Deep Black - Andy McNab [100]
Jerry stepped alongside me. ‘What about our passports? We coming back here?’
‘I’m told that’s all taken care of.’ He paused and managed just a hint of a smile. ‘Maybe you will get to take your photograph after all.’
The leather boys were anxiously scanning the landing as we came out with our kit. Their jackets were undone, pistol grips within easy reach.
Nothing was said as we walked to the lift. Jerry stared straight ahead, his hands on his bumbag, checking its contents as if he expected the camera gypsies to strike at any moment.
Down at Reception, there was another familiar face. Salkic presented us with our passports without ceremony or emotion. ‘Follow me.’
Two midnight-blue Audis with smoked glass and alloy wheels were waiting outside, engines running. Benzil was sitting in the back of the lead vehicle, his window down. His fresh-faced driver indicated, with a wave of the small radio in his hand, that we were to get into the one behind. Its boot clicked open.
The leather boys also peeled away from us to go with Benzil, one in the back beside him, the other beside the driver. Salkic climbed into the front seat of ours as we threw our bags into the boot and got into the back. A driver in his forties was at the wheel. His crewcut was just cropping out to show the grey on the sides, and his face was peppered with small scars. His stubble only grew where the skin wasn’t marked. As he ran his right hand over the wheel I could see that his index and ring finger were missing.
Jerry had recognized him too. But he didn’t look round to acknowledge us, or make eye contact in the rear-view, so we did the same.
The rain had stopped, but the heating was on. The interior smelt of new leather. Salkic and the driver were gobbing off to each other at warp speed. There was a burst of radio mush, then a voice in Serbo-Croat. Salkic pulled a Motorola two-way communicator from his pocket, the sort skiers use to keep in touch with each other on the slopes. He mumbled into it as Benzil’s vehicle pulled away and we followed.
The wet pavements glistened in the streetlights. Sarajevo was bright with neon and illuminated billboards, but appeared deserted. I couldn’t help feeling the place was all dressed up with nowhere to go. I saw a tram, but there was no other sign of life as we splashed our way out of the city.
In the driver’s footwell, tucked against the seat so it didn’t get in the way of the pedals, was an AK Para version, the same as Rob’s. A spare thirty-round magazine was taped upside down to the one loaded in the weapon. I just hoped it was there for comfort rather than necessity. There was nothing armoured about this Audi and I didn’t fancy the idea of repeating my Baghdad experience as brass-coated lead rounds ripped the tin can to bits.
‘It is a long journey.’ Salkic spoke without turning round. He didn’t sound happy with life. His eyes were glued to the road ahead, as if he was expecting an attack from a side junction at any minute.
I leaned forward between the two seats. ‘Where we going?’
‘It would mean nothing to you, and even if it did, I would not tell you. It’s better that way. Everybody either wants to kiss Hasan or kill him. I protect him from both. Those men who followed you, they do not want to kiss Hasan.’
There was more mumbling on the net and he held up his right hand in case I was about to speak. Those little Motorolas were perfect for close-up comms. They had a range of a couple of Ks, beyond which they couldn’t be listened in to, and because they didn’t produce that big a footprint it was difficult to keep track of them.
He pressed the send button and gave his answer. The front car immediately took a sharp right, but we carried on past the junction and took the next left. Salkic saw Jerry’s concern in the rear-view as the streetlights flashed by,