Exit wound

I stuffed one end of it into his mouth to fill the cavity and make sure he couldn’t develop any sort of sound. I tied the free end round his eyes. Then I grabbed one of the cameras from Anna and we moved forward. When we reached the end of the firs, I stopped and listened. I could hear the buzz of another aircraft. I started running. I wasn’t going to wait for her and I didn’t have to – she had done her bit. Now it was time to do mine.

I hit the next tree-line after twenty metres and slowed. I was sweating big-time under the heavy bike gear but I didn’t give a shit. We were nearly there.

111

I got down on my hands and knees and crept to the edge of the trees. I could make out bodies about three hundred metres away. They stood on the middle of an expanse of tarmac that began where the firs ended. There was another little strip of forestry to the far side of them. The runway disappeared off to the right.

The tarmac dried in a steamy haze around their feet as they chatted. A table and chairs had been set up beneath a small gazebo beside them. It was like a fucking garden party.

I motioned Anna forward. All she could hear was their laughter. She couldn’t make out what they were saying.

I got out my camera and zoomed in on the two eggs on legs. I could hear Anna doing the same.

Spag and Brin stood next to each other in identical light cargos and blue fleeces. It was like one of them was holding up a mirror to the other. They covered their eyes with their hands as they heard the buzz of another prop engine, high up and behind us. Altun and the Taliban were still dressed for the boardroom.

I picked out movement in the trees beyond them. A fifth body stepped out of the shadows with a launcher on his shoulder. Almost immediately, he seemed to change his mind. He swapped it for a fresh one from the back of a people-carrier parked behind him.

He took a couple of steps towards the picnickers, who were now toasting each other. The Taliban watched the others gun a shot glass down their necks. I felt my face flush with anger. I’d have given anything for a weapon to help their party really go with a swing.

A jet engine sparked up above me.

All heads turned to the sky as the second drone came into view.

Altun offered the Taliban a baseball cap but he refused. He’d be used to the sun and, besides, he’d want an unimpeded view. Altun continued his sales pitch as the Taliban looked over at the firing station, then back up at the sky. He nodded slowly as the flares kicked off.

There was a deafening roar as the 16 left its tube. A cloud of smoke erupted beside the people-carrier and a white trail streaked up into the sky. Like its predecessor, it jinked left and right, up and down as it interrogated the flares and sniffed out the correct target.

Two more seconds and it made contact.

Three of them clapped gently as the remaining fragments of the drone cascaded downwards. The Taliban stared open-mouthed at the hole in the sky where there had recently been a plane. He was probably thinking he should have bought more.

I checked the people-carrier. The guy was already pulling out another missile.

I got to my feet.

‘Nick – where you going?’

‘To do what we came here for.’

She nodded.

I turned and ran back towards the bike.

112

I didn’t have time to tell Zar how lucky he was. If he’d been in the sidecar he’d have been coming with me.

I kick-started the Ural and bounced back onto the track, screaming over ruts and potholes towards the open tarmac. The chainsaw, helmets, wheelie-case, all the shit in the sidecar jumped and jolted as I rode out onto the pan.

I had to screw up my eyes. The sun glared off the wet tarmac. I squinted to see the bodies the other side.

The people-carrier was still stationary. The four men beside the gazebo spun towards the overworked motorbike. They didn’t know what it was, but they’d have guessed it wasn’t bringing dessert.

They started hesitantly towards the people-carrier. Before they could get there the lad who’d test-fired the missiles jumped into the wagon and it lurched towards me.

The four players melted into the trees.

Full revs, I aimed at the point where they’d disappeared, trying to outrun the wagon.

I knew immediately it wasn’t going to happen.

The Ural splashed into a puddle the size of a small lake and aquaplaned. I kept the revs up, kept looking the way I wanted to go.

The wagon was gaining on me. Within seconds it was all I could see in my mirrors.

I jinked the handlebars and swung left. The wheel of the sidecar lifted. I had to throttle back before we flipped.

The wagon closed tight up behind me.

Less than a hundred and I’d be in among the foliage.

The sidecar jerked and was suddenly in front of me. The bike was spinning. The fucker had kicked me up the arse.

I had to jump. If I didn’t get off, it was going to take me off. My right leg was hemmed in by the sidecar bars and air intake. If I didn’t go now, I might have to leave it behind.