The  birds
took their cue to get noisy, and the howler monkeys on the other side of the
house woke up the rest of the jungle as if the crickets ever slept.
     I began to make out a low mist lying on the  mud  of the  clearing and,
higher up, black and grey cloud cover.  It would be good for  me if the  sky
stayed overcast:
     it meant no chance of sunlight reflecting off the objective lens.
     Another ten minutes and light was penetrating the canopy.  I could just
see my feet. It was time to start rigging the device.
     After rechecking  the score  marks on the sight, and  that  the  battle
sights  were pulled back to 400,  the kit went  back on and  I moved  slowly
towards the gate. I dropped the tub and bergen about two metres short of it,
laying the weapon on the ground and not against the wall to avoid any chance
of it falling.
     It didn't take long to find a tree of the right height and structure to
take the charge there were enough of them about.  I took the  nylon tow-rope
out of the top flap pouch  of the bergen, tied one end  of  it  to the tub's
handle and  gripped the other between my teeth.  The taste of petrol  nearly
made me gag while I looked up and worked out how to climb my chosen tree. My
calf was throbbing painfully.
     It was  a noisy ascent but a time comes when you just  have to  get  on
with it, and now was  the moment,  before everybody  in  the house  began to
stir. Trapped  water fell on to my head and I was drenched again by the time
I reached my vantage point
     At  last I  could  just see over the wall towards the house, and to the
other treeline  to my half right, where  the  bottom  couple of feet  of the
trunks  were  still  shrouded  in  mist.  My firing  point  was  going to be
somewhere along  that treeline; it  was maybe  300 metres  away and  the tub
should  be easy enough to find from that  distance with the optic. I thought
about placing a large leaf or two on top of the wall as a marker to guide me
in, but it was too risky. If I could see it, so could anyone driving towards
the gate. I  had to assume they were switched on, and  that anything unusual
would  be treated with suspicion. I'd  just have to open my eyes and find it
once I got into position.
     I was still  working out how I was going  to strap the tub  in position
when I heard the noise of an engine start up in the  driveway.  I turned  my
head to look towards the source. The only things moving were my eyes and the
dribble from the sides of my rope-filled mouth.
     It was impossible to  make out what was happening. There were no lights
from any of the vehicles, just  the  low, gentle sound  of  a petrol  engine
ticking over.
     I had to act. This might be the only chance I got.
     I opened my mouth to release  the rope,  and almost fell as I scrambled
down  the trunk. Adrenaline surged as I grabbed the weapon and ran  back  to
the end of the wall, frantically tearing at the plastic, trying to check the
score marks, feeling for the ready rounds, feeling for my docs.
     I dropped on  to  my right  knee,  brought the weapon  up,  and  looked
through the optic, gulping  in  deep breaths to  oxygenate me  for the shot,
wiping the Deet sweat from my eyes before removing the safety.
     An oldish  guy moved  around in  the low light, the tip  of a cigarette
glowing in his mouth. He was wearing flip-flops, football shorts and a badly
ripped dark polo shirt, and was wiping the night's rain and condensation off
the sleek,  black Lexus with a chamois  leather. The engine must  be running
for the air, which meant he was expecting passengers soon.
     I sat  back on  my right foot and braced my left elbow on my left knee,
the soft bit just above the elbow joint jammed into the kneecap, butt pulled
firmly into the shoulder. Then I checked  my field of  view into the killing
ground.
     There  was no pain  in my leg  now, no feeling  anywhere  as I prepared
myself mentally, visualizing  the target coming from the front door, heading
for either the rear or front of the Lexus.
     Condensation formed on the lens.
     I kept the weapon in the aim and, with both eyes on the killing ground,
rubbed it clear with my right thumb and T- shirt cuff.  All the time, taking
slow, deep, controlled breaths, I was hoping it was going  to kick  off, and
at the same time hoping that it wouldn't until I was in a better position.
     The old  guy made his way conscientiously  along  the  wagon  with  his
chamois. Then the two huge doors at the front of the house opened and I  was
aiming  into a body, the  chandelier back  lighting him  perfectly. The post
sight was in the middle of a white, short-sleeved shirt-and-tie,  one of the
BG,  either Robert or Ross, whichever  had  gone out  for the drinks. He was
standing in  the door frame, talking on his Nokia and checking progress with
the wagon.
     My  heart-rate soared,  then training kicked  back  in: I controlled my
breathing and my pulse started  to drop; I blocked out everything around me,
closing down into my own little world. Nothing else existed, apart from what
I could see through the optic.
     The BG disappeared  back into the  house but  the front  door was still
open.  I waited  in the aim, hearing  feeling  the pulse in  my neck, taking
controlled breaths, oxygenating my body.  If I felt any emotion, it was only
relief that it might soon be over and done with.
     There  he was.  Michael stepped  outside, green on blue, carrying a day
sack  smiling,  talking with  Robert  and Ross either side of him. I got the
post  on  him,  centre  of  the  trunk,  got it on  his sternum,  took first
pressure.
     Shit... A white shirt moved between us.
     Keeping  the pressure,  I followed the  group.  I got part of his face,
still smiling, chatting animatedly. Not good enough, too small a target.
     Then someone else, a  dark grey suit, blocked my view completely.  This
wasn't going to work too late, too many bodies blocking.
     They were at the wagon. Shit, shit, shit... I released first  pressure,
ducked back  behind the wall, and ran for the  gate while applying Safe.  No
time to think, just to  do. Inside my  head I was going ape shit Opportunity
target! Opportunity target!
     Fuck  the  off-route  mine  now,  I  just  wanted  an explosion.  Still
screaming silently at myself, I grabbed the tub.
     There was a strange, empty feeling  in my stomach, the sort I  used  to
have as a  kid  running scared  from something, wishing my legs  could go as
fast as my head wanted them to.
     Gasping  for  air, I reached  the  gate and dropped the tub against the
wall, the blue rope still attached, the rest trailing behind.
     Opportunity target, opportunity target!
     The engine note of the  Lexus  changed  as the wagon started  down  the
drive towards me. It got louder as I picked up the bergen and sprinted along
the edge of the trees by the road.
     It was  time to hide.  I launched myself  into the  foliage at  a point
about thirty metres from the gate.
     Fuck, too near to the device ... I got into a fire position in the mud,
using the bergen just like the mound, my breathing all over the place.
     The electric whine of the motor opening the gates drowned out the noise
of the Lexus as it came nearer and then stopped.
     I was too low, I had no muzzle clearance.
     I jumped up in a semi-squat, grabbing air, legs apart to steady myself,
butt of the rifle in my  shoulder as I pulled and twisted to get the fucking
stupid safety off.
     I could see the wraparounds of the two  white-shirts in front as we all
waited for the gates to open, and knew I was exposed to them.  I kept as low
as I could, my  chest heaving  up  and  down as the Lexus finally started to
roll forward.
     Just twenty feet to go.
     The wagon stopped so suddenly the rear bucked up on its suspension.
     Shit! I stopped breathing and fixed both eyes on the tub. I brought the
weapon up to refocus into the optic, and took first pressure.
     The  engine  went  high-pitched  into reverse  and  I  saw  the  blurry
whiteness of the tub and the post clear  and sharp in the middle  of it then
fired.
     I dropped the weapon as  I hit  the  floor,  screaming to myself as the
shock-wave surged over me. It felt like  I'd  been  free falling at 100 mph.
and  was  suddenly stopped by a giant  hand in  mid-air, but my insides kept
going.
     Grabbing the rifle, I reloaded and got to my feet, checking  the battle
sight.
     There was no time to watch out for the debris falling from  the  sky: I
had to confirm he was dead.
     The  wagon had  been pushed back  six or seven metres on  the tarmac. I
started towards the dust cloud as shattered masonry and bits of jungle  fell
back to earth, butt in the shoulder, ears  ringing, vision blurred, my whole
body shaking. Rubble and twisted  ironwork lay  where part of the right-hand
wall and gates had once stood.
     I closed in on the mangled wreck, running in a  semi-stoop, and took up
a  position by the  remains  of  the  wall  just forward  of a  smouldering,
man-sized  crater.  Chunks of  brick  rained down  on  the  wagon.  The once
immaculate  Lexus  now looked like a stock car,  smashed, beaten,  its  side
windows missing, the windscreen safety glass shattered and buckled.
     I  took aim with the battle sights through  the  driver's  window.  The
first round  thudded  into the bloodstained white-shirt who was slumped  but
recovering over the steering wheel.
     Two!"
     Maintaining the weapon in the shoulder and supported by my left hand, I
reloaded  and  took  another shot  into  the  second  slumped,  bloodstained
white-shirt on the passenger side.
     Three!"
     With only four I had to remember my rounds fired; I was crap  at it and
counting out loud was the only way for me.
     Only  smaller  fragments  of leaf and  tree  floated from the sky  now,
landing on  the vehicle and tarmac all around  me as I moved in,  weapon up,
towards the  rear door. The  angle changed: I saw two slumped bodies covered
in shattered glass:
     one the green  T-shirt and blue jeans, the other  the dark grey suit. I
closed in.
     The suit was Charlie. I hoped he was alive.
     THIRTY
     The  target was  more or  less collapsed in the foot well with his  dad
down on the  seat draped  over him. Both were badly shaken, but alive. There
was some coughing from Charlie and I could see the target moving.
     Mustn't hit Charlie ... I took another couple of steps to  get me right
up against the door  and rammed  the weapon inside with my  face through the
window gap. The muzzle was no more than two inches from the target's bloody,
glass-covered and confused head.
     Bizarrely, the  air-conditioner  was still blowing, and a Spanish voice
jabbered on  the radio  as the target moaned and groaned, pushing his father
off him. His eyes were closed; I could see fragments of glass trapped in his
eyebrows.
     I felt the second pressure on my  finger  pad, but  it was  refusing to
squeeze further. Something was holding me back.
     Fuck, get on with it!
     The muzzle followed his head as it moved about, turning over on  to his
side. It was now virtually in his ear. I moved it up a little, to the tip.
     It wasn't  happening, my finger  wouldn't move. What  the fuck was  the
matter with me?
     COME ON, DO IT! DO IT!
     I  couldn't,  and in  that instant  I  knew why.  A stab of fear ripped
through my body.
     My brain filtered out almost everything,  but it  let in the  shouts; I
turned to see partly dressed men starting to  pour from  the house, carrying
weapons.
     I withdrew the  rifle,  reached in the front, and pulled  the Nokia off
the BG's belt. Then  I wrenched open the buckled metal and  seized a fistful
of suit. I dragged  a fucked-up Charlie  on to the tarmac, virtually running
with him to the other side of what was left of the wall.
     "Move! Move!"
     I kicked him to his knees and he fell forward on to his hands. Stepping
back out of grab range, I aimed at his head.
     "Can you hear me?"
     The shouts were getting nearer. I kicked him.
     "The missile guidance  system,  make  sure-'  "What  is  wrong with you
people?" He coughed as blood dribbled from his chin, not lifting his head as
he shouted back angrily, without a trace of fear.
     "It's been delivered last night! You have the launch control system you
have everything! The Sunburn is complete! What more do you want?"
     "Delivered? This is about getting it delivered?"
     He looked up at me,  staring along the barrel that moved up and down as
we both fought for breath.
     "Last  night! You  people  use my son  to threaten me, demanding it  by
tomorrow night, you get it and still-' As the blood ran down his neck he saw
my confusion.
