Last Light Part 4

He took a deep breath.

"You don't understand the importance of this operation that you have completely scuppered, do you?"

Scuppered? I tried not to smile but couldn't help it.

"f.u.c.ked up' was how Lynn would have put it.

The Yes Man was still playing the school-teacher. There's nothing to smile about, Stone. Who, in heaven's name, do you think you are?"

It was time for a bit of damage limitation.

"Just someone trying to keep alive," I said. That's why I taped our conversation, Mr. Frampton."

He was silent for a few seconds while that sank in, breathing heavily, eyes bulging. Ah, yes, the tape and pictures. He must have just remembered why I was still alive and he was here. But not for long; his brain switch was set to Transmit rather than Receive. 'You've no idea of the damage you've done. The Americans were adamant that this had to be done today. I gave my word to them, and others, that it would." He was starting to feel sorry for himself.

"I can't believe I had so much confidence in you."

So it was an American job. No wonder he was flapping. The senior Brits had been trying to heal a number of rifts in their relations.h.i.+p with the USA for quite a while now especially as some of the US agencies just saw the UK as a route to extend its reach into Europe, and not as any sort of partner. The 'special relations.h.i.+p' was, in effect, history.

But the big picture wasn't exactly top of my agenda right now. I didn't care what had been scuppered. I didn't even care who had sponsored the job and why it had had to happen. I just wanted to get out of this room in one piece.

"As I said, Mr. Frampton, the lights were up and I ordered the shoot. Maybe if the three snipers were debriefed they could ..."

He looked at my lips but my words seemed not to register.

"You have let a serious problem develop in Central America, Stone. Do you not realize the implications?"

"No, sir' he always liked that.

"I don't, sir."

His right hand came off his hip and he stared at the face of his watch.

"No, sir, that's right, you don't, sir. Because of you, we, the Service, are not influencing events in a direction favourable to Britain."

He was starting to sound like a party political broadcast. I couldn't have cared less what was happening in Central America. All I was worried about was now, here.

The Yes Man sighed as he loosened his scarlet tie and opened his collar. Some beads of sweat dribbled down the side of his flushed face. He thumbed behind him in the direction of Sundance.

"Now, go with this man to collect the tape and all the other material that you claim to have on this operation, and I'll see about trying to save your backside."

"I can't do that, sir!"

He stiffened. He was starting to lose it.

"Can't do that, sir?"

I'd have thought it was perfectly obvious, but I didn't want to sound disrespectful.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Frampton, but I need to make sure you don't have a change of heart about me." I chanced a smile.

"I like being alive. I understand the reasons why the snipers were killed. I just don't want to join them."

The Yes Man crouched down so that his eyes were level with mine. He was struggling to control a rage that was threatening to burst out of his face.

"Let me tell you something, Stone. Things are changing in my department. A new permanent cadre is being installed, and very soon all the dead wood will be cleared away. People like you will cease to exist." He was nearly shaking with anger. He knew I had him by the b.o.l.l.o.c.ks, for now. Fighting his rage, he kept his voice very low.

"You've always been nothing but trouble, haven't you?"

I was averting my gaze, trying to look frightened and I was a bit. But unfortunately I caught sight of a large, freshly squeezed zit below his collar line. He didn't like that. He stood up abruptly, and stormed from the room.

Sundance shot me a threatening glare and followed him.

I tried to listen to the mumbling going on between the four of them in the garage, but with no luck. A few seconds later car doors slammed, the shutter went up, and the car reversed out. The shutter hit the floor once more, and then everything went quiet.

Except in my head. One half was telling me everything was OK. No way would he chance the job being exposed. The other was telling me that maybe he really didn't care what I was saying. I tried to make myself feel better by running through what had happened, convincing myself that I'd said the right things in the right way at the right time. Then I threw my hand in. It was too late now to worry about it. I'd just have to wait and see.

Trainers and Sundance reappeared. I looked up, trying to read their expressions.

They didn't look good.

The first kick was aimed at my chest. My body re flexed into a ball but Sundance's boot connected hard with my thigh. By now my chin was down, my teeth were clenched, and I'd closed my eyes. There was nothing I could do but accept the inevitable, curled up like a hedgehog, my hands still cuffed, trying to protect my face. I started to take it and just hoped that it wouldn't carry on for long.

They grabbed my feet and dragged me towards the centre of the room. One of the mugs rattled over on the tiles. I kept my legs as bent as I could, fighting against them being stretched out to expose my stomach and b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. I opened one eye just in time to watch a Caterpillar boot connect with my ribs. I brought my || head down further, in an attempt to cover my chest. It must have worked, because another boot swung right into my a.r.s.e this time, and it felt as if the inside of my sphincter had exploded. The pain was off the scale and to counteract it I tried to clench my cheek muscles together but to do that I had to straighten my legs a little.

