Andy McNab - Deep Black

The pain in my chest had disappeared as we drove here. Now it was replaced by a different feeling. Maybe it was jealousy. They had everything I thought I wanted.

It seemed time to whisper a few of the right noises. 'Aww – she's beautiful, isn't she?'

Renee leaned into the carrycot, her eyes fixed on the sleeping face. 'Isn't she just?'

We settled down with the coffee and she apologized for the mess. 'We keep meaning to get a table.'

I thought I'd better make an effort before I took the first opportunity to get through that front door and out of there. I gestured towards the packing case and smiled. 'Last place I moved into, I had one of those. I got to rather like it.'

Jerry joined us with another mug.

'So what do you think of DC?' I said. 'A bit different from Buffalo…'

'It's fine.' She didn't sound too convinced. 'Maybe in another month or two we'll get sorted out, and Jerry will get the job he's after at the Post.'

She passed me a black coffee. Her lip had started to quiver. I sensed there was tension in the air. 'But he's going off on one more crazy trip before that…'

Jerry was doing his best not to look her in the eye.

Whatever was going on here, I wanted nothing to do with it. This was my opportunity. 'I'm sorry.' I tried a sip and put the mug down. The coffee was too hot. 'I really should be going. I was a bit tight for time anyway when I bumped into Jerry.'

He had other ideas. 'Come on, Nick, stay a little longer. Chloe will be awake soon and maybe we could all go for something to eat.'

'No, really, I-'

Renee looked up at me. 'We've made you feel uncomfortable.'

'No, no. Not at all.' I hoped I sounded more convincing to them than I did to myself. 'But I do have to go. I was only popping into the gallery for five minutes. I'll get the Metro, it's fine.' I didn't have a clue where the Metro was, but it didn't really matter.

Jerry tapped me on the arm. 'Least I can do is walk you to the station.'

There was no avoiding it: I didn't want to stand there all day arguing. I said my goodbyes to Renee and we left the flat.

Jerry was all apologetic in the lift. 'I'm so sorry about that. Things have been pretty vexed with the move…'

I nodded, not wanting to get involved. Their domestic stuff didn't interest me.

'Renee is right,' he carried on. 'I've got responsibilities now. I will go and work for the Post.' He paused, looking slightly sheepish. 'It's just that I haven't quite got around to applying for the job yet. There's one last thing I've got to do before I shoot beauty pageants for the rest of my life.'

I smiled at the thought of him bobbing around at a beauty pageant trying to project a message through the image.

The lift stopped in the lobby. We walked out on to the street and turned left. Jerry seemed to know where he was going. He was looking a bit more relaxed. 'Listen, Nick. I know you don't want to hear this, but I really want to thank you for what you did for me in 'ninety-four. I was young, I didn't have a clue what was going on, it was a total fuck-up. If those Serb fucks-'

I chose my words more carefully this time, to make sure he drew a line under it. 'I'm just glad that you're alive and happy, you've got a great family and things have worked out all right.'

'I know it, but still – I've got this one last thing to do.' He had that Jehovah's Witness look again. 'In Iraq.'

'Iraq?'

'It's just one final picture. The shot of my life. Remember the guy-'

I found myself going into a rant. 'How are they going to feel if you wind up with a bullet in the head? Or get it cut off, live online for Renee to watch? You've got to be there for them. Believe me, you never know what you've got until you lose it.'

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. 'For fuck's sake, Jerry, grow a brain. You've got everything. Why risk losing it?'

Jerry looked away. 'You're right, man. But this isn't Bang Bang. This is Korda's picture of Che Guevara. Hou Bo's picture of Chairman Mao. The guy bending over "Chetnik Mama" – I want my picture of him on the cover of Time.'

I had to speak up to be heard above the roar of the traffic. 'What's he doing in Iraq?'

We started to cross at a junction. 'He's not there yet – gets into Baghdad this Thursday for about a week. He's going to give the Iraqis a wake-up call. He's saying that the Sunni and the Shia need to unite, start controlling their own destiny. Believe me, Nick, this guy's on his way to being Islam's answer to Mahatma Gandhi.'

'What's his name?'

'Hasan Nuhanovic. He's a cleric. Even the Serbs were worried about him. He survived the whole Bosnia thing, and he's still walking on water. But only just – a lot of the "give war a chance" brigade, on both sides, want him dead. He's very bad for business.'

I shrugged. 'Still don't know him.'

'Exactly!' Jerry beamed. 'That's the whole point. He shuns publicity. He's not a personality-cult kinda guy. But his message is good, and I really believe that the right kind of picture will get it on to the world stage. You know he went to Pakistan and started a Coke boycott? Thing is, doing stuff like that, he ain't gonna be breathing for much longer. I gotta be quick. I've been trying to track him down in Bosnia, but it would be easier to arrange tea with Karadic. In Baghdad he won't have so many gatekeepers.' He gripped my arm. 'One last job, Nick, that's all I want to do. Renee's dead set against it, but it's not a frontline shot. The picture of Chairman Mao was taken on a beach. Nuhanovic on the banks of the Tigris. No problem, no danger. A walk in the park.'

I wanted to tell him that I knew he was talking bollocks to sell the idea. But I was interested in Nuhanovic. There are some things you don't forget, no matter how often you try to cut away, and watching him front up to Mladic at the cement works was one of them. 'So what did this guy get up to in Bosnia?'

'Some of the stories are just, like, amazing. I heard that he managed to stop a massacre some place north of Sarajevo. He actually confronted Mladic. No one seems to know what he said, but it seemed to get Mladic spooked. He let a whole bunch of prisoners go free.'

'What's happened with Mladic?' I tried not to sound too interested in the Muslim. 'They ever capture him? I've lost track of what's going on over there.'

'Nope, he's still out there. Last I heard he was maybe holed up in a monastery in Montenegro. It's only a rumour, but I heard that the Brits were just this far away -' he showed me the minutest of gaps between his thumb and his forefinger '- from killing him during the war. That would have been kinda neat, eh? But get this – the International Court was about to be set up in The Hague, and they needed some high-profile players to put in the dock. That way everyone could feel that justice was being done after the war. Everybody would be happy – apart from the Bosnian Muslims, of course.'

I thought about Zina. I'd never forget the look on her face as she posed for me, just fifteen and daring to dream for a microsecond of being Kate Moss. Then I thought about her and thousands like her getting killed so justice could be seen to be done. Well, it wasn't my kind of justice, but this wasn't the time or the place… Fuck it, so what? That was over ten years ago. It's all history now.

We stopped by the news-stand outside the Metro. 'Good luck, mate. I hope you get to take your photograph, and when there's world peace I'll be blaming you for it.' I put my hand out to shake his.

He hesitated. 'You know what? Why don't you come with me?' He did his best to make me think the idea had only just occurred to him.

'No, mate. I don't do that sort of-'

'Ah, come on. We'll be there for a week at the most.'

I put my hand out again and this time he took it. 'I've got to go, mate. I hope it all works out for you.'