, whispered, "We're going to go for the trees."

Luz looked at her mother for reassurance.

"The thing to remember is that we must spread out when we're running, OK? That way it's harder to be seen."

Carrie looked up from her child and frowned. She knew that wasn't the reason.

She knew a single burst from an M-16 could kill all three of us, and if we were spread out, we'd be that bit harder to hit.

Luz tugged at her mother's arm.

"What about Daddy?"

I could see Carrie fighting back the tears and put my hand on her shoulder.

"I'll come back for him, Luz, don't worry. He wanted me to get you two into the jungle first. He wants to know you're safe."

She nodded reluctantly, and we heard more mumblings from the veranda and boots the other side of the door. Going immediately was the right thing to do.

"If we get split up," I said quietly, "I want you two to carry on into the trees without me, then make your way towards the far right corner and wait for me there." To Luz I added, "Don't come out if anyone calls for you, even if it's your dad it'll just be a trick. Just my voice, OK? Once you're safe, I'll come back for him."

I'd cross that bridge when I came to it, but for now a lie was necessary to keep them quiet so I could get on with what he was sacrificing himself for.

"Ready?"

Both heads nodded. I looked at Luz.

"Me first, then you, all right?"

I moved back to the window and out of whisper range. Carrie followed, looking out to the treeline, listening to the laughter out front.

They're outside, on the deck, Nick, isn't it-' "No time, not interested."

"But how are we going to get to the trees without-' "Just get her ready."

She was right. How were we going to make it? I didn't know. All I did know was that there wasn't any time for fancy plans, even if I could think of one. We just had to get on with it. We were dead anyway, so anything else was a bonus.

Pulling open the windows let the sounds of crickets and the boys on the veranda trickle into the room. I thought of the Beirut hostage who could have escaped within the first few days of capture when a toilet window was left open. But he didn't take the chance, didn't seize the moment. He had to live with his regret for the next three years.

My mind went into auto-drive, just getting on with the job. Fuck 'em, fuck the noise outside, fuck the Huey. I was almost wanting them to see us.

The wooden pegs squeaked as I swivelled them to release the mozzie screen. It rattled in its frame as I pushed it free. I froze, waiting for the murmuring on the veranda to change into shouts. It didn't happen. I pushed again and this time the screen came away. Slowly and carefully, I lowered it towards the ground. Boots banged about on the decking and the front door slammed as I felt the screen touch the mud and broken tiles.

I clambered out feet first. My Timberlands squelched into the mud and I moved the screen to one side before beckoning Luz, not even bothering to check the noises. I'd know if they saw me. Better to concentrate on what I was doing rather than flap about something I had no control over.

Her mother helped her, even though she didn't need it, and I guided her down beside me into the mud. Using one hand to hold her against the wall, I held out the other for Carrie as the boys on the veranda appreciated a punchline and one of the rocking chairs was scraped across the wood.

Carrie was soon beside me. I got her to stand next to Luz against the wall, and pointed to the treeline to our half right. I gave them the thumbs-up but got no reply so, taking a deep breath, I took off. They knew what to do.

Within just a few strides the mud had slowed our run into not much more than a fast walk. Instinct made all three of us hunch low in an attempt to make ourselves smaller. I pushed them ahead of me and kept motioning to them to spread out, but it wasn't working. Luz ran close to her mother, and it wasn't long before they were actually holding hands, breathing hard five or six metres ahead.

It was difficult going and I fell twice, sliding as if on ice, but we'd covered the first hundred metres.

The heli came into view to our right, parked just short of the dead ground.

There didn't seem to be anyone in or around it, or any sort of movement at the rear of the house. We pushed on.

There were maybe thirty metres to go when I heard the first reports. Not big, inaccurate brass, but single, aimed shots.

"Run!" I yelled.

"Keep going!"

An enormous flock of little multicoloured birds lifted from the canopy.

"Keep going, keep going!" I didn't look behind us; it wouldn't have helped.

Carrie, still gripping her daughter's hand, was focused on the treeline, half dragging Luz along as she shrieked with terror.

The rounds cracked behind us as they went supersonic. My mind was trying to beat them by going at a million miles an hour, but my feet were only taking me at ten.

With maybe twenty metres of open ground left, the rounds finally started to zero in on us. The cracks were accompanied by thuds as they slammed into the mud ahead and to the side of us, until all I could hear was an almost rhythmic crack thump, crack thump, crack thump as they opened up big-time.

"Keep going, keep going!"

They lunged into the jungle, still slightly ahead and to my right.

"Go right, go right!"

Almost at once, I heard a scream. It was a strangulated half gasp, half howl of pain, just metres into the foliage.

More rounds ripped into the jungle, some with a high-pitched ziiinnng as they ricocheted off the trees. I dropped to my hands and knees, gasping for breath.

"Luz! Call to me where are you? Where are you?"

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!"

Ziiinnng-ziiinnng... "Luz! Lie down! Keep down! Keep down!"

The single shots now become bursts as I started crawling. The M-16s were firing into the entry points in an effort to hose us down; we needed to move offline to the right, downhill into dead ground. Leaves give cover from view but not fire, dead ground does.

"I'm coming, keep down, lie down!"

Some of them were long bursts, the rounds going high as the weapon barrels kicked up, but some were short, the switched-on guys aiming three and five rounds at a time as I heard a wagon revving up to join in the frenzy.

I covered six or seven metres through the foliage until I found them. Carrie was on her back, panting, eyes wide open, tear-filled and big as saucers, her cargos bloodstained on the right thigh, with what looked like bone pushing at the material. Her injured leg appeared shorter than the other, and the foot was lying flat with the toes pointing outward. A round must have hit her in the femur. Luz was hovering over her, not knowing what to do, just staring openmouthed at her mother's bloodstains.

The rounds had died down for now as the shouts and engine noise got louder.

I grabbed Carrie by the arms and, shuffling on my arse, started to drag her through the leaf litter in the direction of our emergency RV, the corner of the treeline, and into the dead ground. Luz followed on her hands and knees, sobbing loudly.

"Shut up! They'll hear you!"

We only managed five or six metres. Carrie cried out uncontrollably as her injured leg got jarred and twisted, covering her face with her hands in an effort to keep quiet. At least the noise meant she was breathing and could feel pain, both good signs, but the two of them were making such a racket that it was only a matter of time before we were heard.

I jumped up, grabbed Carrie's wrist, and heaved her over my shoulder in a fireman's lift. She screamed as her damaged leg swung free before I held it in place. I pushed through the vegetation with long, exaggerated strides, trying to keep the leg stable with one hand and keeping a tight grip of Luz with the other, sometimes by her hair, sometimes by her clothing, sometimes around her neck, whatever it took to keep us moving together.

The BUBs now sparked up as frenzied shouts and the high revs of the engine came from behind us. Short bursts from M-16s randomly stitched the area. They were at the entry points.

We crashed our way through some more wait-a-while and Carrie's leg got snagged.

She screamed and I half turned, pulled it free, knowing there was a chance that the broken ends of her femur could act like scissors, cutting into muscle, nerves, tendons, ligaments or, worst of all, sever the femoral artery. She'd be history in minutes if that happened. But what else could I do?

We crashed on, and began a gentle decent. I guessed we were about level with the heli in the clearing to my right. I could still hear people hosing the place down behind us, but the jungle was soaking up a lot of it and we seemed to be out of the initial danger area.

The BUBs reminded me I'd have to stop soon and sort out Carrie. I needed that last precious light.

I pushed towards the treeline until I could see the beginning of the open ground, then dragged Luz back with me so we were just behind the wall of green.

At last I was able to lay Carrie down, making sure as I did so that her feet were pointing at the treeline.

The M-16s only fired sporadically now, up on the higher ground, though there was still a lot of vehicle noise and shouting up and down the treeline. I didn't care: if there were any dramas we'd just drag further back in. The priority now was sorting her out.

Carrie lay on her back taking short, sharp breaths, her face contorted. I joined in with her pattern of breathing as I tried to get my breath back. Luz was bent over her on her knees. I gently straightened her.

"You've got to help your mum and me. I need you to kneel there, behind me. If anyone comes you just turn round and give me a tap not a shout, just a tap, OK? Will you do that?"

Luz looked at her mother, then back at me.

"That's good this is really important." I positioned her behind me, facing the treeline, then turned to Carrie. No way were we going to be walking out of here, but that wasn't my major concern: sorting her out was.

She fought the pain through gritted teeth. There was blood. Her femoral artery wasn't cut or lit res of the stuff would have been pouring out over her leg, but if she kept leaking like this she would eventually go into shock and die. The bleeding had to be stopped and the fracture immobilized.

Not even bothering to explain what I was up to, I got down at her feet and started to work with my teeth at the frayed hem of her cargos. I made a tear, gripped both sides of it, and ripped the material upwards. As the injury was exposed I saw that she hadn't been shot. She must have fallen badly and overstressed the femur: the bone was sticking out of what looked like a rack of raw, blood-soaked beef. But at least there was muscle there to contract, it hadn't been shot away.

I tried to sound upbeat.

"It's not so bad."

There was no reply, just very rapid breathing.

With military casualties in the field I had always found it better to take the piss, not feed their worries. But this felt different: I wanted to reassure her, to make her feel OK.

"It looks a lot messier than it is. I'll make sure it doesn't get worse, then get you to a doctor. It'll be fine."

With her head tilted back she seemed to be looking up at the canopy. Her face was fixed in a terrible grimace, eyes screwed tight.

I cleared some leaf litter that had stuck to the sweat on her forehead and whispered into her ear, "Really, it's not that bad ... it's a clean break. You haven't lost that much blood, but I've got to fix it so the bone doesn't move about and cause any more damage. It's going to hurt more while I sort it out you know that, don't you?"

I caught sight of Luz, who was still in position on her knees, looking back at us. I gave her the thumbs up, but all I got in return was a fleeting, tearstained half-smile.

Carrie's chest heaved up and down as she sucked in air, quietly screaming to herself as she took the pain.

"Carrie, I need you to help me, will you do that, will you help me? I want you to hold on to the tree behind you when I say, OK?"

Forcing the words out haltingly through the tears, she sobbed, "Get on with it."

There was a burst of fire further up the treeline. Luz flinched and looked back.

I held up both my hands and mouthed to her, "It's OK, it's OK."

The firing stopped and Luz turned back to her task. The BUBs echoed about us in the fading light as I gently eased Carrie's inch-wide webbing belt through the hoops of her cargos and put it down by her feet. Then I took off my sweatshirt, knowing I was sentencing myself to being one big mozzie banquet.

I ripped a sleeve away from its stitching. Carrie's eyes were closed, her lips quivering, as I started pulling on the large waxy leaves that drooped down about us. In a minute, I'm going to move your good leg next to your bad one. I'll do it as carefully as I can."

Rolling up the leaves into big cigar shapes, I gently packed them all the way down between her legs, to act as padding between the good leg and the bad. I carried on as the odd Spanish shout penetrated the canopy, then picked up her good leg.

"Here we go, here we go." She was breathing as rapidly as if she was giving birth. I brought it gently over towards her injured one, just as the first splatter of rain hit the canopy. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Luz moved back to me on her knees.

"It's raining, what do we do?"

I shrugged.

"Get wet."

Carrie's features twisted again in agony. As rain tumbled on to her face she held out her hand for Luz to grasp, and mother and daughter whispered to each other. I needed Luz on stag. I signalled that I wanted her to move, and she shuffled back to her post.

I pushed the sleeve through the mud below Carrie's knees and laid it out flat, then frantically ripped the rest of the now soaking-wet sweatshirt into strips to improvise bandages.

"Nick, the ship ..."

The ship has to wait."

I carried on ripping and tearing as the rain notched itself up to monsoon strength. I couldn't even hear the BUBs any more, or the people in the open ground if they were still there.

I leant over her, right up to her ear.

"I need you to bring your hands back and grab hold of the tree behind you."

There was a deep rumble of thunder directly above us as I guided her hands round the thin trunk, debating whether or not to explain what I was going to do with her next.

"Grip hard and don't let go, no matter what."

I decided against it; she was in enough pain without anticipating more.

I crawled back down to her feet and fed the belt under both her ankles, digging into the mud so I didn't move her damaged leg any more than I had to. Then, kneeling in front of her, I gently picked up the foot of the injured leg between my hands, the right supporting her heel and the other on her toes.

Her whole body tensed.

"It's going to be OK, just keep hold of that tree. Ready?"

