Andy McNab - Dark winter

To cut noise, Suzy let the back down gently so that it locked only on the first click, before getting back into the driving seat and gripping one of the trouser packs. We each had three packs in all: the trousers, a hooded smock, and rubber boots. The trouser legs felt as if they'd been over-starched in a Chinese laundry; I had to push my arms through to unstick them. Suzy pulled apart her smock the same way. She was still on a high. 'This is great,' she whispered. 'It feels like we're on our way to a fetish party.'

Once we'd dealt with the smocks and trousers, we rolled them up and unwrapped the black overboots. They were one-size-fits-all and had to be laced up like Roman sandals. We threaded the strips of rubber through the loops round the sides of the soles, and that was the NBC kit ready to go.

The windows were misting up. We wrapped our suits round the boots, then got out to pack them back into the ready bags. I pulled apart the Velcro at the top of a green nylon bag and removed my standard British Army S6 respirator. It was a black-rubber job with two eyepieces, and a canister already attached. No spares had been provided but that wasn't necessarily a problem; a single canister should last for days. It just would have been good to know whether this was a new one.

I checked that the rubber bladder that formed a seal round the side of the respirator was properly adjusted so no bad stuff could get inside. Forward of where my chin was soon going to be there was a small valve: I twisted anticlockwise to let the air pressure in the bladder equalize with the ambient air pressure to form a tight seal. That was why I'd had to have a shave; stubble got in the way. Short hair is an advantage for the same reason: you don't want bits of your fringe getting in the way of the seal either.

I left it open for a minute and watched Suzy wiping her eyepieces with the cuff of her fleece. Then, tightening up the valve and brushing back my hair, I put the respirator to my face and adjusted the elastic straps round the back of my head. My nose filled with the smell of new rubber.

The canister was mounted on the left-hand side – so you could get a weapon into your right shoulder. Unscrewing it, I covered the gap with my hand and sucked in hard to make the respirator squash against my face. The seal was good.

Next was the SD. We had three thirty-round magazines each, more than enough. If we needed anywhere near a hundred and eighty rounds on this job we'd be severely in the shit and probably land up dead. We had nowhere to carry the spare mags; for some unknown reason, Packet Oscar didn't come with mag carriers, or even a chest harness for the weapon. This meant we wouldn't be able to run round and fight with both hands free; we'd have to put them down and maybe even leave them on target, which was where the Morrisons gloves came in.

I put them on and pressed the on button of the HDS with a rubbery finger. The heads-up sight started to glow. In theory the batteries in these things lasted for days, but I'd had bad experiences with them in the past and switched it off again immediately.

We each pushed a full 10mm mag into the SD's housing. I listened for the click before giving the mag a shake and pulling on it a bit to make sure it was fully home.

Suzy held her right hand over the cocking piece. 'Ready? After three. One, two, three.'

We made ready together, both pulling back our cocking pieces, which ran along the side of the chunky barrel, then letting them slide forward so the working parts picked up a round.

I checked chamber by pulling back slightly on the cocking piece once more, then applied safe. Suzy was ahead of me again: she'd already undone her NBC kit and was ripping apart the Velcro that secured the top flaps of the map pockets on her trousers. An SD magazine went into each; it meant they wouldn't rattle. I copied her, thinking about my Browning. 'I'm not bothering with the short. Even if I need it, I haven't got anywhere to put it.'

There was no reply as she placed her pick-and-rake wallet in the chest pocket of the smock, closed the Velcro fastening and checked it was secure. We couldn't afford for anything to fall out: we didn't want to make any more noise than we had to, and we didn't want to leave anything behind. If we weren't able to pick up our empty cases, then so be it, but that was it.

'Is that your way of insisting the shorts stay in the car?'

I twisted the bottom off my mini Maglite and reversed the bottom battery so that I had power again – something else I didn't want to run out on me when on target. 'Yeah, along with our docs – why risk leaving anything in there?'

'Done. But this car park of yours had better be safe.'

My MOE wallet stayed in the boot.

She was silent for a moment. 'Nick, what happens if they do contaminate us – you know, start throwing DW about?'

'We'll just have to assume we're in the shit, and hope the suits work while we wait an hour or so for the stuff to lose its fizz.'

'Just sit tight and wait?'

'What else can we do?' I reached into the back of my jeans. 'Apart from giving it a bit of help.' I pressed out four capsules and offered her the card as I felt them make their way down my gullet.

A set of headlights approached from the direction of King's Lynn, disappearing for a few seconds as the road dipped. We got back inside the Peugeot and I took my respirator with me, cleaning the eyepieces with my sweatshirt as the lights got nearer. For a few seconds we were bathed in a misty glow as the passing headlights cut through our steamed-up windows. I glanced at Suzy. She no longer looked so hyped-up as she polished her eyepieces all over again, with short, distracted strokes. I checked that the pressure valve was screwed up tight for the last time, wondering if maybe she had a capsule stuck in her throat or something.

We collected up all the plastic wrapping and shaving kit and threw them into the boot. Everything we needed on target was now stowed in the ready bags, so I could take off my gloves and shove them into my pockets. Nothing that came out of the car on to the target area would carry our fingerprints: we'd be going in sterile and, with luck, coming out the same.

'How come you know this place?' She closed the boot. 'Family holidays?'

We walked back either side of the car. 'Very funny,' I said. I couldn't see her face in the darkness. 'We didn't do holidays.' The truth was, we didn't do family either. 'I used to live a few miles down the coast. Just for a while.'

'With Kelly?'

The doors opened and the interior light came on as we both got back in. Suzy was waiting for an answer, but she wasn't going to get one. 'OK, what about this, then? How much of a coincidence is it that the source is shacked up in King's Cross?'

'All I want to do is get this job over and done with so I can get back to the States.'

'Sort out Kelly?'

'All kinds of shit.'

Both doors closed and the light went out. She turned the ignition, and I rearranged the Browning because the half-cocked hammer was starting to make my stomach sting. The red sore had never gone away after years of carrying one of these things, but it was now starting to weep.

Another couple of cars sped past. The driver of the last punched his horn four or five times and we were treated to a chorus of ribald yells from his passengers.

Suzy was back to her normal hyped-up self. 'They think we're shagging.' She cupped her hands and pretended to shout back at them as they disappeared into the distance. 'Hey, I'm not that desperate.'

I checked my traser as she wiped a hole in the condensation on the windscreen. 'You mean that shave was all for nothing?'

As Suzy drove back past the docks the arc lights on the other side of the fenceline were shining like a floodlit stadium. Over to our left, across the darkness of the wasteland, the Corrie houses were doing their best to compete. The street-lamps on Walker Street started by the bridge and stretched away from us, but cast no light on the narrow path along the canal. There was a secure triangle of shadow alongside the back walls and fences for us to work in.