Andy McNab - Dark winter

Carmen was tracing the cracks in her face with her fingertips, her eyes still glued to Lorraine. If she knew what was coming, she wasn't going to make it easy for me. I spoke up a little. 'You know how these things sometimes drag on, and I might not get back tonight. Just in case that happens, I'll need somebody to take Kelly to Chelsea in the morning.'

For a moment I wondered if she'd heard anything I'd said. 'Oh dear, I don't know,' she said finally. 'I'd have to ask Jimmy. I don't think he'd be happy about the traffic. What with the congestion charge and everything… And then there's the parking. How long would we have to wait?'

'Just under an hour. Look, I'll pay the petrol and the-'

'We can afford petrol, you know.'

'But you just said… What's the problem, Carmen?'

'Well, I mean, what will we tell the neighbours? No one knows she's seeing a psychiatrist.'

'You're not going to have to put a fucking sign up. And for the millionth time, it's no big deal. Kelly isn't mentally ill, she just needs help with some stuff, that's all.'

'Well, and can you blame her, poor thing, the life she's had? Pushed around from pillar to post, having to listen to your foul language all the time…'

I couldn't take any more. This woman was so negative I could actually feel her draining the energy out of me. She'd spent her entire life either sniping at other people or feeling sorry for herself, and she wasn't about to change. The only thing that would do that was a two-pound ball hammer to the back of her head.

'Thanks for the support, Carmen.' I turned and got out, tempted to add something sarcastic like, 'I don't know why I've paid a shrink all these thousands of pounds when I've got you on hand' – but I didn't think of it until I was in the corridor.

I was looking forward to the next bit even less. I was just about to confirm everything I knew Kelly felt about me.

I needn't have worried. It had already been done. As I went down the flowered carpet to her room, Kelly was standing outside her door. I couldn't read the exact expression on her face – anger, disbelief, disappointment, abandonment, maybe a mixture of them all. But I knew it meant I was in the shit. 'I don't believe you, Nick.' She was so close to tears she almost choked on the words.

'I don't have a choice, Kelly. It's just a meeting. All being well, I'll-'

'There's always a choice, Nick. That's what you keep saying, isn't it? Why don't you just say no to them, eh?'

'It's not that easy.' I went to stroke her head but she jumped back as if I'd touched her with a Taser.

'Don't.' She moved backwards into her room. 'Fucking hypocrite!'

I heard a gasp of shock from Carmen. Either Lorraine had suggested going non-organic on the moisturizer front or she'd been eavesdropping. Either way, I'd be to blame.

Kelly slammed the door but it didn't have a lock. I knocked gently. 'Let me explain. No, don't let me explain – just let me come in and say I'm sorry.'

I heard a sniffle and I opened up. She was lying face down on her bed, a pillow over her head. When I came in she flung it away and sat up to face me. 'I've told you so much, Nick. Too much for you to take, was it?'

'I know I should be able to tell these people to shove it but I can't. I just can't.'

She buried her head in her hands. 'When will you be back?'

'Not long. Tonight, maybe tomorrow.'

'OK, off you go.'

I went to touch her but she flinched again. I turned for the door, picking up my Caterpillars and bomber jacket. No one was allowed to wear shoes in Carmen's house. 'Hey, listen, make sure Granny doesn't go into my bag for any dirty washing. I'll do it when I get back, OK?'

'Whatever.'

It had taken me at least an hour to reach Chelsea Bridge, still seething at George and the Yes Man, and still being followed by the Volvo. The traffic thundered about me as I edged my way back into the flow towards Pimlico and the apartment where Suzy and I had stayed while preparing for the Penang job. The Firm had safe-houses dotted all around the country, but Pimlico seemed to have more than its fair share. They tended to be in mansion blocks that had been divided into self-contained flats, the sort business people used as pieds-a-terre while they were working in London during the week, or as shag pads before going home to their families in the Cotswolds at the weekend. They were good for security because they were impersonal and anonymous.

The flat I was going to was furnished, had a TV and a video, but no phone. The Firm serviced it and paid the bills, but it belonged to an alias company.

After cruising around for about fifteen minutes, I finally parked in Warwick Square. I fed the meter with as many coins as I had, hoping that would be enough. With any luck I'd be on my way back to Bromley within an hour or two.

I walked across the square to number sixty-six with Sundance and Trainers helpfully at my shoulder, and hit the intercom of flat three, which was on the top floor. The voice that answered belonged to Yvette, the Yes Man's PA-cum-fixercum-who-knew-what. She always spoke softly, as if life was one big conspiracy. I had to put my ear right up to the speaker to hear her 'Hello?'

'It's me, Nick.'

There was a buzz as the front door unlocked and I was pushed into the narrow hallway. It was the kind of push that left me in no doubt that the boys were looking forward to a return match.

When the house had been converted it had obviously been at the expense of the common areas. The staircase was almost directly ahead and I started climbing. The last time this place had seen a lick of paint must have been in the 1980s, when magnolia was all the rage, and the carpet wasn't a lot younger. Fuck knows what colour it was meant to be.

The staircase turned on itself and followed the woodchip wallpaper up a few landings to the top floor. Yvette was waiting for me in the doorway. Suzy and I had christened her the Golf Club. She had shortish and thin brown practical hair, and was slim, maybe too slim. A night out with Kelly for a few chip suppers wouldn't have done either of them any harm – even the arse in her skintight jeans was baggy. She was in her mid forties and, from the neck up, wouldn't have looked out of place at a WI meeting. Her only jewellery was a wedding ring, though, and she was dressed for Everest. I'd seen her in several different Gore-Tex mountain jackets, and the rest of her looked as if it was sponsored by Helly Hansen. I glanced down at her feet. Sure enough, the mountain boots were in place; side-on she looked like Tiger Woods could have used her to drive off from the first tee.

She'd been extremely professional on the Penang job. Even before dropping off the revolver in the Georgetown Starbucks, she'd done all the admin, collated our passports and cover documents, got hold of any information we needed, and relayed instructions from the Yes Man, all without raising her voice above a whisper. Thanks to her, we never had to see him after the initial briefing, which suited me just fine. I decided I really must find a way to kill this man and then take care of Sundance and Trainers before I got old and grey. It would be a job no one would have to pay me for.

She opened the door wider and whispered me inside. 'Hello, Nick. We never got to say goodbye.'

'It would have been a bit of a waste of breath, wouldn't it?' I whispered back. If I'd talked normally to her, it would have sounded as if I was using a loud-hailer. I hoped I'd never find myself on top of a mountain depending on her to shout for help.

I got a little smile out of her, and returned the compliment as I walked into the flat. I could hear the Yes Man immediately. Excellent: I was already rehearsing my speech in my head. The small rectangular hallway had bare walls, another riot of magnolia. Directly in front of me was the door to the bedroom, and to the right the bathroom and a rather tattered white MFI kitchen. I went left, following the cheap grey office carpet, and into the living room, which overlooked the startling green of the square.