Slowly but firmly, I pulled her foot towards me. I rotated it as gently as I could, stretching the injured leg out straight to stop the taut muscles from displacing the bone any more and, I hoped, bring some relief from the pain. It wasn't easy, there was a lot of thigh muscle to pull against. Every movement must have felt like a stab from a red hot knife. She gritted her teeth and for a long time didn't make a sound, then finally it all became too much. She screamed as her body jerked, but didn't release her grip as the exposed bone started to retract from the open wound.

Rain fell in torrents and more thunder rumbled across the darkening sky as I continued with the traction. She screamed again and her body convulsed as I sat down, pulling her leg with all my weight.

"Nearly there, Carrie, nearly there ..."

Luz came running over and joined in the sobs. It was understandable, but I didn't need it. I hissed at her, "Shut up!" There was no other way that I could think of, but it just made her worse. She whimpered again, and this time I just let her get on with it.

My hands were busy and I couldn't cover her mouth. I couldn't let go because the muscle contraction would pull it back in again and cause more damage.

I started to feed the canvas belt over Carrie's ankles with my left hand, and then over her sandal led feet in a figure of eight.

"Keep your good leg straight, Carrie, keep it straight!" Then I pulled back on the ends of the belt to keep everything in place, tying a knot with the belt still under tension to keep her feet together.

Carrie had been jerking like an epileptic, but still held on to the tree and, more importantly, kept her good leg straight.

"It's OK, OK. It's done."

As I knelt up Luz fell on top of her mother. I tried to get her off.

"Let her breathe." But they weren't having any of it, clutching each other tight.

It was getting so dark I could hardly see beyond the two of them now, and the fracture still had to be immobilized so it couldn't do any more damage. I gently folded over the sweatshirt sleeve lying under her knees and tied the ends together with the knot on the side of her good knee. Large lumps of bright green leaf protruded between her legs now that they were getting strapped together.

I placed strips of sweatshirt firmly and carefully over the wound. I fed the material under her knees and then worked it up before tying off on the side of the good leg. I wanted to immobilize the fracture, and put pressure on the wound to stem the blood loss.

Rain cascaded down, blurring my vision as it ran into my eyes. I was working virtually by feel as I tied off the other sleeve round her ankles, adding more support to the canvas belt.

I stayed sitting at Carrie's feet, almost shouting to make myself heard above the rain. TMow you can give me my Scout's first-aid badge."

All I had to do now was make sure that the sweatshirt wasn't tied too tight. I couldn't tell if the blood supply was reaching below the ties; without light I couldn't see if the skin was pink or blue, and finding the pulse was a nightmare. There was really only one option.

"If you feel pins and needles, you've got to tell me, OK?"

I got a short, sharp "Yep!"

I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face now as I checked Baby-G. The dial illuminated and it was 6.27. Just behind me, I could hear both of them crying, even above the drumming on the vegetation.

I was starting to feel cold. Not too sure where their heads were, I called out into the darkness, "You two must keep physical contact with each other all the time. You must each know where the other is all the time never let go of each other." I put my hand out and felt wet material: it was Luz's back as she cuddled her mother.

No way were we walking out of here. What the fuck was there to do now? I didn't really know. Well, actually I did, but I was trying to deny it. That was probably what was making me feel cold.

I was kneeling there in the rain when I heard Luz speak up.

"Nick?"

I tapped my hand on her back to acknowledge her.

'You going to get Daddy now?"

THIRTY-SIX

It seemed I had come to that bridge.

I'll be no more than a couple of hours."

She wasn't wearing a watch, but some kind of timing would be something to cling on to.

"Eight thirty, Nick, eight thirty..." Carrie fought between short, sharp breaths, as if I needed reminding.

"If I'm not back by first light," I said, 'you need to get out into the open ground and make yourself known. You'll need taking care of. Once the weather clears they can use the heli to get you to hospital." Maybe, maybe not: I didn't know what they'd do, but there was no other way if I didn't return.

Going back to the house had been a simple choice to make. Carrie needed medical attention. I needed a wagon to get her to Chepo. I had to go and get one, and that meant getting Aaron out of there too. Stealing a wagon in the middle of the night, then picking Carrie up so close to the house was a no-no: it simply wouldn't work. I needed to have control of the house and the people in it first.

I didn't know if it was the physical pain, or the realization that what I'd just talked about was a contingency plan for if Aaron and I were both dead, but she let out a loud sob. Rain drummed on Luz's back as she knelt over her mother and joined in. I just let them get on with it, not really knowing what else to do while I

tried to think through what I'd do once I was at the house without coming up with much.

I checked Baby-G: 6.32. Less than two hours till Aaron's bluff was called.

I felt my knees sinking into the mud. 'I'll see you both soon. In fact, I won't see you, I'll hear you ..." I gave a weak laugh.

I drew an imaginary straight line down her body to her feet. She hadn't shifted position since I'd laid her down, so I knew that that was the way to the treeline. I started crawling, feeling my way over the wet leaf litter, and soon emerged into the open ground.

There was an immediate difference in the ambient noise. The dull pounding of rain into mud took over from the almost tinny noise of it hitting leaves. It was just as dark, however, and because of the dead ground I couldn't see any lights from the house.

I stood up and stretched, then ripped an armful of palm leaves from the trees at the edge and laid them out on the ground at my entry point, throwing mud on top to keep them in place. Then, with the heel of my boot, I scraped deep score marks into the mud for good measure. It didn't matter if Charlie's men found the long straight puddles after first light by then I'd either have done my job and be away from here, or it would all have gone to rat shit anyway and Carrie and Luz would need finding.

I set off towards the house, conscious that the helicopter would be somewhere to my left. I was tempted to make my way over to it and have a look for a weapon.

But what if the pilot was asleep inside or listening to a Walkman? What if they had somebody on stag? It was unlikely, in the middle of nowhere and with us now lost in the jungle, but still, I couldn't take the chance of a compromise so far from the house. The aim was to get all of us out of here, not go the best of three falls with someone in a helicopter.

As I crested the high ground, I saw the glimmer of light from the single bulb burning away in the shower area. There was no other lighting, nothing from Luz's bedroom, or Carrie and Aaron's. I certainly couldn't tell if our escape window was still open or not, and I didn't intend getting close enough to that side of the house to find out. Why bother? It was wasting time. I'd go to the side where I knew there was an entry point that would definitely get me in.

I moved back down the slope and, avoiding the helicopter, made my way round to the other side of the house as more thunder rumbled above. Picking my way through the mud, eventually moving up to the left of the house, I crested the high ground again. The shower-area light was now to my right, still trying to penetrate the curtain of rain.

Approaching the tubs, I became aware of the chug of the generator, and at that point got on to my hands and knees and began to crawl. The mud felt warm and lumpy on my bare skin, almost soothing the itchy swellings on my stomach.

The chug was soon drowned out by the rain beating on the lids of the plastic tubs. There were no signs of life from the house, and it wasn't until I drew level with the storeroom that I could just make out a thin sliver of light coming from beneath the door. I kept moving, and eventually saw a dull yellow glow filtering through the mozzie screen on the window between the bookshelves, but no movement inside.

There was no need to crawl any more as I got to the end of the tubs and drew level with the veranda and wagons. Covered in mud, I stood up and moved cautiously towards them.

I headed for the Land Cruiser, now pointing towards the track through the woods, rain hammering on its body work I stood off to the side and could see movement inside the house, though from this distance they wouldn't be able to see me.

"Lurking', standing in the shadows and watching, was a skill I'd learnt as a young squaddie in Northern Ireland, during long hours on foot patrol in Republican housing estates. We'd watch people eat their dinners, do the ironing, have sex.

Through the haze of rain and screens I could see the fans still spinning by the armchairs, which were empty. Three guys were sitting at the kitchen table, all dark-skinned and dark-haired, one with a beard. Weapons lay on the floor. Two of the guys wore chest harnesses. All of them were smoking, and seemed to be having a sober conversation. They were probably trying to make up the story of how we'd managed to get away.

There was no sign of Aaron.

I checked Baby-G as I blew out the water that ran down my face and into my mouth. Less than ninety minutes to go before they discovered he knew jack shit.

I moved off to the right so I could get an angle through the front entrance and see the bedroom doors. Both were closed. He was either in one of them, or inside the computer room; I'd find that out soon, but the priority was to check if the Mosin Nagant or M-16 were still in the Land Cruiser. There had been no light, no movement or steamed-up windows in any of the three wagons. It was safe to approach.

I wiped the water from the side windows and checked inside. No sign of either weapon or gollock, not that I could see much in the dark. It was a long shot, but I'd have been making a basic error if I hadn't checked.

I went to the rear of the wagon and slowly but firmly pressed the release button and opened the glass top section of the rear gate six inches, just enough for the interior lights to come on, then bent down and scanned the luggage area. No weapons, no bergen, no gollock. I pushed the section back down until it hit the first click and killed the lights.

I moved towards the storeroom to take a look through the gap under the door. As I passed the bookshelf window, too far from it for the weak light to illuminate me, I saw that all three were still sitting at the table.

The tin roof above me was getting pummelled big-time as I moved in towards the side of the house and stepped up on the concrete foundations of the extension.

The noise drowned anything it might have been useful to hear.

Moving back out into the rain and round the water butt, I could now see the light seeping from under the storeroom door. I got back on the concrete and down on my hands and knees, shook my head to get off as much water as I could so it wouldn't run into my eyes, then shoved my right eye against the gap.

I saw Aaron at once, sitting in one of the director's chairs under the glare of the computer-room strip lighting. A man, maybe mid-forties, in a green shirt and with no chest harness or weapon visible, was sitting next to him in the other canvas chair, in the act of offering him a cigarette, which he took.

Beyond them, sitting at Luz's computer and with his back to me, was a younger man, in blue, with long hair tied in a ponytail like Aaron's, except his was still black. I guessed by the primary colours darting about the screen and the frenzied movement of the mouse that he was playing a game. An M-16 was resting against the table beside him.

I looked back at Aaron. His nose was bloodied and his eyes swollen, and the right one had blood leaking from it. But he was smiling at the green guy, maybe feeling happy with himself that he'd got us away. I was glad he didn't know what had happened since.

By now the cigarette had been lit and he took long, grateful drags. Green Guy got up and said something to Blue, who didn't bother to turn from the game, just raising his free hand instead as Green Guy went into the living room to join the other three.

Right, so there were at least five of them, and there might be more in the bedrooms. What now?

I lay on the concrete and watched the inactivity for a few minutes as Aaron enjoyed his cigarette, taking it from his mouth, examining it between his thumb and forefinger, exhaling through his nose. I was trying to come up with something that would get me Aaron and one of those weapons.

Taking the final drag, he turned on his chair to look at Blue playing Luz's game, then he ground the dog-end into the concrete.

Shit! What's he up to?

I leapt back and scrambled behind the water butt just as the door burst open and light flooded the area. Aaron launched himself off the concrete into the mud, followed by startled Spanish screams.

As he ran and slithered into the darkness towards the tubs there was a long burst of automatic fire from within the storeroom.

I curled up, making myself as small as possible as yells echoed from the living room, together with the sound of feet pounding on floorboards.

Rounds were hitting the tin wall with dull thuds as the weapon burst out of control.

Aaron had already faded into the darkness when Blue got to the door, hollering in panic, and took aim with a short sharp burst.

I heard an anguished gasp, then chilling, drawn-out screams.

His pain was quickly drowned by panicky M-16s opening up through the window between the bookshelves to my right, just blasting away into the night. Their muzzle flashes created arcs of stroboscopic light outside the window, as the mesh screen disintegrated.

Blue was screaming at the top of his voice probably to cease firing, because that was what happened. Panic and confusion ricocheted between them in rapid, high-pitched Spanish. Someone was with Blue at the door, and they shouted at each other as if they were trading on the stock market. Other voices weighed in from just inside the living area.

I stayed curled up to conceal myself behind the water butt as Blue moved out into the rain towards Aaron. The rest withdrew inside, still shouting at each other.

I had to act: now was my time. I stepped into the rain after him, keeping to the right of the door to avoid the light, quickly checking through the storeroom for movement. There wasn't any.

Rain fell into my eyes and blurred my vision. Blue's back was just visible in the light spilling from the storeroom, as he advanced on the dark, motionless shape of Aaron on the ground a few metres ahead of him. The M-16 was in his right hand, and the muzzle was trailing down alongside his calf.

I was no more than five paces behind him, and still walking. I didn't want to run and risk slipping. I kept moving, concentrating on the back of his head. He was taller than me. Now nothing else mattered as I entered his zone. He'd sense I was there soon.

