Exit wound

Julian needed to know about the missile deal and the dark flares, but my finger hesitated over the keys. It didn’t want to call. Right now I was in control. If I talked to him there was a strong chance I’d have to disobey a direct order. I was a hundred per cent sure his way of dealing with this situation wasn’t going to be the same as mine. I’d fucked over enough people on this job already. I didn’t want to add him to the list.

I started to put together a text. I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to call me in, but I needed to let him know what was happening, just in case I fucked up and joined Red Ken and Dex a whole lot earlier than I’d planned.

SA-16 seeker has NO fault.

It now has ANTI-DARK FLARE CAPABILITY.

I also told him about the Taliban, M3C, Altun and their deal.

But don’t know where the gold fits in.

I felt a gentle breeze as I crawled out of the pipe in search of a satellite signal and a weapon. Minutes later my fingers closed around a metre-long section of steel tubing that was just what I’d had in mind.

89

Thursday, 7 May

0535 hrs

A sliver of sunlight edged above the eastern horizon. It wouldn’t be long before the rest of it burst through. Birds sparked up and punctuated the quiet moments between take-offs and landings. If Altun turned up I’d wait until he’d dropped off his new best Taliban mate, then take him and his BG on with the steel. The BG would be first: I wanted his weapon. Then I’d drop Altun with it. With any luck he’d take some time to die. If he didn’t turn up, I’d take the BG and persuade him to tell me where Altun was. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would do. And when it came to choices, I was running on empty.

I never thought too much about dying. My most philosophical view on the matter had always been: fuck it. If I was too slow or too unlucky today I was dead, so anything else was a bonus. It had always been that way. Maybe that was why I’d always been the one to put my hand up and volunteer. Fuck it, so what? It’ll be a laugh…

Laughs had always been in pretty short supply where I came from, and I guess the situation I was facing right now wasn’t so funny. But I’d treat myself to a good one when Red Ken and Dex gave me the thumbs-up from whatever cloud they were hanging around on.

There was movement at the rear of M3C. Three guys in dark blue boiler-suits headed for the Falcon and hooked up the generator. Its engine kicked in and lights flickered on inside the aircraft. A set of steps unfolded, linking the cabin to the concrete so the ground crew could jump inside and do whatever ground crews did at times like this.

Two guys in short-sleeved white shirts and ties, each carrying a black air-crew case, strolled up to the 7X and disappeared inside. Shouldn’t be long now.

The sun heaved itself over the horizon to my right and threw the mountains on the other side of the city into sharp relief. A pair of headlights came up the road, fast. I raised the binos. It was a Merc, trailing a dust-cloud, covering the distance in a few short minutes that I’d taken hours to cross.

I steadied the binos. The sky was still too dark and the car too far away for me to be able to see whether or not its antenna was bent, but I knew where I was placing my money. It pulled into the turning circle and the passenger door began to open.

I pulled the steel tube from behind me.

It was two-up in front. This was going to be hairy.

As the vehicle stopped, the BGs jumped out. Both were in sleeveless white shirts with weapons on their belts. Tattoo had been in the passenger seat. I couldn’t be totally sure, but the driver looked like the second loadie from the Dubai airstrip. They opened a rear door each.

Altun and the Taliban stepped out onto the concrete and fastened their jackets. They didn’t talk, or give the muscle a second glance. They headed towards the terminal. Tattoo went for the boot and his mate rushed past them to hold open one of the big glass doors. The Taliban was still dressed in last night’s suit. Altun’s was grey, and the shirt had a buttoned-down collar. They disappeared inside. Tattoo followed with two small overnight bags and a prayer mat, and the door closed behind him.

Time to move. I gripped the steel rod and crawled out of the concrete pipe. Get to the terminal, wait to see who came out, and go for it. My head was completely clear, my heart-rate even.

Another vehicle approached the M3C terminal from my right. It was also a Merc. These boys hadn’t spent too much time at the Paykan dealership. I eased myself back into the pipe as it pulled up alongside the first. This time no one jumped out to open the rear door. It did that by itself, and a pair of short dumpy legs appeared.

Spag’s light cargos and blue fleece strained at the waist as he clambered out. There was no mistaking the fat fuck.

A thousand thoughts raced through my head in a nanosecond, none of them good.

90