Exit wound

He lifted the lid. The two crushed and suffering bodies were coughing up their lungs. They tried getting out, but Tenny punched them back in.

The contact led the rest of us towards the nearest barn.

8

I kept a few paces behind the other three, as cover. My boots sank up to their laces in stinking ooze.

Spag tried to recover from looking like a dickhead. ‘It was right to hand over the cash. They could have killed us.’

Red Ken checked stride and rounded on him. Their faces were inches apart. ‘Listen in, twat – they were going to kill us because they’d got the money. Now wind your fucking neck in, let’s get the deal done and leave.’

We worked our way past a dark, mud-covered Trabant, up to its hubs in shit. I saw the prolonged glow of a cigarette tip through a gap in the barn wall. Whoever was on the other end of it was sucking hard.

The contact headed for the door. ‘Vladislav?’

A solitary nein-watt bulb dangled from the rafters. Its dim light only just reached the floor, but I could see the shit gleam on Vladislav’s boots. The KGB man was another egg-on-legs. He could have been Spag’s brother. Mrs Dumpty had been busy. His trench coat was so long it nearly touched the ground. He took a step back to reveal a battered canvas suitcase at his feet.

Spag barged past Red Ken and the contact. ‘OK, what you got? Show me.’

Vladislav caught his drift, unzipped the suitcase and threw back the top. Spag snorted from excitement or exertion. Either way, he should have stayed behind his desk.

Vladislav dug through a pile of old shirts and pulled out what looked like a long-legged metal spider. When he held it up to the light, I could see it was some kind of circuit board with wires coming off it in all directions.

He stood back and let Spag inspect the goods. ‘It’s intact. I have much more on offer if you are interested.’ His English was good.

Spag held out a hand. ‘You got a pen?’

Vladislav fished about inside his coat. Then he knelt to empty the bundles of hundred-dollar bills into his suitcase.

‘Don’t you wanna count it?’

‘I know you will be back for more, so why would you try to cheat me? If you have, I’ll go elsewhere.’

Red Ken leant over to me. ‘These Russians will do just fine, whatever happens to the Wall. There’s no ideology here, mate. It’s every man for himself.’

Spag’s eyes gleamed. He finished writing on one of the wrappers. ‘Come direct to me. We could do some serious business.’

He stood and they shook.

There were shouts from outside.

I started running.

9

I cannoned into a body at the door. My face rubbed against

sheepskin.

Red Ken yelled from behind me, ‘Leave him!’

I pushed against the coat, not even raising the Maglite, just squeezing past as Red Ken took him.

There were two bodies by the rear of the car. One was staggering to his feet. The other lay still. The upright one wore a long leather coat. He turned towards me and lifted his arm.

My vision tunnelled. All I could see was the weapon I was running towards. The barrel headed my way in slow motion. I felt nothing but the thump of my heart as I got within striking distance.

The Maglite came down on what I could see of the pistol and his hand. He buckled, but not enough. The weapon didn’t fall, and neither did he. I connected again, this time to the right side of his neck.

I kept hitting, kept hammering his head, his neck, his arm.

A round kicked off inside the barn, then a double tap.

I slammed the Maglite down again and again on the target’s head, jumping into the air to get that extra bit of momentum, until I heard the crack I wanted and felt warm blood spurt against my face.

He dropped into the shit beside Tenny.

I used the Maglite for the job it was designed to do – to find the weapon in the mud and guide me back to the barn.

‘Red! Red!’

‘Clear this end.’

I turned back, dropped to my knees beside Tenny and ran the Maglite beam over his face, searching for signs of life. ‘It’s OK, mate. You’re breathing – means you’re still winning. Got to turn you over. Take the pain.’

A gunshot wound to the gut. I grabbed his shoulder, log-rolled him and looked for an exit wound.

‘It’s fine, mate – it’s still inside you.’

The only good thing about a gut wound is that it isn’t as painful as anywhere else on the body. There aren’t any nerve endings there. If there were, it would hurt to eat. As long as no major organs were hit, Tenny could live for a day, maybe two, without treatment.

I pressed my beanie against the entry wound. ‘Keep it there, mate.’

Spag loomed out of the darkness with Vladislav. They both headed for the Trabant.

Red Ken had other ideas. ‘Get in the fucking van – now!’ He and the contact weren’t far behind, hefting Sheepskin by his arms and legs. They dropped him into the mud next to his mate. The Trabant rolled out of the farmyard and Spag pushed himself into the Gaz.

One look at Tenny, and Red Ken binned whatever plan he’d had to hide the Stasi boys. ‘Fuck ’em. Let’s go.’

We loaded Tenny into the Gaz and the contact pressed his foot to the floor. I got on the radio to Dex.