     "Don't you people know what each other is doing?"
     Tuesday  the  guy  in the pink Hawaiian shirt. He was here -has  he got
it?"
     "Of course!"
     "Why should I believe you?"
     "I  don't care  what  you  believe.  The deal is  done, yet  you  still
threaten my family... Remember the condition no Panamanian  targets.  Why is
it still here?
     You  said  it  would move  straight to Colombia not use it here. Do you
know who I am? Do you know what I can do to you?"
     "Fatherrrrr!" Michael had seen us and his eyes widened.
     "Don't kill him please don't kill him. Please!"
     Charlie  yelled something in Spanish, probably telling him to run, then
fixed  his glare on me  once more. There was not  a  flicker  of fear in his
eyes.
     "Well, Englishman, what now? You already have what you came here for."
     I took a swing with the rifle butt and got him on the side of the neck.
He curled into a  ball of pain as  I turned and ran along the treeline, back
towards  the  bergen.  I grabbed it  in my spare  hand, looked  back and saw
Michael limping towards his dad as people and vehicles converged.
     That  was the problem. Michael was  real  people. He was  a kid with  a
life, not one of the shadow people I  was  used to, the  sort of  target I'd
never thought twice about killing.
     I  hurled myself into  the  jungle, crashing through  wait-a-while, not
caring about sign.  I just  wanted to get my  arse out of here and  into the
wall of green.
     Barbs tore  into my skin and my throat was so parched it  hurt to  take
breath. But none of that mattered: the only thing that did was getting away.
     The commotion behind me  gradually faded, soaked  up by the jungle as I
penetrated deeper but I  knew it wouldn't be long before they  got organized
and came in after me.
     There  was  automatic fire.  The  follow-up was much  quicker than  I'd
expected: they were firing  blindly, hoping to zap me as I ran. That  didn't
bother  me, the trees would  take the brunt.  The  only important  thing was
whether or not they were tracking me.
     I pulled out  my  compass, checked,  and headed  east for about  twenty
metres,  towards  the loop, taking my time now, trying not to leave upturned
leaves or broken  cobwebs in  my  wake.  Then  I turned  north,  then  west,
doubling back on myself but off to the side of my original track. After five
or six metres, I stopped, looked  around for a thick bush, and wormed my way
into it.
     Squatting on my bergen, butt in the shoulder, safety off,  I fought for
breath.
     If they were tracking,  they would  pass  right to left, seven or eight
metres in front as they followed my sign. The rule about being chased in the
jungle,  learnt  the hard way by far better soldiers than me,  was that when
the enemy are  coming fast you've got to sidestep and creep away. Don't keep
on running, because they'll just keep on following.
     Slowly peeling three rounds from one  of the ready rounds I pulled back
the bolt.
     The  bearing surfaces glided smoothly over each other  as  I caught the
round  it  was  about  to  eject,  then  fed  the  four  rounds  slowly  and
deliberately back into the mag before pushing the bolt home.
     I sat, watched  and listened as I  got out the blood-smeared mobile. No
matter what  was going  on  down  here  stop  delivery, guarantee  delivery,
whatever I'd failed to do what the Yes  Man had sent me here for, and I knew
what that meant.
     I had to make a call.
     There was no  signal, but I tried the number anyway, just  in  case, my
finger covering the tiny speaker hole that sent out the touch tone. Nothing.
     Baby-G said it was 7.03. I  played with the phone, finding vibrate, and
put it away again.
     Shit,  shit, shit. The pins and  needles  were  returning.  I  had  the
helpless  feeling that Carrie had  described, that  awful emptiness when you
think you've lost someone and are trying desperately to find them. Shit, not
here,  not  now A frenzied exchange in Spanish brought  me back to the  real
world. They were close.
     There were  more shouts from under  the canopy  but were they following
me? I sat motionless as seconds, and then whole minutes, ticked by.
     Nearly seven fifteen. She'll be getting  up  soon  for school... I  had
fucked up, I had  to accept that. But what was more important  now,  at this
very  moment, was getting a  signal on the mobile, and that meant going back
uphill towards the house, where I'd seen it used.
     There was the odd resonant  yell that sounded like a howler monkey, but
I saw no  one.  Then there was movement to my front, the crashing of foliage
as they got closer. But they weren't tracking: it sounded too much of a gang
fuck for that. I held my breath, butt in the shoulder, pad on the trigger as
they stopped on my trail.
     Sweat  dripped off my face as three voices gob bed  off at  warp speed,
maybe deciding  which  direction  to  take.  I  could hear their M-16s, that
plastic, almost toy-like sound as they moved them in their hands, or dropped
a butt on to the toecap of a boot.
     A burst of  automatic fire went off in the distance and my three seemed
to decide  to  go back the way they'd come.  They'd obviously had  enough of
this jungle lark.
     Anyone tracking me, even if they'd lost my sign and had had to cast out
to find it, would have gone past my position by now. Even  with me trying to
cut down on sign,  a blind man could have followed the highway  I'd made  if
he'd known what he was feeling for.
     I got just short of the edge of the treeline, all the time checking the
signal bars on the mobile. Still nothing.
     I  heard the heavy  revs of one of the bulldozers and the squeal of its
tracks.
     Moving forward cautiously, I saw  plumes  of black diesel  smoke billow
from the vertical  exhaust as  it lumbered towards the gate. Beyond  it, the
front  of the  house was a  frenzy of people. Bodies with weapons shouted at
each other in confusion as wagons moved up and down the road.
     I moved back into the wall  of green, applied Safe and started checking
up at the canopy as I unravelled the string on the weapon to make a sling. I
found a suitable tree about six metres in: it would have a good  view of the
house, looked easy to climb, and the branches  were strong enough to support
my weight.
     I took out  the  strapping that was going to be my seat, got the bergen
on my back,  slung the weapon over my shoulder, and started to clamber up as
engines revved and people shouted out in the open ground.
     When I was about twenty feet up I tried the Nokia again, and this  time
I got four bars.
     Fastening  the straps between two strong branches, I  hooked the bergen
over another next  to them, settled  into  the seat  facing  the house, then
spread one of the mozzie nets over me before closing down the bergen in case
I had to buy out.
     I was going to be here for a while, until things had quietened down, so
the net had  to be hung  out on to branches so it wasn't clinging to me, and
tucked under to cover  the straps. I needed to hide my shape, shine, shadow,
silhouette and movement;  that wouldn't happen if I didn't spread  it  out a
bit  to prevent myself looking  like a man in a tree with  a mozzie net over
him. Finally, cradling the weapon across  my legs, I calmed myself down as I
hit the keypad.
     Not giving him time to think or talk, I got to him in a loud whisper.
     "It's me Nick. Don't talk, just listen ..."
     THIRTY-ONE
     "Josh,  just  listen.  Get her  to safety,  do it  now.  I've fucked up
big-time. Get her away somewhere safe, she needs to  be where no one can get
at her. I'll call in a few days, got it? Got it?"
     There was a pause.
     "Josh?"
     "Fuck you! Fuck  you! When does this stop?  You're playing with a kid's
life again. Fuck you!"
     The line went dead. He'd hung. But I knew he'd take this seriously. The
last time I'd fucked up and put kids in danger, they'd been his own.
     I felt a flood of relief as I removed  the  battery  before  the mobile
went back in my pocket. I didn't want to be traced from the signal.
     Tasting  the bitter  Deet as sweat  ran into  my mouth, I  watched  the
commotion outside the house. I wondered if the police would be up here soon,
being given my  description,  but doubted  it.  Charlie  would  want to keep
something like this  under wraps and,  anyway, it wasn't as if the explosion
would have disturbed  the neighbourhood; big bangs would  have been a  daily
occurrence as they cleared the jungle to make way for his house.
     I  leant over to the bergen, got out the water and took  a  few  swigs,
feeling better about  Kelly now. No matter what Josh thought of  me, he'd do
the  right thing for her.  It  wasn't  the answer, just the best  short-term
solution I had available.
     She and  I were still in deep shit. I knew I should have called the Yes
Man, explained to him what I thought I knew, and waited out. That was what I
should have done, so why hadn't I? Because a voice in my head was telling me
something different.
     Charlie had said Sunburn. The  Yes  Man had sent me here to deal with a
missile  system  that  was  a  threat  to  US  helicopters  in  Colombia.  A
ground-to-air    missile   system.   That   wasn't   Sunburn   Sunburn   was
surface-to-surface. I remembered reading about the US  Navy flapping because
their   anti-missile  de  fences  couldn't  defeat  it.  Sunburn  was  their
number-one threat.
     I tried to  recall details. It had  been in Time or Newsweek, something
like that, last year  on the  tube to  Hampstead ... it was about ten metres
long because  I'd  visualized  being able to  fit two  end to end in  a tube
carriage.
     What else? I wiped the sweat from my forehead.
     Think, think ... The Pizza Man ... He had been at the locks on Tuesday.
The locks webcam  was  part of the relay com  ms from the  house.  The Pizza
Man's  team  were  monitoring drug movements  by PARC.  He'd  also  been  at
Charlie's house and maybe, if Charlie had told me the truth, he had Sunburn.
     I suddenly saw what was happening. George was carrying the fight to the
enemy:
     they'd  been  monitoring drug  shipments through the canal, and  now it
looked  as  though they were  getting proactive, maybe  using Sunburn  as  a
threat  to  PARC that if they used the canal to  ship drugs they'd get taken
out.
     That  still didn't answer why  I'd  been  sent  here  to  stop  Charlie
delivering a  ground-to-air  system ... The noise of  rotor blades clattered
over the canopy.  I recognized at  once the  heavy bass wap wap wap  wap the
unique signature of American Hueys, coming in low. The  two helicopters shot
past, immediately above me.  The massive downwash made  my tree sway as they
flared into the clearing, then, just feet off the  ground, crept towards the
front of  the house. Mud  puddles were  blown  away, and  jungle  debris was
blasted in all directions. The house was now  behind a wall of down  draught
and heat haze blasting out from the Hueys' exhausts. A yellow and white Jet
     Ranger  followed  behind,  like a  child  trying  to  keep up with  its
parents.
     The scene before me could have come straight  from  a Vietnam newsreel.
Armed men jumped from the skids and doubled towards the house. It could have
been the 101st "Air Assault' screaming down for an attack, except these guys
were in jeans.
     The  Jet  Ranger swooped  down so close to  the front  of  the house it
looked as if it was actually going to ring the doorbell, then it backed away
and settled on the tarmac near the fountain.
     The  heat  haze  from  its exhaust blurred  my  view, but  I could  see
Charlie's family begin to stream towards it from the front door.
     I sat and  watched through the optic as my former  target  comforted an
older Latino  woman,  still  in  her nightgown. On  her  other  side  was  a
bloodstained Charlie, his suit ripped, his arms around  her.  All three were
surrounded by anxious, shouting men with  weapons, shepherding them forward.
As I followed them with the optic, the  post was on Michael's chest for what
felt like an age.
     I looked at  his young, bloody face,  which showed only concern for the
woman. He belonged to  a different world  from his father, George, the Pizza
Man and me. I hoped he'd stay that way.
     The air was  filled with  the  roar of  churning  blades  as they  were
bustled inside the aircraft. The two  Hueys were already making height. They
dipped their noses, and headed towards the city.
