Andy McNab: Crossfire

I nodded.

'Stone! This is ridiculous…' The Yes Man was recovering fast.

The guy on the right heaved himself out of his chair. Very slowly, he moved his hand to his trouser pocket; his left was still wrapped round his whisky glass. 'Stay calm, son.'

The Yes Man was feeling feisty. 'Stop this nonsense, Stone. What's this boy to you?'

His companion rounded on him. 'Shut the fuck up!' He held up a set of keys and turned to me. 'Let's keep everything nice and calm now.'

There was a burst of automatic fire outside. The next thing I knew, a whisky glass was flying through the air. All three sprang into action. I had to assume they were going for weapons. I fired a quick double-tap into the one with the keys. A pistol clattered to the floor from his other hand.

I stood my ground, swivelled slightly right. Both eyes open, I fixed centre mass on the second target, who charged at me, head right down like he was making a rugby tackle, as the Yes Man disappeared through one of the doors behind him.

I double-tapped downwards, into his back, and he collapsed on the floor.

A cloud of cordite rose to join the cigarette smoke. It was like being back in the Jock's bar.

I scrabbled round the two bodies and found the ring of keys.

Another burst came from outside.

I charged back down the corridor. 'Dom, I'm coming out! Dom, don't shoot! Dom!'

There was no reply.

I got to the end, gulping for breath. 'Dom, I'm coming out, do you hear me?'

Nothing.

Fuck this. Weapon in the shoulder, I moved into the doorway. Over to the right, against the wall, three bodies lay in a heap. One must have taken a chance on Dom not opening up.

Dom was caught in the Seat's lights. He was frantically kicking and pulling at the lock on the second container. I ran across the yard, past Mr Green, who lay bound and gagged on the greasy concrete. He was moving like a slug, trying to get away.

'Dom! I've got the keys! Dom, calm down!'

He'd tried to blow the lock apart. There were strike marks in the steel all round it. Rust had been blasted away to expose shiny metal. He was lucky a round hadn't ricocheted into his head, or gone straight through and hit Finbar. 'Stop, mate – I've got the key.' I pushed him aside. 'Cover me, mate. I don't know who else is out there.'

I took a deep breath and started trying the keys. The third worked.

I pulled back on the handle. The locking bar creaked and the door swung open. The light from the Seat flooded in.

Dom rushed past me. 'Finbar! Finbar!'

He was just where Mr Green had said, lying on his side, on a large dog cushion. There was a bucket in the corner, surrounded by oily engine parts and wing mirrors. The smell of shit was overpowering.

'Finbar!' He turned back towards me, eyes wild. 'Nick, he's not…'

I went over and rolled him on to his back. 'Feel for a pulse…'

I lifted an eyelid. The eye was glazed and dull. I looked for an entry or exit wound. There was no blood.

'Finbar!'

He groaned. He tried to say something. A syringe and the rest of his paraphernalia were scattered over the floor.

'Dom, it's OK. The fuckers have kept him smacked up. He's going to be OK.'

Dom looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 'It's me, Finbar, it's Dom.' He cradled him in his arms. 'It's OK, we're here.'

I tugged at Dom's arm. 'Come on, let's go, mate. Somebody will have heard that lot and called the police.'

He pulled gently on Finbar's arms and the mass of matted blond hair was moving off the cushion. 'It's OK, Finbar, it's all right, it's Dom. You're OK…'

The boy finally realized who it was.

'Dom, for fuck's sake, get him out to the wagon – we've got to go!' My shout echoed round the container.

A vehicle fired up behind me. I ran out as a Mondeo estate screamed past. The wheels lurched over Mr Green's head with two sickening thuds.

There was nothing I could do but fire. It was like someone crashing through a vehicle checkpoint. I stood, got a good position, and kicked off a series of rapid single shots into the fading shape.

Brake-lights came on and off.

I kept firing.

Finally it crashed into a post beside the cattle grid. I was already running.

The Mondeo's rear window was frosted; it had taken five or six strikes.

The Yes Man was crumpled against an airbag. Blood leaked from his neck; he looked like he'd just burst an extra big boil. His eyes were closed but he was breathing.

I wrenched open the door and reached in for the keys. He wasn't going anywhere.

I turned to see Dom staggering to the Seat with Finbar in his arms.

I ran back and helped lift the boy into the front seat, then threw my weapon into the back. I dragged out Mr Black and left his body where it lay.

Finbar was slumped forward against the dash. I helped Dom get a belt round him. I lifted the boy's chin. 'All right, mate?'

He looked, but he didn't see.

I concentrated on Dom. 'Take the weapons, soak them in bleach, get all the DNA off and dump them. Burn this fucking wagon, soon as you can. You ready to go? Turn right on to the main – don't head for the town. Every man and his dog will be heading this way. Go on, get on with it.'

'But, Nick…'

'I'm going to stay here, mate. The Yes Man's in that wagon. What's the point of getting the boy out if he can still come back and get us? Go on, fuck off, get Finbar back to his mum. We'll contact each other through Kate, OK?'

He put a hand on my arm. 'I still haven't said thank you.'

He went to hug me and I pushed him away. 'Get off, you soft bastard. If you don't get a move on, you'll be cuddling a five-hundred-pound cellmate, not me.'

He smiled and jumped behind the wheel, and I ran back towards the Mondeo.

The Seat rattled over the cattle grid and was gone.

I tried dragging the Yes Man from the wreckage by his arm, but his legs were trapped and he ended up hanging upside-down, his back arched, blood splattered across his shirt and tie.

His breath rasped through his blood-choked throat. The round hadn't gone all the way through his neck, just nicked him.

I dug out the snub-nosed.38 from my pocket and raked the hard steel fore-sight along his cheek.

He looked at me with no emotion. 'In the boot… Four hundred thousand pounds… In a diplomatic bag… Take it. Just leave me…'

I knelt beside him. 'You know what?' I dug the muzzle into his wound. He shuddered with pain.

'I've never known your name, but it doesn't matter, because I've never wanted to invite you round for dinner.' I thought about Pete and Magreb and all the other poor bastards who'd got in the Yes Man's way. 'You once called me arrogant and disrespectful, but you're a whole lot worse than that. You're responsible for a lot of innocent people getting fucked over and killed, and you don't give a shit.'

'And you do, Stone?' He almost spat the words.

I stood up. 'Yes,' I said. 'I do.' I walked across to a nearby stack of tyres. Lying across the top was a rectangle of flowery material that had once been a curtain. I grabbed it and dragged a length of hose across to the cattle grid. Then I went and turned on the tap.

He knew exactly what was going to happen. I didn't need to explain.

I threw the curtain over his face and gave him the good news with a round in each elbow; I didn't want him able to rip it off with his hands. He screamed and jerked left and right, but all that happened was that the blood leaked faster from his neck wound.

I splashed water over the curtain until it hugged the contours of his face. He choked and bucked and tried to kick his trapped legs free. I knew exactly how he felt. I carried on going for thirty seconds before I pulled the cotton aside.

We were both soaking wet. He gulped and wheezed and begged me to stop.