Crisis Four (29 page)
Authors: Andy McNab
I stayed where I was, just past the tailgate of the Explorer, and continued to tune in. The mumbling went on, then there was a metallic rattling within the garage as the freezer motor kicked in, followed by a low buzz. A floorboard creaked above me, over to the right. Maybe someone getting up from their chair. The noise didn’t move anywhere; he must have sat down again.
Baby-G told me it was one thirty-one. This wasn’t good; I had just one and a half hours left in which to do what I needed to. I got the mini-Maglite out of my jacket, held it in my left hand and twisted the head to turn it on. The beam shone through my fingers. I could now see that the Explorer was the only vehicle in the garage; it was only jutting out because there wasn’t enough room to drive it all the way in.
I stepped over the bergen and checked along the wagon. All its windows were closed and there wasn’t a key in the ignition. I slowly tried the driver’s door; it was locked. No chance of using the vehicle for a quick exit. In a drama, the boat would have to get me to my car.
As well as a washing machine and the freezer, the garage was packed with gardening tools, canoes standing on end, bikes on racks, and rusty old bits and pieces that had accumulated over the years, and it had a smell to match. At least it was dry and quite warm.
Moving further along the side of the 4x4, I shone the torch over its bonnet. In the far-left corner I saw the side door I’d been watching from the OP. At right angles to it was another door; the staircase behind it was boxed in, and the shape of it went up to the next floor. There were more piles of clutter underneath.
I could still hear the vague mumble of the TV above me and the creaking of floorboards as people upstairs shifted in their chairs. That was fine by me; the only thing I didn’t want to hear was excited shouts or rapid movement to signal they knew I was there.
I picked up the bergen with both hands to control the noise, and with the torch in my mouth I made my way over to the staircase doors. The beam shone on plastic bags under the staircase, containing the world’s largest collection of empty Kraft ready-made dinner containers. They weren’t putting the rubbish out; they were hiding it. They were taking no chances. Nor was I; I took the bow from the bergen and laid it down so that as I picked it up with my left hand the cable would be facing me, and the arrows were ready to access.
There wasn’t any light shining through the gaps round the staircase door. I put my ear to the wood and listened. The voices on the TV were louder, but still indistinct. There was more shooting and police sirens, and a fairly constant murmuring, which I could distinguish from the TV; it seemed as if the household was having a long night of telly, munchies and chat.
An inspection of the lock told me it was an ordinary lever type. I gently pushed on the area of the door by the lock, then pulled it forwards, to see if there was any give. There was about half an inch. Then, with my hands down at the bottom of the door and still on the same side as the lock, I pushed hard and slow to see if it had been bolted. It gave way an inch, then moved back into position. I did the same to the top of the door. That also gave way, this time just over half an inch, and I gently eased it back into position. It seemed that there were no bolts on the other side, just the one lever lock to deal with.
Holding my breath, I slowly twisted the handle to check the door was locked. You could spend hours picking the lock only to find the thing was already open; best to take your time and check the obvious. I’d always found that holding my breath gave me more control over slow movements, and it made it easier to hear if there was any reaction to what I was doing. As I’d assumed, the door was locked.
The next move was to check all the likely places where a spare key might be hidden. Why spend time attacking a lock if a key is hidden only feet away? Some people leave theirs dangling on a string on the other side of the letterbox, or on the inside of a cat flap. Others leave it under a dustbin or just behind a little pile of rocks by the door. If a key is going to be left, it will nearly always be somewhere on the normal approach to the door. I checked the shelving above the washing machine, under the old rusting paint tins by the door, and along the top of the door frame and all the obvious places. Nothing. I would have to work on the lock.
I got down on my knees, listening all the time to the TV show, and looked through the keyhole. I could still see nothing but darkness. I shone the torch through and had another look. There was a glint of metal. I smiled; piece of piss. They’d left the key in the lock.