     The  Jet  Ranger  lifted  from  the  tarmac,  and  headed in  the  same
direction. There was relative quiet  for a few seconds, then somebody barked
a series of orders at the men on the ground. They started to sort themselves
out. Their mission, I guessed, was to look  for me. And this time  I had the
feeling they'd be better organized.
     I sat in my perch, wondering what to do next as wagon after wagon  left
the  house packed  with men  and  M-16 assault  rifles, and returned  empty.
Checking Baby-G, I knew  I'd have to start moving out of here  soon if I was
to make maximum use of daylight.
     Last light, Friday.  That had been my deadline. Why? And  why were  the
Firm  involved  in all  this? They obviously  needed  Sunburn  in place  for
tomorrow.  I had been bullshit ted  with the ground-to-air story.  I  didn't
need  to know what it was really about  because,  after  the London fuck-up,
sending  me  was  their  last desperate attempt to  get  their hands on  the
complete system.
     Last light. Sunset.
     Oh, fuck. The Ocaso ...  They  were going to hit the cruise liner, real
people, thousands of them. It wasn't a drug thing at all... why?
     Fuck it, why didn't matter. What mattered was that it didn't happen.
     But where was  I going? What was  I going to  do with what I thought  I
knew?
     Contact the Panamanians? What would they do?  Cancel the ship? So what?
That would  be  just  another short-term  solution.  If they  couldn't  find
Sunburn in time, the Pizza Man could just fire the fucking thing at the next
ship that came along. Not good enough. I needed an answer.
     Go to the  US embassy, any embassy? What  would they do -report it? Who
to?  How long would it be before someone picked up  the phone to George? And
however important  he was, there'd be some even more powerful people  behind
him. There had to be. Even C and the Yes Man were dancing to their tune.
     I had to get back to Carrie and Aaron. They were the only two who could
help.
     Movement outside the house was dwindling: no more vehicles, just one or
two bodies walking around, and to the left and  out of sight, the sound of a
bulldozer shunting the damaged Lexus off the road.
     It was 8.43 time  to leave the tree. I unpinned the  trouser-leg pocket
and pulled out the map. I bent my head down so  my nose  was just six inches
from it and  the compass on its short  cord could rest on its faded surface.
It  took me thirty seconds  to  take a bearing, across green, then the white
line of the loop road, more green, to the middle  of Clayton  and  the  main
drag into the city. As to  how I got back to the house from there, I'd  just
busk it -anything, just as long as I got back.
     Having  checked that  my  map was  securely  pinned  in  my  pocket,  I
clambered down with  the bergen and weapon,  leaving the hide to  the birds.
Once the bergen was on and the string  back round the weapon, I headed  east
towards the loop and Clayton, taking my time, focusing my mind and my vision
on  the wall  of green, butt  in the shoulder,  safety off,  finger straight
along the trigger guard, ready to react.
     I could have been back  in Colombia, looking for DMPs, carefully moving
foliage out of  the way  instead of fighting it, avoiding  cobwebs, watching
where I stepped to cut noise and sign, stopping, listening, observing before
moving  into dead ground, checking my bearing, looking in front of me, to my
left, to my right, and, just as important, above.
     I  wanted to travel faster than I was going,  desperate  to get back to
Aaron and Carrie's, but I knew this was the best and safest way to make that
happen.
     They'd  no  longer be  thrashing  about or  firing  blindly, they'd  be
waiting, spread  out, static, for me  to bumble into them. Tactical movement
in  the jungle  is  so hard. You can never use the easier high ground, never
use tracks, never  use water features  for navigation. The enemy expects you
to use them. You've got to stay in  the shit, follow  a compass bearing, and
move slowly. It's worth it: it means you survive.
     Sweat  laced  with Deet  dripped  into  my eyes,  not just  due  to the
humidity inside  this  pressure  cooker but because  of the stress of  slow,
controlled movement, constantly straining my eyes and ears, and all the time
I was thinking: What if they appear to my front? What if they come from  the
left? What  if they fire  first  and I don't  know where the fire  is coming
from? Contacts in the jungle are so close you can smell their breath.
     THIRTY-TWO
     It had taken me two  hours to reach the loop, which  was a  lot quicker
than I'd expected.
     I dumped the bergen, and  unstuck my T-shirt from my back in an attempt
to  relieve the  chigger bites. Then I fingered my  wet, greasy  hair off my
forehead  and  started moving slowly  forward, butt in  the shoulder.  As  I
neared the road it was time to apply Safe and get down on the  jungle floor.
Using elbows and the toes of my Timberlands, I dragged myself to the edge of
the canopy. The  weapon lay along the right side of my body; I moved it with
me,  knowing that  with the  safety  firmly  on, there  was no  chance  of a
negligent discharge.
     Last night's  rain filled the dips and pot-holes in the tarmac, and the
sky was still dull. A motley collection of black, light and dark grey clouds
brooded above me as I looked and listened. If the boys had any sense, they'd
have triggers out along the roads, doing a bit of channelling of their  own,
waiting to see what emerged from  the  canopy. Even if  they  did, I  had  a
bearing I had to stick to.
     Edging my way forward a little  more so  that my head was  sticking out
from  the foliage, I couldn't see  anything up the road  to the right, apart
from the road itself disappearing  as it gradually bent  left.  I turned  my
head the other way.
     No more  than forty metres away was one of the wagons from the house, a
gleaming black Land Cruiser, facing me and parked up on my side of the road.
Leaning  against  the  bonnet was a body with an M-16 in his hands, watching
both sides  of the  bend. He  was  maybe  in his twenties, in jeans,  yellow
T-shirt and trainers, and looking very hot and bored.
     My heart pumped. A vehicle was my fast-track out of here  -but  did the
body  have mates? Were they spaced up and down the road at intervals, or was
he  on stag, ready to whistle up the rest of the group if he saw anything as
they enjoyed a quiet smoke behind the wagon?
     There was  only one way to find out. I inched slowly backwards into the
treeline, finally getting up on to my hands and knees before crawling to the
bergen.
     Shouldering  it,  I  removed Safe and  slowly  closed on  the  wagon by
paralleling the road,  butt in the  shoulder,  eyes and ears on  full power.
Each time my foot touched the jungle floor and my weight crushed the leaves,
the sound seemed a  hundred times louder to me than it really was. Each time
a bird took flight I froze in mid-stride, like a statue.
     Twenty painstaking minutes had passed when I was brought to a halt once
more.
     From  just the other side  of the wall  of green came the sound of  his
weapon banging  against the side of the Land Cruiser. It seemed to be just a
little forward and to my  half right,  but no  more than about  eight metres
away.
     For a minute or two I stood still  and  listened. There was no talking,
no  radio  traffic,  just  the sound of  him coughing and gob bing on to the
tarmac. Then came the noise of metal panels buckling. He was standing on the
roof or bonnet.
     I wanted to be in a direct line with the wagon, so I moved on a  little
further.
     Then, like a DVD in extreme slo-mo, I lowered  myself to my  knees  and
applied  Safe,  the barely audible metallic click sounding in  my head as if
I'd banged two hammers together. Finally I laid down the weapon and took off
my bergen  one strap at  a time, continually looking in the direction of the
wagon, knowing that if I moved forward just two  metres I would be  in plain
sight of my new best mate and his M-16.
     Once the  bergen was on the ground  I  rested the rifle against it with
the barrel sticking  up in the air to make it easier to find. Fuck the zero,
I didn't need it now. Then, very slowly and deliberately,
     I extracted my gollock. The blade sounded as if  it was running along a
grinding  stone instead of  just gliding past the alloy  lip  of the  canvas
sheath.
     Down on  to my stomach once more and with the gollock in my right hand,
I  edged  carefully forward  on  my  toes  and elbows,  trying to control my
erratic breathing as I wiped the Deet very slowly out of my eyes.
     I neared the edge of the treeline at a point about five metres short of
the wagon.  I could see  the nearest front wheel, its chromed alloys stained
with mud at the centre of a lot of wet, shiny tyre.
     I  edged forward a little  more, so slowly  it would have  made a sloth
look like Linford Christie. Another  couple of metres and the bottom of  the
door sills and the front wing came into view but in the gap between them and
the  grass,  I  saw  no legs. Maybe he was  sitting  inside, maybe,  as  the
buckling sound had suggested, he was standing on the roof. My eyes  strained
at the tops of their sockets as I tried  to look up. I heard the coughing up
of phlegm and spitting;
     he was definitely outside, definitely up there somewhere.
     I counted off sixty seconds before moving again. He was  going to  hear
me soon. I didn't even want  to swallow: I was so close I could have reached
out and touched the wheel.
     I still couldn't see  him, but he was above me, sitting on the  bonnet,
and  his  heels had started to bang  rhythmically  against the wing furthest
away from me.
     He must be facing the road.
     I knew what  I needed to do, but I had  to psyche myself to do it. It's
never easy to take  on somebody  like this.  Up there was virgin ground, and
when I got on to it,  I had to react  quickly to  whatever I  found. What if
there  was another guy in the  wagon, lying asleep? What if he  had heard me
and was just waiting for me to pop up?
     For the next  thirty  seconds  I  revved  myself up as  mozzies hovered
around my face. I checked I was holding the gollock  correctly  with a  good
firm grip, and that the blade was facing the right way. I took one last deep
breath and sprang to my feet.
     He was sitting on the opposite wing with  his back to me, weapon on the
bonnet to his left. He heard me, but it was too late to turn. I was  already
leaping towards  him, my thighs striking the edge of the bonnet,  my feet in
the air. My  right hand swung round and  jammed the gollock across his neck;
with my left I grabbed the  blunt edge of the blade and pulled tight, trying
to drag his head on to my chest.
     The M-16  scraped over the body work as he moved back with  me over the
wing, my  body  weight starting to pull  us both to the ground as  his  legs
kicked and his body twisted. His hands  came up to grab my wrists, trying to
pull the gollock away, and there was a scream. I squeezed his  head  against
my chest and committed to falling backwards off the wagon. The air  exploded
out  of me as my back hit the ground and he landed on top of me, and we both
cried out with pain.
     His hands were round the gollock  and he writhed like a madman, kicking
out in all directions, banging against the wheel  and wing. I opened my legs
and wrapped them  round  his waist,  forcing my feet  between his legs, then
flexed my hips in the air and thrust out my chest, trying to stretch him  as
I pushed  the gollock against his neck. I worked my  head  down to his  left
ear.
     "Ssssh!"
     I could feel  the gollock in the folds of his skin. The blade must have
penetrated his neck a  little; I felt warm blood on my hands. I shushed  him
again and he finally seemed to get the message.
     Keeping my hips thrust out, I  bent  him  over me in an arc. He stopped
moving,  apart from his chest,  which heaved up and down. I could still feel
his hands against mine as he gripped the blade, but he wasn't struggling any
more. I kept on shushing into his ear.
     He didn't say or do anything as I forced him over to the right, pulling
back  on the  blade,  murmuring, "Come on, over you  go, over you  go,"  not
knowing if  he could even understand  me.  Soon my chest  was  on his  head,
pressing his face into the leaf litter, and I was able to look behind me for
the  M-16.  It wasn't far away; I got my foot into the  sling and  pulled it
within reach. The safety catch was  on, which was  good: it meant the weapon
was made  ready,  that there  was  a round in the chamber, because you can't
apply Safe on these things  otherwise. I could hardly use it to threaten him
if he knew it wasn't ready to fire.
