Last Light (7 page)

That's when the low-life like me come into the picture, carrying out, or in some cases cleaning up, the dirty work that they create while throwing the odd crab paste sandwich and After Eight down their necks. I envied them that, at times like this.

The Yes Man did, too. He had been to university, but not one of the right two.

He had never been one of the elite, an IB, yet had probably always wanted to be.

But he just wasn't made of the right stuff. His background was the Directorate of Special Support, a branch of wild-haired technicians and scientists working on electronics, signals, electronic surveillance and explosive devices. He'd run the signals department of the UK Ks, but had never been in the field.

I didn't know why the Firm had suddenly changed the system and let a non-IB take command. Maybe with the change of government they thought they should look a bit more meritocratic, give a tweak or two to the system to make them look good and keep the politicians happy as they skipped back to Whitehall, instead of interfering too much with what really goes on. So, who better to run the Desk than someone who wasn't an IB, arse licked his way from breakfast to dinnertime, and would do whatever he was told?

Whatever, I didn't like him and never would. He certainly wasn't on my speed dial, that was for sure. On the one occasion that I'd had direct contact with him, the job had fouled up because he'd supplied insufficient com ms kit.

He'd only been in the job since Colonel Lynn had 'taken early retirement' about seven months ago, but he'd already proved his incompetence more than once. The only thing he was good at was issuing threats; he had neither the personality nor the management skills to do it any other way. Lynn might have been just as much of an arse hole but at least you knew where you stood with him.

I was adjusting my position some more when the shutter rattled and I heard an engine rev outside.

They both stood up and put their wet shirts back on. Sundance walked over to turn off the TV. Neither of them bothered to look at me. It was still as if I wasn't there.

The engine noise got louder. Doors slammed and the shutter came down again.

The Yes Man appeared at the door, still in his suit and looking severely pissed off. Trainers slipped dutifully out of the room, like the family Labrador.

I wouldn't have thought it possible but the Yes Man's face was an even brighter red than usual. He was under pressure. Yet again, C and his mates weren't too pleased with their non-IB experiment.

He stopped just three or four feet away from me, looking like an irate schoolteacher, legs apart, hands on hips.

"What happened, Stone?" he shouted.

"Can't you get anything right?"

What was he on about? Only two hours ago he'd wanted me killed, and now he was telling me off like a naughty schoolboy. But it wasn't the moment to point this out. It was the moment to creep big-time.

"I just don't know, Mr. Frampton. As soon as I had three lights up I sent the fire commands. I don't know what happened after that. It should have worked, all four of us had com ms up until then but-' "But nothing!" he exploded.

"The task was a complete failure." His voice jumped an octave.

"I'm holding you personally responsible, you do know that, don't you?"

I did now. But what was new?

He took a deep breath.

"You don't understand the importance of this operation that you have completely scuppered, do you?"

Scuppered? I tried not to smile but couldn't help it.

"Fucked up' was how Lynn would have put it.

The Yes Man was still playing the school-teacher. There's nothing to smile about, Stone. Who, in heaven's name, do you think you are?"

It was time for a bit of damage limitation.

"Just someone trying to keep alive," I said. That's why I taped our conversation, Mr. Frampton."

He was silent for a few seconds while that sank in, breathing heavily, eyes bulging. Ah, yes, the tape and pictures. He must have just remembered why I was still alive and he was here. But not for long; his brain switch was set to Transmit rather than Receive. 'You've no idea of the damage you've done. The Americans were adamant that this had to be done today. I gave my word to them, and others, that it would." He was starting to feel sorry for himself.

"I can't believe I had so much confidence in you."

So it was an American job. No wonder he was flapping. The senior Brits had been trying to heal a number of rifts in their relationship with the USA for quite a while now especially as some of the US agencies just saw the UK as a route to extend its reach into Europe, and not as any sort of partner. The 'special relationship' was, in effect, history.

