Andy McNab - Zero hour

I had to pull myself together or I was dead.

I tried to twist my head out of the way as the fists came down. I felt one brush my ear as it missed and carried on into the concrete. He didn't flinch.

I bucked like a madman to present a moving target. All I could hear was a voice in my head telling me to keep him close.

I grabbed him with my arms around the back of his coat and pulled him in to me in a big bear hug. I tucked my head into his neck so he couldn't butt me. If I kept hugging him I might be able to control him for long enough to work out what the fuck to do.

I wriggled as much as I could. I wanted to roll on top of him. I was heavier than him. Maybe that would work. But he wasn't having any of it. He tried to expand his arms so he could break out of my grasp. His head jerked down the side of mine, right onto my ear. It popped and burnt with pain. I rolled over, but not in the direction I'd wanted. We were both side on to the ground.

He got his mouth to my ear. 'Give up. You're just going to die fucked.' The Scouse was as precise and unhurried as it had been at the negotiating table.

I writhed again to try to get on top of him, but we rolled together and hit the wall.

My hands were pinned behind his back. All I had left was my head. I butted him in the temple.

His arms flailed. My hands broke free. I was going to have to be quicker than him. Or just better.

I kicked and he let me go. It was pointless running. I had to stay here. He was the target. I had to carry on.

Somehow I got to my feet, my body side-on to him, crouching, legs nice and stable, arms up.

He stood up too. Dusted off his coat. I half expected him to shoot his cuffs. We were about three metres apart. Our eyes locked.

I mirrored his pose, knees bent to protect my bollocks, arms up, head pushed down so my chin hit my chest. I stared at him, ready to grab or punch or otherwise react to whatever he did. I hated this. I'd rather a short, sharp frenzy without any controls.

Robot bounced on his boots a little, as if he was looking for an angle of attack. He was almost enjoying it. Maybe he was rehearsing his attack in his head. A lot of martial-arts lads visualize what they're going to do before they actually do it. That's why they stand there squaring up to each other for two minutes before there's three seconds of action and it's all over and done with. It's all about pre-work. I knew that and appreciated it. I just didn't want him to do it on me.

I kept my feet planted firmly on the ground, muscles gripped, everything tightened, ready to take the hits. I wanted him nearer. He was still out of range. But I knew he'd close in when he was ready.

In he came. A high kick flew towards my ribcage. I kept my arms up and tried to block it. It hit my left bicep. The force of it made me punch myself in the forehead.

I rocked back. Another kick to my other side. I took it on the wrist and opened up my arms. I knew another kick was coming. He launched it and I grabbed his leg with both hands. His calf was almost on my shoulder. I had hold of his thigh and could feel the kneecap through the fabric of his jeans. I pushed down, trying to control it, gripping hard with both hands. I moved into him, my hips between his legs like the foreplay was over and we were going to have sex.

With my right hand on his kneecap, I grabbed him round the top of his leg with my left, pulling him closer, trying to lift him. I kept the forward movement and almost bounced him towards the wall. He crashed against it and arched his back as he felt the fire extinguisher spike. His eyes opened wide. His muscles tensed, desperate to resist the impact of the steel rod. He tried to push me back. Flecks of spit landed on the side of my neck.

I leant into him, my legs almost at forty-five degrees as I pushed and pushed, my body weight hammering him into the spike.

His coat gave way first, then all seven layers of skin. He didn't scream. He took it, breathing heavily but not panicking, trying to work out what the fuck he was going to do. A rib cracked under the pressure and the spike gave him its full six inches. His hands flew back against the wall like he was breaking a fall. He pushed himself off it, grunting with pain, and sank down onto his knees. He kept his eyes on me. He was going to get up. He was going to fight on.

I pivoted on the ball of my left foot and swung round, volleying a kick into his face that pushed his head back into the wall. There wasn't much noise, just a sound like splitting wood as his skull made contact. He jerked, and then he was very still.

I felt his carotid. There was nothing. He'd gone. I collapsed beside him, my back against the wall. Next door, Horatio and his CSI mates cracked yet another case and the music blared.

A mobile rang in the TV room. I jumped up and headed towards it. A fist pounding on the main entrance stopped me in my tracks.

Chest still heaving, I staggered down the stairs. I bounced from wall to wall, almost falling, then somehow staying on my feet.

'Open the door! For fuck's sake!'

The mobile rang again upstairs. I stumbled to the door and pressed my ear to it. A vehicle was ticking over. Then I heard the clank of keys in locks.

There were more bangs, exactly where my head was.

'Fucking – open – up!'

The accent was the same as Robot's.

The door shifted under his weight until the bolts took hold. He knew someone had to be inside. He yelled behind him. 'Call him again! What a bunch of cunts!'

I could make out another voice, cooler, more measured.

I got my eye to the centre keyhole. Bright headlights, then a body blocked the view. The lights had been above knee height. An MPV maybe, or truck to take the girls away.

The guy was apoplectic. 'Call him again, Dad. Where the fuck is he?'

I finally recognized the first voice. It was Bitch Tits. Whoever he was with, I couldn't let them leave. I'd lose control of what they did next. I turned and focused on the fire extinguishers. I picked up two and positioned them on the second stair. I plunged the hall into darkness and used the chinks of light spilling from the keyholes to find my way to the doors. I put on my best Van der Valk accent. 'Ja, ja, komm.'

Bitch Tits threw a terminal wobbler as I pulled the first bolt. 'What the fuck are yous up to in there?'

I freed the last bolt and ran towards the stairs. I picked up the first fire extinguisher as the door burst open and light flooded the hallway. Shadows danced across the concrete as Bitch Tits stormed in. The man behind him was big enough to block out the headlamp beams.

'Get the fucking lights on, then!'

I heaved the fire extinguisher above my head and hurled it at Bitch Tits. I didn't see where it made contact, just that it hit him with a thud and he went down in the direction of the girls' cell. I was already heading to the main door with the second extinguisher.

Flynn was three steps into the hallway. I'd burnt his image into my memory: a well-fed body with a shaven head. I knew from my BlackBerry video that the crow's feet around his eyes gave away his age, but he was in good nick.

I slipped behind him. He was still taking a second to react to what had happened to his son. I pushed against the door with my shoulder and it was dark once more.

The second extinguisher came down hard on the back of Flynn's head. He grunted and buckled. This time I kept my grip on the top of the cylinder but let go of the bottom and brought it down on the blurred shape below me like a pile-driver, again and again. I didn't care where it made contact, as long as it did. One time it hit bone. There was a crunch but no screams, just subdued groans, then heavy slobbering as he tried to breathe through the mess I'd made of his head.