Deep Black - Andy McNab [131]
The forestry block glided past on our left. I was going to have to do something soon. I leaned forward again and tapped Hairy on the shoulder. ‘My friend needs a piss.’
He stared at me blankly.
‘Piss?’ I pointed at Jerry and simulated undoing my fly. ‘He wants to go.’
He just waved his hand towards the windscreen again. ‘Sarajevo.’
Fuck it, we were Nuhanovic’s guests. We could give these guys orders. ‘No, we stop! He wants to piss!’ I poked the driver. ‘Stop!’
While the two of them exchanged a few words, I sat back with Jerry. ‘Get out, go down, stay down.’
I leaned forward. ‘You stopping, or what?’
As the wagon pulled in at the side of the road, Jerry got out, unbuttoning himself as he went round the front, past the headlights, and towards the treeline, too modest to take his piss within view.
They looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
96
Jerry had been listening; he seemed to lose his footing, and fell with a shout.
I tapped Hairy and waved my hands urgently. ‘Go help him! Go help him!’
Jerry wasn’t going to get any Oscars for the moaning, but at least he kept doing it. Hairy muttered a curse or two, but opened his door anyway. As he climbed out, he put the G3 back in the footwell, resting it against the seat.
My eyes focused on the barrel. I wouldn’t get a second chance at this.
I grabbed the muzzle with my right hand, yanked it back between the seats towards me and simultaneously pushed back, opened the door with my left and rolled out on to the tarmac.
I felt the butt bounce across the rear seat, and crash on to my chest as I landed.
My left hand grabbed the plastic stock, my right slid down on to the pistol grip. The road surface was hard against my back as I pushed away from the door.
Ignoring the shouts from the front of the wagon, I concentrated on getting my left hand on to the cocking piece, flicking it so it stuck out at right angles to the barrel, then racking it back. A brass round spun out of the ejection chamber as I let the working parts go forward and pick up another. I knew now that the weapon was made ready. The shouts continued as I got to my feet.
Butt in the shoulder, I aimed at Hairy, both eyes wide, needing to see everything.
Jerry lay stock-still on the grass. ‘Jerry, on your feet – get him down, get him down!’
I kicked the driver’s door and moved back at least three arm widths. ‘Out! Out! Out!’ If he didn’t understand English, he got the drift. He came out of the car at warp speed, hands in the air, then sank to his knees and put them behind his head.
By now Hairy was on the floor too. I leaned into the weapon, safety catch off, first pad of the finger on the trigger. ‘Jerry, get them together in the light.’
Jerry did as he was told and they soon lay together face down on the grass verge. I moved round so I faced the tops of their heads. I could get clear shots into them if they started fucking about. ‘Search them. Make sure they’ve got no radios, no weapons.’
Long shadows were cast by the headlights as Jerry patted them down and rummaged in their pockets. Hairy had nothing on him apart from a wallet and cigarettes.
He moved over to the driver. ‘What we going to do with them, Nick?’
‘They stay here. Soon as you’ve finished, get them crawling into the treeline.’
We both followed as they shuffled to the edge of the canopy, their breath snorting out of them like racehorses’. The first line of trees blocked the Vitara’s headlights, casting weird shadows into the first few metres of forest.
‘Tie them up. Use their belts, shoelaces, whatever you can find.’
I kept them both covered as Jerry got them to sit against a tree. Then he had an idea, ran back to the Vitara and returned with the empty bumbags and a set of jump leads. He tied their hands with the leads, then clipped the bumbags round their necks and a tree. They didn’t resist: they wanted to live.
I rested the G3 on the ground and pulled my boots and socks off. The frost-covered