I leapt behind him and a bit to his right, jamming my left leg between his, body checking him, at the same time grabbing at his face with my left hand, pulling hard, trying to pull him back over me. I wanted his mouth, but felt mostly nose when the warmth of his shout hit my hand. The weapon fell between us as his hands came up to snatch my hand away.

Still pulling hard, I arched him backwards, yanking back his head, presenting his throat. I raised my right hand high above my head, palm open, and swung down hard to chop across his throat. I had no idea where it landed, but he dropped like a stunned pig in an abattoir, taking me with him into the mud.

I kicked myself free, scrambling over the top of him until I lay across his chest, feeling the hard alloy of the magazines between us. My right forearm jammed into his throat and I leant on it with all my weight. He wasn't dead; it hadn't been that good. The chop had got the nerves that run each side of the trachea and fucked him up for a while, that was all.

No reaction, no resistance, no last kicks yet. I pressed into him, shaking the rain off as it kept trying to get into my eyes. Looking up, I could see into the storeroom. The others were probably still in the living room, trying to come to terms with the even bigger nightmare they were now facing, waiting for Aaron's body to be dragged back by this fuck wit who'd let him escape.

I looked down on him, his eyes closed, no kicking or resistance. I eased off and put my ear to his mouth. No sound of breathing. I double-checked by digging the middle and forefinger of my right hand into his neck to feel the carotid pulse.

Nothing.

I rolled off him and felt for Aaron. My hands were soon warm with his blood as I felt up his body for his neck. He, too, was dead. I scrabbled around in the mud for the M-16, then started to remove Blue's chest harness. I rolled him over, unclipping it from his back, then dragged off the neck and shoulder straps. His arms lifted limply in the air as I pulled.

With the harness weighing heavily in one hand and the M-16 in the other, I ran to the back of the house for the cover and light it afforded me, and placed the weapon on the sink. The moths had found shelter out of the rain as well, flitting around the light on the wall between the sink and the shower as I gulped air, knowing I didn't have much time before they came out here to see what was taking their friend so long. Fuck the heli. If anyone was still in it now, he was deaf.

Aaron's blood dripped off my hands as I took out a fresh thirty-round mag and pushed my thumb down into it to make sure it was full. For me it was too full with thirty rounds1 took out the top one and pushed down again to check the spring had a chance to do its job. I pressed the release catch on the right and removed the old magazine, then pushed the fresh one home by sliding it into the rectangular housing, waiting to feel it click home before giving it a shake to make sure it was secure. I cocked the weapon: the sound was barely audible above the rain battering the tin roof.

There was a round already in the chamber and it flew out into the mud as it got replaced with a new one from the mag; it wasn't necessary to have done it, it just made me feel better to see a round going into the chamber.

I applied Safe, quickly checking the other three mags in the pouches of the nylon harness. If I was in the shit and changing mags I didn't want to slap on a half-empty one. This took precious extra seconds but was always worth the effort.

I put the harness on, straps over my shoulders and neck, the magazine pouches across my chest, and clipped the buckle at the back, continuously grabbing air in an effort to keep my heart rate down, whilst listening for shouts that would tell me they'd discovered Blue.

My panting slowed and I mentally prepared myself. Pulling a magazine from the harness, I held it in my left hand with the curved shape facing away from me so it was ready to be rammed into the magazine housing if this one became empty.

Then I grabbed the stock, wrapping my left hand around the whole lot.

I thumbed the safety, pushing past the first click single rounds and all the way to Automatic, my index finger inside the trigger guard, then moved out into the rain once more, towards the heli to clear the corner in the darkness, and on towards Aaron and Blue. Their bodies were lying as I'd left them, motionless in the mud next to each other as the rain bounced in little pools around them.

Looking into the storeroom and beyond, I couldn't see any movement apart from the blurred images on Luz's screen.

There was more thunder but no lightning as I moved forward, butt in the shoulder, weapon up, both eyes open. My breathing calmed down as it became fuckit time once again.

I stepped up on to the concrete and into the light from the storeroom. I moved inside, avoiding the cot, lifting my feet up high before replacing them to avoid the cans, spilt rice, and other shit strewn across the floor. Eyes forward, weapon up.

I could hear them in the kitchen area and began to smell cigarettes. The talking was heated: today had been one big fuck for all concerned.

There was movement, a chair scraping, boots walking towards the computer room. I froze, both eyes open but blurred by rain, index finger pad on the trigger, waiting, waiting ... I was going to have the upper hand for no more than two seconds. After that, if I didn't get this right, I was history.

The boots appeared. Green Guy. He turned, saw me, his scream cut short as I squeezed. He fell back into the living room.

As if on autopilot I followed him through the doorway, stepping over his body into the smoke-filled room. They were panicking, screaming out at each other, wide eyed, reaching for their weapons.

I moved off to the left, into the corner, both eyes open, squeezing short sharp bursts, aiming into the mass of movement. The hot empty cases bounced off the wall to the right and then my back before clinking against each other as they hit the floor. I squeezed again ... nothing.

"Stoppage! Stoppage!" I fell to my knees to present a smaller target.

It was as if my world was in slow motion as I tilted the weapon to the left to present the ejection opening. It had no working parts: they were being held to the rear. Looking inside, there were no rounds in the magazine, no rounds in the chamber. My eyes were now fixed on the threat in front.

I hit the release catch and the empty mag hit my leg on its way to the floor.

Two bodies were sprawled, one moving with a weapon, one on his knees trying to get the safety off. I locked on to it. The mist of the propellant was already mixing with the heavy cigarette smoke. The bitterness of cordite clawed at the back of my throat.

I twisted the weapon over to its right and presented the magazine housing. The fresh magazine was still in my left hand; I rammed it into the housing, banged it into position from the mag bottom, and slapped my hand down hard on to the locking lever. The working parts went forward, picking up a round as I got the weapon into the shoulder, brought the barrel to what I was looking at, and fired on my knees.

Another mag and it was all over.

There was silence as I reloaded, apart from the rain hitting the roof and the kettle whistling on the cooker. Two of the bodies were on the floor; one was slumped forward over the table, his face distorted with a dead man's sneer.

I remained on my knees, surveying the carnage. The acrid stench of cordite filled my nostrils. Mixed with the cigarette smoke, it looked as if a dry-ice machine was running, covering the bodies, some with their eyes still open, some not. There wasn't much blood on the floor yet, but it would be there as soon as their bodies gave it up.

I looked around. Everybody I had seen was accounted for, but the bedrooms had to be checked.

Getting to my feet, butt in my shoulder, I gave three short bursts through the door to Luz's room then forced my way in, and then the same with Carrie and Aaron's. Both were clear and Luz's window was now closed.

I turned to the kitchen. The floor was covered in a mixture of mud and blood.

I went over to the stove, kicking my way past empty cans that had been shot or pushed on to the floor, and took the kettle off the ring. I poured myself a mug of tea from a tin of sachets on the side. It smelt of berries and I threw in some brown sugar and stirred it as I walked towards the computer room, kicking a weapon out of the way. I dragged the blood-soaked Green Guy away from the door;

empty cases chinked together as his body moved them across the floor. I stepped into the computer room and closed the door behind me.

Seated in a director's chair, I slowly sipped the sweet, scalding liquid while picking out two empty cases that had got caught between my chest and the harness on their way to the floor. My hands were starting to shake a little, as I silently thanked all those years of skill-at-arms training that had made stoppage drills second nature.

Tilting the mug for the last few drops of the brew, I got to my feet and went to Aaron and Carrie's bedroom. I pulled off the harness and changed into an old black cotton sweatshirt with a faded Adidas logo on the front.

It was time to drag Aaron out of the mud. I put the harness back on, gathered up their purple bedsheet, and went to the Land Cruiser with the M-16. I checked that the keys were still inside, lowered the rear seats ready for Carrie, then climbed into the Mazda and fired it up.

The headlights bounced up and down as I bumped through the mud to Aaron. He was heavy to retrieve, but I finally got him into the back of the Mazda and wrapped him up in the sheet. As I tucked one corner over his face, I thanked him quietly.

Closing the tailgate, I left the wagon where it was, then dragged Blue and hid him amongst the tubs before walking back to the house. I turned off the livingroom lights and closed the door before kicking Blue's empty cases under the desk and storeroom shelving. Luz didn't need to see any of that: she had seen enough already today. I knew what happened to kids when they were exposed to that shit.

Finally, using a torch from the storeroom shelves to light me, I dragged the cot out into the rain and threw it into the back of the Land Cruiser. It just fitted on the opened lower half of the tailgate. Then I headed for the dead ground and the treeline.

THIRTY-SEVEN

The wipers pushed away the flood with each stroke, only for it to be instantly replaced, but not before I glimpsed the entry point in the treeline.

The Land Cruiser hit a tree stump and reared up, tilted over to the left, and came back down just as the headlights hit on the palm-leaf markers.

I left the lights and engine running, grabbed the torch from the passenger seat, ran round and dragged out the cot. With a firm grip on one of the legs as it trailed behind me, I broke through the treeline.

"Luz! Where are you? Luz! It's me, it's Nick, call to me!"

I shone the torch in a broad sweep but it only reflected back at me off the wet leaves.

"Luz! It's me, Nick."

"Over here! We're over here! Nick, please, please, Nick!"

I turned to my right and pushed towards her, dragging the cot away from a stand of wait-a-while that wanted to hang on to it. Just a few feet more and the torch beam landed on Luz, soaking wet, kneeling by her mother's head, her hair flat and her shoulders shaking. Carrie was lying beneath her, in pain, covered in leaf litter. Seeing Luz's face in the torchlight, she raised a hand, trying to remove the hair stuck her face.

"It's OK, baby, everything's OK, we can go back to the house now."

I dragged the cot alongside them, and inspected the job I'd done on her leg. It wasn't as good as it should have been: maybe I didn't deserve that first-aid badge after all. Thunder rumbled and cracked above the canopy.

"Where's Daddy? Is Daddy at the house?"

Luz looked at me from the other side of her mother, squinting into the torchlight, her red face wet with rain and tears.

I looked down and busied myself with the dressings, pleased that the weather, distance and canopy would have soaked up the sounds of automatic gunfire. I didn't know what the fuck to say.

"No, he went to get the police ..."

Carrie coughed and screwed up her pale face, smothering her ;M child into her chest. She looked at me quizzically over her head. I If closed my eyes, put the torchlight on to my face and shook my head.

I?

Her head fell back and she let out a low cry, her eyes shut tight.

Luz's head jumped up and down as her chest convulsed. She ;

tried to steer her mother's thoughts elsewhere, thinking it was ;

only physical pain.

"It's OK, Mom, Nick's going to get you back ;

to the house. It's OK."

;V

I'd done as much as I could with the dressings.

"Luz, you've got r to help me get your mum on the cot, OK?" Moving the torch slightly so as not to blind her, I looked at her scared face, nodding ' slowly as rain coursed down it.

"Good. Now get behind your mum's head, and when I say, I want you to lift her from under the armpits. I'll lift her legs at the same time and we'll get her on the cot in one go. Got it?"

I shone the torch above Carrie's head as Luz got into a kneeling position behind her mother's head. Carrie was still thinking of Aaron. That pain was far greater than anything her leg was causing.

"That's right. Now put your arms under her armpits." Carrie raised herself limply to try to help her daughter.

I jammed the torch into the mud. The beam shone up into the canopy and rain splattered on to the front of the lens. On my knees, I slid one arm under the small of her back and the other under her knees.

"OK, Luz, on my count of three are you ready?"

Thunder reverberated over the canopy.

A small but serious voice answered, "Yes, I'm ready."

I looked at what I could see of Carrie's face.

"You know this is going to hurt, don't you?"

She nodded, her eyes closed, taking sharp breaths.

"One, two, three up, up, up."

Her scream filled the night. Luz was startled. Carrie had gone down harder than I'd have wanted, but at least that phase was over. As soon as she landed she started breathing quickly and deeply through gritted teeth as Luz tried to comfort her.

"It's OK, Mom, it's OK ... ssssssh."

I pulled the torch from the mud and placed it on the cot next to Carrie's good leg so that it shone upwards, creating horror-movie shadows on their faces. The hard bits are done."

"It's OK, Mom. Hear that? The hard bits are done."

"Luz, grab your end, just lift it a little and I'll lift this end,

OK?"

She jumped to her feet and stood as if to attention, then bent her knees to grip the aluminium handles.

"Ready? One, two, three, up, up, up."

The cot lifted about six inches and I immediately started crashing backwards through the vegetation in the direction Carrie's feet were pointing. More thunder rumbled, swamping Carrie's sobs. Luz still thought it was just pain.

