Andy McNab - Dark winter

I gripped the phone hard. 'These dealers, selling that shit to kids, they hang them in Malaysia. I'm starting to understand why.'

'I'm not sure how much that would help us in Kelly's current situation. Addiction and bulimia might only be part of a bigger picture, and that's why I think it would be helpful if you and I were to meet again. I've been talking with my American colleagues who deal specifically with Vicodin, since my experience over here is more with prescription and over-the-counter painkillers. They say there's a number of ways in which her therapy could continue once she has returned home. First of all we need to establish that she is bulimic, and that will affect where I think we should send her. But nothing is going to happen unless she wants it to happen. That is where you come in.'

'Yes, of course. I'll see you tomorrow. In the meantime, should I say something?'

'No. We can talk further once I've confirmed the diagnosis. The greatest gift you can give her now is simply support.'

'Be her mum?'

'Exactly. I will see you both tomorrow.'

I hit the button on my mobile to see who'd been calling, hating tri-band cells more and more by the second. It was a blocked number, and just as I was pondering the possibilities it rang again. I stuck the phone to my ear, to be told I had one message, and then treated to the unmistakable public-school-headmaster tones of the Yes Man. 'Tuesday, 08:57. Call me back as soon as you get this message, same number you used last month.'

Fuck, no!

I turned off the phone. He could only know I was in-country from George – and by tracking the phone signal he would know exactly where I was to the nearest ten metres. It meant trouble, and I had plenty of that already. I hit the keys.

He answered on the second ring. 'What?' The Yes Man had never been what you'd call a people person.

'It's Nick.'

'Listen in, there's a fast ball. Be here at one p.m. It shouldn't take you long from Bromley.'

'You listen.' I hated the way he talked as if he still owned me. 'I don't work for you any more. I don't even live here.'

He sighed, just like my school teachers had used to. 'The child's grandparents can take care of the to-ing and fro-ing to Chelsea.' The bastard wasn't even listening. 'You've been seconded again. If you want to waste your time, contact your American employers. They will confirm. I don't care if you do or you don't, just get here on time. Expect to be away for a number of weeks.'

The line went dead and for several moments I just stared at the phone in my hand. No way. No way could I be away for weeks.

I walked down the drive and began to wander along the pavement, gathering my thoughts. Not that that took very long. Within seconds I was tapping in the numbers for George's beeper. Fuck the time difference, he was paid 24/7.

I listened to the prompts and was pressing home my number when I heard a vehicle draw up just behind me. A Jock voice shouted, 'All right, boy?'

I turned and saw two smiling, hard-lived-in faces that I'd hoped never to see again. Fuck knows what they were called. They were Trainers and Sundance to me, the Yes Man's regulators, the ones who would have killed Kelly if I hadn't done the job for him in Panama.

My cell rang and I saw Trainers pull up the handbrake, keeping them a few metres back.

'It's me. You paged.'

I stood and stared at the Volvo as Sundance got on to his cell as well, probably to the Yes Man.

'I've just got the call. Why me? You know why I'm here.'

'Yes. But I'm not a social worker, son.' He didn't sound as if I'd just woken him up.

'I can't do it.'

'I'll call Osama, have him put things on hold, shall I? No, son, duty calls.'

'There must be somebody else.'

'I want my man on it, and today that's you because you're there.'

'But I've got a duty here, I need to be with her…' I was suddenly aware how pathetic I must be sounding.

'What do you imagine I do all day? I'm paid to think, that's what I do. I've thought – and no, there isn't anyone. It's an unsparing world, son. You're paid to do, so do.'

'I understand that but-'

'You don't understand, and there are no buts. Get to work or she mightn't ever get to appreciate that fancy therapy.'

I got a sudden dull pain in the centre of my chest as Sundance carried on gobbing into his cell. I'd had George down as a better man than that. 'Fuck you! That stunt's been pulled before with these two fuckers he's sent for me. Why bring a child into this shit again? Fucking arseholes.'

George remained calm as Sundance closed down his cell and smiled at Trainers. 'You misunderstand, son. We're not the threat here.' There was a few seconds' pause. I kept my mouth shut. 'Don't call me any more. Report to London until I say otherwise, you hear me?'

I closed down and walked over to the Volvo. The headful of dirty blond hair that had reminded me of a young Robert Redford the first time I saw it had gone. Sundance poked his head out of the passenger window, looking like he was just growing out of a Number One.

'I said, all right, boy?' He had the kind of thick Glasgow accent that you could only get from forty-odd years of chewing gravel. 'In a bit of a huff there, ain't ya? That girl of yours must be getting a bit older now. You know, getting a bit of a handful.' He held his hands up as if weighing a pair of breasts, and gave me the kind of leer that made me want to smash his face in.

Trainers liked that and joined in the laughter as he pulled out a packet of Drum and some Rizlas. He was about the same age and had the dark brown version of Sundance's haircut. They'd obviously kept up hitting the weights since their days in the H Blocks as prisoners of the UK's anti-terrorism laws, but still looked bulked-up rather than well honed. With their broken noses and big barrel chests they wouldn't have looked out of place in ill-fitting dinner jackets and Doc Martens outside a nightclub.

I could see Trainers's forearms rippling below his short-sleeved shirt as he started to roll up. Last time I saw him his Red Hand of Ulster tattoo had just been lasered off, and all traces had now disappeared.

I knew this wasn't the time to do anything but breathe deeply. Trainers handed the first roll-up to Sundance, and his one hundred per cent Belfast boomed through the passenger window: 'The boss said to make sure you come to the meeting. Don't want you wimping out on us now, do we, big man?'

I leant down to get a better view of him as he got to grips with the second roll-up, and had a chance to admire his trademark shop-soiled Nikes. Sundance flicked unsuccessfully at a disposable with hands the size of shovels. 'What if I decide not to?'

'Ah, now, that would be nice.' Neither could help but smile as Sundance shook the lighter to try to get it working. 'We could all go back to the garage, couldn't we? Things could get interesting again.'

The garage was in south London. That was where they'd beaten the shit out of me while we waited for the Yes Man to come and explain the facts of life: that I would be going to Panama or else.

I straightened up and turned to walk away. 'I'll be there.'

'Ah, now, that's a shame.'

As I went back to the house, I saw that Sundance wasn't leaving anything to chance. He pulled the Volvo into the kerb and parked, and they set about filling the car with smoke.

Carmen was in the living room, watching transfixed as Lorraine Kelly guided her GMTV audience through the minefield of organic moisturizers.

'I've just had a call from work.'

She couldn't be arsed to look up.

'I've got to go to a meeting at one o'clock – I'll have to leave in a minute to make sure I get there on time. There's some sort of emergency going on.'

What else could I do? Lock the front door and just hope Sundance and Trainers got bored and went away? No, I'd see if the Yes Man could find someone else. Shit, I was even prepared to beg if I had to.