Andy McNab - Zero hour

The girl's bloodstained face was rounder and younger than the image I had of Lilian. Much younger. She took a couple more slaps to the head to make her work harder.

A million years of training told me there was nothing I could do. I couldn't intervene. Bad things happen. This shit went on a million times a day, all over the world. I was here for a job. I wasn't the UN. I needed to let this run its course. Four guys here raping this girl meant four fewer guarding Lilian. I needed to stop fucking around and get back to the silo.

But there was another voice in my head. Anna's voice. What about this girl? What about her parents, her sisters, her brothers? How would you feel if this was happening to someone you cared for, if this was happening to me?

I looked round for something heavier than the mallet. A bit of scaffolding would have come in handy. A wheel-brace, maybe…

Then I checked myself. What family? Every scrap of experience and years of fucking up screamed at me: I had to let this one go.

I turned and headed back the way I'd come. I'd have to pull my finger out if I wanted to get this job done by first light.

When I'd covered about twenty metres I straightened up and shoved the mallet back into the waistband of my jeans.

Another heartbreaking scream pierced the darkness.

Fuck it.

I pulled the mallet out again and turned back.

I was in auto mode, en route to a possible nightmare. I'd need to be quick and hard – just take them down and run. After that, the girl would have to sort her own shit out.

I got within a few metres of them. She was still on her knees. The one in front of her looked up just in time to see me jump into the air and bring the mallet down hard a couple of inches above his eyebrows. He didn't say a word. He couldn't. All I heard was a loud pop as the toughened rubber worked its kinetic shit and he crumpled to the floor.

I spun round, swung back my arm and zoned in on the guy to my right. He got the good news just above the temple. He groaned and collapsed onto the girl.

She whimpered and tried to kick him off.

I turned to the other two. The one with the spliff was still some distance from Planet Earth, and instead of rushing me, the other stupid fucker was pulling up his jeans. I barged against him. He staggered back under the canopy, arms windmilling, and crashed into his mate.

I didn't give them a second to recover.

Mr Windmill's jeans had slipped back round his knees.

I swung the mallet from right to left, demolishing his cheekbone and part of his jaw. He howled with pain. It didn't make up for what he'd done to the girl, but it was a start.

Mr Spliff threw up his arms to protect himself, but he still wasn't up to speed. I cannoned into him. As he went down I gave him two more quick hits. He'd managed to cover his head, so I snapped his wrist with the first blow and banged the second into his bollocks. That opened him up big-time. I brought down the mallet right on top of his closely shaven nut. Hard rubber smashed into soft bone with a dull thud. He wasn't going anywhere fast. He wasn't going anywhere, period.

I dug the keys out of the plant pot. The girl held her jumper against her breasts, watching me.

Two of the bodies stirred.

I grabbed her arm and dragged her out from under the canopy. I gathered up her jeans and thrust them at her.

'Go! Go on! Fuck off!'

She stood there shivering, clothes held up in front of her, knees trembling, like the child she was.

I gave her a shove. 'Go! Run!'

Two sets of headlights swept down the road from the direction of the bridge.

She was so tiny it was easy to pull her out of sight. I pushed her against the wheel of a trailer loaded with pallets as the engine got louder. She struggled, trying to escape. She probably thought I fancied a bit of what the neos had already helped themselves to. I grabbed her by the back of her head, wound my fingers through her hair and pushed her against the tyre.

The car came into view: a green Passat, two up. It slowed but didn't stop. I caught a glimpse of long, greasy black hair and matching shirt but couldn't see their faces. Ten seconds later a blue-and-white did the same. I dragged the girl to her feet the moment it had passed and we started moving in the opposite direction.

We'd covered a couple of hundred metres when I heard the whoop of a siren, just one quick hit. Blue lights strobed the darkness, glinting off the puddles, then they stopped just as suddenly.

We kept going.

She had to come with me now, even though I knew I was giving myself a very big dose of drama. I couldn't let her get lifted. Tarasov and his box of tricks had better be worth all this shit.

I flung open the back door of the Panda and shoved her down into the footwell. Then I jumped in behind the wheel.

'You understand English?'

The only response was some laboured breathing and a cough. She was crying quietly to herself.

Ten minutes passed. There were no more wailing sirens or blue flashing lights. What the fuck was going on? One of the neos was probably dead, and the others couldn't have legged it. A broken jaw makes you think twice about doing that. It makes you want to stay very, very still instead.

A set of headlights appeared in the rear-view. I felt between the seats to make sure she was still hidden. The green Passat rolled past, still two up. I got a better look at them this time. They'd completed my circuit, down past the ferry, up the bay road, then back.

I waited five more minutes, but there was no sign of the blue-and-white. I switched on the ignition.

'Stay down…'

I threaded my way through the housing estate until I came out onto a main. I didn't know where the fuck I was, but I'd work it out soon enough. There was a lot of trouble by the back seat, and I needed to think.

I killed the lights and engine the moment I'd nosy-parked in front of the shutter.

'You – stay there.' I still didn't know if she spoke any English, but she didn't move a muscle.

I pretended to fumble with the keys while I checked my paper telltales. All three were still in position.

I didn't hit the light switch inside, just pressed the shutter button. As the car came into view, I could see that she was now sitting next to the child seat, her jumper on. She tilted her head and pushed back her blood-matted hair so she could watch me through the windscreen.

I got back into the car and gave her a smile. She pulled her jumper down self-consciously over her thighs, but if her face showed any emotion, it was relief.

I drove into the bay and hit the button again. She remained motionless as the shutter ground its way down. I only hit the light switch when we were in total darkness. The two fluorescent tubes flickered and hummed.

She looked around her. I tapped on the slightly dented roof and bent down to her level. 'You're safe here.' I gestured with my hand. 'Come on.'

She didn't budge. She looked at me like she had a choice about this and had decided to stay put.

I pushed down the front passenger seat, leant in and grabbed her arm. She stumbled out onto the cold concrete, clutching her wet and muddy jeans. 'Let's try again. What is your name?'

Nothing.

'Russia? Ukraine? Moldova?'

Her goosebumps were the size of shirt buttons. She tried to cover herself up.

I pointed to the stairs at the back of the loading bay and gave her a gentle push. 'Let's go. Up there.'

She stopped at the first landing, awaiting my next command. I steered her all the way to the top floor, keeping behind her so I could check the telltales without her seeing what I was doing. She stood stock still in the middle of the floor, waiting to be told what to do.

I got a much better look at her now. She was no more than five feet tall and could have been anything from fourteen to eighteen years old. Her dyed blonde hair was thick and wiry, and brushed her shoulders. It needed about a week's worth of shampooing. She was a skinny little thing: not through lack of food, there just wasn't anything of her. With high cheekbones and huge dark brown eyes, her face looked bigger than her delicate shoulders and graceful neck seemed capable of supporting. She had no eyebrows. They'd been plucked or shaved. It made her look like a porcelain doll. Or a ghost.