I sat there thinking about these Muslim colas. There were nearly a billion and a half Muslims, and it was the world’s fastest-growing religion. No wonder the corporations were getting jumpy.
Fifteen minutes went by. Finally Rob came downstairs. He had a pistol on his belt, and the AK in his hands had a mag on.
‘Jerry OK?’ I asked. I put the Coke down on the floor by my foot, not too sure how Rob would react to the red can.
‘He was on the phone – but shut down when I came in. Big secret?’
‘He’s got a source in Washington who thinks he knows where Nuhanovic might be.’
Rob sat down next to me. ‘I’ve got some good news. You’re staying. And my man wants to talk.’
‘About Nuhanovic?’
‘About work. Listen, I vouched for you, explained your connection with Nuhanovic. He liked that. If my man’s plan works, people like us are going to be needed back in Uzbekistan. If he likes you, there could be a job going. I’m not talking about this circuit crap. We don’t need knuckle-draggers with no commitment. This will be doing something good. Don’t you want to do that?’
‘Sort of. Depends on your view of good, I suppose.’
‘Have you been to the hospitals here?’
I bent down for the can, shaking my head. He saw it anyway.
‘We went this morning. There’s kids missing arms and legs. Some have watched their whole families being wiped out. My man is organizing medical supplies. Crazy, isn’t it? A poor relation like Uzbekistan sending supplies to an even poorer one. Do you know why he’s having to do that?’
I could imagine, but let him carry on anyway.
‘Because there’s still nothing decent coming from the CPA, and most of what does gets stolen anyway.’ Rob was pretty worked up. He was having a pool-party flashback. ‘Look out there.’ He pointed through the door, towards the terrace. ‘Look at that poor fucker.’ The Aussie squaddie was taking off his helmet to wipe the sweat from his shaven head with a heavily tattooed forearm. ‘Like I said, rich kids don’t fight wars. There’s no rich kids in that hospital. It’s just the poor on both sides that get fucked over. My man wants Nuhanovic to stop all this shit happening in Uzbekistan.’
‘How’s he going to do that?’
‘He’ll tell you. If you guys like each other, you could come back with us. We’ll even take Jerry off your hands, drop him off in Turkey for you. Interested?’
Of course I was: if something was good enough for Rob it was good enough for me. Besides, the grass is always greener; except there wasn’t any grass. I took a swig of black stuff. ‘Maybe.’
He smiled. Perhaps he wanted someone he knew working alongside him. Perhaps he wanted to cure me of my Coke habit. ‘We’re leaving in about fifteen. I’m going to clear the vehicle, then pick up my man. Remember, Nick, I’ve vouched for you so don’t fuck up. Just listen to what he has to say.’
Rob handed me the key and headed for the doors. I went back upstairs. The door to the balcony was open. Jerry was on the floor.
‘What the fuck are you doing down there?’
‘Just testing the camera, getting some low light shots.’
I looked down. Rob was half underneath a battered, dust-covered blue BMW 3 Series with the bonnet up, checking for any devices.
‘What you call DC for?’
‘What?’
‘I said not to use it again. You know what could happen.’
‘I know, sorry, but I thought I’d call one last time. See if he had anything.’
‘And?’
‘Nah, not a thing.’ He got up and took a bottle from the tray. ‘Life here’s a constant cycle of hot drinks followed by cold ones, isn’t it?’
‘You tell him there’s no more calls from you now?’
He nodded as I closed the balcony doors. His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he got the fluid into him.
We sat and I took a couple of mouthfuls myself then brought Jerry up to speed. ‘Rob cleared it with his boss. We can stay.’
‘You get his name?’
‘Didn’t ask. Listen, I’m going to see Rob downstairs again in a few. I might be going with them to meet someone – sounds like a friend of a friend.’
Jerry was up and heading towards his kit.
‘Just me, mate. That’s the way he wants it.’
He held the bumbag in one hand and the camera in the other. ‘I should be there, Nick.’
‘Hey, we’re hiding from the fucking US Army, remember? We can’t call your source again, and we’re fucked without Rob. Let’s hold tight here and see if these guys can find him. If so, that’s when we talk to them about the picture.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Then you don’t get it and we all go home. Simple.’
It wasn’t that simple for me any more, and I’d known it the moment I started telling Rob about that day at the cement factory. I really wanted to meet this guy. I didn’t know what I’d say if I met him, but that didn’t matter. I’d think of something.
I picked my sun-gigs off the coffee-table and gave them a wipe with my shirt-tail. Jerry still looked pissed off. ‘Look, what does it matter?’ I said. ‘As long as we get the right result.’
‘What if you get to him tonight? I should be there.’
I shrugged and slid the glass door shut. ‘Jerry, it’s not open for discussion. You stay here, don’t go outside, don’t get yourself seen. We’re supposed to have left for Turkey, remember?’
‘OK, OK.’ He wasn’t really listening.
I left the room, made sure my bumbag was done up securely, and took the stairs. Baby-G said it was 17:46.
57
I’d only seen him briefly, but I recognized the Uzbek – I supposed that was what they were called – at once. He was sitting in the lobby reading the waffle on my empty Coke can. Maybe he was a football fan.
He stood up as he saw me, and smiled. After seeing Nuhanovic close up in ‘Chetnik Mama’, and now looking at this man more closely than I had on the flight, I realized they’d been part of the same job lot. He was slightly built, maybe five six, and in need of a few fish-and-chip suppers. He was wearing a black linen suit, white shirt and blue Kevlar with a ceramic plate covering his chest. It was a wonder he could support the weight.
I went straight over and shook a small, bony hand. ‘Hello, I’m Nick.’
His teeth were perfect behind the big smile, his eyes green and clear. Close up his skin was almost translucent; there wasn’t a crease. It was difficult to work out how old he was. ‘I know.’ Still smiling, he motioned towards the main entrance. ‘Shall we?’ His accent was like a 1950s BBC newsreader’s.
As we stepped into the heat I saw the Beemer, Rob at the wheel, wraparounds shielding his eyes. We both put our sun-gigs on. The windows were up; I hoped that meant the air was running.
The Uzbek opened the rear door and ushered me inside. Coolish air hit me. I glanced up just before my head disappeared under the roof and I could see the balcony doors were open again. There was a brief flash of light. Jerry was on the balcony. He was a professional, he understood the dangers, and it pissed me off that he wasn’t doing as he was told.
Rob’s boss got in beside me and closed the door. Rob’s semi-automatic was tucked under his right thigh. He
