Crossfire

Some time later they gripped me and pulled me away. They'd been waiting for the last possible moment before something went seriously wrong.

I was dragged off the concrete and back on to a flat, tiled floor. From the smell of cigarettes and kerosene I guessed we were back in the corridor.

We must have come to a door. One set of arms let me go, and the other shoved me between the shoulder-blades. Then both pushed down on my shoulders. My arse and bollocks hit a cold, hard chair.

This place was damp and musty. I could smell it, and feel it on my skin. The floor beneath my feet was hard and wet.

I kept my head down and gritted my teeth. I didn't want anything loose when the punches came.

Maybe a minute went by. They were fucking about, letting me flap.

Then somebody grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked back my head. The goggles and ear defenders were whipped away.

Now it would begin.

A body shuffled behind me. He bent down and shouted, 'Look up!' He was so close I could feel his breath on my neck.

I blinked uncontrollably. The room was lit as brightly as a TV studio. Strings of bulbs hung along the wall opposite me.

Sundance was walking away from me. I watched his brown leather boots and the bottoms of his jeans.

Trainers sparked up. His voice was surprisingly calm. 'You can make this hard or easy for yourself, son. The choice is yours.'

I tilted my head. He was in the far corner of the room, arranging himself a roll-up. Big chunks of plaster had fallen out of the wall behind him. What little rendering was left was covered with grime and various shades of dried blood.

I was sitting on a stackable plastic chair. Dark puddles had gathered across the pitted concrete floor.

My gaze shifted as he brought out his lighter. The door was covered with a steel plate, and had a little porthole that could be opened from the outside. This was looking horribly familiar.

I glanced up at the ceiling and saw a meat hook that hadn't been in the Yes Man's pictures.

The two of them shared a laugh, then Sundance came right up close. 'That's right, son, you've seen this place before. You've been rendered, son. You're a fucking terrorist now, so we can do whatever we want.' He slapped my face hard. 'Never thought you'd be one of those poor fuckers, eh? Next stop Guantánamo for you, son.'

I had more important things on my mind right now. 'Where's Dom?'

Sundance rolled his eyes. 'Getting more of the same.'

The door crashed open and Mr Sheen and Top Lip thrust themselves into the room. Top Lip had his hair tied back, ready for business. Sweat glistened on his forehead. I wondered if he'd been practising on Dom. He reeked of lemon-scented cologne.

He brought in a wooden stool. I admired the scars on his outstretched forearm as he shoved it down in front of me. He had the look of a man who was about to treat himself to a really good workout.

Mr Sheen was holding a device like a matt grey starship. It had three legs and a speaker suspended in the centre. A lead trailed behind him. It looked like somebody was about to make a conference call.

81

One thing was for sure. The Serbs and the Paddies weren't speaking to each other. Mr Sheen gave Sundance and Trainers a look that said fuck off in any language. Perhaps they didn't like smoking in the workplace.

The Irish both took an extra long drag of their roll-ups.

Mr Sheen put the starship on the stool and hit a button. A small red light blinked on.

The Serbs exchanged a glance and stood back, facing me, with their arms crossed.

We all waited. The smoke was making my eyes water.

After a minute or so the Yes Man's voice boomed out from the speaker. 'Why didn't you do as you were told, Stone? Do you really think I'd just let you wander off and do your own thing?'

'You kept the Predator tasked?'

He would have watched our two glowing bodies stumble down the hill and easily followed the Hiace across the valley.

'I've known you for too long not to. Now, consider your answer very carefully. Where is the film?'

I looked at the four of them and shrugged. 'I don't know.'

They were pleased. This conversation wasn't going to end with the call.

'I will ask you again, Stone. Where is the film? I want every copy.'

'What film? I haven't a clue what you're on about.'

'What did Condratowicz say to you on the way there?'

'Nothing. The fucker could hardly breathe. I think he was trying to say thanks, that's all.'

He sighed. 'Stone, I have a very low boredom threshold. I want to know where the film is. If you can't supply that information, then tell me where he's been hiding in Kabul. Who has he met, and why? You're his friend. He would tell you what's going on.'

'He's told me nothing.'

There was a longer sigh this time. 'I'm going to ask you just one more time. After that, I hand you over to the gentlemen in front of you. You've seen the photographs, you know the form.'

Of course I did. And I was scared. But I wasn't going to show it. I'd hide it for as long as possible.

I leant towards the machine. 'I don't know about any film and I don't know where he's been. I just came and found him, as you asked.'

'Have it your way, Stone. I can hold you both indefinitely. You're the one who told me to think of a reason to task Predator. The official view of Mr Condratowicz is that he's been helping the enemy by buying their drugs. That makes him a terrorist. And you're aiding and abetting. So now — final chance — I want to know.'

I stared down at the wet, crumbling concrete beneath my feet. 'Why would he tell me? It would have been Pete he told, if anyone. He was his mate. He was the one who—'

The Yes Man sighed. 'That's it, Stone. We've reached it — my threshold. You've insulted my intelligence long enough.

'I authorize Phase One.' He wasn't talking to me any more.

I stared at the conference phone. The red light died.

Sundance and Trainers headed for the door. 'We'll go see how your mate's new bruises are colouring up.'

Mr Sheen's desert boots squeaked towards me. He stood to my right, ready to beat the shit out of me if I moved. Fuck that, I wouldn't give him the pleasure. The only thought in my head was that Phase One sounded better than Phase Five and a whole lot better than Phase Ten.

He gobbed off in Serbo-Croat. Top Lip moved behind me and grabbed my wrists for Mr Sheen to plasticuff together. They continued chatting, as if they'd suddenly got some spare time on their hands, and couldn't quite make up their minds how best to use it.

The mouthful of saliva that hit my cheek took me totally by surprise. They reached down, pulled me off the chair and rotated me 180 degrees. I opened my eyes, but I didn't need to. I'd already seen the Yes Man's happy snap.

A tabletop with the legs removed had been bolted to an oil drum to make what looked like a party-size see-saw. Two buckets of water stood next to it, beneath a tap set into the wall. A huge roll of clingfilm lay on a pile of empty hessian sandbags.

The only difference between this and the picture was that a sack was already soaking in one of the buckets, ready for action.

82

I knew all too well how this worked. The gag reflex was an automatic reaction. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. All I could hope was that they knew what they were doing. That they'd take me to the edge, not push me right over it.

They shoved me, face up, on to the tabletop, my plasticuffed hands beneath me. They threw a thick webbing strap over my waist and pulled tight. My legs were clamped.