Deep Black - Andy McNab [24]
‘Some of the stories are just, like, amazing. I heard that he managed to stop a massacre some place north of Sarajevo. He actually confronted Mladic. No one seems to know what he said, but it seemed to get Mladic spooked. He let a whole bunch of prisoners go free.’
‘What’s happened with Mladic?’ I tried not to sound too interested in the Muslim. ‘They ever capture him? I’ve lost track of what’s going on over there.’
‘Nope, he’s still out there. Last I heard he was maybe holed up in a monastery in Montenegro. It’s only a rumour, but I heard that the Brits were just this far away –’ he showed me the minutest of gaps between his thumb and his forefinger ‘– from killing him during the war. That would have been kinda neat, eh? But get this – the International Court was about to be set up in The Hague, and they needed some high-profile players to put in the dock. That way everyone could feel that justice was being done after the war. Everybody would be happy – apart from the Bosnian Muslims, of course.’
I thought about Zina. I’d never forget the look on her face as she posed for me, just fifteen and daring to dream for a microsecond of being Kate Moss. Then I thought about her and thousands like her getting killed so justice could be seen to be done. Well, it wasn’t my kind of justice, but this wasn’t the time or the place . . . Fuck it, so what? That was over ten years ago. It’s all history now.
We stopped by the news-stand outside the Metro. ‘Good luck, mate. I hope you get to take your photograph, and when there’s world peace I’ll be blaming you for it.’ I put my hand out to shake his.
He hesitated. ‘You know what? Why don’t you come with me?’ He did his best to make me think the idea had only just occurred to him.
‘No, mate. I don’t do that sort of—’
‘Ah, come on. We’ll be there for a week at the most.’
I put my hand out again and this time he took it. ‘I’ve got to go, mate. I hope it all works out for you.’
‘I could do with a white guy out there, Nick.’ He looked me straight in the eye, and held my hand in both of his. ‘Think about it. Promise me that much. I’m going to London Saturday, got a deal going with the Sunday Telegraph. Then head for Baghdad Tuesday.’
He finally let go of my hand and pulled out his business card and a pen. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Nick, I’m offering you a job. How does ten per cent plus expenses sound to you?’
I didn’t want his money. I didn’t need anyone’s money. It wasn’t as if I had any more school fees to pay.
He gave me the pen and a second card and I wrote down my mobile number.
‘Listen,’ I passed the pen and card back, ‘here’s my number, but only so we can have another beer when you get back.’ I turned to go into the subway, fishing in my pocket for some coins to buy a token.
He called after me, ‘Think about it?’
I gave him a wave as I went through the barrier.
18
The Metro rolled smoothly beneath Washington with me and twenty-odd other people in the carriage. It sounded like Beardilocks had come a long way since the concrete factory. He’d moved on, but had I? Zina and the other poor fuckers who’d been dropped by Mladic’s crew hadn’t, that was for sure.
I’d never admitted this to Ezra, but I still felt guilty when I thought about that day. What if I’d called in the fast jets earlier? Maybe Sarajevo had only made the decision not to attack a minute or two before I eventually pressed the button. Maybe if I hadn’t delayed the Paveway would have been dropped. Some of the Muslims would have got killed, but more would have survived. Zina might have been one of them.
Fuck it, as I kept telling Ezra, it was all history. And talking of history, Beardilocks might be spreading the good news for now, but he’d soon be dead as well. Look what happened to Gandhi. I hoped Jerry got the shot: it might be the last one anyone took of him.
I got off at Georgetown and took the