Andy McNab - Zero hour

I remembered all the times my stepdad had sent me out nicking petrol from other people's cars during the fuel shortage in the seventies. I was only about twelve. After that, he said there was a sugar shortage, so I used to get sent out to pocket the sugar shakers from cafes. There wasn't a sugar shortage, of course: it was my stepdad's way of saving a few pennies, and fuck the fact that I might get caught.

I left the tube where it was and let the siphon do its stuff. It was time for a brew. The flow would stop as soon as the fuel in the container reached the level of the tube, which was about twenty centimetres below the neck. That would be plenty.

I had a quick look at my G-Shock. Bradley was going to be here soon. I needed to have Angeles tucked away by then.

I had a quick check of the telltales on the way up to see if she'd been having a nose around. They were all in place, and so was the one behind the pigeonholes. I realized I felt nowhere near as bad as I thought I would without the Smarties. I made a mental note to stab myself in the buttock next time I felt a headache coming on.

The moment I opened the door she leapt up from the mattress and cut across the room. 'Nick! I make tea?'

I gave her a big thumbs-up. 'Madness not to.'

I looked at the sink. The mugs had been washed. Everything was laid out neatly. The milk stains and tea circles where I'd been making brews had all been cleaned. 'You had anything to eat yet?'

'No, Nick. I wait for you.' She looked worried. 'I touch nothing.'

I let her get on with it while I dug around in the plastic bags for a piece of pitta. It had started to go hard. What little scabbing I had on my arse had cracked with my exertions and was starting to hurt again. I leant on my good leg and gnawed on the crispy bits around the edges of the bread.

'Listen, Angeles, someone is coming to see me soon.'

She handed me my brew. She didn't look happy.

'This one must not know that you're here, OK? You understand?'

It didn't seem to register.

'He must not see you. I'll find you somewhere to hide. You've got to stay out of sight, yeah?'

She seemed to like the thought of not being seen. Maybe it meant she wouldn't be moved on.

'Stay hidden until I tell you to come out. You've got to be quiet. He's going to get really pissed off if you're here. He's only let me use this place because he thinks I'm on my own. If he thinks anyone else is here he'll be very angry with me. You understand?'

She nodded. 'Yes, yes, Nick. We still leave tonight?'

'No drama. Tonight. We'll meet the friend I told you about and she will ask her friends in Moldova if what the Ukrainian men said was true.'

I dunked my bread in the tea to soften it.

She almost skipped back to the sink to pick up her brew.

I had an even better vantage-point from the shadows beside the window of the middle office. I could see the front door as well as back along the road towards the main.

I checked my watch and gulped down my last couple of aspirin. They weren't helping much with the pain in my arse, but I thought I'd try one more dose just in case. The sky was still overcast. The sun hadn't quite given up trying to fight its way through the clouds, but it must have been tempted.

Bradley came into view, still in exactly the same clothes, but this time gripping a heavy and expensive-looking leather overnight bag in his right hand. I watched him to the door, then headed for the stairs.

By the time I'd got down to the fire escape on the first landing and turned to look down to the front door, he was inside and beginning to lock up.

'I have everything you asked for.'

'That's great, mate. Thanks.' I went down to meet him. 'Half the job's already done.'

'What do you mean?'

He followed me up the steps to the fire door and into the loading bay. His head bounced around the place, taking in the smell of vomit and petrol and the mess of pans and sock-covered glasses in my preparation area. The last of the sulphuric acid was still in its glass. But mostly his eyes darted between me and the Passat.

He was desperate to know what was going on but didn't want to ask.

'He's in the boot.'

'In there? You're sure it's him?'

'You tell me. Whoever it is, I got his sidekick as well. Don't ask.'

I fished out the key fob from my pocket and pressed the button. The bodies had hardened up completely. They were both curled up like Pompeii victims. Their puke- and bloodstained white shrouds only half covered them.

I went and picked up Brogues's camel-hair coat and extracted a slim crocodile-skin wallet. I produced a credit card with an unpronounceable name on it and tried to pass it to Bradley.

'Very good.' He didn't want to touch it. 'How did you do it?'

'Like I said, don't ask. That's my job. I'm more interested in what you've been up to. You get the cartridges?'

'Yes, of course.' He put the bag down and started to unzip it.

I talked to the top of his gelled-back hair. 'Have you spoken to Mission Control since we met up yesterday, last night, whenever?'

'No, not at all. Why do you ask?'

He was still hunched down by his bag, his eyes on the cooker. Mine were on the boxes of shotgun cartridges.

'How many did you get?'

'Twenty. When are you going to the silo?'

'Tonight.'

He nodded slowly as if the message had to sink in. 'I think I need to know what time you will be leaving here. I need to be ready to pick up the girl.'

'I'll drop her here as soon as I've got her, and then I'm heading straight off. I'll gaffer tape her up so she won't go anywhere.'

'What about the Passat?'

'Like I said, everything here will be clear. I don't know what time – nine, ten, eleven o'clock – but it'll definitely be clear tonight and the girl will be waiting.'

He knelt down to unload the cartridges. 'Excellent.'

He picked up the empty bag and we headed for the fire door.

'I suppose I'll never meet you again, will I, Mr Smith?'

'No, mate, never.'

If only he knew the real reason. Both of us would be dead really soon. I was coming to terms with that myself, but I almost felt sorry for him. He was a two-timing little shit, but all in the name of queen and country. Sadly for him, people like Bradley didn't realize that his queen had no idea he even existed, and his country didn't give a shit in return.

We went back down to the front entrance. Bradley stretched out his hand. 'Good luck, Nick.'

'Thanks, mate. And you.'

I unlocked the door and he stepped onto the road. Empty bag in hand, he carried on walking without looking back.

Back in the office, I threw open the cabinet doors. She was curled up like another Pompeii victim. Her face was creased with concern. It wasn't about being tucked into a filing cupboard and doing her own little Anne Frank, it was more to do with winning approval. 'I was quiet, yes? You did not hear me?'

'Yep, you were quiet. Now I have to go and work, so you have to stay up here again, OK? Go back to the airbed, rest, keep warm.'

'OK, Nick.'

I followed her into the back room. 'Not long now. We'll go out and buy you some real clothes for when we go to see my friend. I'll stay with you, don't worry, and we'll get some more food, OK?'

She nodded.

'You stay here.'

I closed all the doors behind me and headed back to the loading bay.

There were twenty cartridges in each of the twenty boxes, which was more than enough. In fact, it meant I could make my devices a bit bigger and a lot better.

Laying out my ingredients as before, I got back to work. The gaffer tape was a standard two-centimetre roll. I pulled out about two metres and placed a pan on each end so it didn't curl.

I opened the knife bit of the Chinese Leatherman and cut the top off the first cartridge. They were old. The red waxed-cardboard body cut far too easily, and the small pellets that dropped out were lead. They've been steel for years now.