Andy McNab - Agressor

'Yes, you do.' My eyes were fixed on the mud-covered gravel ahead. The Pajero was starting to slip and slide, and I had to fight the wheel to correct it. 'He designed the gas you used, but shouldn't have, remember? He committed suicide about a year afterwards. He couldn't live with the guilt.'

'Oh, that Anthony…' Bastard ran an index finger over his moustache. 'Sure I remember him… fucking Limey fag. He shouldn't have been there. Never send a boy to do a man's job…'

I swung the Pajero up a track that suddenly opened up to the left. We bucked over the pipeline towards a stretch of trees.

I shouted back at Charlie. 'Let's see if this arsehole's bollocks are as big as his mouth.'

I braked hard at the treeline, killed the ignition and shoved Bastard towards the passenger door. 'Get the fuck out! Now!'

I swivelled in my seat, leaned back against my door and kicked at him with both feet as he scrabbled for the handle. 'I was there, I was with Anthony. I saw the whole fucking thing…' I kicked him again as his door swung open and he slithered out into the mud.

He picked himself off the ground, his face a mask of fear and indignation. 'It wasn't me who gave the order. That was way above my pay scale.'

I followed him out while Charlie rummaged in the back of the wagon.

'I thought you'd got the message about that worker bee shit,' I yelled through the rain. 'None of those kids stood a chance, and you enjoyed every fucking minute!'

'Bingo!' Charlie gave me the thumbs-up, slammed the rear door and headed for the Pajero's bonnet.

'Wait until I've climbed aboard him.' I brought my pistol up. 'I'm going to have this fucker.'

Bastard backed away until he was pressing against the front wing. 'Hey, I knew it wasn't right. I knew it was wrong to kill those people.' He raised his hands, half pleading, half trying to make me keep my distance. 'Those were American citizens… my own people…' He pointed at me. 'Our people.'

'Down! In the mud! Now!'

He slid down the side of the vehicle and slumped against the wheel. The rain kicked up the puddles all around him. We were both soaked to the skin. My sleeve weighed heavily on my arm as I raised my pistol to his head.

'Who are you working for?' My first kick caught him square in the ribs. 'Who gave the order to drop Charlie?' My second disappeared into the mountain of flesh that spilled over his waistband. 'What's in those documents? What the fuck happened at the house?'

Charlie had released the bonnet and was now standing on the other side of him.

Bastard heaved air into his lungs and his face tilted up towards me, eyes screwed up against the rain. 'What you gonna do, son? Pull that trigger? Fuck you, then. Just get on with it. '

Charlie shook his head, then leaned down and clipped one of the Pajero's jump leads onto the roll of fat above Bastard's collar and held the second against his ear.

Bastard screamed and his whole body shuddered. He collapsed like a rag doll, legs splayed out in the mud.

The jump lead was still clamped to his neck. Charlie handed me the other and slid into the driver's seat.

I gave Bastard another kick, just because I wanted to.

Charlie fired up the ignition, and gave the pedal a squeeze.

Bastard said nothing, just lay there whimpering, listening to the steady throb of the Pajero's engine, staring down at the mud. He was starting to get the message.

'Look at me.'

He kept his eyes down.

I jammed my clip against the top of his ear.

He squealed, arched his back and collapsed again.

I leaned over him. 'Look at me…'

He stayed where he was, but this time his eyes came up to meet mine. Rain streamed off my chin and onto his face.

'This is very simple.' I waved the jump lead in his face. 'You talk, and I keep this away from you.'

He jerked his head to dislodge the crocodile clip from his neck, but it stayed right where it was.

I kicked his hand away as he tried to reach up and grab it.

When he started to talk, I could hardly hear him above the sound of the rain. 'It was a simple operation that got fucked up. We just needed those papers, no hassle, everything clean.' He scrabbled in the mud and hauled himself back up against the wheel. 'It's out of my hands now. That's why I was getting out of this shithole.' He stared into the trees.

I moved the clip back into his line of sight, and held it no more than a centimetre away from his nose. 'You're not answering the questions. Who the fuck are you working for? Who are these powerful friends of yours you said can make things happen?'

'The politicos, man. Same old story. The guys Bazgadze was gunning for. That's why they wanted what was in his safe. That's all I know.' He glanced up at me. 'And all I wanna know.'

'You still with the Bureau? Is this some covert FBI fuckabout we've been sucked into here?'

He shook his head slowly and his gaze dropped back towards the mud. 'Those fuckers spat me out four years ago. Chewed me up and spat me out, with just enough of an annuity to buy myself a cigar every Fourth of July. Why do you think I ended up in this goddam shithole?'

I wasn't buying the sympathy card, and brought the clip a fraction closer to let him know.

'I was in the job thirty years, and for what? Jack shit, man. So when these guys step in and offer me a retirement plan-'

'What happened at the house?'

'The guys I work for, there are six of them, OK? Partnership for Peace isn't high on their list of priorities; well, partnership gets their vote, but peace can go take a dump. They want to keep things exactly the way they are. US dollars are flying in by the planeload, and a lot of them get diverted their way. They pay the militants to threaten the pipeline, just to keep things on the boil. Nothing bad, nothing physical – just the occasional firework display. Nobody gets hurt. It's just good, old-fashioned commerce. I'm just there to-'

'Yeah, we know,' Charlie said. 'You're just there to smooth the way…'

Bastard looked up at him and risked a smile.

I kicked him. 'Get on with it.'

He slid his legs up as close to his chest as his gut would allow. 'This Bazgadze guy, he'd been getting more and more of a problem. The whole sainthood thing wasn't good for business. And neither was getting found out just before Bush arrives to rally the troops for the war on terror. So the plan was, steal the papers, find out what he knows. Lean on the guy. Warn him off…'

He raised a hand to the jump lead still clamped onto his neck. 'Can I take this thing off? I'm fucking helping you here.'

I shook my head. 'You're helping yourself. That still doesn't explain what happened at the house, or at the cemetery. Who the fuck were those guys?'

'Bazgadze wasn't any more popular with the militants than he was with my politicos. There's this fuck, Akaki, he runs them. He just couldn't wait. If Bazgadze had proof he was on the take, he wanted him dead. He's a fucking psycho, he's out of control. It's not the way to deal with guys like Bazgadze – he's a fucking god around here.

It's gotta be subtle.'

'What, like you?'

The rain was so hard it felt like a madman with a staple gun was attacking the back of my neck.

Charlie wasn't happy – and not just with Bastard's explanation. 'We better start getting a move on.' He pointed beyond the trees, where mud and loose debris were breaking away from the side of the hill and gravity was doing the rest. 'The road's taking a pounding.'

I kicked Bastard to his feet.

'So what happens now?' he said.

'What happens now is you shut the fuck up, or we connect those jump leads to your bollocks. You're coming with us, and later on, when we're in Turkey and out of this shit, you're going to call a few of your high-powered mates. We're going to make a little deal, and this time you're going to be the broker.'