Andy McNab - Brute force

We each stood on a folded box to insulate ourselves from the ground. If anything, my plastic shoes were conducting the cold. I swayed from foot to foot for a moment, then grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him against the wall. He didn't see it coming.

'What the fuck's happening?'

He looked genuinely shocked.

I realized I liked shoving him about. 'It's the Firm, isn't it? Who else has the resources to track me over the water, plant a device, and follow me all the way to your stately fucking home when it doesn't detonate?'

My breath billowed across the narrow gap between us.

'Then I get a message that Leptis has the answers.'

He was getting really scared. I didn't blame him. He'd seen my handiwork with the box-cutter.

'Now, only you, me and your old mate Mansour know about Leptis – and a bloody great filing cabinet in Vauxhall Cross.'

'Maybe they want both of us…'

'There are fucking easier ways, don't you think?'

'Maybe they wanted you to find the device…' He started to calm down again. He'd sensed he wasn't in danger; that I was just pissed off.

'It was a pretty serious chunk of Semtex.'

'But the battery was flat.'

'What about Liam Duff?'

I released my grip a little and he shrugged. 'You said you were in Ireland. I was wondering if that was down to you.'

'You're a fucking nightmare.'

'You made pretty short work of those men at the farm.'

He needed another shove. 'I don't fucking believe it! You were quite happy to order shit like that from the comfort of your air-conditioned office, but seeing it up close is a whole different ball game, isn't it? Get real, Lynn. What the fuck do you think I did to Ben Lesser on the Bahiti – cuddle him to death?'

'I just think that you could have shown some restraint, reasonable force…'

'The only way to stop being on the receiving end of that shit is by being on top; being as violent and quick as you can. Get them before they get you. What do you call that trick with the fork? A spot of gardening?'

It was falling on deaf ears. There was the same look of disdain on his face as he had always given me.

'Fuck it. Just listen. Get a ticket to Liverpool Street.'

Lynn was busy tying the flaps under his chin.

'Use a machine. Here.' I gave him?100.

'I'll be on the train, but we split up. Don't speak to anybody. Get yourself a paper, something to do. When we get there, go left out of the main entrance, then right onto Bishopsgate. Right again takes you onto Wormwood Street. There's a Caffe Nero. Go in, buy a cup of coffee, sit down and wait.'

'Then what?'

'I've already told you. You'll know when you need to know.'

0524 hrs My feet were blocks of ice. I was desperate for a brew.

'OK, remember. Talk to no one. Just buy your ticket, and keep your head down.'

I gave him five minutes and then followed.

The station was an old Victorian building with a new car park and taxi rank. There were already quite a few cars parking up, pumping out clouds of cold CO2. They couldn't have come far. The taxis' engines were hot and so their exhausts were clear.

I kept my head down but kept a lookout as best I could as Lynn disappeared into the building.

I concentrated on vehicles that weren't belching. Maybe the car we'd lifted had a tracking device too. Maybe they had driven like madmen from the coast, following its signal. Then put two and two together and realized that unless we were going to hide here, there were only three ways out: plane, bus or train.

I checked the board. The next train out was 05.40. I bought myself a paper and fell in behind a couple of guys with briefcases, long overcoats and scarves up to their ears, who were moaning about some injustice or other at the office as they shoved their cards into the ticket machine. I was tempted to suggest they try my life for a day.

I headed for the cafe with my second-class single safely in my pocket and saw Lynn sitting in the corner, warming his hands on a steaming paper cup.

'Coffee – large, please, to take away. And a couple of those.'

The girl, whose name tag said she was called Giertruda and wished me a safe journey, shoved the two Danishes in a bag as the machine behind her gargled away.

I was soon back in the cold concourse, pissed off that Lynn was still in the warm. But so what? So far, so good.

I watched him come and join the throng of commuters heading for the waiting train. He got into the next carriage up from mine.

I still couldn't be absolutely sure about Lynn. He might have saved my arse with the gardening fork, but he might now want to save his own by giving me up to the Firm. But for now, I just had to keep both of us from being lifted. Especially me.

I settled into my seat and the first notice I read warned me that assaults on staff were taken seriously and would result in prosecution. Onboard cameras would be collecting evidence all the way.

No doubt about it, the UK had become a surveillance society. We have 1 per cent of the world's population, but 20 per cent of its CCTV cameras. The Holloway Road in North London has 102 in two miles. One 650-yard stretch has twenty-nine of the fuckers – one every twenty-odd yards.

All good news for people like the Firm, who needed to know things, but a nightmare when it's being used against you. And that was why it was imperative we got out of the UK, soon as.

Liverpool Street station 0740 hrs The cafes and restaurants around the station were heaving with commuters up to their eyes in woolly coats and clutching their coffees. They, too, kept their heads down as they rushed to work over wet pavements under a grey and depressing sky.

I was behind Lynn once more as he headed for the RV. This time I was putting surveillance on him, watching his every move. Maybe he would talk to someone, or slip into a phone box. Maybe he'd think better of throwing in his lot with me, and decide to jump in a cab and head for Vauxhall Cross.

I had no idea if he had the bottle for this sort of thing. Or if he thought he knew which side his bread was buttered – and he thought, wrongly, it wasn't my side.

I bumbled on in the cold, not looking directly through the window of Caffe Nero, but checking things out all the same. If a trigger was on the coffee shop and a weirdo walked past staring hard at the place, it would be a good bet that he was the target. The weather was in my favour. I couldn't see anyone hanging about, but that didn't necessarily mean they weren't.

I walked past another coffee and sandwich shop that was busily helping itself to some City money. People were filling their faces and sharing office gossip. The attraction of the place for me was that Caffe Nero was in line of sight.

I bought a pastry and the biggest available cup of coffee, and sat at a table that gave me a good trigger on the RV.

I watched as people walked past from both directions, on both sides of the street. Everyone wore a coat and trailed a cloud of breath. Were they doing walk-pasts to see if we were in there? This wasn't paranoia, it was attention to detail.

No one went in and came straight out again; no one walked around muttering into their collar. All of which meant they weren't there, or were very good indeed.

If there was one thing I hated more than clearing an area before a meet, it was the meet itself. It was at simple events like this that people got killed, in the way that, these days, a traffic cop stopping a car for jumping a red light might land up getting shot by the driver.

I sat, watched and waited. It wouldn't look abnormal to the staff or anyone else for me to be spending this amount of time in here. They could have been forgiven for thinking I was a dosser paying for temporary shelter with a large coffee. Not that anybody would have cared. The thing about cities is that the slickers and the dossers have no choice but to rub shoulders. It wasn't as if I was the only strange-looking person in town.