Andy McNab: Exit wound

She walked between the bonnet of her 4x4 and the rear of our taxi as Dex straightened up from the boot. She pointed at her wagon. ‘When you’ve finished with those, our bags are in the back.’

I opened my mouth to object but Dex was too quick. He put on the worst Indian-waiter voice ever. ‘Yes, memsahib.’ He gave an exaggerated bow that was totally wasted on them as they disappeared into the clubhouse.

‘What the fuck you doing, Dex? We got a job to do here, mate.’

He smiled and did the Indian shaking of the head to indicate yes. ‘Getting in character.’

Red Ken came back in time to see Dex at the back of the Land Cruiser and me with the trolley holding our bags. Another Indian guy was waiting to drive it away. ‘What’s he doing now?’

I explained as we picked up the bags and headed inside. Red Ken steered me to a leather sofa while we waited for Dex. We watched as he deposited the bags with the women in the foyer. ‘You know, this place is filled with so many obnoxious, incompetent fuckers, especially in senior positions. Back in the UK they wouldn’t last ten minutes behind the counter at McDonald’s, let alone in management.’

Dex waited for a tip. The sun-drieds ignored him.

Red Ken was living up to his name – come the revolution and all that. ‘I bet those two have maids like everyone else here, running round doing everything but wipe their arses. They used to be Filipinos, but now it’s Somalian girls. These people get a maid and they have total power over her. They keep her passport, even though it’s illegal. They decide what to pay her, and even when she can have a break or a day off.

‘Chrissie hated the way they were treated. Some of the Brit girls used to get on to her. They said she was too soft with the two girls who ran the house, setting a bad example by not treating them like shit.’

Dex walked away empty-handed but smiling. I realized he was singing. ‘“Jolly boating weather…”’ His Indian-waiter accent was outrageous. ‘“And a hay harvest breeze…”’

The Romford Two were sure he was taking the piss but they didn’t know how.

Red Ken picked up his set and handed Dex his. ‘You finished? Can we go and get on?’

Dex grinned and carried on singing. ‘“Swing, swing together…”’

I followed them outside. We sat in the shade to put on our spiky shoes. As soon as we headed back out into the sun, I could see four buggies waiting for us. In one of them sat an egg-shaped guy, his little white legs dangling just above the buggy floor. His short-sleeved white shirt bulged above his smartly pressed red chino shorts and knee-length white socks.

‘Spag.’ Dex beamed. ‘How are you, old chap?’

I tried not to look surprised.

Spag stayed under the canopy but a fat and hairy hand stretched out for mine as Dex and Red Ken loaded the clubs into the other three buggies. I clasped his stumpy sausage fingers.

‘You look well, Nick.’

The same couldn’t be said for him. The face under the peak of the cap had had too many visits to the food hall, and its owner had spent far too long sat on his arse. I couldn’t see the eyes behind the dark lenses but I liked to think they were bloodshot. He still wore his seventies porn-star moustache, but like the hair growing out of his ears, it was greyer.

He let go of my hand and put his foot on the pedal. We followed and drew up at the first tee. Spag climbed out, pressed a blue tee into the grass and a ball on top. By the time he stood up again his face was red and sweating.

The other two were out of their wagons, staying out of range of his swing.

Red Ken nodded at me. ‘We knew you’d be pleased.’

Dex watched with a hand over his eyes, waiting to see where this ball was going to end up.

Spag took a practice swing. ‘We’ve got a good tee-off time here. Nobody up our asses, listening in.’ His club went back and whacked the ball. I lost sight of it in the low sun.

‘Me next.’ Dex selected a club and approached the tee. His whiter-than-white teeth gleamed as he grinned at me. ‘It’s a small world, isn’t it?’

The whack as his club hit the ball sounded more solid than Spag’s had.

As Red Ken took his practice swing, Spag came and stood next to me. ‘Damn shame about Tennyson. Goddam Taliban, we should nuke ’em back to the Stone Age.’

I nodded to keep him talking.

‘These guys wanted you on the job all along, you know – like getting the old band together. But nobody knew where to find you. Maybe Tenny getting killed was kind of a blessing.’

I looked down at him. I couldn’t see his face past the peak of his cap. ‘I doubt he’d see it that way. How did you find them?’

‘Right here, on this course. Red was working here at the time. Then I tracked him down in the UK. I need guys I know, who won’t sink under pressure. You still one of those guys, Nick?’ He kept his eyes on Red Ken as he twisted his body, following the imaginary line his ball was going to take. He was waiting for an answer but I wasn’t going to play his game.

‘I need people who I know trust each other and know what they’re doing – and more than that, who are mission-oriented. Nothing will get in the way of the mission.’ Spag shooed away an invisible fly. He still wasn’t getting an answer. Fuck him.

‘Why aren’t you on the ground with us?’

His laugh rang out a split second before Red Ken’s club connected. The ball flew off at an angle.

‘Bollocks!’ Red Ken glared at him, but Spag was oblivious.

‘Once out with you guys was enough.’ The roar of an aircraft taking off just a K away drowned even the hum of traffic on the freeway. He had to raise his voice. ‘That’s for people like you. Like Red’s burger theory – I’m a facilitator, I make things happen. You’re the burgers and I’m, like, a tender sirloin.’

‘How did you find out about the gold?’

‘Kinda when Saddam got captured and interrogated.’ He slapped my back with a smile. ‘But that’s history now. Today we start making the future the way we want it to be.’

‘So how does that happen? Where does the gold go? You got the plane – that means there’s others involved. Why don’t we know about them?’

Once we lifted the gold we were taking it to an airstrip equidistant between Dubai and Abu Dhabi, used by both cities’ VIPs. Aircraft could come and go without their famous or infamous passengers getting noticed, which wouldn’t have been the case at the two cities’ main airports.

There were others involved, of course, and he wouldn’t tell Red Ken and Dex about them. It worried me that they didn’t seem to care.

Spag looked at me through his gigs; no expression and no answers.

‘Who’s buying the gold?’

He displayed a set of nicotine-stained teeth. ‘Know what? Red said you weren’t that happy about the deal. But you’re asking a lot of questions you don’t need to know the answers to. That kinda gives me the shakes, Nick.’

‘I like to know what I’m getting involved with, that’s all.’

‘If you need to know anything, go ask Red.’ He nodded over towards the tee. ‘It’s waiting.’

Dex laughed at me as I sort of lined up my shot. The only time I’d hit a golf ball before, it had involved getting it through a windmill and into a clown’s mouth. It flew way off to the left into a patch of wasteground. It made even Red Ken’s look good.

Dex was loving it. ‘Maybe your handicap should be thirty balls, not thirty strokes.’

Spag put his club into his bag and manoeuvred his fat frame into the buggy. ‘Fuck it, who cares? It gets us moving and out of earshot. I’ve got plenty of balls, we’ll just throw one out for him.’