But the big picture wasn't exactly top of my agenda right now. I didn't care what had been scuppered. I didn't even care who had sponsored the job and why it had had to happen. I just wanted to get out of this room in one piece.

"As I said, Mr. Frampton, the lights were up and I ordered the shoot. Maybe if the three snipers were debriefed they could ..."

He looked at my lips but my words seemed not to register.

"You have let a serious problem develop in Central America, Stone. Do you not realize the implications?"

"No, sir' he always liked that.

"I don't, sir."

His right hand came off his hip and he stared at the face of his watch.

"No, sir, that's right, you don't, sir. Because of you, we, the Service, are not influencing events in a direction favourable to Britain."

He was starting to sound like a party political broadcast. I couldn't have cared less what was happening in Central America. All I was worried about was now, here.

The Yes Man sighed as he loosened his scarlet tie and opened his collar. Some beads of sweat dribbled down the side of his flushed face. He thumbed behind him in the direction of Sundance.

"Now, go with this man to collect the tape and all the other material that you claim to have on this operation, and I'll see about trying to save your backside."

"I can't do that, sir!"

He stiffened. He was starting to lose it.

"Can't do that, sir?"

I'd have thought it was perfectly obvious, but I didn't want to sound disrespectful.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Frampton, but I need to make sure you don't have a change of heart about me." I chanced a smile.

"I like being alive. I understand the reasons why the snipers were killed. I just don't want to join them."

The Yes Man crouched down so that his eyes were level with mine. He was struggling to control a rage that was threatening to burst out of his face.

"Let me tell you something, Stone. Things are changing in my department. A new permanent cadre is being installed, and very soon all the dead wood will be cleared away. People like you will cease to exist." He was nearly shaking with anger. He knew I had him by the bollocks, for now. Fighting his rage, he kept his voice very low.

"You've always been nothing but trouble, haven't you?"

I was averting my gaze, trying to look frightened and I was a bit. But unfortunately I caught sight of a large, freshly squeezed zit below his collar line. He didn't like that. He stood up abruptly, and stormed from the room.

Sundance shot me a threatening glare and followed him.

I tried to listen to the mumbling going on between the four of them in the garage, but with no luck. A few seconds later car doors slammed, the shutter went up, and the car reversed out. The shutter hit the floor once more, and then everything went quiet.

Except in my head. One half was telling me everything was OK. No way would he chance the job being exposed. The other was telling me that maybe he really didn't care what I was saying. I tried to make myself feel better by running through what had happened, convincing myself that I'd said the right things in the right way at the right time. Then I threw my hand in. It was too late now to worry about it. I'd just have to wait and see.

Trainers and Sundance reappeared. I looked up, trying to read their expressions.

They didn't look good.

The first kick was aimed at my chest. My body re flexed into a ball but Sundance's boot connected hard with my thigh. By now my chin was down, my teeth were clenched, and I'd closed my eyes. There was nothing I could do but accept the inevitable, curled up like a hedgehog, my hands still cuffed, trying to protect my face. I started to take it and just hoped that it wouldn't carry on for long.

They grabbed my feet and dragged me towards the centre of the room. One of the mugs rattled over on the tiles. I kept my legs as bent as I could, fighting against them being stretched out to expose my stomach and bollocks. I opened one eye just in time to watch a Caterpillar boot connect with my ribs. I brought my || head down further, in an attempt to cover my chest. It must have worked, because another boot swung right into my arse this time, and it felt as if the inside of my sphincter had exploded. The pain was off the scale and to counteract it I tried to clench my cheek muscles together but to do that I had to straighten my legs a little.

The inevitable boot flew into the pit of my stomach. Bile exploded from me. The acid taste in my mouth and nose was almost worse than the kicking.

It was past midnight and I was curled up back in my corner. At least they'd taken the cuffs off now. The lights were off and the

TV flickered away with a Channel 5 soft-porn film. They'd had pie and chips earlier and made me crawl over to wipe up my bile from the floor with the used paper as they drank more tea.