"We'll see Daddy soon. It's OK, Mom."

Carrie couldn't hold back and cried out into the storm.

I kept checking behind me and soon made out the lights of the Land Cruiser penetrating the foliage. Just a few paces later we were out in the open.

The rain was relentless as we lifted Carrie into the back of the vehicle, like a patient into an ambulance, her legs protruding on to the tailgate. 'You need to stay with your mum and hold on to her in case we hit a bump, OK?"

There was going to be no problem with that. Carrie pulled her child down and mourned covertly into her wet hair.

As I drove very slowly towards the rear of the house, the headlights cut through the rain and bounced back off the shiny skin and Plexiglass of the Huey. Its rotors drooped as if depressed by the weather.

Carrie was still getting soothing messages from Luz as we pulled up by the storeroom door. It took longer than I'd expected to get her inside, kicking cans out of the way, not worrying now there was no one to alert. We waddled with the cot into the brightly lit computer room. She was in a bad way, with soaked, bloodstained clothes, pruned skin, glued hair, red eyes and covered from head to toe in leaf litter.

As we lowered her to the floor near the two PCs, I looked to Luz.

"You need to go and turn the fans off."

She looked a bit confused but did it anyway. The fans would make the moisture evaporate quicker, producing a chilling effect. Carrie was in enough clanger from shock as it was.

As soon as Luz left us, Carrie pulled me down to her, whispering at me, "You sure he's dead, you sure? I need to know ... please?"

Luz made her way back to us as I looked her straight in the eye and nodded.

There was no dramatic reaction: she just let go of me and stared up at the slowing fans.

There was still nothing I could do to help her with her grief, but I could do something about her physical injuries.

"Stay with your mum, she needs you."

The medical suitcase was still on the shelf, though it had been opened and some of the contents scattered. I collected everything together and threw it back in the case, then knelt at the side of the cot and searched through to see what I could use. She'd lost blood, but I couldn't find a giving set or fluids.

"Luz? Is this the only medical kit you have?"

She nodded, holding hands with her mother, squeezing her fingers tight. I guessed they would have depended on a heli coming in to get them in the event of serious illness or accident. That wasn't going to happen tonight, not with this downpour -but at least it was keeping Charlie at bay. As long as it kept raining so hard he wouldn't be able to fly back to find out why contact had been broken.

I found the dihydrocodeine under the shelves. The label might have said one tablet when required, but she was getting three, plus the aspirin I was pushing from its foil. Without needing to be asked, Luz announced she was going to fetch some Evian. Carrie swallowed eagerly, desperate for anything to deaden what she was feeling. With this lot down her neck it wouldn't be long before she was dancing with the fairies, but for now she was studying the wall clock.

"Nick, tomorrow, ten o'clock..." She turned to me, her expression pleading.

"First things first."

I ripped the crunchy Cellophane from a crepe bandage and started to replace the belt and bits of sweatshirt in a figure of eight around her feet. She had to be stabilized. As soon as that was done, we needed to be out of this house before the weather improved and Charlie fired up his helis. Even if the rain stopped when we were half-way to Chepo, the Hueys would catch us up en route.

The clinic in Chepo, where is it?"

"It's not really a clinic, it's the Peace Corps folks and-' "Have they got a surgery?"

"Sort of."

I pressed the soles of her feet and her toes and watched the imprint remain for a second or two until her blood returned.

Two thousand people, Nick. You've got to talk to George, you must do something.

If only for Aar-' Luz returned with the water and helped her mother with the bottle.

I didn't disturb the dressings over the wound site, or the foliage packed between her legs, but just gradually worked my way up her legs with the four inch bandages. I wanted to get her looking like an Egyptian mummy from her feet up to her hips. Carrie just lay there, staring vacantly at the now stationary fans.

I got Luz to hold her mother's legs up a little so I could feed the bandage under them. Carrie cried out, but it had to be done. She managed to calm herself, and looked directly into my eyes. Talk to George, you'll speak his language. He won't listen to me, never has..."

Luz was on her knees, holding her mum's hand once more.

"What's happening, Mom?

Is Grandpa coming to help?"

Carrie stared at me, mumbling to Luz, "What's the time, baby?"

Twenty after eight."

Carrie squeezed her hand.

"What's wrong, Mom? I want Daddy. What's wrong?"

"We're late ... We've gotta get Grandpa ... He'll be worrying ... Talk to him, Nick. Please, you've got to ..."

Where's Daddy? I want Daddy." She was getting hysterical as Carrie held her hand tight.

"Soon, baby, not yet ... Get Grandpa ..." Then she turned her head away from her daughter and her voice was suddenly much quieter.

"Nick has to go and do something for us first and himself. I don't mind waiting, Chepo isn't that far." She stared at me for a few moments with half-closed, glazed eyes, then rested her head back on the cot, mouth open. But there wasn't any noise. Her big, wet, swollen eyes looked at me and begged silently.

Luz got up and went over to her PC.

"We'll see Daddy soon, right?"

Carrie couldn't tilt her head far enough back to see her.

"Get Grandpa."

"No, not yet," I said.

"Get a search engine Google, something like that."

Both of them looked at me as if I was mad. My eyes darted between them.

"Just do it, trust me."

Luz was already clicking the keyboard of her PC at the other end of the room when Carrie beckoned me closer.

"What?" I could smell the mud caked in her hair, and heard the sound of the modem handshaking.

She stared at me, her pupils almost fully dilated.

"Kelly, the Yes Guy. You got to do something ..."

It's OK, I've taken care of that, for now at least."

She smiled like a drunk.

"I got it, Nick I got Google."

I walked over and took her place on the chair, and typed in "Sunburn missile'.

It threw up a couple of thousand results, but even the first I clicked on made grim reading. The Russian-designed and -built 3M82 Moskit sea-skimming missile (NATO code-named SS-N-22 "Sunburn') was now also in the hands of the Chinese.

The line drawing showed a normal, rocket-shaped missile, quite skinny, with fins at the bottom and smaller ones midway up its ten metres. It could be launched from a ship or from a trailer-like platform that looked like something from Thunderbirds.

There was a defence analyst's review:

The Sunburn anti-ship missile is perhaps the most lethal in the world. The Sunburn combines a Mach 2.5 speed with a very low-level flight pattern that uses violent end maneuvers to throw off defenses. After detecting the Sunburn, the US Navy Phalanx point defense system may have only 2.5 seconds to calculate a fire solution before impact when it lifts up and heads straight down into the target's deck with the devastating impact of a 750 Ib warhead. With a range of 90 miles, Sunburn ... Devastating wasn't the word. After the initial explosion, which would melt everyone in the immediate vicinity, everything caught in the blast would become a secondary missile, to the point of steel drinks trays decapitating people at supersonic speed.

That was all I needed to know.

I moved off the chair and walked towards the other two.

"Luz, you can get your grand ad now."

THIRTY-EIGHT

I knelt down beside Carrie. The banjo you were talking about, is it a river? Is that why they have a boat?"

The drugs were kicking in.

"Banjo?"

"No, no where they came from last night, remember? Is it a river?"

She nodded, fighting hard to listen.

"Oh, the Bayano? East of here, not far."

"Do you know where they are exactly?"

"No, but... but..."

She motioned me with her head to bend down closer. When she spoke, her voice was shaking and trying to fight back the tears.

"Aaron next door?"

I shook my head. The Mazda."

She coughed and started to cry very gently. I didn't know what to say: my head was empty.

"Grandpa! Grandpa! You gotta help ... There were these men, Mom's hurt and Daddy's gone for the police!" She was getting herself into a frenzy. I moved over to her.

"Go and help your mum, go on."

I found myself facing George's head and shoulders in the six-inch-by-six box in the centre of the screen. It was still a bit jittery and fuzzy around the edges, just like last night, but I could clearly see his dark suit and tie over a white shirt. I plugged in the headset and put it over my ears so nothing could be heard over the tinny internal speaker. Luz had been protected so far from all this shit: there was no need for that to change.

"Who are you?" His tone was slow and controlled over the crackles.

"Nick. A face to the name at last, eh?"

"What's my daughter's condition?" His all-American square-jawed face didn't betray a trace of emotion.

"A fractured femur but she's going to be OK. You need to sort something out for her at Chepo. Get her picked up from the Peace Corps. I'll-' "No. Take them both to the embassy. Where is Aaron?" If he was concerned, he wasn't sounding it.

I looked behind me and saw Luz, close to Carrie but within earshot. I turned back and muttered, "Dead."

My eyes were on the screen, but there was no change of expression in his face nor in his voice.

"I repeat, take them to the embassy, I'll arrange everything else."

I shook my head slowly, looking into the screen as he stared back impassively. I kept my voice low.

"I know what's happening, George. So does Choi. You can't let the Ocaso take the hit. You know how many people will be there? People like Carrie, Luz -real people. You have to stop it."

His features didn't move a millimetre until he took a breath.

"Listen up, son, don't get yourself involved in something you don't understand. Just do exactly what I said. Take my daughter and Luz to the embassy, and do it right now."

He hadn't denied it. He hadn't asked, What's the Ocaso?"

I needed to finish my piece.

"Get it stopped, George, or I'm reaching out to anyone who will listen. Call it off and I'm silent for life. Simple."

"Can't do that, son." He leant forward as if he wanted to get closer to intimidate me. His face took up a lot of screen.

"Reach out all you want, no one will be listening. Just too many people involved, too many agendas. You're getting into ground that you wouldn't be capable of understanding."

He moved back, his shirt and tie returning to the screen.

"Listen up good, I'll tell you what's simple. Just take them to the embassy and wait there. I'll even get you paid off, if it helps." He paused,

to ensure I was really going to get the message.

"If not? Take my word for it, the future won't look bright. Now just get with the program, take them to the embassy, and don't get dragged into something that's so big it'll frighten you."

I listened, knowing that as soon as I was through those embassy gates I'd be history. I knew too much and wasn't one of the family.

"Remember, son, many agendas. You wouldn't be sure who you'd be talking to."

I shook my head and pulled off the headset, looking around at Carrie with a shrug of exasperation.

"Let me speak to him, Nick."

TSfo point. He's hearing, not listening."

Two thousand people, Nick, two thousand people ..."

I went over to them both and grabbed one end of the cot with both hands.

"Luz, we need blankets and water for your mum. Just pile them up in the storeroom for the journey."

I pulled the cot back so Carrie was within reach of the headset, and placed it over her head, repositioning the mike so it was near her mouth. Above us, George's face still dominated the screen as he waited for my answer.

"Hi, it's me."

The face on the screen was impassive, but I saw the lips move.

"I'll live ... all those people won't if you don't do something to call it off."

George's mouth worked for several seconds, but his expression remained set. He was arguing, rationalizing, probably commanding. The one thing he still wasn't doing was listening.

"Just once, just for once in my life ... I've never asked you for anything. Even the passport wasn't a gift, it came with conditions. You have to stop it. Stop it now ... I looked at George, and his cold, unyielding face as he spoke. It was now Carrie's turn to listen. She slowly pulled the headset from her face, her eyes swollen with tears, and let it drop on her chest.

"Disconnect it ... get him out of here ... It's over ... Comms are closed."

I left them to it as George had already cut the com ms himself.

The box had closed down. That was because he'd be getting on to the missile crew using the relay.

Looking up at the ceiling, I followed the black wires from the dishes, down behind the plywood boards and out under the tables, looking like a plate of spaghetti as they jumbled themselves up with white wires and fought with each other on their way to feed the machines.

Sliding under the desk, I started to pull out anything that was attached to anything else as I shouted at Carrie. Where's the relay board? Do you know where the relay is?"

I got a weak reply. The blue box. It's near where you are somewhere."

Luz came back into the room and went to her mother.

Under the mass of wiring, books and stationery I found a dark blue and badly scratched alloy box, just over a foot square and four inches thick. There were three coaxial cables attached, two in, one out. I pulled out all three.

There was mumbling behind me. I turned just in time to see Luz heading for the living-room door.

"Stop! Stay where you are! Don't move!" I jumped to my feet and moved over and grabbed her.

"Where you going?"

"Just to get some clothes. I'm sorry ..." She looked over to her mother for support. I let go so she could be at her mother's side, and as I turned to follow her I noticed a small pool of blood that had started to seep under the door. I ran into the storeroom and grabbed the first thing I could find for the job, a half-empty fifty-pound plastic sack of rice that had been kicked over. I lugged it back and placed it like a sandbag against the bottom of the door.

