sorry, it happens. Come on, we need to talk.’
‘You’re damn right we need to talk,’ replied Kip. ‘And what’s with the invasion?’ He gestured to take in the hordes of military personnel swarming the building. ‘Is the army taking over or something?’
McCutcheon remained unaffected by his hostility. ‘Naw. We just stand out because of our superior grooming and fashion sense. Really, if it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t even know we were here. Come on… I’m not army, by the way, I’m air force. Special liaison to the civil power, for now. General Blackstone is army, and co-chair of the Special Means Committee.’
The air force officer fetched a coffee pot from the sideboard. The office was crowded with paper files, maps and electronic equipment, all of it military issue. Blackstone sat as quietly and impassively as if he were a log on the forest floor.
‘You want Java?’ asked McCutcheon. ‘It’s fresh. But the milk’s not. I got some very nasty military-issue creamer, if you want.’ He held up a drab olive container with a white plastic slide top on it, by way of explanation.
Kipper grunted, asking for a mug of black, no sugar.
‘Damn, that’s hard-core. You sure you’ve never been in the service?’
The chief engineer nodded grumpily. ‘I’m certain. People shouting at me just pisses me off.’
‘Well, fair enough then. You gotta love the shouting, or it’s just not the life for you. How’s your family, by the way? They pulling through okay, got enough supplies?’
Kipper shook his head in exasperation. ‘Look, what the fuck is this? I have a major disaster on my hands. Eighteen people dead. And you call me in here to make fucking small talk.’
The major walked over to the door and carefully closed it, cutting off the growing hubbub from the corridor outside.
General Blackstone spoke up as he did so. ‘The last time I checked,’ he said, ‘we had a lot more than eighteen dead. When last I checked, our casualty count was well over three hundred million, Mr Kipper. So I have some sour news for you, sir. This morning was a minor fuck-up, and there will be more of them.’
‘A minor -’
‘That’s right. And there will be more of them. More death. More chaos. Get used to it, and get used to dealing with it. Because if we don’t deal, it’s game over here. In this city. Everywhere.’
Kipper waved away the cup of coffee McCutcheon held out.
‘What are you talking about, General? If this morning was your idea of
‘Look, this is kinda delicate,’ said the air force man, taking a perch on the edge of the desk, where he could look down on Kipper. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem with the council, I’m afraid.’
Kipper shrugged. He’d wondered how on earth the military was going to continue working so closely with a group of people who were almost their antithesis. ‘Well, apart from this morning, things seem to be getting done,’ he offered. ‘All my department’s requests are going straight through the Special Means Committee and getting approved without any questions. What’s the problem?’
Major McCutcheon sort of whistled inwards, which Kipper recognised as the universal sign of bad news coming. ‘Well, the thing is, we don’t really have a Special Means Committee,’ he confessed.
‘What?’ asked Kipper, completely dumbfounded.
Blackstone leaned forward. ‘I had them arrested three days ago.’
McCutcheon actually looked embarrassed for a second. ‘Yeah. And we’ve been kinda winging it ever since.’
24
ACAPULCO DIAMANTE, ACAPULGO
The roadblock was almost professional. Four old cars arranged in a herringbone pattern that forced any oncoming traffic to slow to a crawl as it negotiated a winding course through the obstruction. A dozen armed men, locals by the look of them, lounged on the bonnets and inside the vehicles, passing around bottles of no-name tequila and Dos Equis lager, and smoking an assortment of cigarettes and reefers.
‘We could take that left,’ suggested Fifi, pointing to a narrow side street that remained open to traffic, just before the roadblock.
‘No,’ replied Shah without hesitation. ‘Too narrow. Nowhere to go. And they have enfilading fire from the roof- line and windows above. We must reverse immediately or go through.’
‘Drive on,’ said Jules. ‘But slowly. Don’t spook them. They’re probably just shaking down the
She lifted the dark grey Franchi SPAS 12 auto shotgun from the improvised gun rack that Shah had installed on the dashboard of the Jeep Cherokee, and jacked a round into the chamber. Behind the wheel, Sergeant Shah – they’d all taken to calling him that now – slowed the vehicle and made sure his own weapons cache, a pair of MP5s, was close to hand. In the back seat, Thapa and Fifi readied themselves.
They had almost managed to drive right up to the edge of Acapulco Diamante, the most exclusive tourist enclave in the city, but the roadblock brought them to a halt a couple of hundred metres from the start of the private resorts and clubs. Jules had been expecting trouble even earlier, which is why the Jeep was kitted out with so much firepower. Until now, however, the sight of a few gun barrels lazily produced out of the Cherokee’s windows had been enough to negotiate their passage through the town, where most of the violence they encountered was still small-scale and anarchic.