     There was snorting from his  nostrils as they filled up with mucus from
shock, and the movement  of his chest made me feel I  was on a trampoline. I
still had one of my legs wrapped around him and could feel the weight of his
hips  on my  knee in  the mud.  The important thing was that apart from  his
breathing he  was motionless  exactly as I would have been in this situation
because, like him, I'd be wanting to come out of it alive.
     I untangled  my leg while keeping the  pressure  on his neck  with  the
gollock,  and the moment  I was free I used my  left hand to grab  the M-16.
Then, still  keeping the blade against his  neck,  I slowly got up, shushing
gently until I was hovering over him and could take away the blade.
     He knew  exactly what was happening and did the right thing by  keeping
absolutely still,  his  face wincing  with pain  as the blade  ran along his
neck. It  wasn't cut  that much, and they  weren't deep gashes. Once free, I
jumped back and got the M16 on him with just my left hand.
     I spoke gently.
     "Hello."
     His eyes locked on mine, full of fear. I put the gollock to my lips and
gave him another shush, nodding for him to get to his feet. He complied very
slowly, keeping his hands up even when I began to steer him into the jungle,
back in the direction of my kit. There wasn't really enough time to be doing
this because  more of his  crew  might arrive at any minute, but I needed to
retrieve Carrie's rifle.
     We  reached the  bergen site  and I got  him to lie face down  while  I
hurriedly  shouldered the Mosin  Nagant and sheathed  the gollock. I  pulled
back the  cocking  piece on the M-16 just to make sure there was  a round in
the chamber, and that both of us hadn't fucked up.
     He  stared at  me,  straining his  eyes  to his  extreme  left. He  was
flapping, thinking he had a date with a 5.56mm round at any moment.
     I smiled.
     "Speak English?"
     There was a nervous  shaking of his head as I moved a few paces towards
him.
     "Cpmo est aT He nodded shakily as I got the bergen on.
     "Bien, bien."
     I put my thumb up and gave him a smile.
     "Good, good." I
     wanted to bring him down a  bit. People who think they have nothing  to
lose can be unpredictable but if he thought he was going to live, he'd do as
he was told.
     I wasn't really sure what  to do with  this boy. I didn't want  to kill
him because it might turn noisy, and there wasn't any time to try to tie him
up properly. I didn't want to take him with me, but there wasn't any choice.
I couldn't  just let  him run wild not  this  close to  the house, anyway. I
jerked my head.
     "Vamos, vamos."
     He got to his feet and I pointed towards the Land Cruiser with the
     M-16.
     "Camion,  vamos,  camion." It wasn't exactly fluent, but  he  caught my
drift and we moved.
     At  the wagon it  was simply  a matter of shoving the bergen and  rifle
into the  back, then manoeuvring him into the passenger foot  well  with the
M-16 muzzle twisted into his shirt and lying across my lap. The safety catch
was on automatic,  and my right index finger was  on the trigger. He got the
message that any movement on his part would be suicide.
     The key  was  in the  ignition. I turned it  and selected Drive, and we
were moving.
     The Land Cruiser was  shiny and new, still with its showroom smell, and
it gave me a strange  sense of security. As  we  headed  for Clayton and the
city I looked down at my passenger and smiled.
     "No problema."
     I knew there wouldn't be any problems from him. I'd just seen a wedding
band on his finger and knew what he would be thinking about.
     The rain was coming early today by the look  of  the multiple shades of
grey, so low now that they were shrouding the rugged, green peaks in the far
distance. It wouldn't be long before the sky opened big-time.
     What  was  I to  do with  my new mate? I  couldn't take him through the
toll. I might be in a lot  of trouble  there as it was, if it was now  being
watched.
     We  passed  one of the  playgrounds  between the married quarters and I
stopped,  got out and  opened his  door. He  stared  down the barrel of  the
beckoning M-16.
     "Run. Run."
     He looked at me,  confused,  as he climbed out, so  I kicked him on and
waved my arm.
     "Run!" He started legging  it past  the swings  as I got  back into the
driver's seat and headed for the main drag. By the time he found a phone and
made contact, I'd be in the city and well out of the  area. I was  certainly
safe from the air: nothing was  going to be flying  when the skies opened. I
checked the clouds once more, just to make sure.
     I  also checked the fuel:  just under  full. I had no  idea if that was
enough, but it didn't matter, I had cash.
     The M-16  was  shoved between the door and seat as I hit the  main drag
and headed for the toll booth.
     THIRTY-THREE
     The 4x4 pitched and rolled along a waterlogged  jungle track, launching
walls of water and mud in  all directions. I  was just  glad to be  doing it
with windows  closed and air-conditioning humming.  Maybe ten  more  minutes
until I reached the clearing and the house.
     The rain had started as soon as I hit El  Chorrillo, slowing everything
down. By the  time I joined the Pan Am Highway, it was dropping from the sky
like  Niagara  Falls, and had carried on like  that for the next hour. After
that, the cloud had stayed really low and threatening  all the way to Chepo.
I stopped off at the store the old Indian  had been sitting outside two days
before,  and bought a couple of  Pepsis and  a plastic bag of  little sponge
cakes. When those were gone  I dug around  in the bergen for the sesame bars
and water.
     There was no drama on the  next bit of road apart from  the mud and the
water.  I gave a  bit of thought  to having to ditch the wagon later on, but
the main preoccupation was getting back  to the  house  and persuading those
two to help me.
     Maybe there was  a way that Carrie could  get George  to stop it. Maybe
they  knew how to  themselves. Maybe if I ripped  the dish off  the roof ...
Maybe, maybe.
     Bouncing  along  the track,  I came into the clearing to see  that  the
cloud  had lifted.  But there  was no sun yet, and no one to  be  seen. Both
their wagons were parked  outside the house, and  the generator was chugging
as I passed the tubs, hitting the  horn as  it seemed to be the thing to  do
around here.
     As I got  nearer the house I  saw  Carrie  come to the mozzie door  and
stare out.
     I  parked  the Land Cruiser  and climbed out into  the  humid air.  She
opened  the  mozzie screen for me as I  stepped  on to the veranda,  clearly
trying to work out the Land Cruiser.
     I waited until the hinges  stopped squeaking. 'I'll  explain that later
... There's been a fuck-up Charlie's already handed over the guidance system
... last night... There's more."
     My muddy  boots  clumped on  the veranda  boards as  I passed  her  and
entered  the  living room. I wanted them both  together before they  got the
news.  The  fans  were  blasting away and  Aaron was sitting in  an armchair
facing me, leaning over a mug of coffee on the table.
     "Nick."  His little finger was dipping aimlessly  into the black  fluid
and letting it drip on to the wood.
     I acknowledged him as  the screen  squeaked and slammed, Carrie staying
behind me by the door.
     He kept his voice low  as he rubbed the side of his  forehead, twisting
in the chair to check the computer-room door was closed.
     "Michael dead?  She  told me all about it when she got back." He turned
back and took a messy, nervous swig from the mug.
     "No, he's alive."
     "Oh,  thank  God,  thank God." Slumping back in the chair,  he held the
brew on his thigh, wiping his beard dry with an open palm.
     Carrie  was still behind me  by the  door.  She, too, let out a sigh of
relief.
     "We've been so worried. My father stood  you down last night, missed us
by an hour. He said you  weren't needed any more  and went totally crazy  at
Aaron when he found out you'd already gone."
     I  turned to her,  almost  whispering, "Oh,  he's  crazy all right."  I
slowed down so that there would be no mistake.
     "I think your dad's  planning a missile attack  on  a cruise liner, the
Ocaso, tomorrow.  It's going to happen  once  it's in the Miraflores. If  he
succeeds, a lot of people, thousands, are going to die."
     Her hand shot to her mouth.
     "What?  But you're  here to  stop ...  No, no, no, my father wouldn't-'
"George isn't pressing any buttons." I pointed towards the fridge.
     "But  he is, the one with the scar on his stomach. You know, the  beach
babies, your favourite picture." They both followed my finger.
     "I saw him at the Miraflores, running as soon as  he  saw Aaron and the
Mazda. He was also at  Charlie's, at his  house,  on  Tuesday, and then here
last night. He stayed in  the wagon, he didn't want  to  be seen ... Charlie
just told me that he was the one who took delivery ..."
     "Oh, God. Milton..." She leant against the wall, holding her neck  with
her hands.
     "Milton was one of the Iran-Contra procurement guys in the 'eighties.
     They  sold the weapons to Iran for the Lebanon hostages,  then used the
money to buy other -weapons for the Contr- Oh, shit."
     Her hands fell to her sides, the tears starting to well up.
     "That's his job, Nick, that's what he does."
     "Well, he has  just procured himself an  anti-ship  missile and I think
he's going to use it tomorrow on the Ocaso."
     "No, he couldn't,  you must be wrong,"  she stammered.  My father would
never let that happen to Americans, for Christ's sake."
     "Yes, he would." Aaron had something to say.
     "The DeConcini Reservation. Think on it, Carrie, think on it."
     His eyes were locked on hers, and  he  spoke  with bitter  calm, trying
hard to keep his voice down.
     "George and those guys ... they are going to take down that ship so the
US has just cause to come  back. And you know what? He's made us  part of it
my God, we're  part  of it. I knew  something like this would happen, I told
you there was more to this ..."
     Carrie slid  down  to the floor,  maybe realizing at long last what her
dad had really got up to all his life.
     I turned to the rasp of bristles being slowly rubbed.
     "She gets into the  locks  at ten tomorrow morning my God, what are  we
going to do?"
     But the question hadn't been addressed at me. His eyes were still fixed
on her.
     Why'd he get you involved,  uh?  Maybe you wanted more than a passport.
Maybe you wanted a reason for your get-back-to Boston ticket, huh?"
     "I didn't ...  and I didn't  know, Aaron.  Please believe me,  I didn't
know."
     He  paused.  I could hear  breath travelling in and out  of  his  hairy
nostrils as he tried to keep calm, before flicking his eyes at me.
     "You, Nick, have you been used too?" He pointed behind me.
     "Just like her?"
     "It's the story of my life," I said.
     "Carrie, Luz, you will have to talk to George beg him, threaten him."
     I turned,  but Carrie ignored  me. She just  stared submissively at her
husband.
     Aaron's voice was still low but  now laced with heavy sarcasm as he met
her stare.
     "Why should he stop? Hell, he thinks  it's a neat idea. So neat he gave
his daughter some of the action as  a  surprise." His eyes became enraged as
he forced his mug on to the tabletop and leaned forward.
     "So  that means everybody's happy Uncle Sam  comes back  and  saves the
day, the money guys,  the military, the right-wingers, they all get the Zone
back. And, hey, if it goes wrong, other  guys  take the heat." He pointed at
Carrie, his eyes burning into her once more.
     "That's you, and me, and Luz. It's one fuck of a passport out."
     I opened my mouth to speak, but Aaron wasn't done.
     "Our  child  will  be  getting  letters from  her  mother  on  Alcatraz
letterhead, and that's  if  we're lucky. That's if they  don't  execute you.
It's out of control.
     How will we live with ourselves after this?"
     Aaron held up his left hand, displaying his wedding ring.
     "We're a team, remember?  I told you this was wrong. I told you he  was
lying, I told you he was using you." He slumped  back into the chair, wiping
his  eyes  with straight fingers and rubbing his  beard  in distress  as  he
checked out the computer-room door once more.
     I turned. She was looking down, tears rolling down her cheeks too.