The glow from Baby-G in this darkness was outrageous, but it told me it was now nearly 2 a.m. I’d give it just another thirty minutes, and maybe by then these fuckers would be in bed. Meanwhile, if they came downstairs for more munchies, I’d need to know, so I sat on the floor with my ear to the door listening to the rain and the TV. The police cars were still screaming and the shooting had become more intense. A floorboard creaked above me, then another. I looked up and followed the sound, trying to picture where he was. The movement continued across the floor to more or less directly over my head.
Picking up the bow, I turned and looked through the keyhole to see if he was going to turn the light on and come downstairs. The key obscured most of my vision, but I’d be able to see light, as the teeth were still up in the wards of the lock. There was a faint glimmer, but it was ambient light from quite a distance away, maybe way up at the top of the stairs. No-one was coming down. The light disappeared. There were more creaks above me, then the muffled talking started again. The adverts must be coming on.
There was nothing to do but wait while the minutes ticked away. All I knew was that I had to get in there and do it at two thirty, no matter what. How, I didn’t know; I’d just play it by ear. I sat down again and got back to listening to the TV and the rain.
I was quite thirsty after the exertions of the night. The chest freezer started to rattle again; I tiptoed over and lifted the lid very slowly. The light came on. I had a quick look at all the goodies. There were boxes of Kraft dinners, macaroni and microwave chips. It was obvious that nobody had been giving a lot of thought to the culinary side of this trip, which I bet Sarah didn’t like, and none of it was any good to me. Then I found something I could munch: a Magnum bar. I closed the freezer, took off the wrapper and put it in my pocket, sat back down by the door, put my ear against it and started eating as I joined in the film.
It was now two twenty. This was cutting it really close to the bone.
I finished the ice cream, and the stick joined the wrapper in my pocket. I looked at my watch yet again. Two twenty-five. I couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
With the Maglite in my mouth, I opened the screwdriver part of the Leatherman and worked it into the keyhole. When it had a firm purchase I started to turn the key along its natural line to unlock the door, at the same time pulling the door towards me to release the pressure on the bolt as it lay in the door frame. The key turned until it hit the lock; it would need a lot more pressure now to open it, but that would make noise. I waited. Whoever was pissing off the cops would be doing it again, really soon. Thirty seconds later, it happened: shouting, gunfire and sirens. I gave the key the final necessary twists and switched off the torch.
With the door ajar a couple of inches I could hear the TV much more clearly. Going by the intensity of the shooting, screaming and shouting, the whole State police force was out trying to get the bad guys.
There was no distinct light shining down from above, just a faint glow. I picked up the bow and prepared an arrow. Keeping it in place with my left hand, I got my right hand on the door handle, ready to go. I was going to have a rolling start line: remain covert for as long as possible, and only go noisy if they did. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was enough. If you worry too much about these things, you never get down to starting the job; just get on with it and half the battle is won. Then hope that experience, knowledge and training will get you through the rest.
I checked that nothing was about to fall out of my pockets, then gently pulled the door towards me, ready to stop at the slightest creak, holding my breath so I could hear it happen. There wasn’t a sound from the people upstairs. It must be a good show.
I was facing a flight of worn, bare wooden stairs which climbed directly to the first floor. There was a wall on either side; on the left it was the external wall of the house, and on the right it was plasterboard, which sealed the stairs from the garage, then became a bannister on the right-hand side where the first floor began. Anyone standing up there could easily look down and see me.
Beyond the top of the staircase, and facing me, was another wall, and just off to the right-hand side was a door that was closed. Apart from that, all I could see were flickering images, composed of different tones of light from the TV screen as they flashed on the wall and the closed door facing me. I was happy about that; if the TV was facing the top of the stairs, it meant that the fuckers would have their backs to me as I went up.
The smell had changed. The mustiness of the garage had given way to a more domestic odour: spray polish and cigarettes, the smell of good housekeeping, heavily overlain with nicotine. They must be having a Camel-fest up there; I’d have to be quick about this or I’d be going down with lung cancer.
