Andy McNab - Exit wound

The two shirts emerged. Checked was on his mobile, waving his free hand like a madman. White bollocked the driver, as if it was his fault they’d lost me.

They jumped into the car and took off, and I joined the taxi queue.

Last light

I went straight into the toilet block without hanging about. Dex was lifting the Tata. Red Ken would meet me opposite the construction site to back him if things went tits up. A guy in dishdash and sandals bent over the sink, a finger blocking each nostril in turn while he snorted snot from the other into a trickle of water. I headed for one of the cubicles. Glossy marble and stainless steel it wasn’t, and the smell was indescribable.

With my feet on the porcelain pads each side of the hole, I fished my docs and cash out of the dark blue Rohan trousers I’d chosen to match my long-sleeved shirt. They were wrapped in a hotel laundry bag. As soon as the snorter had left the block, I moved out and reached up to the ledge. My fingers found two more sets of docs up there, and the weapons gone. This was our final RV. We stored our means of escape here so we could go into the job sterile. All I had on me now was about six hundred dollars of on-the-run money.

It didn’t matter what I felt about the job now. It was happening. If I let myself think too much about what might go wrong, I’d end up paralysed.

I retraced my steps through the subway towards the Creek. I turned right as I came out, following exactly the same route as yesterday. Dhows were still tied up along the pavement, half a dozen deep. The Indian lads were still working their arses off in the dark.

I chose the ill-lit side of the road. As soon as the construction-site floodlights came into view I waited for a break in the traffic and crossed back.

Red Ken stood in the shadows by a massive set of roll shutters set into the wall of the fire station, fishing in his day-sack with rubber-gloved hands. ‘All right, son?’

I gave him a nod as I put on my surgical gloves and slipped the head-torch around my neck.

‘Here.’ He handed me a Taurus, a Brazilian version of the Colt. 8 Special. ‘It’s loaded.’ He pressed a speed loader into my palm. ‘Spare.’

I checked it. When I needed to reload, I would open the Taurus’s cylinder, push the bar, and the six empty cases would fall out. The speed loader had six rounds ready to drop into the chamber. All I had to do was press a button and the rounds would drop into position. I’d close the cylinder again and carry on firing. I slid the speed loader into a pocket in my Rohans and the weapon into my waistband. If we needed more than twelve rounds each to get out of the shit, we were really in it.

The lads hanging around by the main gate of the construction site didn’t look like they’d moved an inch since last night. The one in the guard hut was still watching something loud from Bollywood. Everyone else was busy brewing up.

Dex had been standing off somewhere in the darkness, keeping a trigger on Red Ken, waiting for me to arrive. Within the minute, he walked past us without a second glance. He looked like he’d done his clothes shopping in a skip instead of a street market. His short-sleeved shirt was ripped and the brown trousers held up with a plastic belt were caked with dust. His sandals slapped along the pavement. He smelt rancid from ten paces. He’d prepared well. Smells count.

Dex disappeared into the site.

I checked we were still in shadow, and spotted the sign above our heads. The building we were standing outside wasn’t just a fire station – it was also the police station and HQ for Civil Defence.

Red Ken saw me reading it. ‘Nobody said it would be easy, son.’

As if on cue, there was a blip of a siren and two green-and-whites pulled out of a side road. The police the other side of the tinted glass didn’t give us a second glance before turning right and speeding off down the main.

A Tata truck that had seen better days trundled out of the construction site. Not a single head turned as it nosed through the gate.

Red Ken and I started walking. The Tata pulled in about a hundred metres further down the road. A crane was mounted behind the cab, and a thick steel cable was attached to a chunky hook. Ten metres or so of webbing straps were wrapped around the mesh screen protecting the rear window.

I opened the door and eased myself into the footwell. Dex stared straight ahead. Red Ken came in on top of me, trying to lie flat on the passenger seat. His day-sack dug into my back as he passed Dex his revolver and speed loader. ‘It’s loaded.’

I concentrated on not fucking up the wiring that dangled beneath the steering column. Dex had rigged it up to get this thing started.

We stopped at a set of lights, which glowed red on Dex’s face. He wiggled his surgical-gloved fingers. ‘Man, rubber gloves and Tata in perfect harmony.’

It stank like a derelict house down there in the footwell. The rubber mats had worn through to bare metal, and there was a thick coating of sand.

Dex gave us a running commentary from the driver’s seat. If the shit hit the fan we needed to know exactly what was happening and where. ‘That’s us about to go into the tunnel.’ Everything went dark. Strip-lights flickered. ‘Coming out.’

All I could see was skyscrapers that blocked out the stars.

‘Approaching traffic-lights… looks like they’re going to be red…’ He sounded like a bad ventriloquist. He didn’t want other drivers to see him talking to himself.

‘That’s all the traffic in front slowing… slowing… lights are red. There’s a very nice Maserati down there, with a very beautiful woman… short skirt, lads… I can’t believe it, she’s not even looking up at me…’

‘Show her a picture of your castle, son.’

‘Lights changing, lights to green…’

The Tata shuddered before we moved on.

‘Nearly there, chaps.’

My right leg was cramping up. I had to get it straight. ‘Red – got to move, mate.’

He wasn’t impressed. ‘For fuck’s sake.’ I was treated to a cloud of cigarette breath.

My face ended up just a couple of centimetres from Dex’s flip-flops as he worked the pedals. They’d come from a skip as well.

He rumbled along, not speeding, but bumping around to keep his place in the freeway chaos.

I got cramp again. If a job kicks off well, the rest of it seems to flow. If it judders out of the blocks, it often turns into a nightmare.

‘Two hundred to go before our first stop.’

Air rushed through the open window and I caught a glimpse of streetlights. There was a bump and then darkness, like someone had thrown a switch.

‘Let’s see who’s with us, shall we?’ Dex checked the vehicles that had no choice now but to pass us. ‘So far, so good, chaps. No Toyota or Mazda, no one turning off, staking out, or even giving us a second look.’

The Tata shook itself like a wet dog and moved forward once more.

‘“Swing, swing to-ge-ther… With your bo-dies be-tween your knees…”’

For the next ten minutes we had to put up with his favourite chorus in between snatches of commentary.

‘Here we go, up the kerb.’

We’d reached our final stop and check. We bumped up onto the rough ground surrounding the target. The sky went dark and we came to a halt. The engine ticked over as Dex let the traffic zoom past.

‘No vehicles that came past last time.’ He gave it another thirty seconds. ‘That’s it, we’re clear. No one following and I have no movement or light on target.’ He killed the headlights.

Red Ken gave me room to stretch. ‘OK, that’s it. Let’s switch on.’