Andy McNab - Agressor

These guys obviously spent more time watching reruns of Fantasy Island than checking the local news, but I knew it was only a matter of time before they made the connection with Baz.

My escort gripped the spacer bar on my cuffs and yanked my hands in front of me, and a couple of his mates gave me a brisk search. They didn't seem at all pleased about us nicking their wagon.

A set of hands grabbed each of my arms and half carried, half dragged me along the hard standing and up two wooden steps. We turned down a wide, windowless corridor. Grey lino covered the floor and extended six inches up each wall instead of skirting board. Fluorescent light bounced off glossy white walls.

The marine ahead of us was clearing a path through the onlookers. 'OK, guys, the show's over. Back in your offices, please. We got this situation under control. Come on, people, let's move here.'

We arrived at a pair of windowless double doors, heavily scuffed at the bottom where they'd been repeatedly opened with the help of a boot.

We barged through three or four sets in all before we finally stopped outside a bare room, furnished only with a single aluminium chair and a table.

Charlie was no longer behind me. I didn't like that at all.

One of the guys pushed me inside.

The lino-and-white-wall combo was clearly all the rage in this neck of the woods.

They turned me round and sat me down. Then, without saying a word, one of them grabbed the spacer bar and yanked my cuffed hands behind my head. The weight of my arms pulled it into the back of my neck, so I tried to hunch up, to take some of the pressure off my wrists.

I was pulled back up by the hair. 'Sit straight, you fuck.'

Four guys and a woman stayed in the room with me, all in uniform, with radio earpieces and pistols in black nylon leg holsters. One of them kept hold of my spacer bar, his knuckles digging into the back of my neck.

Their eyes drilled into me.

The woman stood in front of me. 'Undress.'

If she was here to embarrass me, she was a lifetime too late. I'd had to eat my own shit before now, and I'd do it again if it stopped them climbing aboard me. Anything was better than getting a kicking.

The cuffs were released and blood rushed back into my hands as I started to pull off my kit.

Except for the gentle hum from the air-conditioner vents high on the wall, the room was silent.

She dug into her box of tricks and snapped her hands into a pair of surgical gloves. I noticed a badge with two snakes coiled around some kind of stick on her lapel. Medical corps.

I stood with my clothes in a heap at my feet, awaiting instructions, though I had a good idea where this was leading.

She pointed to the chair. 'Sit down.'

I did as I was ordered and the four guys formed a semicircle in front of me. One of them had a can of mace at the ready; another held a Taser. It was almost as if they were willing me to start something.

The metal was cold on my bare back and arse but I didn't have time to think about it. The woman pushed my head back and dug around in my mouth with a spatula.

I could smell smoke on her shirt. I hoped she wasn't too pissed off about being called away from her cigarette break, because I had the feeling this was about to get very intimate.

I wondered what they were looking for. Drugs? A miniature bomb under my tongue? Or were they just putting me through the wringer?

More important, where was Charlie?

She put the spatula aside, and probed around my gums with a finger.

What next? A free orange suit and daily trips to the interrogation room on a handcart? Who the fuck did they think I was?

She checked my ears, then dipped back into the box for a party-size tube of KY jelly. I was obviously going to get the full Saddam.

She squeezed some onto the first and middle fingers of her right hand. 'Stand up, bend over and touch your toes.'

I had only one consolation: it was going to be worse for her than me. I'd been saving up all day for a dump.

I felt her finger slide in, have a good dig around, then withdraw.

'Stand up.'

I avoided looking her in the eye. I didn't want to give her even the hint of a smile.

The heel of a boot slammed into my back and sent me flying towards the wall. I knew that was just for starters. They'd warm themselves up with a few more of the same before mob rule took over. They really did have hatred in their eyes.

I took the fall, curled up tight, and waited. Boots advanced on me across the floor. I kept my face covered, but one eye open.

One of the radios crackled and the wearer quickly pushed in his earpiece to keep it private. He conveyed whatever had been said to him to the others in hushed tones. They looked at me, clearly disappointed. That was it, then; they must know I was the TV star. It was now Georgian police time. I tried to kid myself it was a better option.

The medic pulled off her glove and deposited it into a plastic bag and bundled all her toys back into the box. She pointed at the chair. 'Sit.'

I got to my feet, but not quite quickly enough. One of the guys helped me on my way with his toecap.

The aluminium hadn't got any warmer. I heard the slurp of KY as I shifted position, then the sound of gaffer tape being ripped off a roll.

They grabbed my wrists and forced them up against my temples, then got busy with the tape. They wrapped it around my hands and head like a bandage, then down under my chin for good measure.

I clenched my fists as tightly as I could, trying to create some slack in the tape when they'd finished. Even a little bit of play might mean my circulation wasn't cut off. I knew I wasn't going anywhere in a hurry, but knowing that I was resisting in some small way made me feel better.

Next they turned their attention to my arms, binding them together just above the elbows, locking them firmly under my chin.

No order was given, but they suddenly stepped back as one and left the room.

I glanced around me. My clothes were gone, and there was no way out.

My hands more or less covered my ears, but I'd heard the door being locked from the outside, and the four ventilation grilles were no larger than letter boxes. Besides, they probably had me under CCTV.

I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. Sweat stung the skin beneath my chin. I must have stayed like that for an hour, maybe more.

I tried to keep optimistic.

I'd fallen in more than my fair share of dung heaps over the years, and while I might not always have come up smelling of roses, I'd been able to keep a certain percentage of me shit-free and easy on the nose.

I'd taken a bit of punishment along the way, but somehow always managed to get away with it. I guessed that was one of the reasons I'd carried on doing these stupid dickhead things.

Try as hard as I might, I couldn't avoid the thought that maybe this time would be different.

I could hear muffled speech in the corridor. I lifted the gaffer tape as far as I could away from my ears. Heated or just frustrated, I couldn't tell which, but there were certainly a few 'Goddams' and 'No way, their asses are ours' being bandied around out there. It sounded like something bad was happening for them, but of course that didn't necessarily mean something good was happening for us.

That cell in Tbilisi suddenly seemed very close again.

Boots and tyres crunched across the gravel.

I hated times like this, not knowing what the fuck was happening. Maybe the police were already here, working on Charlie first? He might not be in great shape these days, but they wouldn't get much out of him.

They'd probably tell me the old fucker had confessed everything, but I knew the last thing Charlie would do was give them any ammunition. His hands might swing into disco mode and his memory might let him down, but some things are so deeply ingrained they're second nature.