     "I'm  contacting  him again tonight...  It  wasn't supposed to  be like
this."
     That was a start.
     "Good. If I close down the  relay  board now will you  still be able to
make contact?"
     She was  opening her mouth, but if words came  out I  didn't hear them.
From above us came an unmistakable and ponderous wap wap wap wap wap.
     We all looked up. The noise was  suddenly so loud it was as if the roof
wasn't there at all.
     Both of them rushed towards the computer-room door.
     "Luz, Luz!"
     I moved to the mozzie screen. I checked back to see them barge into the
other room. Shit, it was still on "The webcam, close down the camera!"
     I  pressed my nose  against  the mesh. I wanted the  M-16  in the  Land
Cruiser, but  it wasn't  going  to  happen. The  two dark  blue  helis  were
hovering above the house now,  having already disgorged their payload. Pairs
of jeans  carrying M-16s were closing in  on the veranda.  Michael must have
made the connection with Aaron from the meeting at the locks.
     I ducked  back into the room out  of sight, just as the other two  came
running in with a frightened Luz.
     The heli noise  was overwhelming.  One of them  must have been hovering
just inches from the roof; the bookshelf was shaking so much that books were
tumbling on to the floor.
     The  scene beyond the screen was a  maelstrom of flying  twigs, foliage
and mud as men bobbed about, cautiously approaching the veranda and pointing
weapons.
     Aaron's face  was stone, glaring  over Luz's head as they  knelt either
side of her, curled up in the armchair, her eyes shut tight in fear. Both of
them cuddled and tried to reassure her.
     From behind them came shouts in Spanish from the storeroom.
     I could see bodies now on the veranda.
     It  was  all over. I dropped  to  my  knees  and  threw my  arms up  in
surrender, yelling at Aaron and Carrie, fighting against the rotor blades to
be heard, "Just be still! Be still, it'll be all right!"
     I was  lying, I didn't have a clue what was going to happen. But you've
got to accept  that  when  you're in the  shit you're  in the shit. There is
nothing you can  do but take deep breaths, keep calm, and hope. I thought of
my  failure, and  what that meant,  as the pins and  needles returned to  my
legs. This was not a good day out.
     Men  spilled into  the  room from the back of the  building at the same
instant as the mozzie  screen burst  open. There was crazed shouting between
them as they tried to make sure they didn't shoot each other. I kept my head
down  in submission and could feel the  movement in the floorboards  as they
stamped about.
     Out of  the  corner of  my eye, I saw the flicker  as the  image on the
screen of the PC refreshed itself. Shit!
     I chanced a look up and saw the  expressions  of relief  on their faces
that  they hadn't  encountered any resistance. Over their civilian  clothes,
they were all wearing black nylon chest harnesses for their spare mags. Four
of  them surrounded  Aaron and  Carrie,  still  crouched around the armchair
comforting Luz.
     She  was  giving out high-pitched, hysterical screams, terrified by the
frantically pointed weapons just inches from her face.
     I stayed on my knees, not  looking at anyone in particular, just making
sure I  looked scared  which I  was. But at least  there was one positive; I
knew we were being kept alive for some reason, otherwise we'd have been shot
on sight. All the weapons that I could see were on Automatic.
     I kept still, looked down, took  deep  breaths,  trying  to keep myself
calm and my head free but it wasn't happening too well.
     When people get excited and scared with weapons in their hands anything
can happen especially as I  could see, now that I was viewing them  close up
and not  through an optic sight, that  some of  these  people were only just
getting used to having face hair. It only takes one jumpy  young man to fire
then everyone joins in out of fright and confusion.
     Boots  and  trainers  rushed  past  as  loud  instructions  came   from
commanders  trying to  make themselves heard over the continuous thumping of
the rotor blades.
     Radios blasted out  incomprehensible mush that even they  couldn't hear
properly.
     The sole of someone's boot kicked me between the shoulder blades to get
me down on the floor. I went with it,  flat  on to my stomach, hands  out to
break my fall  and save my face;  then, showing compliance, I quickly placed
them  on the back of my head. I was roughly searched and lost everything out
of my pockets, which made me feel naked and depressed.
     The  shiny  Nokia  went  into  someone's  pocket  as  the helis'  noise
subsided, and  shouts filled  the vacuum, mixed with  the din of  corrugated
iron getting banged  and  the storeroom being ransacked. I bet anything nice
and  shiny in  there was falling  straight off the  shelves  and  into their
pockets as well.
     The clatter of rotors  slowed  gradually and there was the high-pitched
whine of the turbos as both engines closed down.
     Carrie  and Aaron's  comforting sounds  to  Luz dropped with  the noise
level as  rapid Spanish radio traffic echoed  from the  storeroom. Everybody
else was much quieter in the house now; maybe it  had just been the noise of
the helis whipping them into a frenzy.
     But then came the sound of  lighter rotors.  My stomach  churned  and I
knew that an already bad  day was  about to get a whole lot worse. Maybe the
reason we hadn't been killed on  sight was that  Charlie wanted to see to it
in person.
     THIRTY-FOUR
     As the Jet Ranger's rotor blades cut out, I heard the barking of orders
and bodies started  rushing  from  the room. Three remained covering us, two
nervous young guys, maybe their first time out,  and one older, in his early
thirties.
     Outside on the veranda I  could hear a lot of warp speed jabbering. The
boys  were probably swapping stories about  how  particularly good they were
during the attack. I kept my head turned to the left.
     The family were still  huddled around the armchair.  Carrie was nearest
to me as they cuddled and stroked  Luz's head. Aaron's eyes burned into her.
It  was hard to read his expression: it looked  to  me  like pure anger, but
then he reached out and stroked her face.
     Calmer and more  controlled  Spanish came from  the rear  of the house,
sounding more cultured than the guys with weapons gob bing off.  I tilted my
head very  slightly and  screwed my eyes to the top of their sockets  to see
what was happening.
     Charlie, dressed  in a  navy tracksuit and white trainers, had three or
four others buzzing around him like presidential aides as he strode into the
room. He walked towards  me, looking as if he had need of nothing, not  even
oxygen. I felt scared.
     There was nothing I  could do physically about things at the moment. If
I saw the  chance to get away I would grab it, but  right  now I just had to
look away from him and wait.  Whatever happened, I knew it was  likely to be
painful.
     They came towards me, talking quietly to each other as he was called by
one  of the bodies still in the computer room, and then there was the squeak
of rubber soled  trainers on floorboards  as the  group promptly turned  and
headed back from where they'd just come.
     I glanced up and saw them hunched around the PC as the screen flickered
and slowly rolled down the image of the lock as  it was refreshed.  One  was
pointing  at the picture, talking as if he  was  giving Charlie a multimedia
presentation.
     The others nodded and agreed.
     I  turned my eyes  to  the  armchair.  Aaron and  Carrie  were  looking
anxiously over Luz's head  at the group. Aaron turned and stared back at his
wife, his  eyes swivelling in their sockets as he leant  to  kiss a  sobbing
Luz's hair. The guys were still mumbling on the veranda behind me.
     I watched as one of the crew broke away from the PC and  came back into
the living  area. He'd had a change of  kit  since I stole his Land Cruiser,
and now boasted a clean, shiny black tracksuit. His neck  was covered with a
gauze dressing, held in place by surgical tape, and there was a big smile on
his face as he sauntered towards me.
     I lowered my eyes, clenched my teeth and tensed up.
     He crouched down and cocked his head so we could have eye-to-eye.
     "Como esta, amigo?" His prominent Adam's apple bobbed up and down under
the blood-spotted gauze.
     I nodded.
     "Bien, bien."
     He gave the thumbs up with a smile.
     "Si, good, good."
     I kept  my body tensed  but  still nothing happened. He was taking  the
piss. I couldn't  help but smile back as he got to his  feet and returned to
the  crew at  the  PC,  then addressed  a  few remarks to Charlie,  probably
telling him I was indeed the same man and maybe confirming to him that I was
the only one on the ground earlier.
     Charlie seemed very cool  about things, not even turning to look at me.
Instead he smiled and pinched both cheeks of the
     Land  Cruiser  guy as he handed over  the plastic bag carrying my docs.
Charlie then went back and muttered to some more of his aides by the screen.
     My Land Cruiser  friend pulled out my  roll of  dollars from  the  bag,
before leaving via  the  storeroom. Seconds later, one of the Hueys  sparked
up, turbos whining. Some of the lads were being lifted out.
     The heli took off, thundering over the roof,  as the staff meeting came
to an end. They streamed back into the living area,  Charlie in the lead, my
bag of docs in his hand. He made a beeline towards me. I did my best to bury
my face in my shoulder.
     His mud-stained trainers stopped  a foot  or two away from  my eyes, so
new  they didn't even  have creases  in the nylon yet.  I concentrated on my
shoulder as he crouched down with a crack of his knees  and grabbed my hair.
I just went with it: what was the point of resisting?
     Our  eyes met. His  were dark brown  and bloodshot, no doubt due to the
force of the explosion. His skin was peppered with scabbed-up pockmarks from
the shattered glass, and the  side of his neck was dressed like  that of the
guy from the Land  Cruiser. But for all that, he didn't look angry, just  in
command.
     He stared at me, his expression impenetrable. I could smell his cologne
and hear his steel  watch strap jangle as he  grabbed my chin with his spare
hand.
     The palm  was soft, and well-manicured fingers pressed  into my cheeks.
There still was no anger in his eyes, no hint of any emotion whatsoever.
     "Why are you  people  so stupid?  All I wanted was  some  assurance the
device wouldn't be used inside Panama.  Then you  could have had the  launch
control system. Some form of assurance, that's all." He threw my docs to the
floor.
     Instead, I have my family threatened ..."
     I let the weight of my head rest in his  hands, my  eyelids drooping as
he shook me about some more.
     "So  I comply and  take  the rest of  your  money, you  then assure  me
everything is fine, just  business. But still you try to kill my family.  Do
you know who I am?
     What I can do to you, all of you people?"
     He held me, looking at me, his eyes giving nothing.
     "You are going to use Sunburn against  a ship in the Miraflores  that's
the target, isn't it?" He shook me again.
     "Why you are doing it, I don't care. But it will bring the US back that
I care about a great deal."
     As my face moved from side to side I caught glimpses of my passport and
wallet, discarded in their plastic on the floor by the bookshelves, and both
Aaron and Carrie, still  covering  Luz  on the armchair, their faces red and
set with fear.
     Charlie brought  his  mouth  to my ear and  whispered, "I want  to know
where the  missile is, and when  the attack will  take place. If not,  well,
some of my people here are only a few years older than that one in the chair
and, like  all  young men, eager  to display their manhood ...  That's fair,
isn't it? You set the rules children are now fair game, aren't they?"
     He kept my head in his hands, waiting for my reply. I  looked  into his
eyes  and they told me  what I needed to know: that none of  us was going to
leave here alive, no matter what we said or did.
     It  was Aaron who broke the silence, with a scoff: "He's just the hired
help."
     His voice was strong and authoritative.
     "He  was sent here to  make you  hand over the  guidance system, that's
all. He doesn't  know a thing. None of  us know  where Sunburn is, but I can
get on line at eight thirty tonight  and find out. I'll do it just let these
three go."
     I studied Charlie's  face as he stared at  Aaron. It was a good try  on
Aaron's part, but a bit naive.
     Carrie went ballistic.
