Aggressor

set in an alloy frame which acted as a bulkhead to the cab, a stack of aluminium boxes, and an even more purposeful man with a huge beard and biceps the size of Bastard’s thighs.

‘This is Koba,’ Nana said. ‘I regret we live in dangerous times. Koba makes sure we come to no harm.’

She wasn’t kidding. Koba wouldn’t have looked out of place wielding a gollock in a Tbilisi graveyard. He studied us silently with dark, hooded eyes, as if trying to decide which of us to headbutt first.

‘There’s only room for another three of us here in the back.’ Nana pointed at Charlie. ‘Why don’t you get in the front with Paata and stretch out your leg? It looks painful.’

Bastard didn’t need a second invitation. He heaved himself inside and I followed. It was obviously an outside broadcast set-up. I put two and two together, and suddenly wished I’d hung on to my stupid hat.

I’d thought Nana seemed familiar. She’d fronted the camera in the broadcast from the Kazbegi siege.

4

I shifted a couple of cables out of the way to make room for my feet. I could see Paata and Charlie through the hatch, framed by the TV monitors, as we set off. Beside them, someone had taped a montage of images from Nana’s recent past.

One of them showed her in Fiona Bruce mode, posing at a news desk, wearing make-up and an earnest smile. Captions in Paperclip, Russian and English promoted her for some kind of award. She had certainly kept herself busy. She had exposed corruption in all sections of government, ‘unearthing entanglements of network and patronage at all levels’.

Another shot showed her alongside the Georgian army, covering the siege by Islamic militants in Kazbegi, on the Russian border, not even two weeks ago. According to the cutting, she’d been the first journalist at the scene, and reported live for CNN.

Nobody talked. Nana was very tense and edgy, and it set the tone. The soundproofing in the cab did a perfect job of muting the rain, and it accentuated the awkward silence.

Bastard, true to form, remained oblivious. ‘Now where the fuck’s that coffee?’

Nana reached into one of the large nylon zip bags on the floor and handed him a stainless steel thermos.

As Bastard unscrewed the top, Koba watched his every move.

‘Do you guys work on the pipeline?’ Nana asked. ‘What are you, surveyors? Engineers?’

Bastard poured himself a generous mug, and the smell of coffee filled the van. ‘Security.’

She turned to me. ‘You security too? Do you have any ID? Koba likes to be sure about people.’

‘It was in my bag, in our Pajero.’ I did my best to look apologetic. ‘We lost everything.’

She switched her attention back to Bastard. ‘We’re planning a documentary about the pipeline. Maybe we could do business one day.’

Bastard was getting the brew down him. It hadn’t occurred to him to offer some to anyone else. ‘Anti, I guess?’

‘Excuse me? Oh, I see.’ She flexed her fingers. ‘Well, don’t you think it’s crazy for an oil pipeline to cut straight through a national park?’

Bastard took a deep breath. We were about to be treated to his state-of-the-nation speech. ‘Listen, lady, you ain’t getting the big picture. It had to come this way, to avoid the Russians down south. That place of theirs ain’t called Military City Number One for nothing. Hey, it’s you people who call them the aggressive neighbour, not us.’

It was clear Koba didn’t like Bastard’s tone and Bastard knew it. ‘What the fuck you looking at, Lurch?’

Koba’s deep-set eyes didn’t even blink.

Bastard sank the last of the brew and I jumped in to try and stop things escalating.

‘And you, Nana? Why are you going to Borjomi?’

Her eyes narrowed. I knew she didn’t like me; I just hoped I didn’t know the reason why. ‘You probably won’t have heard because it’s just a little local matter, not part of the big picture…’ She glanced at Bastard, but her irony was clearly lost on him. ‘Just over a week ago, militant rebels massacred more than sixty women and children in a village called Kazbegi..’

I’d seen that look on her face before. Hazel and Julie had used it too. She tried to compose herself.

‘A farming family in Borjomi lost their only child in the massacre. A little girl. She was seven years old…’

She paused again.

‘We were with them on Saturday. We’re going back because they are willing to go live and tell us what it is like to live under the tyranny of Akaki, the militant leader. He is no freedom fighter; he’s a self-seeking, dictatorial thug. These poor people live in fear. But this couple, well — they have had enough.’

Bastard just started laughing. ‘What the fuck are momma and papa gonna do? They think that’s gonna change the world? They think that’s gonna make Akaki drop his pants and run away? Shit, they’ll just get themselves dead. Fucking dumb-asses.’ He nodded at Koba. ‘Ain’t that a fact, Lurch?’

Koba shifted in his seat. He clearly recognized Akaki’s name, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Bastard couldn’t contain himself now. He was on a roll. ‘That Akaki… boy, he’s caused us all a few headaches, over the years.’

‘Headaches? Headaches?’ Nana shook her head in disbelief. ‘Yes, I suppose you could call them that… Did you hear of the murder of Zurab Bazgadze?’

She was talking to him, but I had a nasty feeling she was addressing me.

‘The saint guy, right? The one who tried to get in the way of the pipeline?’

‘With very good reason.’ She glanced at Koba too. Her expression seemed to tell him that he needn’t worry about ripping Bastard’s head off. Any minute now, she’d do the job herself. ‘As you may have spotted, the soil structure around here is extremely unstable. It’s an area of considerable geological complexity, particularly vulnerable to landslides and earthquakes. In the event of pipeline rupture, there’s a risk of catastrophic environmental damage.

‘Zurab knew it would devastate the natural springs. Bottled water is Georgia’s number-one export. The people round here, their livelihoods depend on it. No-one championed their cause more vigorously than he did.’

‘Zurab, eh? He a friend of yours, missy?’

‘He became so. I interviewed him many times over the years; most recently, just before he died. He was here on Saturday, visiting the bereaved family. He was very good like that. A man of the people. We were to film him at length on Sunday morning, but he had to return to Tbilisi at short notice, so we were only able to grab a few minutes with him…’

Her look was defiant, but I thought I could see tears in her eyes.

‘Now, of course, I wish we’d tried harder to persuade him to stay.’

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. ‘You’re 60 Minutes, right?’

She nodded.

That figured. The Georgian Times had said that 60 Minutes and Baz had been due to have a love fest when he presented his affidavit.

‘We got sensors in the pipes to show up any fractures,’ Bastard said. It was as if he hadn’t listened to a single word. ‘It’d be sealed in days.’

Somehow, she managed to keep her cool. ‘By which time the whole area would be contaminated. That’s precisely why Zurab got an injunction to stop the pipeline coming this way. But your… friends… got it revoked. Zurab said that the decision came all the way from Washington; that your freedom-loving president intervened.’

Bastard wasn’t really listening. His face was boiling up nicely, as if he’d just caught this woman setting fire to the Stars and Stripes. ‘Hey, lady, that saint of yours knew you people were getting a good deal out of this. If it weren’t for us, you’d still be living in the dark ages. We’re bankrolling you. We’re giving you independence, freedom and stability — and in exchange for what? A few miles of metal tube. My president is even taking time out to come here and show you guys he means business. What more did your fucking saint Zurab want from us?’