Drawing the cable half back, focusing my eyes and the weapon on the top of the stairs, I placed my left foot very carefully on the bottom step, then my right. I stopped and listened.
I lifted my left foot again and put it down on the second step, easing my weight down gently, hoping there wasn’t going to be a creak. I had both eyes open, cable half drawn and ready to fire. My ears had cut away from the sound of the rain; they were totally focused, on the alert for signs of movement upstairs. I pulled the bow cable back a little bit more and took another step.
16
The music and the police chase suddenly stopped. So did I, foot raised, bow at the ready. I must have looked like the statue of Eros. A very macho American voice boomed out, ‘Back soon, with TNT’s movies for guys who like guy movies.’ There was a long burst of machine-gun fire, no doubt as bullet holes sprayed over the titles. Then it went into a commercial for a fitness plan that could change all our lives in just fourteen days.
I couldn’t tell how many people were in the room, but the one thing I knew for sure was that Sarah was unlikely to be one of them. She wasn’t a guy who liked guy movies.
There was some mumbling coming from the room. I couldn’t understand what was being said, but something was agreed on. Floorboards creaked again. I hoped he wasn’t coming back down to the freezer; if he was after the last Magnum he wasn’t going to be a happy teddy.
The shadow of a moving body hit the wall at the top of the stairs, blocking the dancing reflections from the TV screen. It got bigger and higher. I slowly brought the bow up the last two inches, into the aim. The cams at each end of the bow started to strain as I tensed the cable almost to full draw, stopping about three inches from my face. I wasn’t too sure if I needed as much power for the arrow to do its job at this range. But fuck it, I wasn’t taking any chances. I could smell the rubber gardening gloves as I waited, motionless.
The shadow became the body’s back and I saw it was MIB. He now had the TV flickering on his shirt. He didn’t turn and come down towards me. Instead he went straight ahead and through the door to the right of the top of the stairs. Fluorescent lights came on to reveal kitchen cabinets and brightly coloured mugs hanging from hooks.
There was the sound of crockery and cutlery being moved about. The others were talking amongst themselves, maybe about the film, and there was a little laugh as someone made a funny. Still no sound of Sarah, though, which tended to confirm what I’d thought.
A bit more clanging came from the kitchen. I kept the bow in the full draw position. The strain on my arms was starting to take its toll; sweat was pouring down the sides of my face and I knew it wouldn’t be long before it got into my eyes.
I heard the
ffsshhht!
of a ring-pull being opened in the TV room, then another. Maybe this meant there were three of them in all. With any luck the cans they were opening held beer: if they’d been soaking up alcohol while watching the film that should slow down their reaction times rather nicely.
ffsshhht!
of a ring-pull being opened in the TV room, then another. Maybe this meant there were three of them in all. With any luck the cans they were opening held beer: if they’d been soaking up alcohol while watching the film that should slow down their reaction times rather nicely.
Mr Macho Voiceover was with us again: ‘We’re back with movies for guys who like guy movies.’ He was greeted by a
ffsshht!
from the kitchen. MIB emerged, can in hand, muttering away. The others immediately gave him a hard time and he stepped back a few paces and switched off the light, left the door open and went back to join them.
ffsshht!
from the kitchen. MIB emerged, can in hand, muttering away. The others immediately gave him a hard time and he stepped back a few paces and switched off the light, left the door open and went back to join them.
I let the cable relax, brought my arms down and wiped away the sweat.
There was more gunfire. It sounded as if the final big shootout was underway. People were screaming at each other as only actors in cop thrillers do. I’d probably seen it, and was trying to work out what movie it was, so I could guess when the noisy bits were and when they’d finish – anything to help get Sarah out of there without us all getting involved in our own ‘movie for guys who like guy movies’. But no luck.
Someone in TV land was being really brave and shouting for covering fire as he took on the bad guys single-handed. Dickhead.
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