Andy McNab: Zero hour

'Totally.'

There was a barrier across the road ahead. Jules flashed his pass and we were waved on towards the Doughnut.

We pulled in alongside the black BMW again. The driver was on his own this time, in a sweatshirt, still behind the wheel, engine running. He said fuck-all. He just looked over at us and turned back to his DVD, probably pissed off that he'd had to work two weekends running.

We went into the building. A different woman was at the desk, but she treated Julian to the same smile. He handed over his ID and she swiped it through a reader.

'Good evening, Mr Drogba.' She tried but couldn't keep her eyes off Jules's wounds. 'A rough game this afternoon?'

She passed him a form to sign.

I was handed my red badge.

'Could you hand it back in when you leave, Mr Lampard?'

We went through the electronic version of a body search and came out onto the Street. We passed the night shift of Tefalheads, doing whatever they did. They were probably still trying to find out what the fuck I'd been up to.

I followed Jules along the bright fluorescent-lit corridor and into the same room as before. This time there was no glow from the plasma screens on the walnut veneer above Tresillian's head. It was dark and gloomy. The air-conditioning hummed as I closed the door behind us. We crossed the deep pile carpet towards the big oval table.

Tresillian was watching us. He wasn't a happy bunny. But he soon cheered up when he saw the state of Jules.

'Mr Stone, I now see why Julian was so eager for us to meet this evening.' He sat back in his leather swivel chair, elbows on the arms, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was in a scruffy jumper and trousers. Maybe he had his pyjamas on underneath. 'Sit.'

Jules and I took the same chairs as last time.

Tresillian didn't look worried or concerned. Not even angry or anxious. I liked that. I wanted to hate him, but couldn't.

'Let's not fuck around, Mr Stone. How do I know that you really do have Lilian, and that she is still alive?'

'When I'm ready, I'll throw her up on Facebook. She'll be called Lillian Vampire-Girl. I'll make sure there's proof of life up there at the same time. But that's not going to happen until we have a deal, I get a pass, and you answer some questions.'

He leant back again. 'Go on.' He was almost smiling.

'It was the Vietnamese food, wasn't it? That was what fucked me up. The fake scan, the fake drugs?'

'Of course.' He was surprised I'd even had to ask.

'Why go to all the fucking effort of getting me to believe I was dying? I took the job because of it, but you could have got someone else with far less effort.'

'You were a test, Mr Stone. A simple exercise to find out how good our technology is. We collected your DNA, and we carried out a field trial. And it was a fucking good one, don't you think? No one else who ate in that restaurant was contaminated. It was designed to target just your DNA. Now, if we'd wanted to kill you, we would simply have used a different compound.

'At first you weren't even being considered for the task. Since the Russians killed Litvinenko by garnishing his sushi with polonium-210, we thought we'd see how well our concoctions would work in the field.'

He was feeling very pleased with himself.

'I think we can safely say our activities in that department put us among the leaders in the field.'

Jules wasn't happy. 'Why wasn't I informed?'

Tresillian turned to face him. 'Because you would have disagreed.'

'The scan, the drugs?'

'The scan was faked, and the drugs, very shiny red placebos. A chalk compound, I believe.'

'So you decided to fuck me over with a plate of rice, then send me on a job and kill me afterwards?'

He raised his hands, palms upwards. 'Why worry about being killed when you're already dead?'

'And you were pretty fucking sure you'd get two for the price of one.'

'Julian kept telling me how shit-fucking-hot you were. But I think it's safe to say that even you would never have found the girl in time if it hadn't been for that incredibly intelligent Russian woman of yours.'

'And you had to find Lily before Tarasov did. So maybe he's not such a great mate after all. He must have been pretty pissed off when you rubbed out his two lads in Amsterdam. Rival traffickers? He just wanted his daughter back. I knew Bradley was talking shit.'

Tresillian was enjoying every minute of this. He was like a magician who couldn't wait to explain his best conjuring trick.

'You were never trying to find her so you could hand her over, were you? You were going to keep her. She's leverage.'

He looked at me like I was the village idiot. 'Just as you are now using her against me. Hector Tarasov is not yet a friend of ours – but he does have a rather important role in our immediate future. The deal we have in mind will take two more weeks to complete.'

'Just before a certain shipment leaves his factory for Iran.'

His expression clouded, just for a moment – but long enough for me to know that I'd pulled off a conjuring trick of my own.

'Our aircraft may well have to infiltrate Iranian air space to destroy their nuclear power plants. We might have to fight alongside the French in Algeria to defend our oil and gas interests. We might have to fight alongside the Americans in West Africa to safeguard our energy supply against Muslim fundamentalism in the Niger delta. We need those motherboards… adjusted. Very simply, Mr Tarasov needs to do as he is told if he ever wants to see that child again.'

'But you don't have Lily. I do.'

The light went out in his eyes. 'You are welcome to keep her, Mr Stone – as long as she doesn't go near her father. Can you guarantee that? If so, I may be able to accommodate you and your not only intelligent but very attractive Russian friend.'

'And Kleinmann, of course. He gets a pass. This time tomorrow he'll be back in LA with his mother, trying to dodge his ex-wife's lawyers.'

He raised a hand and slapped it back on the table. 'I imagine they'll deal with him rather more brutally than I would have.' He leant forward again, his forearms resting on the table. 'But you should be in no doubt, Mr Stone, I have a lot more plates than Mr Tarasov's to keep spinning, and I will do whatever the fuck it takes to meet my objectives.'

'So you keep saying. But what about fucking up Amsterdam? You didn't even know I was going to end up there.'

His eyes burnt into mine. 'Read the papers, follow the informed debate. The attack on the silo was carried out by Iranian-backed Muslim extremists. A number of innocent young girls would have been killed – if you hadn't suddenly turned into the Scarlet fucking Pimpernel – strengthening our country's resolve to fight and defeat them.

'The only truth that matters, Mr Stone, is the one that people want to believe. Am I right?' He didn't give me a chance to answer. 'My job is to attack them from every angle, at all times, with all means. There is no quarter for courageous restraint, Mr Stone. We are at war, and you are – or were – a casualty. Finding the girl was the objective, but along the way I saw an opportunity target and I attacked it. If the trail had led you to the centre of fucking Cheltenham and the same opportunity arose, I would have taken exactly the same action. I will always use everything in my power to protect the UK, its territories and dependencies, wherever I can, and whenever I can.'

'Which includes ramping up anti-Muslim rage?'

He wagged his finger like a headmaster. 'No, no, no. Don't be so naive. It's there to ensure the pro-Iranian factions understand the dangers we face. It was an opportunity that you brought to me and it worked.'

The leather squeaked as he sat back into his chair.

'Tell me, Mr Stone. Why did you save those young women? It served no purpose.'