There was no more filling in, not even an acknowledgement of me being there. I had just been left to stew as Sundance lay half asleep on the settee. Trainers was wide awake and on stag, smoking his roll-up, draped across the two armchairs, making sure I didn't have any stupid ideas.

I slowly stretched out flat on my stomach to lessen the pain from the kicking, and rested my face on my hands, closing my eyes to try to get some sleep. It was never going to work: I could feel the blood pumping in my neck and couldn't stop thinking about what might happen to me next. My Beachy Head trip could still be on the cards with these two; it all depended on what the Yes Man had to say yes to, I supposed.

In the past, I'd always managed to get out of even the deepest shit with just the thinnest layer still stuck to me. I thought of my gunshot wound, sewn-back on earlobe, and dog-bite scars, and knew how lucky I'd been on those jobs in the last few years. I thought of other jobs, of being blindfolded and lined up against the wall of an aircraft hangar, listening to the noise of weapons being cocked. I remembered hearing the men each side of me, either quietly praying or openly crying and begging. I hadn't seen any reason to do either. It wasn't that I wanted to die; just that I'd always known that death was part of the deal.

But this did feel different. I thought of Kelly. I hadn't spoken to her since this job started. Not because there had been no opportunity1 had agreed timings with Josh last month it was just that I was too busy with preparations, or sometimes I just forgot.

Josh was right to fuck me off when I did get through: she did need a routine and stability. I could see his half-Mexican, half-black shaved head, scowling at me on the phone like a divorced wife. The skin on his jaw and cheekbone was a patchwork of pink, like a torn sponge that had been badly sewn back together.

The scarring was down to me, which didn't help the situation much. He wouldn't be getting too many modelling offers from Old Spice, that was for sure. I tried to break the ice with him once by telling him. He didn't exactly fall about with laughter.

I turned my head and rested my cheek on my hands, watching Trainers suck on the last of his roll-up. I supposed I'd always known the day would come, sooner or later, but I didn't want this to be it. Stuff flashed through my mind as if I was a split second away from a massive car crash, all the sorts of things that must hit any parent when they know they're about to die. The stupid argument with the kids before leaving for work. Not building that tree-house. Not getting round to filling out a will. The holidays not taken, the promises broken.

Josh was the only person apart from Kelly I cared for and who was still alive.

Would he miss me? He'd just be pissed off that we had unfinished business. And what about Kelly herself? She had a new start now would she just forget all about her useless, incompetent guardian in a few years?

SEVEN

Monday 4 September Sundance's StarT ac short, sharp tones cut the air after a long, painful night.

It was just after eight. I didn't bother to move from the prone position because of my kicking, but tried instead to convince myself that the pain was just weakness leaving the body, something like that.

Trainers jumped up to turn off the BBC breakfast news, showing the embankment, as Sundance opened up his phone. He knew who it was. There was no preliminary waffle, just nods and grunts.

Trainers hit the kettle button as the StarT ac was closed down and Sundance rolled himself off the settee. He gave me a big grin as he brushed back his hair with spread fingers.

"You have a visitor, and dye know what? He doesn't sound too pleased."

It was the witching hour.

I sat up and leant into the corner of the brick walls as they pulled the armchairs apart and put their shirts on while waiting for the kettle to boil.

It wasn't long before I heard a vehicle and Trainers went out to open the shutter. Sundance just stood there staring at me, trying to get me flapping.

The kettle cut out with a click just before the shutter opened; it looked like their brew was on hold for a while. I pulled myself up against the wall.

The slamming of car doors drowned out the sound of Kennington's morning commute.

Before the shutter had come down, the Yes Man was striding into the room.

Throwing a glance at Sundance, he walked towards me, screwing up his nose at the smell of roll-ups, chips and early-morning farts.

He was dressed today in a light grey suit, and still in enraged-teacher mode. He stopped a couple of paces short of me, put his hands on his hips, and looked down at me in disgust.