Andy McNab - Zero hour

The security technology was based on encryption algorithms as well as a user/device authentication process, the Tefalhead explained. I could pretty much grasp that. But I got lost when he started talking ciphers and 128-bit block sizes.

'Your BlackBerry uses these algorithms simultaneously as well as a 4096-bit Diffie-Hellman shared secret exchange to authenticate each call/device/user, in order to provide multiple layers of security and an effective fall-back inside the crypto-system design.'

I'd nodded enthusiastically and his face lit up. 'So, to recap… I press the app icon if I want secure speech. When a call comes in I wait for the app to give me the go-ahead, and both sides can talk in real time?' I can't have been the brightest pupil he'd ever had.

I took another sip and looked around. Moldova might be in shit state but at least they were trying to get out of their hole. Most of the arrivals coming in from other flights were suited. Most of the guys with wheelies and mobiles stuck to their faces gobbed off in Russian, but I picked out a few European and American voices. A couple of the local papers sitting in the newsstands were English editions. They'd binned visas for people like me and I didn't even have to show a return ticket. Anything to get new money into the country. But for all that, the staff still mooched about like throwbacks to the old order. They'd brightened up the buildings and forgotten to refurbish the employees.

At long last the Moscow flight flagged up as landed. It was show time. I suddenly worried that I should have cleaned myself up a bit in the last five and a half hours.

I got up and walked over to the sliding doors that stood between Customs and the arrivals hall. I knew she'd be one of the first out. Like me, she travelled light. The rest she'd buy when she needed it.

I felt my stomach flutter. At first I tried to blame it on the drugs. But I couldn't escape the fact that I was excited – for the first time in as long as I could remember.

Then the real world kicked in. She'd agreed to come when I'd finally got round to phoning her, but only after I'd waffled and begged and lied about needing her help with a K and R. Perhaps she was only here to find yet another poor girl ripped out of her world, drugged up, beaten and fucked on the other side of the planet. That was the sort of thing that made Anna get up in the morning. I just happened to be along for the ride.

As the first wave of wheelie bags swept past, I almost had to stand on tiptoe to look beyond them. The doors half closed, then pulled back again to reveal a blonde in a black woollen coat, with a haircut that looked like a German helmet.

I locked on to her eyes but she seemed to look right through me.

I tried to read her expression as she came through into the hall. She scanned the faces beyond the barrier, trailing a wheelie behind her. When she finally spotted me, there was no instant smile or greeting.

I blurted out the first thing that came into what was left of my head. 'You've had your hair cut.'

'I thought I'd ring the changes. More practical for my next job. Well, the one I was going to take.'

She'd been approached by CNN to cover women's issues following the rise of Islamic fundamentalism in some of the former Soviet republics. She knew the subject matter and this part of the world like the back of her hand. CNN must have liked the hairdo: they'd granted her a two-month deferment.

She let go of her wheelie and it toppled over. She left it where it was, finally treated me to the smile I was hoping for, and ran the last four or five paces towards me. She threw out her arms, wrapped them around me and held me tight. I did the same. I really couldn't get enough of this girl.

Her hair brushed the side of my face. 'Mmm… Nice smell.' I took in another lungful of Bulgari. I'd bought her some in London during her last visit.

She moved her head a little so she could get her mouth closer to my ear. 'I love it.' She kissed me on the cheek. 'You know what, you idiot? I missed you…'

The pain in my head leaked away, along with the tension in my shoulder muscles. Anna's perfume was more effective than any number of Kleinmann's Smarties. I hadn't been able to gauge her mood on the phone. She'd immediately offered to help, but didn't overcook things on the emotional front. I understood that. I was the same. Unlike me, she wanted to save the world. Maybe you could only do that if you kept yourself just detached enough from it to stop all the shit stuff swallowing you up.

On past performance, I knew that anyone I got involved with wouldn't stick around too long. Now I also realized that a tiny part of me hoped she might be able to save me too – or at least give me the chance to avoid flushing the last couple of months of my life down the toilet as well as the rest.

She took half a step back and gave me a long, hard look. 'You have the picture for me?'

I righted her wheelie and she took my arm as we walked towards the coffee shop. I opened up my secure BlackBerry and clicked on the blow-up of Lilian. I left her studying the image at the square plastic table as I went and bought more Nescafe instants with hot, sweet milk. They cost twenty lei each, but the woman was more than happy with a couple of dollar bills. Hard currency still said more about you than the local stuff ever could.

Anna's eyes were still fixed on the screen when I came back to the table. 'Does Julian know I'm here?'

'What he doesn't know won't hurt him. And it won't hurt us.'

She turned the BlackBerry screen towards me. 'She's very pretty, beneath all that anger. Trafficking has to be the strongest possibility.'

'But she binned her Facebook account before she went AWOL. And she's a uni girl, switched on, not some pointy-head from the sticks who'll fall for the nearest scam.'

Anna smiled like a mother whose kid has just said something naive. 'You know nothing about this country and its people until you understand about trafficking. I'll take you to see someone who will help you understand.'

'Have you ever come across the name Hector Tarasov? He's her father. He has a factory in Transnistria. A factory with a tank outside.'

She shook her head and reached into her coat pocket for her iPhone. 'I can Google-'

'No need, mate. I've already had a look. Nothing. It doesn't matter, just background.'

She sat back, not touching her brew, and tilted her head to one side, studying me.

'What?'

'I'm still trying to work out why you're here, Nicholas.' She'd started calling me that recently – told me I deserved all three syllables, especially now I'd got a penthouse and a Porsche. I knew she was taking the piss, but I rather liked it. 'You should be enjoying your life. You have no more reason to do this sort of work.'

I thought we were made of the same stuff: she wasn't going to hang up her Crusader's shield any time soon. I was surprised she felt the money might have changed things for me. 'I am enjoying my life. But I don't want to just fade away.' I laughed slightly uneasily. 'I want to die with my boots on.'

She gave me a puzzled look. 'I know you've taken some punishment over the years, but you should be able to survive a straightforward K and R job…'

I took another sip of coffee and decided that eight cups was already more than enough. I couldn't quite bring myself to look her in the eye.

'Except that this isn't a K and R job, is it, Nicholas? When have you ever been involved in the commercial world?'

I'd known it wouldn't be long before she rumbled that one. Recovering kidnap victims is quite a business. If the victim is recovered alive, you can cop a percentage of the premium that would have been paid out by the underwriters in the event of a death, or on any ransom demand. It wasn't entirely risk free, but Anna was right – it was a long way from being on the receiving end of an RPG.