Deep Black - Andy McNab [117]
There were enough combustibles lying around for us to have stayed all night drying kit, but I wanted to get on the road just as soon as we could.
‘Have a look round for something to boil up some water. Be good to get something hot down us before we go. I’ll fill up the tank.’
Jerry moved off into the shadows as I picked up my AK and both our bumbags.
I kept the engine on now. If I closed it down it might not start again, so why take the risk? I dumped the bumbags on the passenger seat, folded some cardboard into a cone and shoved it into the tank. After doing the smell and taste test to make sure it was diesel, I emptied in the first can.
It couldn’t take all of the second, so I slung it in the back along with the three full ones. I was already fantasizing about heading up the road, the heater going full blast and a stomach full of hot water. What more could anyone want?
I went to the cab and leaned inside to check if the footwell heaters were doing their stuff. Nothing yet. The bumbags were just inches from my face, and through the nylon of Jerry’s I could see what was left of his camera. Jerry had been lucky. The Nikon had probably saved his life. I unzipped the bag and pulled out the camera. Part of the lens fell on to the seat.
The round had ploughed through the casing. The body looked as if it was about to break in half. As I held it in my hands, that was exactly what happened. And, digital or not, I knew enough about cameras to see at once there was something inside this one that shouldn’t have been.
I managed to slide a finger between the battery and its casing. The blue plastic disc was about the size of a 50p piece; it was cracked and chipped, but I could see clearly what it was, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with taking pictures.
My hands began to shake as I pulled out the Thuraya and powered it up. I pulled out the download cable and checked if anything else was in there that shouldn’t be, then hit the menus.
This time, Jerry had fucked up with his opsec. Registered on the call list were Salkic’s sister’s number and the hotel’s, and one other, at least twenty digits long. It wasn’t any source’s land-line number in DC, Virginia or Maryland, or any normal cell number. They, too, have area codes.
Who the fuck had he been calling? I’d seen him in the al-Hamra with the cable attached. Had he been downloading pictures? Of who? Of what? To ID us for the attack?
Fuck the blue device for now. I could deal with that later.
There was a shout from the shadows. ‘Hey, I got a can without a hole! It’s gonna need one mean clean, though.’
88
I jumped out of the van, AK in hand. I pushed the safety all the way down and got the butt into the shoulder. Taking deep breaths to calm myself, I leaned into the weapon and aimed at the noise coming towards me from the darkness.
He moved into the van’s lights, using them to inspect the tin can in his hands. His shadow danced along the far wall.
I stayed behind the headlights, waiting for him to get closer.
‘Stand still. Hands up, both up.’
‘Hey, it’s me.’ He held up the can, squinting into the beams. ‘I got us a kettle.’
‘The pistol. Where’s the weapon?’
‘My jacket. Nick, what’s—?’
‘Shut the fuck up. Drop the can. Kneel down and put the pistol on the floor.’
He did as he was told and I moved forward, weapon up, still in the shoulder, releasing first pressure.
‘What’s happening, man, what I do wrong?’
I came at him out of the beams, my boot connecting with his head before he had a chance to get up again. He hit the floor and I kicked the pistol away from him, then carried on kicking him wherever I could reach: head, arms, legs, back, anywhere he left exposed.
When he raised his hands to protect himself, I got him in the guts and he puked up bloodstained bile.
‘You haven’t been calling a DC source, have you?’ I didn’t give him time to answer, just kicked him towards the fire. ‘You download from the al-Hamra to that fancy number?’
He tried to get to his knees again.
‘That why