     "No,  no  what are you doing?" She begged Charlie, still hovering above
me.
     "Please, he-' Aaron cut in at once.
     "Shut up. I've had enough, it's got to end. It's got to stop now!"
     Charlie  released  my  head  and I  let it fall to the floorboards, the
right side of my face taking  the hit.  He  wasn't too keen to have  my hair
grease on his hands and bent down to wipe it on my shirt before walking over
to the coffee table.
     Aaron followed him with his eyes.
     "Eight  thirty I can't do anything  until then.  That's when I can make
contact and find out eight thirty. Just let them go." He stroked Luz's hair.
     Charlie  muttered instructions to the  people around  him  as he walked
towards the kitchen area, not acknowledging me as he passed.
     Aaron  and Carrie obviously understood what was going on and started to
rise  with Luz  as two guards crossed  the floor. Carrie still tried to talk
sense into  Aaron. What are you  doing?  You know he'll just-'  He was tough
with her.
     "Shut up! Just shut up!" He kissed her on the lips.
     "I
     love you. Stay strong." Then he  bent down and kissed  Luz,  before the
guards dragged him towards the computer room.
     "Remember,  Nick,"  he laughed, 'once a Viking,  always  a Viking. Some
things never change."
     He  disappeared,  jabbering  some kind  of  explanation or  apology  in
Spanish to the men who pulled at his arms.
     The mozzie screen squeaked open behind  me and commands were shouted at
the  boys on the  veranda. The other two had already  been herded into Luz's
bedroom, and the door was closed.
     Charlie had been inspecting the coffee pot and now checked the mugs. He
obviously  decided the  blend was crap, or the mugs weren't clean enough, so
he  came back  towards me and hunkered down  once more, bending his head  to
connect his eyes with mine.
     "Sunday London you were there?"
     My gaze remained locked on his. It was like two kids playing stare as I
kept my mouth firmly shut.
     He shrugged.
     "It doesn't matter, not now. What does is the Sunburn1 want it back. Do
you know how much you have paid for it?"
     I had to blink now,  but I remained locked on.  Fuck him,  we  were all
dead anyway.
     "Twelve  million  United States dollars.  I'm thinking of  reselling it
good business, I think." He stood,  to  the cracking of knees once again. He
paused and took breath.
     "It seems the war down south will escalate quite soon. I should imagine
PARC would very much appreciate the opportunity to  buy Sunburn, to prepare,
let's say,  for when  the  Americans send  a  carrier fleet  to  support its
troops." He smiled.
     "After all, the  Russians designed the missile with just one  target in
mind: the American aircraft carrier."
     I was pushed towards Luz's bedroom and opened the  door to see  both of
them lying on the bed in a huddle. Carrie was stroking Luz's hair;
     she  looked up in terror as the door  creaked open, her expression only
changing when she saw it was me.
     The door slammed shut. I moved over to the bed and sat down beside them
with my finger to my lips. We've  got  to get out of here before these  kids
get organized."
     She  looked  down  at  her daughter,  kissed  her  head,  and spoke  in
whispers. What's he doing? He  knows  nothing. George won't say a-' "I don't
know, sssh ..."
     I was  only just  beginning to  understand what Aaron  was doing, but I
wasn't going to tell her.
     I got up and went  to the window,  which was protected  by a  wire-mesh
mozzie screen on  the outside.  The windows, side-hinged  types  that opened
inwards, were  caked  with faded, flaking cream paint. The  hinges had  long
since lost their coat, with luck through use. The mozzie screen was  held in
place by wooden pegs that swivelled on screws.
     I looked out and studied the  treeline  two hundred metres away as  Luz
sparked up behind me. Is Dad coming?"
     Carrie soothed her.
     "For sure, baby, soon."
     The  ground outside  was littered with freshly broken terra cotta tiles
from the roof. There was intermittent chat and the odd laugh coming from the
veranda to my left.
     I inspected the window, my mind still very much on Aaron. He wasn't  as
naive as I'd thought.
     "Once a Viking, always a Viking."  They slash, they burn, they pillage.
They never change. He'd told me that. He'd come to the same  conclusion as I
had. No way was Charlie letting us out of here alive.
     I was expecting some resistance from  the windows,  but they gave quite
easily and  opened towards me with  just one pull. Immediately closing  them
again, I went over to the bed.
     "Here's  what  we're going  to  do.  We're going to get out through the
window and get ourselves into the trees."
     Luz  had been looking  at her  mother but her head  jerked  towards me.
Tears streaked her face. What about Dad?"
     'I'll come  back for him later. There's no time for  this. We've got to
go right now."
     Luz looked up at her mother and silently implored her.
     "We can't," Carrie said. We can't leave him. What will happen when they
find us  gone? If we stay put  and  don't  antagonize anyone,  we'll be  all
right. We don't know anything, why should they harm us?"
     The  whine  of the turbos on  the Jet Ranger  started up and the rotors
were  soon  turning. I waited until they reached full revs before putting my
mouth to Carrie's ear.
     "Aaron knows  we're all dead whatever  happens even if George does tell
him the location. You understand? We all die."
     The  heli took off  as her head  fell on to  Luz's. I followed to  keep
contact with her ear.
     "He's buying me time to save  you two. We must go now, for Luz's  sake,
and for Aaron's. It's what he wants."
     Her shoulders heaved with sadness as she hugged her daughter.
     "Mom?"
     The  tears were  infectious.  Both of them  were sobbing now into  each
other's hair as the noise of the Jet Ranger disappeared over the canopy.
     THIRTY-FIVE
     There was  still more than an hour to go till last light but I had made
my decision. We had to get out of here as soon as we physically could.
     Mumbling and laughter still drifted  from the front of the house, as if
to remind me of the risk we'd be taking. If somebody was on stag at the edge
of the veranda, we'd  be in full view  for the entire two hundred metres. It
would  take  us at  least ninety seconds to make  that  distance over  muddy
ground, and that's a very long time for an M-16 to have you in its sights.
     But who knew what the next hour held? The three of us could be split up
and moved to separate rooms, killed, or even put into the remaining Huey and
flown out.  We  had  no  control over  that,  and  by  waiting could  end up
squandering the chance Aaron had given us.
     As I looked through the glass and  mesh, it was  easy enough to confirm
our route half right towards the dead ground,  then into the  treeline. We'd
be moving at an angle away from the  front of the house and the veranda, but
there'd come a point where we cleared the corner at the back and were in the
Huey's line of  sight. Would  there still be people aboard? Maybe the  pilot
carrying out  his checks? There was no right or wrong about the  decision to
go  now. These things are not a science: if we died, I'd have been wrong; if
we lived, I'd have been right.
     Once absorbed by the  wall of green we'd be relatively safe; we'd  just
have to  contend with a night out on the jungle floor, then spend  the  next
day  moving  through  the  canopy towards  the dead  valley,  navigating  by
paralleling the track.
     We'd cross the tree graveyard at night, hiding under the  dead wood  in
the  day,  until we made  Chepo. From  there, who knew? I'd worry about that
then. As for Aaron, I doubted that he'd last much past eight thirty.
     Carrie and Luz were still comforting each other on the bed. I went over
to them and, with Britney  on the wall  overseeing events, whispered, "We're
going to go for the trees."
     Luz looked at her mother for reassurance.
     "The thing  to remember is that we must spread out when we're  running,
OK? That way it's harder to be seen."
     Carrie looked up from  her child and frowned. She knew  that wasn't the
reason.
     She knew a single burst from an M-16 could kill all three of us, and if
we were spread out, we'd be that bit harder to hit.
     Luz tugged at her mother's arm.
     "What about Daddy?"
     I  could  see Carrie fighting back the tears  and  put my hand  on  her
shoulder.
     "I'll  come back for him, Luz, don't worry. He wanted me to get you two
into the jungle first. He wants to know you're safe."
     She nodded  reluctantly, and  we heard more  mumblings from the veranda
and boots the other side of the door. Going  immediately was the right thing
to do.
     "If we get split up," I said quietly, "I  want you two to carry on into
the trees without me,  then make your way towards the far right  corner  and
wait for me there." To Luz I added, "Don't come out if anyone calls for you,
even if it's your dad it'll  just be a trick. Just my voice, OK? Once you're
safe, I'll come back for him."
     I'd  cross  that  bridge when  I  came to  it, but for  now a  lie  was
necessary to keep them quiet  so I could get on with what he was sacrificing
himself for.
     "Ready?"
     Both heads nodded. I looked at Luz.
     "Me first, then you, all right?"
     I moved back to the window and out of whisper  range.  Carrie followed,
looking out to the treeline, listening to the laughter out front.
     They're  outside,  on  the   deck,  Nick,  isn't  it-'  "No  time,  not
interested."
     "But how are we going to  get  to  the trees without-'  "Just  get  her
ready."
     She was  right. How were we  going to make it? I didn't know. All I did
know was that there wasn't any time for fancy  plans,  even if I could think
of one. We just had to get on with it. We were dead anyway, so anything else
was a bonus.
     Pulling open the windows let the sounds of crickets and the boys on the
veranda trickle into the  room.  I thought of  the Beirut  hostage who could
have  escaped within the first few days of capture when a toilet  window was
left open. But he didn't take the chance, didn't seize the moment. He had to
live with his regret for the next three years.
     My mind went into auto-drive, just getting on with the  job. Fuck  'em,
fuck the noise outside, fuck the Huey. I was almost wanting them to see us.
     The wooden pegs  squeaked  as  I  swivelled them  to release the mozzie
screen.  It rattled in its frame  as I pushed it free. I froze, waiting  for
the murmuring  on the  veranda  to change into  shouts. It didn't happen.  I
pushed again and  this  time  the screen came away. Slowly  and carefully, I
lowered it towards the ground. Boots banged about  on  the  decking  and the
front door slammed as I felt the screen touch the mud and broken tiles.
     I clambered out feet first. My Timberlands squelched into the mud and I
moved  the screen  to one side  before beckoning Luz,  not even bothering to
check the noises. I'd know if they saw  me. Better to  concentrate on what I
was doing rather than flap about something I had no control over.
     Her mother helped her, even though she didn't need it, and I guided her
down beside me into the mud.  Using one hand to hold her against the wall, I
held out  the  other for Carrie as the boys  on  the  veranda  appreciated a
punchline and one of the rocking chairs was scraped across the wood.
     Carrie  was soon beside me. I got her to  stand next to Luz against the
wall,  and pointed  to  the  treeline to our  half  right. I  gave  them the
thumbs-up but got no reply so, taking  a deep breath, I took off. They  knew
what to do.
     Within just a few strides the mud had slowed our run into not much more
than a  fast walk. Instinct made all  three of us hunch low in an attempt to
make ourselves smaller. I pushed them ahead of me and kept motioning to them
to spread  out,  but it wasn't working. Luz  ran close to her mother, and it
wasn't long before they were actually  holding hands, breathing hard five or
six metres ahead.
     It was difficult going and I fell twice, sliding as if on ice, but we'd
covered the first hundred metres.
     The heli came into view  to  our  right, parked just short  of the dead
ground.
     There didn't seem to be anyone in or around it, or any sort of movement
at the rear of the house. We pushed on.
     There were maybe thirty  metres to  go when I heard the first  reports.
Not big, inaccurate brass, but single, aimed shots.
     "Run!" I yelled.
     "Keep going!"
     An enormous flock of little multicoloured birds lifted from the canopy.
