Andy McNab: Exit wound

He laughed. ‘They hate everyone, lad. You want a lift up to the do?’

We’d reached the road. Red Ken pressed a key fob and the indicators flashed on a long silver Merc.

‘Whoa, you haven’t done badly!’

He grinned as he opened the passenger door for me. ‘Better than most. Still way behind Tenny, of course.’

I nodded. ‘But he never made prime minister.’

‘He still owes us our fucking peerages.’ He waved to a couple of lads who recognized him, threw away his half-smoked B amp;H and opened the driver’s door. He got in and played about with his seatbelt.

We nudged into the traffic as the one big wiper silently removed the rain. I sank back into a world of black leather. The Premiership player in the dark grey suit was standing back from the crowd, watching the Merc disappear. ‘How’re Chrissie and the girls, Red?’

He concentrated for a moment on the road as we wove through groups of mourners wandering oblivious to the traffic because they were too busy waffling to the mates they hadn’t seen since the last funeral they’d all been to.

Finally he shook his head. ‘She binned me. The youngest is in the States. The other married a hairdresser and fucked off to Australia. Can’t blame them. Fuck-all left in Brown’s Britain, is there?’ He continued before I could even draw breath, keen to change the subject. Fair one. ‘What about you? Remarried? Kids?’

‘Nah.’

‘So it’s just you on your own, is it? Nicky No-mates-and-no-money?’

I smiled. ‘Yep, just me. Who’s the woman?’

‘In the sun-gigs? Cinza. Not a clue why she’s with him. Maybe she saw him in his running shorts. She works in London for some Italian fashion mag.’

The one-way system was blocked. It would have been quicker to walk. The Merc finally glided into the car park opposite the drill hall.

‘What do you do, Ken? How do I get one of these?’

We climbed out into the drizzle and jogged towards the queue at the open door of the nineteenth-century Territorial Army building.

He grinned. ‘Same as you – this and that.’

‘Must be a better bit of this and that than I’ve been fucking about with. I’ve been on the circuit now and again, daily rates.’

‘Still got your house?’

I shook my head. ‘Renting – a studio flat in north London, near Tufnell Park.’

He slapped me on the back. ‘There’s fuck-all wrong with you, is there? You need to sort yourself out, mate. Get a roof over your head and a good woman under you.’

We filed in. The bar was doing a roaring trade. The bowls of peanuts on the veneered tables were already nearly empty.

‘There they are.’

Dex and Cinza were standing by a table on which sat two fresh pints, and Cinza was clearly trying to work out what the hell was happening – why all these people were drinking and shovelling peanuts down their necks like there was no tomorrow.

Dex put down his G-and-T and held out the two pints. ‘Here you go, chaps.’ He toasted each of us with a clink of his glass and then presented his friend. ‘Nick, I’d like you to meet Cinza.’

I raised my glass. ‘Hello.’

Cinza had a mineral water in her perfectly manicured hand. ‘Now I have met two of your friends, Dexter.’ Her accent was as cut-glass as Dex’s – and about as sincere as the Queen’s. ‘Shall we go soon? I have a dinner this evening and-’

‘No, Chinni – three.’ Dex lifted his glass. ‘To Tennyson.’

We toasted him, but there wasn’t even enough time to get my glass back on the table and my fist around what was left of the peanuts before Cinza started having words with Dex about their travel arrangements.

Red Ken leant towards me. ‘Tenny was getting out after this, you know. He got zapped the last week of his tour. Nightmare, eh?’

‘I always thought he’d be in until they kicked him out or carried him out.’

Dex had been chewing the slice of lemon from his glass during the negotiations. Cinza finally lost patience and got on her mobile. He turned to us. ‘Actually, we persuaded him to come in on a little venture of ours instead.’ He turned back and interrupted her call. ‘Chinni, darling, I’ll drive you back in plenty of time. Just a while longer to talk to old friends.’ He kissed her cheek as she waffled away in Italian, then turned and winked at us. ‘She’ll be fine. So hot-blooded!’

She certainly was. As she closed down her mobile she stormed off in the direction of the door, with Dex trailing behind. ‘Darling, just a few more minutes…’

Red Ken took a gulp of Stella, then stopped halfway and watched how the men in her path reacted. It was like the parting of the Red Sea; their eyes followed her every move. He lowered his glass and wiped the sides of his mouth with his finger. ‘We all did our time, lad, and what have we got to show for it, eh? Fuck-all, apart from a regimental tie or a padded coffin. Once you’re dead or out, who gives a shit about you? So fuck ’em, I say. Steak for them, burgers for the likes of us – I’ve had enough of it. Time to have some of the prime beef for ourselves. The same goes for Dex – and the same went for Tenny too. He only stayed in because he had to provide for the girls. Old soldiers just fade away? My arse – we have plans.’

‘Plans?’

‘Can’t tell you, son, unless you come in. I’m glad you’re here – me and Dex were hoping. The three of us had kept in touch.’ He smiled. ‘Not like you, you shite. We need a third man now Tenny’s gone.’

Dex reappeared, a little out of breath and with one cheek even darker than usual. ‘She loves me really – I think.’ Cinza had obviously treated him to a good slapping. He palmed the small beads of sweat from his shaved head. ‘I’ll call her tomorrow.’

Red Ken tutted like a disapproving dad. ‘Loves you? You only met her yesterday. Fucking soft in the head, lad, you.’

Dex couldn’t disagree.

‘I asked Nick here if he fancies coming in as our number three.’

Dex slapped me on the shoulder with one hand as the other reached for his drink. ‘Would you like to take Tenny’s place in our little wheeze?’

I checked Dex and Red Ken. They waited, glasses in hand. ‘Wheeze?’

Red Ken glanced round the room. ‘We can’t be talking about anything here. You going back to that squat of yours in Tufnell Park? How you travelling?’

‘Train.’

‘Come with us.’ Red Ken jerked his head at Dex, who had started singing along with the jukebox. ‘He’ll be coming too, now he’s lost his lift.’

I followed the two of them through the door. ‘As long as Dex ain’t driving.’

We were soon heading south towards Peterborough and onto the A1. Dex was at the wheel. I should have kept my mouth shut. He was driving like a lunatic, of course, as if this thing had wings instead of wheels. Red Ken and I were both strapped in at the back. I kept my attention firmly fixed on the traffic in front of us, catching Dex’s eye in the rear-view from time to time. He was smiling away to himself, head bouncing from side to side as he hummed a tune.

Red Ken also had his eyes riveted to the windscreen, ready to adopt the position when Dex finally achieved his death wish. ‘Let’s kick this off, then, shall we, lads?’

Dex nodded and grunted. Or maybe he was rapping – it was hard to tell.

‘This is what we’ve got, Nick. We’re going to steal a shed-load of gold. I’ll tell you where from once you say you’re in. Don’t worry, it’s not a bank, more like a warehouse. We’ve checked it out. We know we can make entry, and have a good route out.’

‘How much of a shed-load?’

Dex turned his head round just a little too much for my liking as the speedometer nudged ninety-five on the dual carriageway. ‘Three metric tonnes – but two tonnes of that is structure. It ends up as a thousand kilograms of the yellow stuff.’