Andy McNab - Dark winter

The phone went down. I needed to know who he'd been talking to. 'Is she at the son's house now? Is she OK?'

He nodded. 'Of course. We are not animals.'

What the fuck was I going to do now? What about Suzy? Had she kept up with the Transit on the way here? Was she still outside, or was she following it again?

She'd have stayed put. Even if she'd seen Kelly being bundled into the van she'd have let her go. Fair one, I couldn't blame her for that: she hadn't seen me, or, more importantly for her, DW.

How long had I been here? Thirty minutes, maybe forty, I didn't know. She could be about to burst in at any moment, fucking up whatever was going to happen.

What was going to happen?

I had to do something, and I had to do it very soon. What if Grey and Navy were checking in with the source every half-hour – even every quarter? What would happen to Kelly if a report time went unanswered? I knew the answer, and it was one I couldn't cut away from. They'd kill her.

Our eyes were fixed on the TV, a metre or so to my left, as panic, conjecture and downright lies unfolded silently on both sides of the Atlantic.

The source was a couple of metres to my right. He slipped his cell into his pocket as he tapped out another cigarette from the pack.

I looked back at the TV, measuring the distance between me and the brass mosque on top. It was about the size of an SLR camera.

I breathed in slowly, deeply, psyching myself up. I had only one chance.

I counted, one… two… three…

I sprang forwards, eyes fixed on the shiny metal lump.

There was a muffled shout behind me.

In grabbing it, I tipped over the TV, and sent the rest of the ornaments flying across the floor.

I swung my head round to fix on target. My body followed, the fistful of metal raised like a hammer.

His face didn't register surprise or fear, just anger, as he cleared himself off the settee. 'You idiot! Your child!'

I brought the mosque down hard on his head, bending my knees for more power.

It didn't connect. Starbursts filled my eyes and I went down, tumbling over the settee. Fuck, that hurt.

I had to keep moving.

I forced my eyes open, tightened my hold on the weapon. One side of my face burned with pain and I tasted blood. I felt teeth where they shouldn't be. All I could see were his feet, bouncing up and down on the carpet like a kick boxer's, waiting for me to get up.

Blood trickling from empty tooth sockets, I pulled myself up on my knees using the back of the settee. I forced snot from my nose so I could breathe. My jaw was almost too painful to move.

He was still bouncing. 'You want more games? Or just to sit – it's up to you.'

'OK, OK. I'll sit.'

I dropped the mosque over the side of the settee and it landed quietly on the carpet in front of the fireplace. I limped towards the chair. The TV news rolled on, Dubya and Tony Blair mouthing hollow promises to the ceiling.

'Idiot. Next time I will really hurt you. Now sit.' Standing over by the curtains, the source wasn't even out of breath. The only reason he hadn't killed me was because he didn't know if he yet had genuine DW. Thank fuck for that.

The mosque was lying on its side, out of his line of sight. I moved round to the front of the settee – then rushed for it again.

There was a blur of movement to my right as I tried to get upright. I was too slow: I had to get in close to him before he could do any more jap slapping.

He buried his head in my stomach and pushed me towards the fireplace. We stumbled over the TV and my back jarred against the tiles, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Blood spluttered from my damaged mouth.

I kept an arm round him. If he managed to detach himself and got to use his hands, I'd be fucked.

I brought down the mosque as hard as I could. I didn't care where it hit him, just so long as it did. There was a loud groan and I held on to him tight, keeping him close.

I wanted to target his head, but it was too far into my stomach. I lifted the mosque again and punched it down between his shoulder-blades.

I could smell burning, then I felt heat. My hair was singeing against the fire-guard.

I jerked away from the wall and we rolled. I bucked my way on top, pulling my arm clear so that I could smash the base of the mosque down on his head.

I missed, but I got his neck.

Down again, got his face.

Down again. There was a dull crunch of bones. Blood. A muffled moan.

He was only semi-conscious now, his blood soaking into the carpet. I kept astride him. ' WHERE IS MY CHILD? WHERE IS THE HOUSE?'

He turned his head and tried to smile, but he couldn't get the muscles to work. 'Soon, in hell.'

I twisted the metal ornament in my hand so that the crescent moon on the tip of the muezzin tower was pointed towards him, and hammered it into his blood-soaked face, again and again.

The heavy brass crunched against his head twice more, my arm juddering as I made contact, then his skull caved in.

The little bubbles of blood stopped coming out of his nose. His eyes had a vacant stare, pupils fully dilated. A pool of darker blood thickened on the carpet, which couldn't absorb the amount leaking out of him. I left the tower embedded in his temple.

Swallowing more blood as I fought for oxygen, I plunged my hand into his pocket, feeling for his cell. There wasn't time to fuck about looking for the son's address. I wouldn't know it even if I saw it.

The phone was smeared with his blood but still powered up. I couldn't call the Yes Man from here – I didn't want him to know where the bottles were. Not yet.

I swallowed a tooth, nearly choking as it tore its way down my throat. I got to my feet and ripped back the curtains, trying to control my breathing.

Rain rattled against the windows. There was a main drag outside but no road signs. Directly opposite was a Victorian corner pub converted into a mosque.

Where the fuck was Suzy?

I lunged down the stairs, and out into the rain.

The gates were corrugated: I undid the bolt, but they wouldn't open. They'd been secured by the padlocked chain.

I put the cell into a coat pocket and started a frenzied climb. Adrenaline sorted out the pain in my face as I slipped and slid on the angle-iron frame.

I managed to wedge my right foot on the crosspiece, but as I pushed down on my heel to propel myself upwards, the skin split and I felt metal grate against bone.

I threw myself over and collapsed on the pavement the other side, my whole body in pain. Curled up on the ground, trying to recover, I pulled out the cell to make sure it hadn't got damaged in the fall. The power was still on, everything was OK.

To my left, fifteen metres away, was the main, and on the other side of it the mosque. I hobbled towards it and saw a sign. I was at the junction of Northdown and Caledonian.

Shit, I was just the other side of King's Cross, the way Grey and Navy had gone when we followed them.

Come on, Suzy, come on!

I started dragging myself up Caledonian, the main, past the disused Indian. I had to get some distance between me and DW.

Rain poured into my mouth as I gasped for air. Mud and grit worked their way inside my injured heel with every step.

I dialled the Yes Man. He was on the line before I heard it ring.

I jumped into the doorway of a Bangladeshi community centre at almost the same moment as Suzy drew up alongside in the Renault.

'It's me. Dark Winter – one of the bottles has been opened, but I've got them all contained.'

'Slow down – say again?'

I dashed across the pavement and into the car, slamming the door behind me.

'Where's D-?'

I held up my hand to silence her, then plugged my free ear with a wet finger to cut out the roar of the heater and the drumbeat of the rain.