     "Keep  going, keep  going!" I didn't look behind us;  it wouldn't  have
helped.
     Carrie,  still  gripping  her  daughter's  hand,  was  focused  on  the
treeline, half dragging Luz along as she shrieked with terror.
     The  rounds  cracked behind  us as  they went supersonic.  My mind  was
trying to  beat  them by  going at a million miles an hour, but my feet were
only taking me at ten.
     With  maybe  twenty metres of  open ground  left,  the  rounds  finally
started  to zero  in on  us. The cracks  were  accompanied  by thuds as they
slammed into the mud ahead and to the side of us, until all I could hear was
an almost  rhythmic crack thump,  crack thump, crack thump as they opened up
big-time.
     "Keep going, keep going!"
     They lunged into the jungle, still slightly ahead and to my right.
     "Go right, go right!"
     Almost at once, I heard a scream. It was a strangulated half gasp, half
howl of pain, just metres into the foliage.
     More rounds  ripped into the  jungle, some with a high-pitched ziiinnng
as they ricocheted  off the  trees. I dropped to my hands and knees, gasping
for breath.
     "Luz! Call to me where are you? Where are you?"
     "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!"
     Ziiinnng-ziiinnng... "Luz! Lie down! Keep down! Keep down!"
     The single shots now become  bursts as  I started  crawling. The  M-16s
were firing into the entry points in an effort to hose us down; we needed to
move offline to the right, downhill into dead ground. Leaves give cover from
view but not fire, dead ground does.
     "I'm coming, keep down, lie down!"
     Some of  them  were  long bursts, the rounds  going high as  the weapon
barrels  kicked up, but  some were short, the  switched-on guys aiming three
and five rounds at a time  as  I heard a  wagon  revving up to join  in  the
frenzy.
     I covered  six  or seven metres through the foliage until I found them.
Carrie was  on  her back, panting, eyes wide open,  tear-filled  and  big as
saucers,  her cargos bloodstained on the right thigh,  with what looked like
bone pushing  at  the material. Her injured  leg  appeared shorter  than the
other, and the  foot was lying  flat with the toes pointing outward. A round
must  have hit her in the femur. Luz was hovering over her, not knowing what
to do, just staring openmouthed at her mother's bloodstains.
     The rounds had died down  for  now as  the shouts and engine noise  got
louder.
     I grabbed Carrie by the arms and, shuffling on my arse, started to drag
her through the leaf litter in the direction of our emergency RV, the corner
of the treeline, and into the dead ground.  Luz followed  on  her  hands and
knees, sobbing loudly.
     "Shut up! They'll hear you!"
     We only managed five or six metres.  Carrie cried out uncontrollably as
her injured leg  got jarred and twisted, covering her face with her hands in
an  effort to  keep quiet. At least the  noise  meant she was breathing  and
could feel pain, both  good signs, but the  two of them were  making  such a
racket that it was only a matter of time before we were heard.
     I jumped up, grabbed Carrie's wrist, and heaved her over my shoulder in
a fireman's lift. She screamed as her damaged leg swung free  before  I held
it in place. I pushed through the vegetation with long, exaggerated strides,
trying to keep  the leg stable with one hand and keeping a tight grip of Luz
with the other,  sometimes by her hair, sometimes by her clothing, sometimes
around her neck, whatever it took to keep us moving together.
     The BUBs  now sparked up  as  frenzied shouts and  the high revs of the
engine came from  behind us. Short  bursts from M-16s randomly  stitched the
area. They were at the entry points.
     We crashed our way through some more  wait-a-while and Carrie's leg got
snagged.
     She screamed and  I half turned, pulled  it  free,  knowing there was a
chance that the  broken ends  of her  femur could act like scissors, cutting
into  muscle, nerves, tendons, ligaments or, worst of all, sever the femoral
artery. She'd be history  in minutes if that happened. But what else could I
do?
     We crashed on, and began a gentle decent. I guessed we were about level
with the heli in the clearing to my right. I could still hear  people hosing
the place down behind us, but the jungle  was soaking up a lot of it  and we
seemed to be out of the initial danger area.
     The BUBs reminded  me  I'd  have to stop  soon and  sort  out Carrie. I
needed that last precious light.
     I pushed towards  the treeline until I could  see the beginning of  the
open  ground, then dragged Luz back with me  so we were just behind the wall
of green.
     At last I was able to lay Carrie down, making sure as I did so that her
feet were pointing at the treeline.
     The M-16s only fired  sporadically now, up on the higher ground, though
there  was still  a  lot of  vehicle  noise and  shouting  up  and  down the
treeline. I didn't  care: if there were  any dramas we'd  just drag  further
back in. The priority now was sorting her out.
     Carrie lay on her back taking short, sharp breaths, her face contorted.
I joined  in with her pattern of breathing as I tried to get my breath back.
Luz was bent over her on her knees. I gently straightened her.
     "You've got to help your mum and  me. I need you to kneel there, behind
me. If anyone comes you  just turn round and give me a tap not a shout, just
a tap, OK? Will you do that?"
     Luz looked at her mother, then back at me.
     "That's good  this  is really important." I  positioned her behind  me,
facing the  treeline,  then turned to Carrie.  No  way were we going  to  be
walking out of here, but that wasn't my major concern: sorting her out was.
     She fought the pain through gritted teeth. There was blood. Her femoral
artery wasn't cut or lit  res of the stuff would  have been pouring out over
her  leg, but  if  she kept  leaking like  this she would eventually go into
shock and die. The bleeding had to be stopped and the fracture immobilized.
     Not even bothering to explain what  I was up to, I got down at her feet
and started to work with my teeth  at the frayed hem of her cargos. I made a
tear, gripped  both sides  of  it, and ripped  the material  upwards. As the
injury  was  exposed I  saw that she hadn't  been shot. She must have fallen
badly  and  overstressed the femur: the bone was sticking out of what looked
like  a rack of raw, blood-soaked beef. But at least there was muscle  there
to contract, it hadn't been shot away.
     I tried to sound upbeat.
     "It's not so bad."
     There was no reply, just very rapid breathing.
     With military casualties in the field  I had always found  it better to
take the piss, not feed their worries. But this felt  different: I wanted to
reassure her, to make her feel OK.
     "It  looks  a  lot messier  than  it is. I'll make sure it  doesn't get
worse, then get you to a doctor. It'll be fine."
     With  her head tilted back she seemed  to  be looking up at the canopy.
Her face was fixed in a terrible grimace, eyes screwed tight.
     I cleared some leaf litter that had stuck  to the sweat on her forehead
and whispered into her  ear, "Really,  it's not that  bad  ... it's  a clean
break. You haven't lost that much blood, but  I've got to fix it so the bone
doesn't move about and cause any more damage. It's going to hurt  more while
I sort it out you know that, don't you?"
     I caught sight of Luz, who was still in position on  her knees, looking
back  at  us.  I  gave  her the  thumbs up, but all I  got in  return was  a
fleeting, tearstained half-smile.
     Carrie's chest  heaved  up  and  down  as  she  sucked in air,  quietly
screaming to herself as she took the pain.
     "Carrie, I need you to help me, will you  do that,  will you help me? I
want you to hold on to the tree behind you when I say, OK?"
     Forcing the words out haltingly through the tears, she sobbed,  "Get on
with it."
     There was a burst  of fire further up  the treeline.  Luz flinched  and
looked back.
     I held up both my hands and mouthed to her, "It's OK, it's OK."
     The firing stopped and  Luz turned back  to her task. The  BUBs  echoed
about us in the fading light  as  I gently eased  Carrie's inch-wide webbing
belt through the hoops of  her cargos and put it down  by her  feet. Then  I
took off my sweatshirt, knowing I  was  sentencing  myself to being  one big
mozzie banquet.
     I  ripped a  sleeve away from its stitching. Carrie's eyes were closed,
her  lips  quivering,  as  I started  pulling on  the large waxy leaves that
drooped down about us. In a  minute, I'm going to move your good leg next to
your bad one. I'll do it as carefully as I can."
     Rolling up the leaves into big cigar shapes,  I gently packed  them all
the way down  between  her legs, to  act as padding between the good leg and
the  bad. I  carried on as the odd Spanish shout penetrated the canopy, then
picked up her good leg.
     "Here we go, here  we go." She was  breathing as rapidly as if  she was
giving birth. I brought it gently over towards her  injured one, just as the
first splatter  of rain hit the canopy.  I didn't know whether to  laugh  or
cry.
     Luz moved back to me on her knees.
     "It's raining, what do we do?"
     I shrugged.
     "Get wet."
     Carrie's  features twisted again  in  agony. As rain tumbled on  to her
face  she held  out  her hand  for  Luz  to grasp,  and mother  and daughter
whispered to each other. I needed Luz on stag. I signalled that I wanted her
to move, and she shuffled back to her post.
     I  pushed the  sleeve through the mud below Carrie's knees and  laid it
out flat, then frantically ripped the rest of the now soaking-wet sweatshirt
into strips to improvise bandages.
     "Nick, the ship ..."
     The ship has to wait."
     I  carried on ripping and tearing  as  the  rain  notched itself  up to
monsoon strength. I couldn't even  hear the BUBs  any more, or the people in
the open ground if they were still there.
     I leant over her, right up to her ear.
     "I need you  to bring your hands back and grab hold  of the tree behind
you."
     There was  a deep rumble of  thunder  directly above us as I guided her
hands  round the thin  trunk, debating  whether or not to explain what I was
going to do with her next.
     "Grip hard and don't let go, no matter what."
     I decided against it; she was in enough pain without anticipating more.
     I crawled back down to her feet and fed the belt under both her ankles,
digging into the mud so  I didn't  move her  damaged leg any more than I had
to. Then, kneeling  in  front  of  her, I gently picked up the  foot  of the
injured leg between my hands, the right supporting her heel and the other on
her toes.
     Her whole body tensed.
     "It's going to be OK, just keep hold of that tree. Ready?"
     Slowly but firmly, I pulled her foot towards me. I rotated it as gently
as I could, stretching the injured leg out straight to stop the taut muscles
from displacing  the bone any more and, I hoped, bring  some relief from the
pain. It wasn't easy, there was a lot of thigh muscle to pull against. Every
movement must  have felt like a stab  from a red hot knife. She gritted  her
teeth  and for  a long time didn't make a sound, then finally it  all became
too much. She screamed  as her body jerked, but  didn't release her grip  as
the exposed bone started to retract from the open wound.
     Rain fell in torrents and more thunder rumbled across the darkening sky
as I continued with the traction. She screamed again  and her body convulsed
as I sat down, pulling her leg with all my weight.
     "Nearly there, Carrie, nearly there ..."
     Luz came running over  and joined in the sobs. It  was  understandable,
but I  didn't need  it. I hissed at  her, "Shut  up!" There was no other way
that I could think of, but it just made her  worse. She whimpered again, and
this time I just let her get on with it.
     My  hands were busy and  I couldn't cover her  mouth. I couldn't let go
because the muscle contraction  would pull it back  in  again and cause more
damage.
     I  started to  feed the canvas belt over Carrie's  ankles  with my left
hand, and then over her sandal led feet in a figure of eight.
     "Keep  your good leg straight, Carrie, keep it straight!" Then I pulled
back  on the ends of the belt to keep everything in place, tying a knot with
the belt still under tension to keep her feet together.
     Carrie  had been  jerking like an epileptic, but  still held on to  the
tree and, more importantly, kept her good leg straight.
