Deep Black - Andy McNab [25]
I got out at Crystal City. The sinking feeling was back in the pit of my stomach. I knew what the rest of the day held, and the next. Long hours in front of the TV, cuddling a jar of Branston and a mug of monkey, working out when I was actually going to buy the bike and when to get on the thing and fuck off. George was going to let me use the apartment, but only until he had the wrong yoghurt for breakfast and decided to chuck me out. I needed to go soon.
My cell rang. Only three people knew the number, and I wasn’t expecting a call from any of them. I put down the carrier and flapped about in my jacket pocket to drag it out and check the screen: number withheld.
It might be George, changing his mind and telling me to get out of the building. Maybe Ezra wanted to change our next appointment. That would be an interesting call. No, he’d have been told by now that I’d binned George and, in turn, him. So maybe he was checking that I hadn’t swallowed the pharmacy and wasn’t about to jump off the Arlington Memorial Bridge. I just hoped it wasn’t Jerry.
‘Nick?’ It was a woman’s voice.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Renee. Jerry’s wife?’
This was much worse. ‘Hi – how have you been since an hour ago?’
She laughed slightly awkwardly, then went serious on me. ‘Jerry doesn’t know I’m calling. He’s painting the kitchen. Can we meet? I need to talk.’
‘What about?’
‘I’ll tell you when I see you. I’m going to Costco now, at Crystal City. You know where it is?’
I could virtually spit at it from my apartment. ‘No, but I’ll take the Metro.’
She gave me directions from the station but I wasn’t listening. The only thing I was thinking about was that I’d said yes without realizing it. ‘It’ll take me about forty minutes to get down there. So meet in an hour? I’ll wait outside for you. It’s really important to me.’
‘OK.’
‘Thank you, Nick. Thank you . . .’
I put the cell back in my pocket, and headed for the flat. What the fuck was that all about? I supposed I’d find out soon enough.
I got to Costco early and sat on a bench outside the entrance by the vending machines. The Pentagon was walking distance away, so the whole place was crawling with people in freshly starched and pressed camouflage BDUs, grocery basket in hand instead of an M16. It felt like the world’s biggest Naafi.
I hadn’t seen her arrive, but about twenty-five minutes later Renee was walking towards me. Chloë was slumped in a front-loading harness, surrounded by her mum’s hairy nylon coat.
I stood up. ‘Hello.’
‘No problems getting here?’
‘None at all.’
Chloë was sound asleep, her head to one side and dribbling. Weren’t babies’ heads supposed to be supported? Fuck, what was happening to me? I was turning into a German grandmother.
‘Nick, I haven’t got long. Do you mind if we shop and talk? I don’t want Jerry getting worried up because I’m late back.’
She collected a trolley and we went inside. Chloë’s head lolled from side to side but she didn’t wake. Renee didn’t know the layout of the aisles yet, but was soon throwing in nappies, baby lotion, bags of fruit. She didn’t really have a shopping plan. It was just kit-in-the-trolley stuff. I knew it well.
‘Jerry told me he asked you to go with him to Baghdad next week.’
‘He sounds pretty excited about this guy. But I can’t go.’
She threw in a six-pack of tuna. ‘He’s got it into his head that this could be the last chance he ever gets to take a great picture. It’s like he sees the Washington Post as the end of the line.’
We moved along the aisle.
‘Problem is, Nick, I want him to stay here and paint the apartment and do family stuff with me and Chloë, but at the same time I don’t want him to feel I’m standing in his way.’ She looked up and smiled about her