Andy McNab - Zero hour

We sat back down. The gentle hum of the air-conditioning replaced Tresillian's growl.

I pointed at the now vacant chair below the screen. 'He seems a lad. I bet he's changed more than just the carpet.'

Julian carried on extracting sheets of paper from his folder and lining them up on the table. All I got from him was a wry smile.

'She attends Moldova State University in Chisinau, the capital. Do you know Moldova?'

Not much. Particularly with a splitting headache. I'd never operated there. 'Only bits and pieces. It's best known for arms smuggling and people trafficking. What about the police – is anybody liaising? Is there someone in the British embassy I can rely on?'

'Out of the question, on both fronts. The local police are either useless or corrupt. If it turns out she's been kidnapped they might even be part of the problem.'

'When did she go missing?'

'Ten days ago.'

'Who's been looking for her?'

'Only the father. He's frantic, according to our sources. He's hoping he either gets a ransom demand or she'll be back in touch. Kids that age drop off the radar all the time without thinking of the implications.'

I pointed up at the screen and the green-glossed T55, its barrel facing forward, ready to attack. 'He's an "industrialist", right? The tank outside the factory provides a bit of a clue. Any known enemies in the arms world?'

'None. He manufactures for the Federation so he's one of the bad guys but, as I understand it, he's our friend and we want to keep it that way.'

I focused on the picture of the girl. 'She speak English?'

'Probably of the cable-TV variety, same as any other kid anywhere.'

'And you have nothing at all from the networking sites?'

'She closed her Facebook page two weeks ago. She's not on any other site.'

'You've checked flight manifests out of Moldova?'

Julian nodded. 'And visa applications that come into the Hungarian embassy in Chisinau – they deal with all applications for Schengen countries.'

'Tell me about the name.'

'Edinet was her mother's maiden name. She died when Lilian was little. It helps her keep a low profile. We don't think anyone at the university knows who she is – it reduces the kidnap risk.'

'Can you give me addresses?'

'We don't have her latest details. Like a lot of students, she's floated from flat-share to flat-share. The last sighting was at the university a couple of weeks ago.'

'What about Tarasov himself?'

'He can't go to the police, of course, because they're too corrupt. Alert the Mafia and all of a sudden he's facing a massive ransom demand if they find her. He's bound to be looking. But stay away from Tarasov, Nick. He's strictly off limits – Tresillian wasn't joking.'

Fair one. 'What's she studying?'

'Sociology.'

'Does she have any medical conditions?' If she needed insulin injections or whatever, I had to know. And if she'd been kidnapped, she might be dead already.

Julian shrugged.

Something else really puzzled me. 'Why is this an MI5 job and not the Firm's?'

'With Tresillian at the helm of both, the demarcation lines are blurring.'

I swallowed another couple of Smarties as he glanced back down at Lilian's picture.

'As Tresillian said, nothing must stop you finding her. Of course we're going to deny anything to do with the operation, but you will have secure comms with me at all times. I'll help you as far as I can, but we cannot be seen poking around in-country. It wouldn't help our relationship with Lilian's father, and certainly not with the powers that be.' He gathered up the paperwork. 'Why don't we get some coffee while I give you the lowdown?'

I followed him to the door. Bright light flooded into the room.

I couldn't help smiling to myself. I was back at work. One last kick at life.

And I now had a really good reason to phone Anna.

Monday, 15 March 10.47 hrs The International Airport Chisinau is the biggest in the Republic of Moldova. It's a member of Airports Council International (European region), the massive posters in the revamped terminal proudly proclaimed, as well as the Airport Association of CIS Civil Aviation and the ALFA-ACI (L'Association des Aeroports de Langue Francaise Associes a l'Airports Council International). What was more: The main priorities of the personnel's activity consist in providing a high-level of flight safety and qualitative services.

But for all its fancy new associations with the West, old habits died hard. I was held by three Customs guys in a side office ten seconds after they saw a European passport and no mates tagging along. There was a special tax I needed to pay. Since I was only carrying a day sack, they pegged it at thirty dollars.

I'd now been waiting for Anna's flight from Moscow Domodedovo for close to five hours – the last two because her Air Moldova flight was delayed. This was probably the eighth time I'd gone back to the coffee shop in Arrivals, treated myself to a milky Nescafe instant, and soaked up the propaganda as I sat and sipped it.

I'd even resorted to reading the warnings on the packet of Nurofen I dug into occasionally. Long-term kidney damage wasn't high on my list of concerns, so I popped another couple out of the blister pack, grabbed some more Smarties and washed them all down with a swig of coffee.

I'd transferred my two-week supply of shiny red pills into a plastic Superdrug case. It was easier to shove into my pocket than a big fuck-off bottle. Also, the label had my name on it and I couldn't be arsed to scratch it off.

It had taken me seven hours from Heathrow with a Munich connection. Normally that wouldn't have been much of a problem; I was used to living in airports. You just find some seats, lie down, read posters, drink brews. If you're lucky, you go to sleep. But that wasn't going to happen. My head was pounding – but I think it was mostly about seeing Anna again.

Fetch up in Moscow, with the biggest collection of billionaires on the planet, and you can't move for fancy foreign labels. Moldova's old split-level Soviet-era airport had had a major refurb, but Starbucks and all the high-end brands had still given it a miss. Jules had told me that its earning potential outside the small capital was the same as Sudan's, so I guess it was no surprise.

Despite Julian's briefing, I wasn't exactly sure where Moldova stood in relation to the rest of the planet. Some guys immersed themselves in demographics and GDPs and could tell you the ten most popular names for girls and boys wherever they fetched up, but I never saw the point. This place was land-locked, and had a population of five million. The industrial strip, whose name I kept forgetting, ran along its eastern border. That was all I knew, and all I needed to know. All I had to do was find the girl, grip her, and hand her over.

I took out my new BlackBerry and checked for messages. The Tefalhead at GCHQ who'd briefed me on the encryption system and then got Mr Lampard to sign for it had been very pleased with his toy. Apparently it contained both a hardware and software-based secure communications solution that protected GSM cellular communications with a unique authentication service and advanced end-to-end encryption software. I hoped it worked better than the one I'd been issued with three years ago.

'Combined with a secure mobile authentication solution it is capable of ensuring that all mobile voice and SMS communications, as well as data-at-rest within the device, are fully protected. It offers security against any attempt to intercept active communications both from inside a telephone network as well as over-the-air.'

That was all well and good. I just needed to know that, when I switched it on and pressed the security app icon, Jules and I could talk without anyone else listening in.