     "It's OK, OK. It's done."
     As I knelt up Luz fell on top of her mother. I tried to get her off.
     "Let her breathe." But  they weren't having  any of  it, clutching each
other tight.
     It  was getting so dark I could hardly see beyond the two of  them now,
and the fracture  still had to be  immobilized so it couldn't  do  any  more
damage. I gently folded over the sweatshirt sleeve lying under her knees and
tied the ends  together with  the  knot on the side  of her good knee. Large
lumps  of bright  green leaf protruded between her legs  now  that they were
getting strapped together.
     I  placed strips  of sweatshirt firmly and  carefully over the wound. I
fed  the material under her knees and then worked it up before  tying off on
the  side of the  good leg. I wanted  to immobilize  the  fracture, and  put
pressure on the wound to stem the blood loss.
     Rain cascaded down,  blurring my vision as it ran into  my  eyes. I was
working virtually  by feel as I  tied off the other sleeve round her ankles,
adding more support to the canvas belt.
     I stayed sitting at Carrie's feet, almost shouting to make myself heard
above the rain. TMow you can give me my Scout's first-aid badge."
     All I had  to do now was make sure that the sweatshirt wasn't  tied too
tight.  I couldn't  tell if  the blood  supply  was reaching below the ties;
without  light I couldn't see if the skin was pink  or blue, and finding the
pulse was a nightmare. There was really only one option.
     "If you feel pins and needles, you've got to tell me, OK?"
     I got a short, sharp "Yep!"
     I  couldn't even  see my hand  in  front of my  face  now  as I checked
Baby-G. The dial  illuminated and it was 6.27.  Just behind me, I could hear
both of them crying, even above the drumming on the vegetation.
     I was  starting to feel cold. Not too sure where their  heads  were,  I
called out into  the darkness, "You two must keep physical contact with each
other all the time. You must each know where the other is all the time never
let go of each other." I put my hand out and felt wet material: it was Luz's
back as she cuddled her mother.
     No way were  we walking out of here. What the fuck was there to do now?
I didn't really  know. Well, actually  I did, but I  was trying to  deny it.
That was probably what was making me feel cold.
     I was kneeling there in the rain when I heard Luz speak up.
     "Nick?"
     I tapped my hand on her back to acknowledge her.
     'You going to get Daddy now?"
     THIRTY-SIX
     It seemed I had come to that bridge.
     I'll be no more than a couple of hours."
     She wasn't wearing  a watch, but some kind of timing would be something
to cling on to.
     "Eight thirty,  Nick,  eight  thirty..."  Carrie fought  between short,
sharp breaths, as if I needed reminding.
     "If I'm not back by first light," I said, 'you need to get out into the
open ground  and make yourself known. You'll  need taking care of. Once  the
weather clears they can  use  the heli to get you to hospital." Maybe, maybe
not:  I didn't know what they'd do, but  there was no  other way if I didn't
return.
     Going back to the house had been a simple choice to make. Carrie needed
medical attention. I needed a wagon to get her to Chepo. I had to go and get
one, and that meant getting Aaron out of there too. Stealing a wagon  in the
middle of the night, then picking Carrie  up  so  close to  the house  was a
no-no: it  simply wouldn't work. I needed  to have control of the  house and
the people in it first.
     I didn't know if it was the physical pain, or the realization that what
I'd just talked about was  a contingency  plan for if Aaron and I  were both
dead, but  she let out a loud sob. Rain  drummed on Luz's back  as she knelt
over her mother and joined in. I just let  them get on with  it,  not really
knowing what else to do while I
     tried to think  through what I'd  do  once I  was at the  house without
coming up with much.
     I  checked Baby-G:  6.32. Less  than  two hours till Aaron's  bluff was
called.
     I felt my knees sinking into the mud. 'I'll see you both soon. In fact,
I won't see you, I'll hear you ..." I gave a weak laugh.
     I drew an imaginary straight line down her body to her feet. She hadn't
shifted position since I'd laid her down, so I knew that that was the way to
the treeline.  I started crawling, feeling my way  over the wet leaf litter,
and soon emerged into the open ground.
     There  was  an immediate  difference in  the  ambient  noise.  The dull
pounding  of rain  into  mud  took over  from the  almost  tinny noise of it
hitting leaves. It was just as dark, however, and because of the dead ground
I couldn't see any lights from the house.
     I stood up and stretched, then ripped an armful of palm leaves from the
trees  at  the  edge  and laid them out  on  the ground at  my  entry point,
throwing mud on top to keep them in place. Then, with the heel of my boot, I
scraped deep score marks into the mud for  good measure. It didn't matter if
Charlie's men found the  long straight puddles after first light by then I'd
either have done my job and be away from here,  or it would all have gone to
rat shit anyway and Carrie and Luz would need finding.
     I set  off towards  the house, conscious that  the  helicopter would be
somewhere to my left. I was tempted to make  my way over  to it and  have  a
look for a weapon.
     But what if the pilot was asleep inside or listening to a Walkman? What
if they had somebody on stag? It was unlikely, in the middle of  nowhere and
with  us now lost in the jungle,  but still, I couldn't take the chance of a
compromise so far  from the house. The aim was to get all of us out of here,
not go the best of three falls with someone in a helicopter.
     As  I crested  the high  ground,  I saw the glimmer  of  light from the
single  bulb burning away in the shower area.  There was no other  lighting,
nothing from Luz's bedroom, or Carrie and Aaron's. I certainly couldn't tell
if our escape window  was still open  or not,  and  I didn't intend  getting
close  enough to  that side  of  the  house to find  out. Why bother? It was
wasting time. I'd  go to the side where I knew there was an entry point that
would definitely get me in.
     I moved back down the  slope and, avoiding the  helicopter, made my way
round to the other side of the house as more thunder rumbled above.  Picking
my way through the mud,  eventually moving  up to the left of  the house,  I
crested the  high ground again. The shower-area light was now  to  my right,
still trying to penetrate the curtain of rain.
     Approaching  the tubs, I became aware of the chug of the generator, and
at that point got on to my hands and knees and began to crawl. The mud  felt
warm and lumpy on  my  bare skin,  almost soothing the itchy swellings on my
stomach.
     The chug was  soon  drowned out by the rain  beating on the lids of the
plastic tubs. There were  no  signs  of life from the  house, and  it wasn't
until  I drew  level with the storeroom that I  could  just  make out a thin
sliver of light coming from beneath the door.  I kept moving, and eventually
saw  a dull  yellow glow filtering  through the mozzie screen  on the window
between the bookshelves, but no movement inside.
     There was no need to crawl any more as I got to the end of the tubs and
drew level with the veranda and wagons. Covered in mud, I stood up and moved
cautiously towards them.
     I headed  for the Land  Cruiser, now pointing towards the track through
the woods, rain hammering on its body work I stood off to the side and could
see  movement inside the  house, though  from this distance they wouldn't be
able to see me.
     "Lurking', standing in the shadows and watching, was a skill I'd learnt
as a young squaddie in Northern Ireland, during long hours on foot patrol in
Republican  housing estates. We'd watch  people  eat  their dinners, do  the
ironing, have sex.
     Through  the  haze  of rain  and screens  I  could  see the fans  still
spinning by the armchairs, which were empty. Three guys were sitting at  the
kitchen  table, all  dark-skinned and dark-haired, one with a beard. Weapons
lay on  the floor. Two  of the guys wore  chest harnesses.  All of them were
smoking, and  seemed to be having a sober  conversation.  They were probably
trying to make up the story of how we'd managed to get away.
     There was no sign of Aaron.
     I checked Baby-G as I blew out the water that ran down my face and into
my mouth. Less than ninety minutes to go before they discovered he knew jack
shit.
     I  moved off to the  right so  I could  get an angle through  the front
entrance and see the bedroom doors. Both were  closed. He was either in  one
of them,  or inside  the computer room;  I'd  find that  out soon,  but  the
priority  was to check  if the Mosin Nagant or M-16 were still  in the  Land
Cruiser. There had been no light, no movement or steamed-up windows  in  any
of the three wagons. It was safe to approach.
     I wiped the water from the side windows and checked inside.  No sign of
either weapon or gollock,  not that I could  see much in the dark. It was  a
long shot, but I'd have been making a basic error if I hadn't checked.
     I  went to  the rear of  the wagon  and  slowly but  firmly pressed the
release button and opened the glass top section of the rear gate six inches,
just enough for the interior lights  to  come on, then bent down and scanned
the  luggage area. No weapons,  no  bergen, no gollock. I pushed the section
back down until it hit the first click and killed the lights.
     I moved towards the storeroom to take a look  through the gap under the
door. As I passed the  bookshelf window, too far from it for the  weak light
to illuminate me, I saw that all three were still sitting at the table.
     The  tin  roof  above me  was  getting pummelled big-time as I moved in
towards the side of the house and stepped up on the concrete foundations  of
the extension.
     The noise drowned anything it might have been useful to hear.
     Moving back out into the rain and round the water butt, I could now see
the light seeping from under the storeroom door.  I got back on the concrete
and  down on my hands and knees, shook my head to get off as much water as I
could so it wouldn't run into my  eyes, then shoved my right eye against the
gap.
     I saw Aaron at once,  sitting in one of the director's chairs under the
glare of the computer-room strip lighting.  A  man, maybe mid-forties, in  a
green shirt and with no chest harness or weapon visible, was sitting next to
him in the other canvas chair, in the act of offering him a cigarette, which
he took.
     Beyond them,  sitting at Luz's computer  and with his back to me, was a
younger man, in blue, with long hair tied in a ponytail like Aaron's, except
his was  still black. I  guessed by the primary  colours  darting about  the
screen and the frenzied movement of the mouse that he was playing a game. An
M-16 was resting against the table beside him.
     I looked back at Aaron. His nose was bloodied and his eyes swollen, and
the right one had blood leaking from  it.  But he was smiling  at the  green
guy, maybe feeling happy with himself that he'd got us away. I  was glad  he
didn't know what had happened since.
     By now  the  cigarette had been lit and he took long,  grateful  drags.
Green Guy got up  and said something to Blue, who didn't bother to turn from
the game,  just raising his  free hand instead  as Green Guy  went  into the
living room to join the other three.
     Right, so there were at least five of them,  and there might be more in
the bedrooms. What now?
     I lay on the concrete and  watched the inactivity for a few minutes  as
Aaron  enjoyed his cigarette, taking it from his mouth, examining it between
his thumb and forefinger, exhaling through his nose. I was trying to come up
with something that would get me Aaron and one of those weapons.
     Taking the final drag, he turned on his  chair to look at Blue  playing
Luz's game, then he ground the dog-end into the concrete.
     Shit! What's he up to?
     I leapt back and scrambled behind the water butt just as the door burst
open  and light  flooded the  area. Aaron launched  himself off the concrete
into the mud, followed by startled Spanish screams.
     As he ran and slithered  into the darkness towards the tubs there was a
long burst of automatic fire from within the storeroom.
     I  curled  up, making myself as small as  possible as yells echoed from
the living room, together with the sound of feet pounding on floorboards.
     Rounds were hitting  the tin wall  with dull thuds as the weapon  burst
out of control.
     Aaron had already faded into the darkness  when  Blue got  to the door,
hollering in panic, and took aim with a short sharp burst.
     I heard an anguished gasp, then chilling, drawn-out screams.
     His pain was quickly drowned  by pa