Andy McNab - Crossfire

I ran in, grabbed one of the Sigs and stuffed two spare mags into Sundance's jeans. I pulled back the top slide to see a brass casing already in the chamber. I pressed the mag-release catch. It dropped into my hand. The mag was full.

I tucked the bottom of the fleece into my waistband, threw the other weapon, spare mags and the two phones down the front of it, then moved back into the corridor.

I stepped over the starship and looked through the spyhole.

Dom was plasticuffed naked to a chair, just like I'd been. His face was drenched with blood. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I knew it wasn't making Mr Sheen at all happy. He raised an arm and gave him a hard, open-handed slap across the face. Flecks of blood flew like sweat from a boxer's face.

It looked like word hadn't reached them yet that the game was over. Or maybe they couldn't resist dishing out a little bit more punishment.

Behind me, in the crew room, the porn had progressed to the heavy-breathing stage. The air was filled with 'Yeah, baby, yeah' as Mr Sheen gave Dom some more. The force of his next punch tipped the chair on to its side. Top Lip leant down to haul Dom up. Mr Sheen's back was turned momentarily to the door.

I checked the mag was on tight, took a deep breath, and barged straight through.

Mr Sheen spun round. The Sig's foresight was focused on the centre mass of his blurred body. I lowered it and kicked off three rounds.

Top Lip launched himself across the two-metre gap between us. He cannoned into me and smashed me back against the wall. We dropped to the floor together and I kept firing.

The room fell quiet. Dom turned his head. His eyes struggled to focus.

'We're getting out. Can you walk yet?'

'I'll crawl, if that's what it takes.'

I tipped him on to his side and pulled the chair legs away from his plasticuffs. He pushed his aching body into a semi-stoop.

'Come on, let's go!'

I grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the door.

As we passed Mr Sheen, Dom raised a blood-encrusted foot to kick him in the face.

I stopped him short. A plan was taking shape in my head. 'No, mate. We need to keep him looking his best.'

I bent down and hoisted the body into a fireman's lift. I staggered for a moment under its weight.

When we got to the crew room the screen was a blur of writhing flesh.

'Grab the whisky off the table!' I leant against the wall. 'And a sleeping-bag.'

Dom wobbled out of the crew room with the bag round his shoulders. I grabbed his spare hand and hustled him towards the exit.

We stumbled as far as the double doors.

'Wait here!' I swung the right one open, blinked in the sunlight and staggered across to the nearest wagon. I dumped Mr Sheen in the front passenger seat and belted him up. I tipped some Jack Daniel's down his front, then laid the bottle on the dash tray.

I moved round and opened the rear doors, then ran back and dragged Dom across the compound. 'Lie down and shut the fuck up.'

He pulled the bag over his head as I slammed the door.

I sat in the driver's seat and changed mags on the used Sig, checked the other was made ready, then slid one under each thigh. Mr Sheen slumped next to me. He looked like he'd pissed himself.

I brushed back my hair with my fingers and zipped up the fleece, hoping the ISAF boys on the other side of the gates wouldn't look at me too closely. I made sure I had a fresh mag handy and hit the ignition.

I stopped two or three metres short of the gates. There were no quarter-circle scrape marks in the dirt this side. They must open outwards.

I jumped down from the cab and put my ear to the steel but heard nothing close by; no voices, no radio traffic, no guards complaining to each other or listening to Radio Kabul.

I pulled back the bolts and eased it open an inch or two. All I could see was HESCOs, tents and flagpoles. They were about two hundred metres away, the other side of the runway. I pushed the gate some more. It opened directly on to a dirt road. There were no guards.

I pushed it all the way, then did the same with the other and ran back to the GMC.

'Good news, mate – I'm pretty sure this joint isn't official. The ISAF set-up is the other side of the airfield. Keep down and keep quiet – I'll confirm in a second.'

Mr Sheen lolled next to me. I reached inside his coat pocket for his wallet. I pulled out a fistful of dollars and stowed them in my lap.

I drove through the open gates and turned left. The checkpoint was a hundred metres or so down the road. It was manned by a couple of old guys in suits, polo-neck jumpers and pancake hats. The drop-bar was two branches roped together and painted red and white.

We drew level. I grabbed a dollar bill from my lap. The old guy accepted the bribe with a nod.

The other guy began to lift the barrier.

He glanced up as he waved the GMC through, and frowned. He stopped the barrier halfway. There was no point putting my foot down. I lowered the window, tilted my head at Mr Sheen and the bottle on the dash, jiggled my wrist and rolled my eyes.

He looked in and immediately smelt the whisky. He shook his head with disapproval and waved the infidels through.

We drove out past the burnt-out shells of buildings. Wrecked Russian vehicles rusted at the roadside. The MiG in the middle of the roundabout still gleamed in the early-morning light.

We turned south on to a dead-straight road. Mr Sheen's head bobbed about beside me like it was on a spring. Dom was lying on the back seat. He'd sparked out straight away.

The dash clock said 10:28.

'Dom, get up here!' I fished in the front of the fleece and pulled out one of the mobile phones. 'Up here, mate. I need your help.'

I flicked open the lid. As it sparked up, a picture of Mr Sheen appeared, with his arm round a woman and two little boys making faces in front of them.

'Dom, for fuck's sake, get up! You've got to call Siobhan! Tell her to get out of the house!'

I saw his head jerk up in the rear-view mirror. 'Up here, mate, I need your help.'

He clambered painfully over to the seats behind me, then leant his head forward until it was more or less level with mine. His wounds were open and weeping.

'Listen, the mobile in your front room, in the drawer. You know the number?'

He looked puzzled. 'Finbar's old one. But why does-'

I passed him a phone. 'Siobhan must go somewhere safe. Where? A place you both know…'

He thought for a few moments. 'We had our honeymoon in a little B and B up in Donegal.'

'Think proof of life – tell me something just you two know about the place. Did something happen – unusual, funny, romantic – something you talk about even today?'

A smile flashed across his damaged face. 'The hot water always ran out after one bath. We had to share.'

'Dial whatever number you'd normally use for her, then give me the phone. I need to talk to her first.'

TV Hill appeared in the distance, dead centre of the windscreen. Bleached-out buildings lined both sides of the boulevard. We came to a run of stalls and shops.

He handed the phone to me. It rang three or four times before I got a very sleepy 'Hello?'

'Siobhan? It's Nick.'

'Nick?'

'You saw me Tuesday. I just need you to know Dom is safe.'

'Oh, my God-'

'Listen. This call's being monitored. You're in danger. Do you understand?'

There was silence.

'Listen carefully, Siobhan. I want you to leave the house right away. Get dressed, but don't waste time packing or doing anything else. Just grab that grey mobile from the drawer in the living room and any cash you have in the house. Then go and draw as much money as you can from an ATM. After that, don't use the card any more or pay for anything on credit. Don't phone, don't make contact with anyone. You understand?'