"You can't go in there it's dangerous, there could be a fire. The oil lamps fell when the helicopters came, it's everywhere. I'll get your stuff for you in a second."

Getting back under the table, I ripped out every wire that was attached to anything, then listened to make sure it was still raining.

I'll get the clothes for you now, Luz, just stay here, OK?"

I nearly gagged when I opened the door and stepped over the rice bag. The smell of cordite had gone, replaced by death, a smell like a bad day in a butcher's shop. Once the door was closed I turned on the light. The four bodies lay amongst the splintered wood and smashed glass, their blood in thick, congealed pools on the floorboards.

I tried to avoid stepping in anything as I went and got a spare set of clothes for Luz and a sweat top for Carrie. Opening the door, I threw them out into the computer room.

"Get changed, help your mum. I'll stay in here."

Positioning my feet to avoid the blood, I started to pull a chest harness from under Green Guy. It must have been dragged from the table as he collapsed, and was dripping with blood. That didn't matter, what did was the mags inside.

I started to wrench off the other harnesses. They, too, were soaking, and some of the mags had been hit by rounds. The nylon had split open, exposing twisted metal and bits of brass.

Hefting three harnesses, all filled with fresh mags, I rescued my docs from the floor and collected two hundred and twelve bloodstained dollars from the five bodies. Feeling less naked, I secured them in my leg pocket before checking the bookshelf for mapping of Chepo and the Bayano.

I found what I was looking for, and she was right: it was to the east of Chepo.

There was no time to ponder, we had to leave. The weather might clear at any minute. If the Peace Corps couldn't do anything for her, they could at least get her to the city.

I ran through on to the veranda, and out into the wonderful heli-repelling rain.

As soon as I got to the Land Cruiser I dumped the kit in the foot well then jammed the M-16 down between the passenger seat and the door before I closed it.

I didn't know why, I just didn't want Luz seeing it.

I went round to the other side and checked the fuel. I had about half a tank. I grabbed the torch and headed for the Mazda. When I lifted the squeaking tailgate, the light beam fell on the now bloodstained bedsheet covering Aaron. I could also see the jerry-cans secured at the rear and jumped in beside him, my boots slipping in a pool of his blood. The sickly, sweet smell was as bad as it was in the house. I rested my hand on his stomach to steady myself, and discovered he was still soft. I dragged out one of the heavy containers and slammed the tailgate shut.

I unscrewed the Land Cruiser's fuel cap and pulled back the nozzle of the jerry can The pressure inside was released with a hiss. I hurriedly poured the fuel into the tank, splashing it down the side of the wagon, drenching my hands.

As soon as the jerry-can was empty I closed the fuel cap and threw the metal container into the foot well on top of the harnesses. I thought I might be needing it later.

THIRTY-NINE

Having made sure that mud had replaced Aaron's blood on my Timberlands, I walked back towards the glare of the computer room and checked that the rice bag was still doing its job.

Carrie was smoking, and as I got closer I didn't need a sniffer dog to tell me what. Luz was sitting on the floor beside the cot, stroking her mother's brow and watching the smoke ooze from her nostrils. If she disapproved, she wasn't showing it.

Carrie's flooded eyes stared up in a daze at the motionless fan as her daughter carried on gently massaging her sweating forehead. I squatted at her feet and gave them another pinch. The blood flow was still there.

As I stood up my gaze switched to Luz. Tour mum tell you where it was?" The question about the giggle weed was irrelevant and I didn't know why I'd asked it just something to say, I supposed. Her head didn't move but her eyes swivelled up at me.

"As if ... but it's OK, today."

Carrie tried to let out a bit of a laugh, but it sounded more like coughing.

I bent down and retrieved one of the crepe bandages from the floor and put it into my pocket. Time to go."

She gave a nod as Carrie took another deep drag of the joint.

"Come on, then, let's get your mother out of here."

We both had our hands on the cot, Luz at the feet end, facing me.

"Ready? One, two, three. Up, up, up."

I steered us while she shuffled backwards, ploughing through the littered storeroom floor. We squelched through the mud and slid her once more into the back of the wagon, head first. I sent Luz back into the storeroom for the blankets and Evian while I used the bandage to secure the cot legs at the head end to anchorage points to stop it sliding around on the journey. Carrie turned her head towards me, sounding drowsy on her cocktail of dihy-drocodeine, aspirin and giggle weed

"Nick, Nick ..."

I was busy tying off in the dull interior lighting.

What am I going to do now?"

I knew what she was getting at, but this wasn't the time. 'You're going to Chepo and then you'll both be in Boston before you know it."

"No, no. Aaron what am I going to do?"

I was reprieved by Luz returning with water and an armful of blanket, which she helped me arrange over Carrie.

I jumped off the tailgate back into the mud and went round and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Luz, you've got to keep an eye on your mum make sure she doesn't slide about too much, OK?"

She nodded earnestly, kneeling over her as I started up and turned the Land Cruiser in a wide arc before heading on to the track. The main beams swept over the Mazda. Carrie eventually saw it in the red glow of our tail-lights as we crept past.

"Stop, stop, Nick stop ..."

I put my foot gently on the brake and turned in my seat. Her head was up, neck straining to look out of the gap at the rear. Luz moved to support her. What's up, Mom? What's wrong?"

Carrie just kept on staring at the Mazda as she answered her daughter.

"It's OK, baby I was just thinking about something. Later." She pulled Luz close and gave her a hug.

I waited for a while as the rain fell, more gently now, and the engine ticked over.

"OK to go?"

"Yes," she said.

"We're done here."

The journey to Chepo was slow and difficult as I tried to avoid as many potholes and ruts as I could. I really wished there had been time to look for another gollock. Going back into the jungle without one reminded me too much of Tuesday.

By the time we came out into the dead valley the rain had eased a bit further and the wipers were just on intermittent. I looked up over the wheel, knowing I wouldn't be able to see, but hoping all the same that the cloud cover was still low. If not, there'd be a heli or two revving up soon.

Once we hit the road, which looked more like a river in places, we were making no more than about ten Ks an hour. My nostrils were hit by the smell of cannabis again, and glancing round, I saw Luz kneeling by her mother with the joint just an inch from Carrie's lips, trying hard to get it back into her mouth between jolts. I fished in my pocket for the dihydrocodeine.

"Here, give your mum another of these with some water. Show the doctors or whoever the bottle. She's had four in total and an aspirin. Got that?"

Eventually the fortified police station came into view and I called for directions. Where's the clinic? Which way do I go?"

Luz was the one on top of this now: her mother was well and truly gone.

"It's kinda behind the store."

That I did know. We passed the restaurant and the jaguar wasn't even curious as we drove on into the dark side of town.

I flicked my wrist to have a check of Baby-G. It was just before midnight. Only ten hours in which to do what I had to do.

I took a right just before the breeze block store.

"Luz, this the right way? Am I

OK?"

'Yep it's just up here, see?"

Her hand passed my face from behind and pointed. About three buildings down was another breeze block structure with a tin roof and the circular Peace Corps sign stars and stripes, only instead of the stars a dove or two. I really couldn't see in this light.

I pulled up outside and Luz jumped out of the back. I could tell it wasn't a medical clinic at all: there was a painted wooden plaque below more doves which read, "American Peace Corps Community Environmental Education Project'.

Luz was already banging on the front door as I looked back at Carrie.

"We're here, Carrie, we're here."

I got no response. She was definitely waltzing with the pixies, but at least the pain was subdued.

The door-banging got a result. As I climbed out of the Land Cruiser, heading for the tailgate, a woman in her mid-twenties with long brown sleep-hair appeared on the threshold, wearing a tracksuit. Her eyes darted about rapidly as she took in the scene.

What's wrong, Luz?"

Luz launched into a frenzied explanation as I got into the rear and undid the security bandage.

"We're here, Carrie," I said.

She murmured to herself as the young woman came to the rear, now wide awake.

"Carrie, it's Janet can you hear me? It's Janet, can you hear me?"

There was no time for hellos.

"Got trauma care? It's an open fractured femur, left leg."

Janet held out her arms and began to ease the cot out of the wagon. I grabbed the other end and between us we lugged Carrie inside.

The office was barely furnished, just a couple of desks, cork boards, a phone and wall clock. What I'd seen so far was doing nothing to make me feel happier about their level of expertise.

"Can you treat her? If you can't, you need to get her into the city."

The woman looked at me as if I was mad.

More people were emerging sleepily from the rear of the building, three men in different shades of disarray, and a rush of American voices. What's happened, Carrie? Where's Aaron? Ohmigod, you OK, Luz?"

I stood back as events took over. A trauma pack appeared and a bag of fluid and a giving set were pulled out and prepared. It was hardly a well-rehearsed scene from ER, but they knew exactly what they were doing. I looked at Luz, sitting on the floor holding her mother's hand once more as Janet read the dihydrocodeine label on the bottle.

According to the wall clock it was 12.27 nine and a half hours to go. I left them to it for a while and went back to the wagon. Once in the driver's seat I hit the cab light, wanting to save the torch because I might need it later, and unfolded the map to get my bearings on the Bayano. It came from the massive Lago Bayano to the east of Chepo, maybe thirty K away, and snaked towards the Bay of Panama on the edge of the Pacific. The river's mouth was in line of sight of the entrance to the canal and, a little further in, the Miraflores. If this was the river they were on, they had to be at the mouth.

Sunburn couldn't negotiate high ground: it was designed for the sea. The range to the canal was just under fifty Ks, about thirty miles. Sunburn's range was ninety. It made sense so far.

I studied the map, wondering if Charlie was doing the same before getting out there to look for it. He didn't know what I did so he'd be scanning the sixty to seventy miles of jungle shoreline that fell within Sunburn's range and could be used as a launch point. That was a lot of jungle to sift through in less than ten hours. I hoped it would mean the difference between me destroying it and him repossessing it so he could hand it straight over to PARC.

The map indicated that the only place to launch from was the east bank as the river joined the sea. The west bank also had a peninsula, but it didn't project far enough out to clear the coastline. It had to be the east, the left-hand side as I went down the river. It had to be, and there was only one way to find out.

The Bayano's nearest reachable point was seven Ks south, according to the map, via a dry-weather, loose-surface road. There, the river was about two hundred metres wide. It then wound south, downstream to the coast for about ten K. In reality it would be more, because of the river's bends and turns. By the time it hit the coastline it was nearly two kilometres across.

That was it, that was all I knew. But fuck it, I had to work with the information I had and just get on with it.

I went to the rear of the wagon and closed the tailgate, then got back behind the wheel, fired the engine, and moved off.

I bumbled about the dark sleepy town, trying to head south using the Silva compass still round my neck. The map was the same 1980s 1:50,000 scale I'd had for Charlie's house, and Chepo had grown a bit since then.

It was only then that I realized I hadn't said anything to Carrie and Luz.

Carrie wouldn't have heard but, still, it would have been nice to say goodbye.

After getting two bottles of Evian down my neck and an hour of the dry-weather track, now just a mixture of mud and gravel, I saw a river in the tunnel of light carved out immediately ahead of me. Stopping, I checked the map and distance once more, then jumped out of the wagon with the torch and picked my way down the muddy bank. The crickets were loud, but the movement of water was louder.

The river wasn't a raging torrent surging with a massive rush, even after these rains: it was wide enough to accommodate all the water coming from the tributaries that fed it with a constant flow. It was certainly moving in the right direction, from my right to my left, heading south towards the Pacific although so would every other bit of water this side of the country so near to the sea.

Running along the bank, I checked for a boat, anything that would get me downstream quickly. There wasn't even a jetty no ground sign, nothing, just mud, rough grass, and the odd scabby-looking tree.

I scrambled up the bank, got into the wagon, and checked the map and mileometer once more. This river had to be the one I wanted: there was nothing else around here big enough to get mixed up with.

I drove back up the track towards Chepo, checking each side of me for somewhere to hide the Land Cruiser, but even after three kilometres the ground picked out by the headlights still looked completely bare-arsed. I finally parked up on the side of the road, dragged out the dried-out chest harnesses, the M-16 and jerry can then tabbed back towards the river with the kit dangling off me like a badly packed Cub Scout.

FORTY

Saturday 9 September I seemed to have spent my whole life sitting against a tree in the mud, listening to a million crickets disturbing the night. I wasn't under the canopy this time, but down by the Bayano as it rumbled past me out there in the dark.