The inevitable boot flew into the pit of my stomach. Bile exploded from me. The acid taste in my mouth and nose was almost worse than the kicking.

It was past midnight and I was curled up back in my corner. At least they'd taken the cuffs off now. The lights were off and the TV flickered away with a Channel 5 soft-p.o.r.n film. They'd had pie and chips earlier and made me crawl over to wipe up my bile from the floor with the used paper as they drank more tea.

There was no more filling in, not even an acknowledgement of me being there. I had just been left to stew as Sundance lay half asleep on the settee. Trainers was wide awake and on stag, smoking his roll-up, draped across the two armchairs, making sure I didn't have any stupid ideas.

I slowly stretched out flat on my stomach to lessen the pain from the kicking, and rested my face on my hands, closing my eyes to try to get some sleep. It was never going to work: I could feel the blood pumping in my neck and couldn't stop thinking about what might happen to me next. My Beachy Head trip could still be on the cards with these two; it all depended on what the Yes Man had to say yes to, I supposed.

In the past, I'd always managed to get out of even the deepest s.h.i.+t with just the thinnest layer still stuck to me. I thought of my gunshot wound, sewn-back on earlobe, and dog-bite scars, and knew how lucky I'd been on those jobs in the last few years. I thought of other jobs, of being blindfolded and lined up against the wall of an aircraft hangar, listening to the noise of weapons being c.o.c.ked. I remembered hearing the men each side of me, either quietly praying or openly crying and begging. I hadn't seen any reason to do either. It wasn't that I wanted to die; just that I'd always known that death was part of the deal.

But this did feel different. I thought of Kelly. I hadn't spoken to her since this job started. Not because there had been no opportunity1 had agreed timings with Josh last month it was just that I was too busy with preparations, or sometimes I just forgot.

Josh was right to f.u.c.k me off when I did get through: she did need a routine and stability. I could see his half-Mexican, half-black shaved head, scowling at me on the phone like a divorced wife. The skin on his jaw and cheekbone was a patchwork of pink, like a torn sponge that had been badly sewn back together.

The scarring was down to me, which didn't help the situation much. He wouldn't be getting too many modelling offers from Old Spice, that was for sure. I tried to break the ice with him once by telling him. He didn't exactly fall about with laughter.

I turned my head and rested my cheek on my hands, watching Trainers suck on the last of his roll-up. I supposed I'd always known the day would come, sooner or later, but I didn't want this to be it. Stuff flashed through my mind as if I was a split second away from a ma.s.sive car crash, all the sorts of things that must hit any parent when they know they're about to die. The stupid argument with the kids before leaving for work. Not building that tree-house. Not getting round to filling out a will. The holidays not taken, the promises broken.

Josh was the only person apart from Kelly I cared for and who was still alive.

Would he miss me? He'd just be p.i.s.sed off that we had unfinished business. And what about Kelly herself? She had a new start now would she just forget all about her useless, incompetent guardian in a few years?

SEVEN.

Monday 4 September Sundance's StarT ac short, sharp tones cut the air after a long, painful night.

It was just after eight. I didn't bother to move from the p.r.o.ne position because of my kicking, but tried instead to convince myself that the pain was just weakness leaving the body, something like that.

Trainers jumped up to turn off the BBC breakfast news, showing the embankment, as Sundance opened up his phone. He knew who it was. There was no preliminary waffle, just nods and grunts.

Trainers. .h.i.t the kettle b.u.t.ton as the StarT ac was closed down and Sundance rolled himself off the settee. He gave me a big grin as he brushed back his hair with spread fingers.

"You have a visitor, and dye know what? He doesn't sound too pleased."

It was the witching hour.

I sat up and leant into the corner of the brick walls as they pulled the armchairs apart and put their s.h.i.+rts on while waiting for the kettle to boil.

It wasn't long before I heard a vehicle and Trainers went out to open the shutter. Sundance just stood there staring at me, trying to get me flapping.

The kettle cut out with a click just before the shutter opened; it looked like their brew was on hold for a while. I pulled myself up against the wall.

The slamming of car doors drowned out the sound of Kennington's morning commute.

Before the shutter had come down, the Yes Man was striding into the room.

Throwing a glance at Sundance, he walked towards me, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his nose at the smell of roll-ups, chips and early-morning farts.

He was dressed today in a light grey suit, and still in enraged-teacher mode. He stopped a couple of paces short of me, put his hands on his hips, and looked down at me in disgust.

"You, Stone, are going to be given one chance, just one, to rectify matters. You don't know how very lucky you are." He checked his watch. The target has just left the UK. You will follow him tonight, to Panama, and you will kill this target by last light Friday."

I kept my head down and let my legs flop out straight, just inches from his highly polished black brogues, and raised my eyes to him.

Sundance made a move towards me. Should I be saying something? The Yes Man held up a hand to stop him, without taking his eyes off me.

"PARC are waiting for the delivery of a missile launch control system a computer guidance console to you."

