Andy McNab - Dark winter

The Yes Man had his head down, and was taking up the whole of the red velour settee as he flicked through a pile of files and spoke into a cell. Suzy was sitting on one of the chairs, dressed in jeans, black leather jacket, and a jumper nearly the same colour as the carpet. At her feet was a large blue nylon sports bag.

The two remaining chairs stood against the wall. One was taken by a red Gore-Tex jacket I hadn't seen the Golf Club wearing before, with a thousand pockets and zips. I took the other. Lying between them were two brown briefcases, each attached by about nine inches of chain to a worn steel handcuff.

Nobody said a word. The Yes Man didn't greet me because he was an arsehole, and because he didn't, Suzy couldn't. I didn't hold it against her. She got a bit overexcited at times, but if I had to work with someone, she was at the top of my list – and not just because the rest of the list were dead.

I sat on the edge of the chair and waited for the Golf Club to prepare a brew. Meanwhile the Yes Man kept nodding as he turned the pages and began to get flustered with whoever was at the other end of the phone. 'OK… yes… No! Tell him he will meet them this evening – even if he hasn't confirmed how many the meet is just as important. Remind him what he is, and that he has no choice.'

He slammed the phone down on the table and speed-read the remaining pages. I'd never seen him like this before; he was really starting to flap. Suzy and I just sat and exchanged glances while he continued reading and nodding. Fuck it, she looked as if she was looking forward to this. I knew Suzy was dying for a B amp; H, but I bet she wouldn't be lighting one in front of him. The Yes Man didn't drink or smoke, and was a born-again Christian – Scientologist, something like that – so he was pretty frightening at the best of times. I wondered if I should introduce him to Josh; perhaps they could bore each other to death.

There was clinking and clanking in the kitchen, and the sound of the electric kettle getting filled.

I leant forward and rested my forearms on my thighs as I watched the Yes Man making notes on the pages that flicked through his hands. His ginger hair was going even more grey around the edges – or it would have done if he'd left it alone, but he'd been at the Grecian 2000 again and I was catching more than a hint of copper.

As always, his blue, diamond-patterned tie was knotted really tight up to the collar. Maybe that was the reason for his permanently blushing complexion. Maybe he did it to try and hide his neck, which always seemed to have a boil on the go. He was in his mid-forties now, and the mind boggled as to what he must have looked like as a kid. The pockmarks all over his face suggested a miserable adolescence. Maybe that was what had turned him into an arsehole.

Judging by the sound of mugs being moved around in the kitchen it wouldn't be long before the brew turned up, but here in the living room we were still waiting for the headmaster to take assembly. He turned a few more pages and dialled on his cell. I tried catching his eye, but he was just too distracted to notice as he read on and changed his mind about the call.

The clomping of Yvette's boots on the thin carpet telegraphed her arrival with a tray. She put it down on the small table in front of the settee, and poured the Yes Man's coffee first. He had what Suzy called Nato standard: white with two sugars. Suzy got black without; me, white without. The Golf Club never forgot a detail.

She sat down in her seat and bent to pick up one of the briefcases. The cuff rattled about on its chain as she manoeuvred the case on to her lap and flicked open the locks. The Yes Man passed a couple of his pages to her, and glanced briefly in my direction before returning to the ones remaining on the table. 'So glad you could make it on time.'

I looked at Suzy. 'I think I'm early, actually, even without the prompt at my door. Sir?' I hated calling him that, but I had to attract his attention somehow. 'Can I talk to you alone?'

'What?'

'There's something I need to discuss with you.'

One glance at Suzy and she got the hint and made herself scarce, closing the door behind her. Yvette stayed where she was. A private word with the Yes Man automatically included her.

'Well?'

He hadn't even looked up. I knew I was on a loser straight away.

'Sir, I have a personal problem that I need to deal with urgently. I just need a little time to sort things out.'

'You don't get it, do you? You have no personal problem, because you have nothing that is personal. That headcase of a child stays with her grandparents, or goes home. It's as simple as that. What happens to her really doesn't matter, because you're going to stay here and do what you're paid for.'

'Sir, I understand but-'

'No buts. Shut up and get on with your job. Do you understand?'

I nodded. For now, what else could I do? Storm out of the flat and straight into two regulators who'd like nothing more than to park me all over their garage? It was too early for that. There had to be another way.

He straightened himself on the settee as Yvette went to let Suzy back in. His eyes stayed on his files as the two women passed him, and Yvette handed Suzy and me a Jiffy-bag each from her briefcase. I checked my passport. It was in the name of Nick Snell again. Everything was in order: the date of birth was correct, but some of the stamps had been changed. For starters, the Malaysian holiday visa had disappeared. I checked the worn-looking Bank of Scotland credit cards, making sure they were still valid.

Yvette was helping herself to a sip of brew.

'Is it the same CA?'

She nodded.

I looked at Suzy, who was doing the same as me, but much more enthusiastically. Her eyes shone, but she was trying to control her excitement in front of the boss.

The Yes Man had put his file to one side when the phone rang again. The Golf Club picked it up and left for the kitchen, although she didn't need to: it was impossible to hear what she was saying from more than six inches away.

The Yes Man leant forward to pick up his brew, and fixed his gaze on Suzy. That was fine by me. I wanted to be anywhere but here, and it helped if I didn't have to look at him. 'The wine bottles that were collected in Penang contained pneumonic plague…' He let the words hang, as if waiting for a reaction. He wasn't going to get one from me: I wouldn't have been here if it had been Fat Bastard Chardonnay.

'That was the last batch produced for JI. We have no idea how much they've stockpiled in the last eleven months, but we know they've been planning bio attacks for some time now, mainly Far Eastern targets. Meanwhile, ASU [Active Service Unit] members have been disappearing from Malaysia. It seems they have ambitions to move further afield, which can only mean one thing. They consider themselves third wave.'

By the look on his face, he probably hoped we'd have to ask him what it meant, but it wasn't rocket science. Third-wave terrorism just meant these people were switched on and highly technical. They weren't knuckle-draggers: their greatest weapon was their brains. They knew it wasn't that hard to access information and, scarier still, they knew where to look. They had already learnt how to develop biological agents – and it was probably only a matter of time before they figured out how to split the atom in the kitchen.

Suzy twisted on her chair. 'Is that why the barriers are up around the Houses of Parliament?'

He shook his head. 'The sort of attack they have in mind can defeat any barrier.' He put down his mug and stared at it for several seconds before jerking his head up and re-establishing eye-contact, this time with us both. 'The problem we face, as of six hours ago, is that there are already up to six bottles in this country, possibly more. It appears they were brought in as duty-free wine by one of the four-member ASUs. Every available bit of CCTV footage from all ports of entry is being looked at to try and identify who they are – and then, of course, find them.'