Exit wound

‘We’re mates,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t let you two down. I’m here because I want to look after you. Never forget that.’ I turned back towards the wagon. Any more of this shit and I’d have to start pretending I’d got some grit in my eye.

35

I dropped Red Ken off with Dex and was soon following the Tata again. Within thirty minutes we were out of the city and on the coastal highway. Before we got as far as Abu Dhabi, we were going to chuck a left and head south, as if for Saudi, less than a couple of hours away. The airstrip lay about thirty K down that road.

Above the hum of tyres on tarmac I could hear the odd sniffle from behind me. ‘Sherry, sit up. Keep the blanket on your head and sit up.’

She got up slowly. Her muscles would be in shit state after the hours she’d spent down there. In the rear-view she looked like she was wearing a furry brown burqa.

I shouted over my shoulder. ‘What did your old man get?’

‘Nine months.’

‘For having debts?’

It was a while before she spoke. ‘Bradley has a brain tumour. He’s going to die in there.’

The brake-lights on the Tata glowed. We came to a halt off the road.

‘Sherry.’

‘Yes?’

‘Get down and stay down. It’s nearly over.’

‘You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? That’s what happens.’

‘Just keep quiet. You’ve been watching too much TV.’

Dex killed his lights and I did the same. I climbed out to meet the other two between the wagons.

The wind was picking up. The sky was full of stars, but there was no ambient light on the ground – apart from round Red Ken, who’d lit his three hundredth B amp;H of the day.

We were about seven hundred short of the airstrip. We’d wait until we heard the aircraft coming in before we moved in to meet up with Spag. He should already be at his stand-off point.

I told them about Bradley.

Red Ken blew out a lungful of smoke. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘She’s not a problem to us. She has enough stuff of her own to worry about. I’ll clean her up with the wipes and take her into my room tonight. They’ll think she’s a hooker.’

Dex checked his watch. ‘Twenty minutes.’

We settled cross-legged between the two wagons and waited.

I scooped up handfuls of sand and let it run through my fingers. Dex stretched to ease the tension in his shoulder muscles. ‘Chaps, what about us chipping away just a few ounces to take back home? We’ll get it through Customs, no problem. I thought I’d get three rings made for us.’

Red Ken lit yet another B amp;H. ‘Soft in the head.’

‘I was thinking of inscribing mine with my new motto. “Saddam gratias tibi ago.”’

I had to ask. ‘Which means?’

‘“Thank you, Saddam.”’

36

The navigation lights were clearly visible in the black sky long before we heard the jets. A few hundred metres ahead of us, the landing-strip lights suddenly fired up and the desert turned into a stretch of the M25.

We climbed on top of the Tata. No other light sources were visible in any direction.

Red Ken flicked his B amp;H into the sand to join the others. ‘Nick, make sure you grip that girl. Keep a bound away and back us.’

‘That’s what I’m here for, mate.’

Dex held out a hand to each of us. ‘Good luck, chaps.’

We jumped down and got to work. Dex and Red Ken were going to drive down to the aircraft in the Tata. I’d follow.

The plane screamed in. The moment it had taxied to a halt, the landing-strip lights were doused. We bounced onto the tarmac. Spag was supposed to be waiting on the link road between the single track and the perimeter fence.

I kept the window up.

‘Sherry?’

I got a muffled ‘Yes.’

‘Stay low. Don’t move, no matter what. Help us by keeping out of the way and you could be free in a couple of hours.’

The brake-lights ahead glowed red. I kept a distance of thirty metres, headlights on full beam. The Taurus was under my right thigh. My lights picked out what looked like a white version of Postman Pat’s van at the junction with the metalled track. Spag was in the driver’s seat.

Red Ken jumped down from the Tata and Spag wriggled out of the Nissan Cube. They waffled for a while. Red Ken waved me up to them and Dex also got out. By the time I’d joined them, Spag was going ballistic about the missing crate.

Red Ken was calm. ‘You’re lucky we got that many out before we got compromised. You could have lost the lot.’

Spag spun on his heel. ‘Jee-sus Christ!’

Red Ken put up an arm. ‘You’re Mr Fucking Sirloin. You sort it, or go and get it yourself.’

Spag turned back, pointing up at Red Ken’s chin. ‘If I find you’ve screwed the deal over-’

‘You’ll what? Listen, crap-hat – if we’d wanted to play silly buggers we’d have taken the lot and wouldn’t be here. So let’s crack on and get the job done.’

It was Red Ken’s turn to do the pointing. ‘OK, this is what’s going to happen. You’re going to stay with me all the way through. If we get stitched up, you’ll be the first to get the good news. Dex?’

Dex drew down his weapon.

Spag’s finger shook like a battery-operated vibrator. ‘We agreed – no weapons!’

Red Ken wanted to move on. ‘How many on the aircraft?’