the one thing I was desperate for, its clear thick liquid contained in rows of baby-oil-style plastic bottles. I felt like the thirsty Arlington Road winos must feel when they find a half-full bottle in the bin, especially when the label said it was 95 per cent proof. Diethyl-mtoluamide - I just knew it as Deet was magical stuff that would keep the little mozzies and creepy-craw lies away from me. Some commercial stuff contains only 15 per cent, and is crap. The more Deet the better, but the problem is it can melt some plastics -hence the thickness of these bottles. If you get it into your eyes it hurts; I'd known people have their contact lenses melt when it had been brought into contact with them by sweat. I threw three bottles on to the cot.
After another ten minutes of digging in boxes and bags, I started to pack the bergen. Having removed the noisy wrappers from the sesame bars and put them all into a plastic bag, they got stuffed into the large left-hand side pouch for easy access during the day. I shoved a bottle of Evian into the right-hand one for the same reason. The rest of the water and the tuna went into the bottom of the pack, wrapped in dishcloths to muffle any noise. I'd only pull that food out at night when I wasn't in my fire position.
I put a large plastic laundry bag into the long centre pouch at the front of the bergen. It would be taking any dumps I did whilst I was in the jungle: I'd have preferred individual bags, but couldn't find any, so one big one would have to take the lot. It was important not to have any smell or waste around me because that would attract animals and might compromise my position, and I didn't want to leave anything behind that could be DNA'd.
Into a similar clear plastic bag went the mozzie net I was going to use for protection at night, and one of the blankets that was out of its wrapping. The hammock would join the contents of this bag once I'd nicked it from the veranda later on. All the stuff in this bag needed to be dry at all times. Into it also would go my dry clothes for sleeping in, the same ones I'd wear once out of the canopy and heading for the airport. I'd get those from Aaron at the same time I got the hammock.
I laid the other two mozzie nets beside the bergen, together with some four-inch wide, multicoloured nylon luggage straps. Black, brown, in fact any colour but this collection would have been better to blend into a world of green. I placed them inside the top flap, ready to make a sniper seat. The design originated in India during the days of the Raj, when the old sahibs could sit up in a tree in them for days with their Lee Enfields, waiting for tigers below. It was a simple device, but effective. The two straps were fixed between two branches to form a seat and you rested your back against the trunk. A high viewpoint looking down on to the killing area makes for a great field of view because you can look over the top of any obstructions, and it would also be good for concealment as long as I tucked the mozzie net under it, to hide the rainbow holding up my arse.
I sat on the cot, and thought about other stuff I might need. First up was a shade for the front of the optic sight, so that sunlight didn't reflect off the objective (front) lens and give away my position.
I got a container of antifungal powder, again US Army issue, in a small olive green plastic cylinder. Emptying the contents, I cut off the top and bottom, then split it down the side. After wiping away all the powder on the inside, I put it over the front of the sight. It naturally hugged the metal cylinder as I moved it back and forth until the section protruding in front of the lens was just slightly longer than the lens's width. The sunlight would now only reflect off the lens if the sun itself was visible within my field of view.
Next I needed to protect the muzzle and working parts from the rain, and that was going to be just as easy. I fed a plastic bag over the muzzle and taped it to the furniture, then loaded up with rounds, pushed the bolt action forward to make ready the weapon, and applied the safety.
I ripped open the bottom of one of the clear plastic bags that had held the blankets, so only the two sides were still sealed, then worked it over the weapon like a hand muff until it was covering the sight, magazine and working parts, using the gaffa tape to fix each open end to the furniture. Then, making a small slit in the plastic above the sight, I pushed it down so that the sight was now clear, and gaffa-taped the plastic together underneath to keep the seal. Everything in that area, bar the sight, was now encased in plastic. The weapon looked stupid, but that didn't matter, so did I. The safety could still be taken off, and when the time came I could still get my finger into the trigger by breaking the plastic. If I needed to fire more than one round, I'd just quickly rip the bag to reload. This had to be done because wet ammunition and a wet barrel will affect the round's trajectory -not a lot, but it all counts. I'd zeroed this weapon with a dry, cold barrel and dry ammunition, so it had to stay like that to optimize my chances of a one-round kill.
Next, I used the clear plastic from the last of the blankets on the shelf to protect the map, which said it had been compiled by the US Army's 551st Engineer Company for the Panamanian government in 1964. A lot would have changed on the ground since then Charlie's house and the loop road being just two of them.
That didn't concern me too much; I was interested in the topographical features, the high ground and water features. That was the stuff that would get me out of there when I needed to head towards the city.
The compass still had its cord on, so I could just put it over my head and under the T-shirt. What it didn't have was any of its roamers for measuring off scale:
mozzie repellent had already been on this one and the plastic base was just a frosted mess. I didn't care, as long as the red needle pointed north.
The map, compass, gollock and docs would stay on my body at all times once under the canopy. I couldn't afford to lose them.
The last thing I did before getting my head down was thread the end of a ball of twine through the slit drilled into the butt designed to take a webbing or leather sling, and wrap about four foot of it round the butt, cut it and tie it secure. The weapon would never be over my shoulder unless I was climbing a tree.
Only then would I tie the string into the slit in the stock and sling it.
I pushed everything that was left off the bed, and gave the light cord a tug. I didn't want to see the others; it wasn't that I was feeling antisocial, just that when there's a lull before the battle, you get your head down.
Lying on my back, my hands behind my head, I thought about what had happened with Carrie today. I shouldn't have done it. It was unprofessional and stupid, but at the same time, it felt OK. Dr. Hughes had never managed to make me feel like that.
I was woken suddenly. I snapped my wrist in front of my face to check Baby-G, and calmed down: it was just after a quarter past eight. I didn't need to get up until about nine.
The rain played a low, constant drumroll that accompanied the low thud of the fans next door as I rubbed my greasy, clammy head and face, pleased that there hadn't been any more dreams.
The canvas and alloy frame of the cot squeaked and groaned as I turned gently on to my stomach, running through my bergen list. It was then, just now and again above the sound of the rain and fans, that I heard some conspiratorial-sounding murmurs1 should know, I'd done enough of that stuff.
The cot creaked as I slowly swung my feet over the side and stood up. The sound was coming from the computer room, and I felt my way towards the door. A sliver of light from beneath it guided me.
I put my ear to the wood and listened.
It was Carrie. In a whisper she was answering a question I hadn't heard: 'They can't come now ... What if he sees them? ... No, he knows nothing, but how am I going to keep them apart? ... No, I can't... He'll wake up ...'
My hand reached for the door handle. Gripping it tightly, I opened the door slowly but deliberately no more than half an inch to see who she was talking to.
The six-inches-by-six, black-and-white image was a little jittery and fuzzed around the edges, but I could clearly see whose head and shoulders were filling the webcam. Wearing a checked jacket and dark tie, George was looking straight into his camera.
Carrie was listening via the headphones as his mouth moved silently.
'But it wouldn't work, he won't buy that... What do you want me to do with him? ... He's next door asleep ... No, it was just a fever ... Christ, Dad, you said this wouldn't happen ...'
George was having none of it and pointed at her through the screen.
She answered angrily.
'Of course I was ... He likes me.'
In that instant I felt as if a giant wave had engulfed me. My face began to smart and burn as I rested my head on the door-frame. It was a long time since I'd felt so massively betrayed.
I knew I shouldn't have opened up to her, I just knew it.
You've screwed up big-time ... Why can you never see when you're getting fucked over?
'No, I've got to go get ready, he's only next door ...'
I didn't have the answer to this, but I knew what I had to do.