The mozzies weren't out in such force here, but enough had found me to bring up a few more lumps on my neck to replace the ones that had just started going down. I ran my tongue around my mouth: my teeth felt more than furry now, it was as if they had sheepskin coats on. I thought about what I was doing here. Why couldn't I smarten up? Why hadn't I just killed Michael and had done with it in the first place?

With only half an hour to push before first light and a move to the target, I knew I was bullshitting myself. I knew I would have done this regardless. It wasn't just the fact that so many people -real people were at risk: it was that maybe, just for once, I was doing the right thing. I might even end up feeling a little proud of myself.

Pulling my knees up and resting my elbows on them to support my head, I started to rub my stubbly, sweaty face on my forearms. I could hear the weak but rapid wap wap wap of a Huey somewhere out there in the darkness. I couldn't see any navigation lights, but could tell it was only one aircraft. Maybe Charlie had been back to the house. After what he'd found waiting for him there, he'd be out looking, but I had no control over that.

Anyway, for the time being he'd be having those aircraft search the coastline for Sunburn rather than us three.

Invisible birds started their morning songs as a bright yellow arc of sunlight prepared to break the skyline and yield up a hot morning. I'd already repacked my docs and map in the two layers of plastic bags, tying each one off with a knot. I checked the Velcro flaps on the individual mag pouches of the harnesses to ensure that they weren't going to fall out during the next phase. Finally, I made sure all my clothing was loose, with nothing tucked in that might catch water and weigh me down.

I undid the plastic clips for the back straps of the harnesses and fed the ends through the handle of the jerry-can before refastening them. I did the same with the neck straps, through the carrying handle of the M-16. I'd learnt from my own experiences, and from others, that more soldiers get killed negotiating rivers than ever die in contacts under the canopy. That was why everything was attached to the empty jerry-can and not to me, and why I hadn't moved until first light.

I dragged the whole lot down to the edge of the tepid, rusty-brown water. It felt good as I waded in up to my thighs, then ducked my head in to take the sweat off my face. Refreshed, I heaped the three harnesses and weapon on top of the floating jerry-can, which wanted to go with the current. It was stronger than it had looked from the bank, and freshly dislodged foliage, green and leafy, sped past as the jerry-can bobbed in front of me, now more than half submerged with the weight of its load. I pushed on into gradually deepening water, forearms over the weapon and harnesses, until eventually my feet began to lose touch with the riverbed. I let myself go with the flow, kicking off from the mud like a child with a swimming float. The stream carried me with it, but I kept contact with the bottom to keep some control, alternately kicking and going with the current as if I was doing a moonwalk.

The loggers had been here and both sides of the river looked like a First World War battlefield, a wasteland of mud and tufted grass, just the odd dead tree left standing.

Because of the river's meandering route I had no idea how long it was going to take to get to the mouth, not that there was much I could do about it: I was committed.

After about half an hour, with the sun low but clearly in view, the jungle began to sprout up on either side of me, and as the foliage got denser it cut out more and more light. The sun wasn't yet high enough to penetrate the gap the river created in the canopy, so above me was just brilliant blue sky. Apart from the noise of the moving water, there was only the odd screech from more invisible birds up in the canopy.

I kicked along, keeping near the left bank, always having contact with the bottom as the river got wider. The opposite bank gradually got further away, looking as if it was another country now. The jungle gave way to mangrove swamp, making the place look like a dinosaur's backyard.

The river soon widened to well over one and a half Ks. As I rounded a particularly wide, gentle bend, I could see the Pacific Ocean lying just a K further downstream. In the far distance I could see two container ships, their funnels spewing smoke as the sun bounced off the calm, flat surface of the sea.

A lush green island sat out there five, maybe six Ks away.

I kept on going, keeping my eyes peeled for anything that would help me locate Sunburn.

The current was slowing and I moved downstream another five hundred metres.

Then, maybe two hundred metres from the river mouth, approaching me to my left, was a small, open-decked fishing boat that had been dragged up on to the bank and left to rot; its rear had collapsed altogether, leaving a skeleton of grey, rotting wood. As I got closer I could see there was a clearing beyond the boat in which stood a small wooden hut in a similar state of decay.

I floated past, my eyes scanning the area. There had been movement, fresh movement. I could clearly see the dark underside of some large ferns just up from the bank, and some of the two-foot-tall grass growing around the boat was interlaced where it had been walked through. Only tiny details, but enough. This had to be it, it had to be. There was no other reason for it to be here. But I couldn't see any sign in the mud leading from the bank.

I carried on for another fifty metres, with the ocean in front of me now, until the canopy took over and the boat disappeared. I touched bottom and slowly guided the jerry-can ashore.

Dragging the kit into the canopy, I got on my knees and unbuckled the harnesses and M-16. The weapon wouldn't need any preparation: a brief dip in a river wasn't going to stop it working.

I donned the first chest harness and adjusted the straps so that it hung lower than it should have, virtually around my waist. Then I put on the second, a bit above the first, adjusting it so it was at the bottom of my ribcage, and the third one higher still. I rechecked that all the mags were stored facing the correct way, so that as I pulled them out with my left hand the curve of the magazine would be facing away from me, ready to be slapped straight into the weapon. Finally, after rechecking chamber on the M-16,1 sat on the jerry-can for a minute or two longer, mentally adjusting and tuning myself in to the new environment. The coolness of the water on my clothes began to lose out to humid heat once more as I checked Baby-G. It was 7.19, and here I was, Rambo'd up, bitten half to death, my leg held together by a soggy bandage, and no plan except to use all my mags.

This would be my 'go, no-go' point. Once I moved from here there would be no turning back unless I fucked up totally and was running for my life. I looked down and watched the drips from the harnesses hit the mud, making little moon craters, not wanting to check my docs in my map pocket just in case the knots hadn't worked. This was wasting time, I was as ready as I was ever going to be, so just get on with it... Wiping my hair back with my fingers, I stood up, jumped up and down to check for rattles and that everything was secure. Then I removed the safety catch, pushing past single rounds, all the way to Automatic.

I moved towards the hut, pausing every few paces, listening for warnings from the birds and other jungle life, butt in my shoulder, trigger finger against the guard, ready to shoot and scoot with a full mag to scare, confuse and, with luck, kill while I broke contact.

The ground was a lot wetter and muddier here because we were at sea level. I wanted to get a move on but also had to take my time; I had to check the area around the hut, because it would be my only escape route. If the shit hit the fan it would be a case of straight down to the river, pick up the jerry-can, jump in and go for it, down to the sea. After that, well whatever.

Like a cautious bird rooting for food amongst the leaf litter, I squelched forward four paces per bound, my Timberlands heavy with mud, lifting my feet up high to clear the crap and mangrove vines on the jungle floor as I concentrated on the sun-bleached wooden hut ahead.

I stopped just short of the clearing, went slowly on to my knees in the mud and protective foliage, looked and listened. The only man-made sound around here was the water dripping from my clothes and chest harnesses on to the leaf litter.

The track leading into the canopy had been used recently, and something had been pulled along it that cut a groove through the mud and leaves. Either side of that groove were footprints that disappeared with the track into the trees. I hadn't seen any sign in the mud as I floated past, because it had been covered with dead leaves and maybe even had water poured over it to wash away the sign.

Past the bank, though, the sign was clear to see: stones pressed into the mud by boots, crushed leaves, broken cobwebs. I got up and started to parallel the track.

Within twenty paces I came across the Gemini, with a Yamaha 50 on the back. It had been dragged up the track and pulled off to the right, blocking my way. The craft was empty apart from a couple of fuel bladders and some fallen leaves. I was tempted to wreck it, but what was the point? I might be needing it myself soon, and destroying it would take time as well as alert them to my presence.

I moved on, and could still see masses of ground sign heading in both directions as the narrow track meandered around the trees. Still paralleling the track to my left, I started to move deeper into the canopy, using it as my guide.

Sweat trickled down my face as the sun rose and lit the gas under the pressure cooker. A heart-monitor bird was up in the canopy somewhere, and the crickets just never stopped. Soon the sun was trying to penetrate the canopy, shafts of bright light cutting down to the jungle floor at a forty-five-degree angle. My cargos had a life of their own, the weight of the wet, caked-on mud making them swing against my legs after each pace.

I patrolled on, stopping, listening, trying to keep up speed but at the same time not compromise myself by making too much noise. I continued checking left, right and above me, all the time thinking: What if? and always coming up with the same answer: Shoot and scoot, get into cover and work out how to box round and keep moving to the target. Only when I knew I was fucked would I try to head back to the jerry-can.

There was a metallic clang in the trees.

I froze, straining an ear.

For several seconds all I could hear was my own breath through my nose, then the clang rang out again. It came from straight ahead and just slightly off to my left.

Applying the safety catch with my right thumb, I went down slowly on to my knees, then on to my stomach. It was time to move slower than a sloth, but BabyG reminded me it was 9.06.

I inched forward on my elbows and toes, with the weapon to my right, exactly as I had done when I attacked the Land Cruiser, except that this time I was having to lift my body higher than I'd have wanted to stop the chest harnesses dragging in the mud.

I was panting: the crawl was hard work. I put out my hands, put pressure on my elbows and pushed myself forward with the tips of my toes, sinking into the mud.

Moving through the undergrowth six inches at a time, I could feel the gloop finding its way up my neck and forearms. I stopped, lifted my head from the jungle floor, looked and listened for more activity but still only heard my own breath, sounding a hundred times louder than I wanted it to. Every soft crunch of wet leaves beneath me sounded like the popping of bubble wrap

I was constantly looking for alarm trips wires, pressure pads, infrared beams or maybe even string and tin cans. I didn't know what to expect.

A mud-covered Baby-G now told me it was 9.21.1 made myself feel better about the time by thinking that at least I might finally be on target.

Mosquitoes materialized from nowhere, whirring and whining around my head. They landed on my face and must have known that I couldn't do anything about it.

There was noise, and I froze. Another clunk of metal on metal then a faint, fast murmur above the noise of the crickets. I closed my eyes, leant my ear towards the source, opened my mouth to cut out internal noises and concentrated.

The inflection in the voices wasn't Spanish. I strained to listen, but just couldn't work it out. They seemed to be talking at warp speed, accompanied now by the rhythmic thud of full jerry-cans.

It was 9.29.

I had to get closer and not worry about the noise, not worry about the people making it. I needed to see what was happening so I could work out what I had to do within the next twenty minutes.

FORTY-ONE

I lifted my chest from the mud and slithered forward. Very soon I began to make out a small clearing beyond the wall of green. Sunlight penetrated the canopy in thick shafts, dazzling me as it bounced off the wet ground and perimeter foliage.

Movement.

The black-shirted guy who'd been on the veranda crossed left to right in the clearing before disappearing as quickly as he'd arrived, carrying two black bin liners half full and shiny in the sunlight. He wore a US Army webbing belt with two mag pouches hanging down from it.

I took some slow, deep breaths to re oxygenate myself. The thud of my pulse kicked in my neck.

I made another two slow advances, not bothering to lift my head to look forward through the foliage. I'd know soon enough if they'd seen me.

The voices came again from my right, a lot clearer, and faster, but still in control. I could understand them now, sort of... They were Eastern European, maybe Bosnians. The doss-house had been full of them.

The small cleared area in the trees was about the size of half a tennis court. I couldn't see anything, but heard the unmistakable hiss of fuel under pressure being released in the vicinity of the voices.

One more slow, deliberate bound and now I heard the fuel splash. Not daring even to rub my lips together to wipe off the mud, I strained my eyes to the top of their sockets, my mouth open. I felt dribble run down from the corners.

Black Shirt was to my half right, maybe six, seven metres away, standing with the little fat guy who'd been with him that night. He was still wearing the same checked shirt. The jerry-cans were being emptied over the assembled contents of their camp: camouflage netting, American Army cots, a generator turned on its side, plastic bin-liners full and tied. All were piled into a heap. It was nearly time to leave, so they were destroying any evidence linking them to the site.

I remained perfectly still, my throat dry and sore as I tried to listen to the two Bosnians above the din of crickets and bird calls. Their voices still came from my right, but we were separated by foliage.

Holding my breath, straining my muscles to keep total control of them to cut down on noise, I edged forward another few inches, my eyes glued to the two at the rubbish dump just a few metres away as the last of the fuel was poured and the cans thrown on top. I was so close I could smell the fumes.

As the area to my right opened up a bit I saw the backs of the two Bosnians, dressed in green fatigue tops and jeans, bathed in a shaft of sunlight. They were bent over a fold-down table, one twisting the hair on his beard as they both studied two screens inside a green metal console. There were two integrated keyboards below each screen. That had to be the guidance system; I'd wondered what it looked like. To the right of it was an opened laptop, but the sunlight was too bright for me to make out what was on any of the screens. Beside them on the ground were five civilian rucksacks, two M-16s with mags on, and another jerry-can probably to deal with the electronic equipment after the launch.

