Andy McNab - Crossfire

The street-lights petered out just after a sign had thanked us for visiting Dundalk. Dom slowed about a mile out of town and turned into a lay-by that led to a picnic area. Our headlights picked out tables and seats, and information boards about the local wildlife.

I climbed out and stretched. 'Weapons first, mate.'

Dom went to the back and opened up. I loaded a mag into an AK, pulled back on the cocking handle and released it. It was good to hear the familiar clunk as it rammed a round into the chamber. They'd have heard a lot of those clunks in this part of the world over the past thirty years. Even the cows wouldn't have bothered raising their heads.

Mr Green must have heard it too. He pressed his face a little bit harder into the seat, like he was hoping it would turn into a black hole. He was probably wondering if we'd bin him now he'd described the Yes Man's procedures and the lie of the land.

I handed Dom the weapon as we got out of the wagon, and pulled him to one side. 'You sure you want to do this?'

'It's OK, Nick. I know what I've got to do…'

'It's not going to be your best day out. If Fuckface in the back there is telling the truth, there's going to be at least five of them carrying, plus the Yes Man. This might sound corny, but our only hope is to go in with speed, aggression and surprise. You got that?'

He half smiled. 'SAS?'

'We control the fuckers, lift Finbar and get the fuck out. Straight off to Siobhan, and take it from there…'

'What about the Yes Man? We can't just kill him, Nick. He's at the heart of all this. We can use him to expose the whole network.'

I ignored him. 'Our mission is to get Finbar, bung him in the back of the wagon and get the fuck out. We're not trying to change the world. End of story.'

'And the Yes Man?'

I shook my head. 'How many ways are there to tell you this? We've got to kill everyone who tries to stop us – and that means everyone. We've just got to crack on with it – step up to the plate, or whatever you Transylvanians say.'

He half smiled and lifted the weapon. 'I've never fired one of these in anger. I did my conscription in the forestry service.'

'Well, we're about to find out how good your basic training was.'

I didn't want him to dwell on it too much. When he was in front of a camera he might have thought he was invincible, but it's a different story when you're doing the firing and anyone with half a brain is firing back.

I walked back to the wagon, loaded and cocked my own AK. 'I'll drive now, mate – you sit on Fuckface. Remember, if we don't get stuck in, we lose – then Finbar and Siobhan lose as well.'

I got in behind the wheel, with the AK across my lap and the two spare mags tucked into my jeans. I waited for him to close the door, then headed on towards Dundalk.

'I need to see where the fuck we're going.'

Dom let Mr Green sit up.

'Left at the next junction. It's about two miles down the road. You'll see the sign for Caitriona Farm on the right. I'll need to call before you drive up it.'

I handed Dom the phone. 'Number's still on there, mate.'

We drove on in silence. There was fuck all to say; we just had to do.

Mr Green was getting his voice back. 'Listen, fellas, just drop me off. I'll do the fucking call, but let me go. Come on.'

I didn't bother to reply.

'We're here.' The badly handpainted sign wired to the fence would have looked at home in Kabul. I swung on to the track and stopped.

Dom tapped the keys and shoved the phone to Mr Green's ear.

'Aye, yep, it's me. We're turning in now.' He nodded at Dom, who cut the phone and shoved it into his pocket.

'Dom, shut him up. Use the gaffer-tape and the rubber strapping. Do his legs as well.'

'Hey, come on, please, let me go, fellas – I won't say anything, I won't do-'

Dom rummaged in the day sack.

I drove up a crumbling concrete track on full beam. I flicked on the fancy front fog-lights for good measure. There were no buildings yet, just shiny wet grass.

'You ready, Dom?'

I heard the click of his AK's safety lever.

'You make sure you point that thing at them, not me.'

I wasn't worried about getting shot. That was the business I was in. But getting shot by one of your own side is a bit of a fucker.

I checked my own safety. The arm was still up.

We crested a gentle rise. The farm was spread out below us. Light spilled from the ground floor of what looked like the main house on to a cracked and pitted concrete yard. Wrecked cars were piled haphazardly to the right of it, just as Mr Green had said.

We rattled over the cattle grid.

The concrete hard-standing was about twenty metres wide and fifty long. The containers were jammed together in a line and padlocked up between the wrecks. The rest of the yard was like any other scrappy – in shit order. Hosepipes led in all directions from wall-mounted taps outside the house. Oily rags had been dropped where they'd been used. Tyres were stacked four or five high in a long line, like the safety wall at a racetrack. Dirty water puddled the concrete.

Three guys emerged from the front door and stood waiting. Their cigarettes glowed in the darkness. The full beam and fog-lights hit them and they half turned or shielded their eyes with their hands. They were dressed for Sheriff Street, not the countryside, in jeans, trainers and leather coats. The lights were blinding them and I could see their mouths working as they cursed.

'Dom, you're going to hold them outside here. If they move, don't fuck about. You OK?'

'You can depend on me, Nick. I won't let you down. Or Finbar…'

I stopped the wagon with the three still caught in the beam. I left the engine running. I opened the door and got out. Dom was just behind me.

Weapon in the shoulder, safety lever down two clicks to single shot, I took one step to the right of the main beam.

They turned their heads. 'For fuck's sake, turn your lights off, you stupid shite…'

I kept my voice low. 'Stand still.' I kept moving. 'Stand very still.' I spoke like I was trying to coax a child. 'I have a weapon. Stand still.'

I took a couple more steps and they saw what was going on.

'Show your hands! Hands, hands!'

All three were thirty-something. All three had a cigarette cupped in the right hand where their weapon should have been.

'Who's got the keys? Keys for the containers. I want the boy.'

Dom made himself visible on the left. The one in the middle flicked his cigarette to the ground and nodded towards the house.

I had to go straight in. I didn't know when the next lot might be coming through the door. I moved towards it. It was still ajar. Right hand on the pistol grip, pulling the butt into the shoulder, I pushed it gently with my left.

I moved into a tiled hallway. There was a strong smell of cigarette smoke. Voices filtered from a room at the end of the corridor. The beamed ceiling was low. I crouched to present a smaller target as I started along the hall.

The voices got louder. There was a burst of laughter. Cigarette smoke lingered in the doorway.

'On a job well done.' I heard educated Belfast. Glasses clinked. 'Shall we go and sort these shites out now, or let the lads play about for a while?'

I strode into the room, weapon up.

There were three of them sitting in old, floral-patterned armchairs. The Yes Man was in the middle. The two smoking either side of him were older, in their fifties, faces hard as stone.

They weren't fazed to see me. They kept hold of their glasses. A bottle of whisky stood at the Yes Man's feet.

'Playtime's over. Give me the keys for the boy.'

The Yes Man's eyes flicked between his companions. He was out of his depth now.

The one on the right held out his hands. 'Sure, sure. Take him and fuck off. Tell you what, I'm going to stand up and reach into my trouser pocket. The right pocket. I have the keys.'