Andy McNab - Exit wound

They both stopped eating and listened. ‘Does he have nightmares – you know, shout out in his sleep?’

Aisha stifled a sob, which I took as a yes. ‘It’s OK, he can be helped. Your dad needs treatment.’

Ali comforted her as she cried into his shoulder. I tried to lighten it up a bit. ‘Even the great Satan has a general who suffers from it because of his time in Iraq. Can you imagine that?’

Aisha pulled herself off Ali, her hair now pasted to her face. ‘How do we help him? What does the American general’s family do?’

It was a tough one. I wasn’t sure Iran was known for its mental-health record. ‘He needs to see someone who can treat psychiatric conditions, someone who understands what he’s going through and knows how to help. Tell them you think he may have PTSD – look it up online. He doesn’t have to be like this.’

Wednesday, 6 May

0555 hrs

The muezzin had sounded like he was right outside my window when he started calling the faithful to prayer half an hour ago. I’d spent the night on the floor in Ali’s room. I didn’t get much sleep. His dad woke me several times as he cried into his sheets. Aisha had plodded past our door to tend him.

Ali was in the kitchen. Incredibly, he looked as bright as a button. Maybe it was the thought of going to Air Geek City. ‘Would you like something to eat, Jim?’ He was tucking into a pitta-bread sandwich that had bits of salad hanging out of it.

I nodded away and looked for a kettle or teapot. Ali got the idea. ‘ Chay ? Or ghahve ?’

‘ Ghahve would be great.’

Ali poured some into a cup while I threw some goat’s cheese and lettuce into some bread.

Aisha walked in. She had never got out of her jeans and Bono T-shirt, and her hair didn’t look so perfect after her intensive-care night-shift. She acknowledged me with a nod, then spoke to Ali in Farsi as she poured herself a coffee as well.

Ali picked up another cup and followed suit. ‘I will go and check on Father.’

When he’d left the room, she placed the fifteen hundred dollars on the table in front of me. I gave my full attention to the remains of my sandwich. ‘Mr Manley – thank you, but we do not need charity.’

‘It’s payment for your brother’s pictures and the time I’ve spent with him. He drove me from the airport and he’s driving me for the next two days. Thinking about it, maybe it isn’t enough.’

She cupped her mug with both hands and brought it up to hide her smile. She slowly shook her head. ‘You know it is a small fortune. And now I am embarrassed.’ She took a sip then pulled a pack of Camel from her pocket. She offered me one.

My turn to shake my head. ‘The money is yours. He’s earned it.’

I pushed the notes back at her but she focused on lighting her cigarette. She took the smoke down deep. ‘Thank you for explaining about my father. I have been online most of the night. I think I have found someone who understands these things, a doctor at the university.’

‘That’s great, Aisha. I’m sure everything will work out.’ There must have been millions here suffering after that war. No wonder the place had become Heroin Central.

Aisha sank into one of the three knackered wooden chairs, her cigarette held high so I didn’t get a face full of it as I sat down opposite her. I watched her as I sipped my coffee, so sweet it was almost sticky. There was a lot more going on in that head of hers.

‘Ali…’ She finally broke the silence. ‘He is a dreamer. He always has been. He idolizes his father. They have a special bond. Ali does not think about himself, so I have to, Mr Manley. You know, if he could ask for any job, any job in the world, it would be yours. Do you really think you will be able to get him work from your magazine?’

I hated this part of the job when it involved real people. But it had to be done. I still needed Ali. ‘I can’t promise anything. I have to talk to my editor. But, yes, of course. I think he’d be excellent.’

‘I understand, but please do that, Mr Manley. And maybe ask him if Ali could come to England and work. That would be good, wouldn’t it?’

‘But what about you and your dad?’

She blew another cloud of smoke into the air and showed me her wrist. ‘Do you know what this means?’

I nodded.

‘I will work with the party to bring reform to our country, Mr Manley, our green movement, our green revolution. Looking after my father will be easy compared to looking after my country. Ahmadinejad will win no matter how many votes he gets, and that means there will be blood on the streets after the election.’

She took another drag and picked some tobacco from her lips. She spent more time than was necessary removing it from her fingertip.

‘We students, the young, we need to show our people that we can change, but still be a Muslim country. I do not know if our green revolution will end like the Berlin Wall coming down, or with a slaughter like Tiananmen Square.’

She drank and then smoked, her eyes burning into mine so I understood the seriousness of what she was saying.

‘But it is a struggle that I do not want Ali to be part of. He deserves better. I am going to make sure he gets it.’

Ali was coming back down the corridor.

As if I didn’t feel enough of an arsehole already, she pushed the money back at me. ‘Here is his airfare. Please, look after him, won’t you?’

He reappeared with an empty cup and a big smile as I shoved the notes into my pocket.

‘We should leave now, Jim.’

‘Can you get me a mobile in the market? You know, just a cheap pay-as-you-go?’

It was too early for any but the local press to be up and about, and I was able to take my pick of the desktops in the media centre. I worked quickly. Nobody paid me any attention. There was no sign of Majid. I had left $3,500 in the drawer next to the Naloxone, somewhere they were sure to find it. I’d been hoping it would make me feel better about bullshitting Ali and Aisha, but it hadn’t. In fact, it had made me feel worse. They were real people, who deserved much better than crossing paths with the likes of me.

I’d kept the last $1,500 for myself. I wasn’t out of the country yet and might need some in-the-shit money. The cash would still come in useful in Dubai. I planned to stay there a while. There was a Suburban at the airport that needed attention.

I opened up the file and hit the email option. I typed in my editor’s address, shoved in the USB stick Ali had downloaded the pictures onto, attached them along with some others to disguise them a bit, and hit send.

Then I dragged the mobile out of my sock and went just outside the door to get a signal from whoever’s satellite was up there. The two bars were enough for a call to my editor.

‘Morning, mate. I’ve sent some photos for the next edition. Can you text me to say you’ve got them?’

It was four and a half hours earlier where he was but Julian was a very happy boy.

‘Will do. Any movement on Altun? Found out where he lives, his contacts – anything?’

I could hear him rushing about now, probably heading for his computer. It was OK for him to use clear speech as he didn’t have bodies walking past every couple of seconds.

‘Not yet, but working on it. Soon as I have anything for you, I’ll call.’

‘Excellent.’

Behind me, just inside the door, I was aware of an argument kicking off.

‘All right, mate, see you soon.’

I cut the call and turned to see the big German guy in the jungle hat leaning over the reception desk, clutching a steaming cup of whatever and having a go at the girl about the milk. Our eyes met and he wandered through the door. ‘Morning.’ He checked my badge. ‘James.’ He held out a tanned hand.