I wanted to check the time but Baby-G was covered in mud. I couldn't risk movement so close on target. I watched the two Bosnians talk and point at the console screens, then look over at the laptop as one hit the keyboard. Beyond them I could see cables running down from the rear of the console and into the jungle. The Sunburn had to be at the river's mouth. As I'd have expected, the guidance system was separated from the missile itself. They wouldn't have wanted to be right on top of shed loads of rocket fuel when it went off. There was no generator noise, so I guessed the power supply must be part of the missile platform.

The Bosnians were still gob bing off as the fifth member came out of the canopy from behind the console. He, too, was dressed in a green fatigue top, but had black baggy trousers, an M-16 over his shoulder and belt kit. He lit a cigarette with a Zippo and watched the Bosnians hovering over the screens. Sucking in deeply on his nicotine hit, he used his free hand to wave the bottom of his shirt to circulate some air around his torso. Even if I hadn't recognized his face, I would have known that pizza scar anywhere.

The two fuel pourers moved away from the rubbish dump as Black Shirt lit up as well. They were totally uninterested in what was going on at the table just behind them and mumbled to each other as they checked the time.

All of a sudden the Bosnians began to jabber and their voices went up an octave as Pizza Man sucked on his filter and bent in towards the screens.

Stuff was happening. There must be only minutes left. I had to make my move.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed up on to my knees, my mud-caked thumb shifting the safety to Auto as the weapon came into the shoulder. I squeezed with both eyes open, short, sharp bursts into the mud by the dump. There was a rapid thud, thud, thud, thud as the rounds penetrated the first layer of mud and slammed into the harder ground.

Unintelligible screams mixed with the sound of rounds on auto as the Bosnians panicked and the other two went for their weapons. The fifth just seemed to vanish.

My shoulder rocked back with another short burst as I held the weapon tight to stop the muzzle rising. I didn't want to hit the Bosnians: if they could fly the thing, they could stop it. The sounds of automatic gunfire and panic echoed round the canopy and a cloud of cordite hung in front of me, held by the foliage.

The mag emptied as I kept on squeezing. The working parts stayed to the rear.

I got to my feet and moved position before they reacted to where the fire had come from. I ran to the right, towards the table, using the cover, the mud heavy on my clothes, pressing the magazine-release catch with my forefinger, shaking the weapon, trying to remove the mud-clogged magI felt the mag hit my thigh as I fumbled at the lower harness and pulled out a fresh one. I smacked it on and hit the release catch. The working parts screamed forward as long bursts of automatic fire came from my left, from the clearing.

I dropped instinctively. Mud splattered my face and the air was forced out of my lungs. Gasping for breath, I crawled like a madman, pushing to the edge of the clearing. If they saw me they would fire where I'd dropped for cover.

I was in time to see the Bosnians disappearing down the track, their terrified voices filling the gaps between bursts of gunfire. I also saw Pizza Man, the other side of the clearing, in cover, shouting at them to come back.

"It's just one man, one weapon! Get back!"

It wasn't happening, the other two were following the Bosnians, firing long bursts into the jungle.

"Fucking assholes!"

Weapon in the shoulder, he took single shots at them. Fuck that, I wanted them alive.

Flicking safety to single rounds, I gulped in air, closed my left eye and took aim centre mass of what little I could see of him, stopped breathing and fired.

He dropped like a stone, disappearing into the foliage without a sound.

The other two were still firing into shadows as they moved down the track.

A cordite mist hung about the clearing as I let off another magazine at them.

Steam oozed out of the cooling vents on the mud-covered stock and around my left hand. Shit, shit, shit... I wanted to create noise, I wanted to create confusion, I wanted to get everyone sparked up, not lose them in the jungle. But I wasn't going to chase them. It was pointless, there wasn't enough time.

I changed mags and crossed the clearing towards Pizza Man, weapon in the shoulder, moving fast but cautiously. The others might still come back, and I still couldn't see him.

He was alive, panting for breath and holding his chest, eyes open but helpless.

Blood flowed gently between his fingers.

I tossed his weapon to one side and kicked him.

"Close it down! Close it down!"

He just lay there, no reaction.

I grabbed his forearm and dragged him into the clearing, and it was then that I saw the exit wound gaping in his back.

His eyes were shut tight, taking the pain of the round and movement. I dropped his arm as he mumbled, almost smiling, "We're coming back, asshole ..."

I leant over him, butt in the shoulder, and thrust the muzzle into his face.

"Stop it! Fucking stop it!"

He just smiled beneath the pressure of the metal stuck in his skin. The weapon moved as he coughed up blood over the end of the barrel.

"Or what?" He coughed up some more.

He was right. I kicked him out of frustration as I ran to the table, checking the track for the others, checking Baby-G.

Just three minutes to go.

The left-hand VDU was full of Russian symbols, the other was a radar screen with a hazy green background peppered with white dots as its sweeping arm moved clockwise.

The laptop displayed the webcam image of the locks. A cable led from it, along the ground and up a tree, where a small satellite dish was clamped to a branch.

I looked back at the laptop. I could see the band playing, girls dancing and crowds in the seats and more standing against the barriers. The Ocaso was in pride of place on the screen. Passengers thronged the decks, clutching cameras and handy-cams.

Scrambling round to the back of the table, I fell to my knees and started pulling out the mass of wires and thick cables that led from the back of the console and out towards the sea. Some were just slotted in, some had a bracket over them, some were screwed into their sockets.

I tried desperately to disconnect them two at a time, almost hyperventilating in frustration as my wet, muddy hands slid about the plastic and metal. I flapped like a child in a blind panic, yelling at myself, "Come on! Come on! Come on!"

I looked over at the dump, wishing I had a gollock. But even if I found one and started slashing cables, chances were I'd electrocute myself. I couldn't tell which were transmission and which were power.

Curled up in pain, Pizza Man was watching me, his shirt soaked with blood and covered with mud and leaf litter.

Fighting another connection, I spun the laptop round just as the image started to refresh from the top.

A high-pitched whine started within the canopy, winding up like a Harrier jump jet before take-off.

Within seconds the noise surrounded me.

Four cables to go. The more I tried to pull or unscrew them, the more I lost it.

I gave one big tug in frustration and despair. The console slid off the table and landed in the mud. The high-pitched whine became a roar as the rocket engines kicked in.

In almost the same instant there was a deafening, rumbling boom, and the ground began to shake under my feet. I stayed on my knees, looking up into the canopy as its inhabitants took off in a panic.

I didn't see vapour, I didn't see anything, I just felt the sickening rumble as the missile left its platform and surged out of the jungle. The treetops shook and debris rained down around me.

I didn't know what to feel as I released my grip on the cables and looked over at the laptop, mesmerized, catching the last glimpse of the ship as the image faded.

I could hear Pizza Man, still curled up in the leaf litter like a child, panting, trying to get oxygen. When I looked at him, he was smiling. I was sure he was trying to laugh.

The screen was blank and there was nothing I could do but wait, wondering if I'd be able to hear the explosion, or if the sound would get swallowed up by the jungle and distance.

My chest heaved up and down as I tried to take deep breaths, swallowing hard, trying to relieve my dry throat, just waiting for the screen to refresh or stay blank for ever as the camera would surely be taken out as well.

I was right: he was laughing, enjoying the moment.

The first strip at the top started to show and I could hardly contain the terrible feeling of expectation.

Slowly, lazily, the image unfolded and I braced myself for the scene of carnage, trying to convince myself that the camera being intact was a good sign, then thinking I didn't know how far the camera was from the locks, so maybe not.

The picture refreshed itself. The ship was intact, everything was intact. The dancing girls were throwing their batons in the air and passengers were waving at the crowd on shore. What the fuck had happened? It should have made it there by now: it travelled at two and a half times the speed of sound.

I didn't trust what I was seeing. Maybe it was the image that had been captured just before the explosion, and I was going to wait for the next cycle.

I'd never felt so exhausted, and all other thoughts had left my mind. I didn't even care about a possible threat from the other four, though if they'd had any sense they'd already be dragging the Gemini into the water.

The smell of sulphur hit me as the exhaust seeped through the jungle, creating a low, smoky mist around the area and making it look like God lived here as the vapour was exposed to the brilliant shafts of light.

Pizza Man made gurgling sounds, coughing up more blood.

The top of the image began to unfold and this time I saw smoke. I knew it. I jumped to my feet and hovered over the laptop. Sweat dropped off my nose and chin and on to the screen. My sweatshirt pulled down on me with the weight of mud as I gulped in air to calm my heart rate.

Still the only thing I could see was smoke as the picture rolled on down.

It hadn't worked.

I sat back in the mud, more exhausted than I'd ever been in my life.

Then, as the image filled the screen, I saw that the ship was still, there.

The smoke was coming from its funnels. The crowds were still cheering.

The sounds of the jungle returned. Birds screeched above me as they settled back in their roosts. I sat there, almost bonding with the mud, as the seconds ticked by. And then, starting as quiet as a whisper but increasing very rapidly, came the distinctive wap wap wap of much bigger birds.

The sound got louder and then came the rapid rattle of rotors as a Huey zoomed straight over me. Its dark blue underbelly flashed across the treetops, and I could hear others circling as its downwash shook the canopy and vegetation rained down about me.

Time to switch on.

I jumped to my feet and grabbed a jerry-can, dousing the console with fuel, making sure it poured into the cooling vents at the back, then I did the same to the laptop. I picked up two rucksacks and threw them over a shoulder, hoping that whatever made them weigh so much was stuff I could use in the jungle.

Finally grabbing the weapon, I moved to Pizza Man, manhandling him over on to his back. There was no resistance. His legs started to tremble as he looked at me with a satisfied smile. The small entry wound high in his chest oozed blood each time he took a breath.

"It didn't work," I shouted.

"It didn't make contact, you fucked up."

He didn't believe me and hung on to the smile, eyes closed, coughing more blood.

I reached into his pocket and pulled out the Zippo.

The heli had returned and was over by the river, flying low and slow. Others were now closer. There were long, sustained bursts of automatic fire. They had found the escaping Gemini.

I knew he could hear me. That's Charlie's people. They'll be here soon."

His eyes flickered open and he fought to keep the smile through the pain.

"Believe me, you fucked up, it didn't work. Let's hope they keep you alive for Charlie. I bet you two have a lot to talk about."

In truth, I didn't have a clue what they'd do. I just wanted to kill that smile.

"I hear he had his own brother-in-law crucified. Just think what he's going to do to you ..."

As I heard heli noise almost directly overhead I ran over to the console and flicked the lighter. The fuel ignited instantly. They mustn't fall into Charlie's hands; then all he would need was another missile and he would be back in business.

I turned and ran from the flames. Passing Pizza Man, I couldn't resist giving him a taste of the kind of kicking I'd got in Kennington.

He did the same as I had, just curled up and took it. I heard shouts from the track. Charlie's boys were here.

I flicked the Zippo again and tossed it on to the dump.

As the roar of the Hueys became almost deafening, I shouldered the rucksacks, picked up the weapon, and ran into the jungle as fast as the mud on my boots would let me.

FORTY-TWO

Friday 15 September Pulling down the visor to shade me from the sun, I watched through the dirty windscreen as passenger after passenger, laden with oversized cases, was dropped off outside Departures. I felt a twinge of pain in my calf and adjusted myself in the seat to stretch my damaged leg as the roar of jet engines followed an aircraft into the clear blue sky.

There had been enough anti-surveillance drills en route to the airport to throw off Superman, but still I sank into the seat and watched the vehicles that came and went, trying to remember if I had seen any of them or their drivers earlier.

The dash digital said it was nearly three o'clock, so I turned the ignition key to power up the radio, scanning the AM channels for news even before the antenna had fully risen. A stern American female voice was soon informing me that there were unconfirmed reports that PARC were behind the failed missile attack, which appeared to have been aimed at shipping in the Panama canal. It was sort of old news now and low down the running order, but it seemed that after it launched, fishermen saw the missile fly out of control before falling into the bay less than half a mile from the shore. The US had already reestablished a presence in the republic as they were now trying to fish out the missile and set up de fences to stop any such further terrorist attacks.

