Andy McNab - Dark winter

My head was full of a hundred different things as she put her hand into mine and we walked in silence, following the path. The first consideration is always the enemy, in this case the ASU. Chances were, they were going to be in the house; for now, concealment was their best weapon.

What were their aims and intentions? We knew their objective, but we knew nothing about their training, their leadership, their morale. These people weren't fighters: third wave had brains the size of Gibraltar. But all the same, what sort of people were we going up against? We didn't even know if they were armed. All the source had said was that they were fundamentalists, more eager to go to Paradise than we were to leave King's Lynn. But what did that mean? Would they fight? I hoped not.

Next priority was ground. Going in on white would be a nightmare because, apart from the sealed window units, there were only the skylights and the front and back doors. Even if one of the skylights was left open, we couldn't get through, so that left the doors – and that could mean waiting for darkness so that the Yale could be attacked on the front. But there was a high risk of compromise with so many curtains to be twitched.

Suzy was coming to the same conclusion. 'It's got to be on black, hasn't it?'

Target zones are colour coded to make them easier to identify. The front elevation is always called white, the right-hand side red, the left green, and the back is black. This being a terraced house, all we had to work with was black and white.

'Yeah, unless the Golf Club gets us a Packet Echo and we blow our way through from one of the neighbours' walls.'

She played with her gum between her teeth and couldn't help a fleeting smile at the thought. 'All we have to do is get into the yard. After that we get plenty of cover to get the NBC kit on and attack the lock.'

I nodded. It was a simple plan because we had very little information.

She grinned, taking big exaggerated chews now. 'Shit, sometimes I'm so good it scares me.'

'First we need to get out of town somewhere and prepare the NBC kit so we're not opening all the bags and stuff on target. Then we can walk back on to target with the ready bags, get over the wall and Bob's your uncle – kit on, make entry and get on with it.'

'The only refinement I've got to that is I want to buy some rubber gloves. I don't want the NBC ones. It's really hard to manipulate the trigger, especially with the inners on as well.'

I nodded. 'Good thinking. And once we're inside you can have a crack at the washing-up.' We got back to the car park with just over two hours to go before last light. 'Fancy a brew?'

She nodded enthusiastically, and we went into Morrisons' cafe and got a couple of teas, sandwiches and biscuits. I kept checking my traser.

'Relax, Nick.'

The Best of Janet Jackson banged out of the loudspeakers at us, interrupted now and again by a member of staff explaining all the wonderful deals they had in-store.

Suzy looked at her watch too. 'I'm going to go and get those gloves. You want some?'

'Madness not to. Get us a can of foam and some razors too, will you?'

She rubbed my face. 'No worries. Who knows? If you took a bit more care of yourself, you might get lucky.'

She left me to the biscuits she hadn't touched, and I pulled out my phone. I got Josh's answering-machine again; it was still only about midday on Friday for them. I cut the call and redialled.

'Hello?'

'Carmen. Is Kelly there?'

'I'll get her.' I heard the noise of the TV as she walked from the kitchen, and then, 'It's Nick.'

I heard a weepy 'Hello?'

'Hi, Kelly, listen – I just wanted to phone you up because we didn't have a lot of time to talk. I'm so sorry I can't come and say goodbye, but I'm up north now. Carlisle.'

'Where's that?'

'Almost in Scotland. Listen, I'm sorry-'

'Is Josh back?'

'Not yet. Some time tonight, his time.'

I looked up and Suzy was in one of the checkout queues with her basket of stuff. 'Listen, I've got to go. I'll call you again, maybe not tonight because I'm going to be travelling. I'll try in the morning, OK? Have they fixed your flight?'

'I'm not sure.'

'Look, I'd better have a quick word with Granny – is she there?'

I heard her call out, then the phone being shuffled over to Carmen.

'Did you manage the flight?'

'No, it cost a hundred pounds to change the ticket and they wouldn't wait for you to call. They wanted the money now and you know how much it costs to use a credit card, when we paid-'

'Look, just pay it, please – I'll send the money off, whatever it costs.'

I powered the phone down and got it back into my bumbag just as Suzy finished paying.

It was good to be in the non-smoking area with her for once. We ordered up a plate of sandwiches, a couple of bananas and a yoghurt, then drank tea and spun the shit like every other couple seemed to be doing. The cafe stopped serving at six p.m., but we'd nursed our food and drink for an hour beyond that. Now the cleaning woman was doing her best to mop round us and it was time to go.

We took the main drag out of the town, via the docks and towards the bypass, Suzy still at the wheel. I took off the interior light cover and felt around in the door pocket. 'Where are the bulbs?'

'In the glove thingy.'

I screwed them back in, then plugged my phone into the charger dangling from the lighter socket. I got the shaving kit out of the carrier-bag, flipped open the visor mirror and worked a handful of foam into my stubble.

To our right, beyond the wasteland, lights glinted in the back rooms of the houses in Sir Lewis, but not in the one that, from this distance, we thought was the target. The odd figure walked or cycled along the river path, and a couple of chimneys were spewing smoke. Suzy was already getting herself worked up about going back in there. 'They'd better not be boiling cabbages.'

I was making quite a bad job of shaving as Suzy drove past estate after estate of flats and houses set back from the road, then a fire station with its strike posters still stuck to the doors. Finally we hit the new steel-and-glass trading estates, where shiny new Audis and Citroens were on display in the showrooms, just waiting to be delivered to the detached houses nearby; the ones in their own grounds with stone lions standing guard over the gateways. I wiped my blood-nicked face clean with tissue paper from my Next bags, and was left reeking of menthol.

We eventually hit a major roundabout on the bypass. The second left looked the darker option, and Suzy took it as I ripped open the packaging on our smart new Morrisons washing-up gloves. She turned right into a B road and finally pulled up in a dried-mud layby next to a field.

Instead of reflecting quietly on what we could be getting involved with in the next few hours, Suzy seemed to be getting increasingly revved up about it. She picked up her gloves and gave me a flick. 'You into rubber?' She laughed. Her door opened and the interior light came on as she held out her hand for the boot bulb. 'I'll get the kit.'

I heard the back open and her rummaging about inside. It wasn't long before six packs of NBC kit were tossed on to the back seat. Large white cards beneath the Cellophane simply said, 'Trousers', or 'Smocks'. We would prepare one bit of kit at a time, leaving everything else packed in the back. If someone was out walking their dog or another vehicle stopped alongside, it would be easier to hide.

I peeled back the outer covering, then ripped at the thick, airtight plastic packaging with my teeth. There was a rush of air as the pressures equalized. The NBC suit inside was made of a dark grey-green cotton shell, laminated to layers of tiny carbon spheres. Fingers crossed, it would absorb any biological or chemical agents before they made contact with the clothing worn underneath and, more importantly, my skin.