I looked down again, concentrating on the pattern of his shoes.

"Are you listening?"

Nodding slowly, I rubbed my sore eyes.

"One anti-aircraft missile is already in their possession. It will be the first of many. The launch system has to be stopped if PARC have a complete weapons system in their hands the implications for Plan Colombia will be catastrophic.

There are six hundred million dollars' worth of US helicopters in Colombia, along with their crews and support. PARC must not get the capability to shoot them down. They must not get that launch control system. You don't need to know why, but the young man's death will stop that happening. Period."

He hunched down and thrust his face so close to mine I could smell menthol aftershave, probably for sensitive skin. There was a whiff of halitosis, too, as we had eye-to-eye just inches apart. He breathed in slowly, to help me understand that what he was about to say was more in sorrow than in anger.

"You will carry out this task in the time specified, with due diligence. If not? No matter when next week, next month, or even next year when the time is right, we will kill her. You know who I'm talking about, that Little Orphan Annie of yours. She will simply cease to exist and it will be your doing. Only you can stop that happening."

He burned with the kind of evangelical zeal I supposed he'd copied from whoever he'd heard in the pulpit last week, while Sundance smirked and moved back towards the settee.

The Yes Man hadn't finished with me yet. His tone s.h.i.+fted.

"She must be about eleven now, eh? I've been told that she's settled in very well back in the States. It seems that Joshua is doing an absolutely sterling job. It must be hard for you now she lives there, eh? Missing her growing up, turning into a fine young woman..."

I kept my eyes down, concentrating on a minute crack in one of the tiles as he carried on with his sermon.

That's the same age as my daughter. They're so funny at that age, don't you think? One minute wanting to be all grown up, the next needing to cuddle their teddies. I read her a story last night when I'd tucked her in. They look so wonderful, yet so vulnerable like that... Did you read to Kelly, isn't it?"

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an acknowledgement, just concentrated hard on my tile, trying to show no reaction. He was really making a meal of this. He took another deep breath, his knees cracking as he straightened up and hovered above me once more.

"This is about power, Stone, who has it and who does not. You do not.

Personally, I am not in favour of you being given a second chance, but there is the broader matter of policy to consider."

I didn't exactly understand what that meant, but it was a fair guess he'd been told to sort out this situation or he'd be severely in the s.h.i.+t.

"Why kill the boy?" I said.

"Why not the father? I presume he's the one moving this system."

He kicked my thigh with his s.h.i.+ny toecap. It was pure frustration. I was sure he'd meant it to be harder, but just didn't have it in him.

"Clean yourself up look at the state of you. Now go. These gentlemen will collect you from your residence at three."

He gave 'residence' the full three syllables, enjoying every one. Sundance smiled like the village idiot as I hauled myself to my feet, the muscles in my stomach protesting badly.

"I need money." I looked down like a scolded schoolboy as I leant against the wall, and that was exactly how I felt.

The Yes Man sighed with impatience and nodded at Sundance. The Jock dug out his wallet from the back of his jeans, and counted out eighty-five pounds.

'You owe me, boy."

I just took it, not bothering to mention the six hundred US dollars he'd liberated from my pocket, and which had already been split between the two of them.

Jamming it into my jeans, I started to walk, not looking at either of them as I reached the door. Trainers saw me in the doorframe and hit the shutter, but not before the Yes Man had the last word: "You'd better make good use of that money, Stone. There is no more. In fact, think yourself lucky you're keeping what you already have. After all, Orphan Annie will need new shoes from time to time, and her treatment in the States will cost a great deal more than it did at the Moorings."

Fifteen minutes later I was on the tube from Kennington, heading north towards Camden Town. The dilapidated old train was packed tight with morning commuters, nearly every one radiating soap, toothpaste and designer smells. I was the exception, which was bad luck for the people I was sandwiched between: a ma.s.sive black guy who'd turned his crisply laundered, white-s.h.i.+rted back on me, and a young white woman who didn't dare look up from the floor in case our eyes met and she sparked off the madman reeking of bile and roll-ups.

The front pages of the morning papers were covered with dramatic colour pictures of the police attacking the sniper positions and the promise of a lot more to come inside. I just held on to the handrail and stared at the dot-com holiday adverts, not wanting to read them, instead letting my head jolt from side to side as we trundled north. I was in a daze, trying to get my head round what had happened, and getting nowhere.

What could I do with Kelly? Nip over to Maryland, pick her up, run away and hide in the woods? Taking her away from Josh was pure fantasy: it would only screw her up even more than she was already. It would only be short-term, in any event: if the Firm wanted her dead, they'd make it happen eventually. What about telling Josh? No need: the Firm wouldn't do anything unless I failed. Besides, why stir him up any more than I had already?

I let my head drop and stared at my feet as we got to a station and people fought each other to get on and off all at the same time. I got shoved and jostled and gave an involuntary gasp of pain.