The polished voice continued, "With approximately twelve thousand armed combatants, PARC is Colombia's oldest, largest, most capable and best equipped insurgency. It was originally the military wing of the Colombian Communist Party, and is organized along military lines. PARC has been anti-US since its inception in 1964. President Clinton said today that Plan Colombia, the one point three billion-' I flicked it back on to the FM Christian channel and hit the off switch before cutting the ignition again. The antenna retracted with a quiet electric buzz. It was the first bit of news I'd heard about the incident. I had done my best to avoid all media these past six days, but hadn't been able to resist any longer the temptation to find out what had happened.

The injury still hurt. Pulling up one leg of my cheap and baggy jeans, I inspected the clean dressing on my calf and had a little scratch at the skin above and below it as a jet thundered just above the car park on finals.

It had taken three long, wet and hot days to walk out of the jungle, clean myself up, and hitch a ride into Panama City. The rucksacks had contained no food, so it was back to jungle survival skills and digging out roots on the move. But at least I could lie on the rucksacks and keep out of the mud, and although they didn't fit very well, the spare clothes helped keep the mozzies off my head and hands at night.

Once I'd reached the city, I dried out the two hundred odd dollars I'd lifted from the guys in the house in the sun and the blood flaked off them like thin scabs. I bought clothes and the dirtiest room in the old quarter that didn't care as long as I paid cash.

Up until Tuesday, four days ago, my credit card still hadn't been cancelled, so it looked as if things were still OK with the Yes Man. After I'd cleaned myself up, I went into a bank and took out the max I could on it, $12,150, at some ripoff exchange rate, before using my ticket to Miami. From there I took a train to Baltimore, Maryland. It had taken two days on four trains, never buying a ticket for more than a hundred dollars so as not to arouse suspicion. After all, who pays cash for any journey costing hundreds? Only people who don't want a record of their movements, people like me. That's why the purchase of airline tickets for cash is always registered. I hadn't minded the Yes Man knowing I was out of Panama as he tracked me to Miami, but that was all I'd wanted him to know.

But now, three days later, who knew? Sundance and Trainers might already be sightseeing in Washington, even phoning that half-sister to tell her that once they'd finished off some business they'd come to New York for a visit.

I heard the door handle go and Josh was at the window of his black, doublecabbed Dodge gas-guzzler. One hand pulled open the driver's door, the other cradled a Starbucks and a can of Coke.

I took the coffee as he climbed into the driver's seat, and muttered, Thanks', as I placed the paper cup in the centre console holder. My fingernails and prints were still ingrained with jungle dirt; they looked like I'd been washing my hands in grease. It would take a few more days yet to wash out after my holiday from hygiene.

Josh's eyes stayed on the entrance to the long-term multi-storey car park, the other side of our short-term one. A line of vehicles was waiting to take a ticket and for the barrier to raise.

"Still thirty minutes to push until we're due," he said.

"We'll drink them here."

I nodded, and pulled back on the ring pull as he tested the hot brew. Anything he said was OK by me today. He had picked me up at the station, driven me about for the last two hours, and had listened to what I was proposing. And now here we were, at Baltimore International airport, where I should have arrived from Charles de Gaulle in the first place, and he had even bought me a Coke.

He still looked the same, shiny brown bald head, still hitting the weights, gold-rimmed glasses that somehow made him look more menacing than intellectual.

From my side I couldn't see the torn sponge scar on his face.

The Starbucks was still a bit too hot for him so he nursed it in his hands.

After a while he turned towards me. I knew he hated me: he couldn't hide it from his face, or the way he talked to me. I would have felt the same, in his shoes.

There'll be rules," he said. 'You hear what I'm saying?"

Another jet came down over the wagon and he shouted over the roar as he pointed every other word at me.

"You are first going to sort out this shit you've got us all in, man. I don't care what it's about or what you have to do just finish it. Then, and only then, you call me. Only then we talk. We don't deserve this shit. It's a grim deal, man."

I nodded. He was right.

Then, only when that's done, this is how it's going to be like a divorced couple, a couple that do the right thing by their kids. You fuck that up, you fuck yourself up. It's the only way it's going to work. You hearing me? It's the last chance you're ever getting."

I nodded, feeling relieved.

We sat there and drank, both of us checking the vehicles that were trying to find a space.

"How's the Christian thing going?"

"Why?"

'You're swearing a lot nowadays ..."

"What the fuck do you expect? Hey, don't worry about my faith, I'll see you if you ever get there."

That put paid to that conversation. We sat for another ten minutes, watching vehicles and listening to the aircraft. Josh gave occasional sighs as he thought about what he had agreed to. He was certainly not happy, but I knew he would do it anyway, because it was the right thing. He finished the Starbucks and put the cup `<49' into the console holder.

That recycled paper?"

He looked at me as if I was mad.

"What? What's with you?"

"Recycled, the cup. A lot of trees are used making those things."

"How many?"

"I don't know a lot."

He picked up the cup. The sleeve says sixty per cent post-consumer recycled fibre feel better now, O spirit of the fucking woods?"

The cup went back into the holder.

"Meanwhile, uptown ... they're here."

We drove out of the car park and followed signs for long stay,

eventually turning into the multi-storey. I bent down into the foot well as if I'd dropped something as we approached the barrier and ticket machine. The last thing Josh needed was a picture of us together at this time.

I could see plenty of empty spaces but we drove straight up the ramps to the second-to-last floor. The top floor was probably uncovered, and open to observation. This was the next best floor: there wouldn't be many vehicles coming up this far, and those that did would be easier to check out. I had to hand it to Josh, the guy was thorough.

We pulled into a space and Josh nodded at a metallic green Voyager with a mass of cartoon-character baby sun screens pulled down, effectively blacking out the rear. The plates were "Maine -the Vacation State'.

"Five minutes, got it? This is dangerous, she's my sister, for God's sake."

I nodded and reached for the handle.

"Just remember, man, she missed you last week. You screwed up big-time."

I got out and as I approached the Voyager the front window powered down to reveal a woman in her mid-thirties, black and beautiful, with relaxed hair pulled back in a bun. She gave an anxious half-smile and indicated for me to go round to the sliding door as she got out.

"I appreciate this."

There was no answer from her as she went over to Josh's wagon and climbed in next to him.

I felt some apprehension at seeing Kelly. I hadn't done so for just over a month now. I slid the door across. She was strapped into the rear seat, staring at me, a little confused, maybe a little wary, as I got inside to conceal us both.

It's incredible how much children seem to change if you don't see them every day. Kelly's hair was cut much shorter than when I'd last seen her, and it made her look about five years older. Her eyes and nose seemed more defined somehow, and her mouth a bit larger, like a young Julia Roberts. She was going to be the spitting image of her mother.

I put on my smiley face, moving baby toys out of the way to sit down in the row in front of her.

"Hello, how are you?" Nothing exuberant, nothing over the top as I sat between two strapped-in baby seats and looked back at her. The reality of it was, I just wanted to throw my arms around her and give her the world's biggest hug, but didn't dare risk it. She might not want me to; maybe it felt strange and new to her as well.

Something the size of a Jumbo was taxiing upwind of us. I could hardly hear myself think and stuck my finger in my ear and made a funny face. At least I got a smile from her.

Josh's sister had left the engine ticking over, and I could feel the air conditioning working overtime as I pulled myself over the back rest and kissed her cheek. There wasn't any coldness in her reaction, but nothing in the way of exhilaration either. I understood: why get excited, only to be let down?

"It's great to see you. How are you?"

"Fine ... what are those lumps on your face?"

"I got stung by some wasps. Anyway, what are you up to?"

"I'm on a vacation with Monica are you going to stay with us? You said you were coming to see me last week."

"I know, I know, it's just that... Kelly, I... Listen, I'm sorry for not doing all the things I said I would with you. You know, call, come visit when I said I would. I always wanted to do those things, it was just, well, stuff, you know."

She nodded as if she knew. I was glad one of us did.

"And now I've mucked it up again and have to go away for a while today .. . but I really wanted to see you, even if it was only for a few minutes."

There was a roar that almost made the Voyager shake as the jumbo thundered down the runway and lifted into the sky. I waited, frustrated that I couldn't say what I wanted to until the noise died.

"Look, maybe I was jealous of Josh when you started to live with him, but now I know it's the right thing, the best thing. You need to be with his gang, having fun, going to Monica's for a holiday. So what I've worked out with Josh is, once I come back from sorting some stuff out, I'll be able to do things you know, coming to see you, calling, going on holiday. I want to do all those things with you, because I miss you so much and think about you all the time. But it has to be like this now, you have to live with Josh. That make sense?"

She just looked and nodded as I carried on, barely taking breath.

"But just now I've got to make sure I finish stuff so that I can do those things with you.

That OK?"

"We will go on vacation? You said we would one day."

"Absolutely. It might not be immediately, though. After you get back from Monica's you'll be going to a teacher for a while, and I have to sort out... well..."

"Stuff?"

We smiled. That's right. Stuff."

Monica opened her door with a wide smile for Kelly.

"We gotta go, honey."

Kelly looked at me with an expression that I couldn't read, and for one terrible moment I thought she was going to cry.

"Can I talk with Dr. Hughes?"

Concern must have been written all over my face.

"Why? Why's that?"

Her face conjured up an enormous grin.

"Well, my dad just divorced my other dad.

I got issues."

Even Monica laughed.

"You been watching too much Ricki Lake, honey!"

She closed the door on a smiling Kelly and Monica drove out.

Josh spoke through his window as I walked back, watching his sister leave.

"You'll get the transportation for the train station outside Arrivals."

I nodded and turned towards the lift with a small wave, but he wanted to say more.

"Look, man, maybe you ain't quite the dwarf I thought you were. But you still gotta sort your shit out, then we get to sort our shit. You gotta get a grip of your life, man, get some religion, anything."

I nodded as he drove out, two vehicles behind the Voyager, and leant against a concrete support as another aircraft thundered overhead on finals.

She was fucked up enough and the way I acted made it worse. But I was no longer going to sign her over to Josh and walk away. That was the easy way out. She not only needed but deserved two parents, even if they were divorced. I hoped that me being there, if only a little, was better than not at all. Besides, I wanted to be there.

So that was the plan. Once I had sorted out the 'stuff, I'd come back here and we'd do it correctly. Sort out visitation rights, and a system that gave Kelly what she needed, structure to her life and the knowledge that the people around her were there for her.

However, the 'stuff wasn't going to be easy. Two obstacles had to be overcome if I wanted to stop me, Kelly, and even Josh and his lot, from being targets now and for ever.

George and the Yes Man.

The long-term solution to this problem had to be through George. He'd be able to call off the dogs. And the way to contact him would be through Carrie. How I was going to do this I hadn't a clue, because George was going to be severely pissed off. That was a whole new world that I hadn't even started to work out yet.

First I needed to get to Marblehead, and the two trains I was taking would get me there by six tomorrow morning. It shouldn't be hard to find Carrie, or her mother. The place wasn't that big.

As for the short-term problem of the Yes Man, he had to be dealt with quickly, just in case Sundance and Trainers were already on their way. I still had the security blanket, which I'd tell George about, and Kelly was safe. The Left Luggage ticket was valid for three months and hidden behind one of the pay phones at Waterloo. I would have to go and get it before then and put it somewhere else.

No way was I going to call him yet, though. The call would be traced. I'd do that tomorrow, when the train got me into Boston South. Or maybe I'd call once I got into Union Station in Washington, before getting the connection north.

Then I thought, Why bother going back to the UK at all? What was there waiting for me apart from the sports bag?

I started to fantasize and thought that maybe, if I played my cards right, George could even fix me up with a US passport. After all, I had stopped the system getting into PARC's hands and maybe sticking out of the top of an aircraft carrier. I'd say that was pretty Stars and Stripes.

I pushed away from the concrete and reached the lift as the doors opened and a couple pushed out a luggage trolley carrying far too many suitcases.

Who knows? Maybe while I was sorting stuff out, Carrie would let me sleep on her mother's couch.

The Author

Andy McNab joined the infantry as a boy soldier. In 1984 he was 'badged' as a member of 22 SAS Regiment and was involved in both covert and overt special operations worldwide During the Gulf War he commanded Bravo Two Zero, a patrol that, in the words of his commanding officer, 'will remain regimental history for ever'. Awarded both the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) and the Military Medal (MM), McNab was the British Army's most highly decorated serving soldier when he finally left the SAS in February 1993 He wrote about his experiences in two phenomenal bestsellers, Bravo Two Zero, which was filmed in 1998 starring Scan Bean, and Immediate Action.

His novels, Remote Control, Crisis Four and Firewall, were all bestsellers.

Besides his writing work, he lectures to security and intelligence agencies in both the USA and the UK.