Andy McNab: Exit wound

Our biggest weapon was secrecy. No one knew where we were, apart from those who absolutely had to. The KGB and the Stasi had no reason to be out here, sliding around in the shit. And if they were waiting to round us up with dogs and AKs, we were sterile.

Dex stayed in the cockpit. He tended to stick out in this part of the world. He’d be pissed off that he’d had to close down the engines. It was good for security, but bad for us all if he couldn’t get them restarted. That was how he’d got caught last time. He’d ended up being traded for a couple of newspapermen caught spying for the East.

The RAF rule was that he should have taken off again and come back in when Tenny called for a pickup. But Dex didn’t like doing that. He never had. He said it made him feel like he was running away.

Apart from the gentle whispers between Red Ken and the contact, it was quiet.

Red Ken’s German was far better than mine, but that wasn’t saying much. I was still at eighteen-year-old-squaddie level. ‘ Pommes frites… Bier… Taxi…’ was pretty much my limit, with the occasional ‘ danke ’ and ‘ bitte ’ thrown in. If anything else I wanted wasn’t on display – so I could point at it and shout – I had to go hungry.

Spag stormed up to them, both hands still gripping the bag. ‘Shouldn’t we get moving?’

Tenny carried on checking comms. He’d send Dex a sitrep when we were at the meet, and another as we left. If we didn’t report in, it meant a drama at our end. If he didn’t acknowledge, it meant one at his.

I moved closer to the group. The contact was in his fifties. He ignored Spag. He dug in the pockets of his leather overcoat and pulled out a pack of F6.

Red Ken waved a hand. ‘ Nein, nein .’ He flipped open his day-sack and dug out one of the mysterious rectangular packages, a carton of Benson amp; Hedges.

The contact beamed as he ran his fingers along the cellophane. When Red Ken threw in a cheap disposable lighter, his early Christmas was complete.

It was too much for Spag. ‘Jee-sus, let’s get going here! We stopping for tea and cucumber sandwiches, or what?’

Red Ken was close to decking him. ‘We’ll go when we’re good and ready.’

Tenny stepped between them. ‘We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for this guy. If he wants to wait and smoke, that’s what we do.’

He shook the contact’s hand, triggering another stream of waffle. Tenny nodded. His German was excellent too.

‘We have to hold back a while. We have to give Vladislav time to make the RV. He wants to be there before us to check it out. And he has something he needs to discuss with Red before we move.’

Spag wasn’t having any of it. ‘Fuck him. He’ll be history when this whole pile of crap collapses.’

Red Ken offered the contact a cigarette from his own pack and they both lit up. Both drew deeply to help their creases along. The tips glowed and the smoke mingled with our breath. Red Ken glared at the American. He wasn’t playing. He showed every sign of being prepared to stand there until they’d smoked the whole carton.

Spag spun on his heel and stormed back to the aircraft.

I stood alongside Tenny as the other two kippered their lungs. My eyes were constantly on the move, checking for lights or other giveaways.

Tenny checked his day-sack was secure. ‘You still coming to the wedding?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

Even with his hair, Tenny had managed to trap the most beautiful woman on the planet. I was sure she’d been designed in a test tube. She was smart and funny too, a teacher at the girls’ prep school in Hereford. I was more than a little jealous of the great life he had ahead of him.

‘I’ve been thinking about going back to the Green Jackets after this tour. Janice and I are going for kids ASAP. I want to see them grow up, be a proper dad instead of spending years away. What do you reckon, Nick?’

I hesitated. I might have shared food, sleeping-bags and even body lice with him, but I was the last person to ask about family stuff. ‘Don’t know, mate. Big decision. They offering a commission?’

The day-sack was secure and he hauled it back over his shoulders. ‘Yep, seems like a good deal. Stay in, but still get to be a family man. Well, as much as you can, eh?’

I nodded as if I knew. ‘I’d go for it, mate. You’ll be a general by the time I get within reach of sergeant. I’ll be your driver if you want.’

The other two finished their cigarettes. Red Ken picked up the butts and put them in a pocket of his day-sack. ‘Right, let’s get on with it.’

Tenny grabbed Spag and we crunched across the field towards the contact’s vehicle.

‘Listen in.’ Red Ken walked backwards so we could hear him clearly. ‘Stasi have been sniffing around this guy. They know something’s happening. Normally they want a kickback on the cash – or they have something to sell. They didn’t offer him anything, so let’s keep switched on.’

Spag bristled. ‘You saying we got trouble? You saying we shouldn’t even get in the vehicle with this fuck?’

Tenny cut in before Red Ken exercised any more of his diplomatic skills. ‘We’re here because of you. It’s you we’re taking to Vladislav. If you don’t want to go, that’s OK. Give us the cash and go back and wait in the plane.’

The Americans were buying the guidance system. We were only there because the deal was happening in Brixmis TAOR (tactical area of responsibility).

Spag gripped the bag as if it was his child. ‘I’m not leaving this goddam money with anyone.’

‘So our task is still to connect you with Vladislav. If our assessment is that we get in the vehicle, we get in the vehicle.’

We’d arrived alongside the most knackered Gaz van left in the Eastern bloc. It was trying its hardest to be a VW Camper, but looked more like a flat-pack wardrobe I’d once tried to put together without the instructions.

Red Ken and the contact jumped in the front. I got in behind with Spag. Tenny took the back row.

The windows were steamed up and cracked. It actually felt colder inside than out. It smelt like the old boy kept chickens in it. I pulled my beanie down over my eyes, put my hands in my pockets, and curled up as best I could on the ripped vinyl.

The drive along the pot-holed road was as bumpy as the landing had been.

Spag blew into his cupped hands. ‘How long till we get there? What are we going to do when we arrive?’

Nobody answered.

‘Red?’

Silence.

‘I demand to know what’s happening, goddammit.’

Red Ken finally turned in his seat. His head and shoulders were wreathed in smoke. ‘Another twenty minutes.’

Spag glared out of the window. He was way beyond his comfort zone. I’d have preferred to be tucked up in his warm office in the US embassy, too.

The contact muttered something and he hit the brake.

It got the American flapping big-time. ‘Jee-sus, what the fuck-’

Red Ken raised his hand. ‘Shut up. Nick, Tenny – stand by. Spag, you’d better get your head in gear and keep your gob shut.’

Through the misted-up windscreen, all I could see was the strobe of blue lights.

Spag had his head in gear, but it was the wrong one. ‘Why are we still driving towards it? Why aren’t we in reverse?’

Red Ken ignored him. All his attention was fixed on the road ahead.

It wasn’t a marked police car but a bog-standard Wartburg with a blue light on its roof. The front was tilted off the ground like they’d driven up an inspection ramp. The two lads flagging us down were dressed for winter. Both had big furry Russian hats. One was in a three-quarter-length sheepskin, the other in a long leather trench coat. Their street shoes were up to the ankles in mud, which was probably why they looked so pissed off.