Koba was looking more and more pissed off. Nana soothed him with a few mumbled words and shook her head sadly. ‘Zurab just couldn’t understand why, if you’re so devoted to democracy and stability, you support a government whose corruption knows no limits. The people see very little benefit from your so-called altruism, so the people think you are just here for the oil.’
Bastard’s face had turned purple. ‘You know what, lady? I don’t give a fuck. Bazgadze and his kind make me sick right up to my back teeth — complaining about this, complaining about that. Jesus, you were spending all day lining up for bread before we came along, yet all he did was complain about your government, my government, the Russians, the energy corridor. But you know what, lady.’ He put his finger to his temple, compressing the veins until they bulged. ‘I don’t give a shit if the Georgian government are driving round in Cadillacs. That was his problem, not mine.’
‘I agree, it was his problem. But it is also mine, and Georgia’s — and make no mistake about this, it’s yours as well. Zurab was right. He knew your country was more interested in oil than democracy. Democracy is just an excuse, a convenient flag to wave. You are behaving no differently here than you do in South America, Africa, the Mid-East. You invest in the military, keep corrupt governments happy, and build bases for your own troops to protect your oil interests. Meanwhile, our people, their people, the people who really matter, get nothing.’
I leaned back against the aluminium boxes. Charlie’s ‘little guy getting fucked over’ theory was receiving its most articulate airing yet.
‘Zurab knew very well that you, America, use the war against terrorism and paranoia about national security to underpin your foreign deployments, while your military becomes the protection force for every oil field, pipeline, refinery and tanker route on the planet. And the price we will all pay is higher than you can possibly imagine. You think it is measured in dollars, but it’s not. It’s measured in blood.’
There wasn’t a whole lot even Bastard could say to that, but he didn’t have to. Paata turned and leaned back through the bulkhead. ‘We are here.’
5
Seconds later, Charlie poked his head through the hatch. ‘Doesn’t look much like the centre of the country’s number-one export business to me, but there you go.’
I glanced through the windscreen. A few houses were dotted each side of the valley, increasing in number as the road climbed towards a cluster of roofs about 500 away.
The whole area was lush, green, and very wet. The muddy tracks and rough wooden fences and shacks had an almost medieval flavour. Apart from a handful of chickens scuttling about and a few cows mooching around in the fields to our left, the place seemed to be deserted. The torrential rain was keeping the villagers indoors, and I couldn’t blame them.
The track ahead of us had been shored up with broken bricks and lumps of wood. Ominously, I didn’t see any sign of a 4x4. I wondered how long it would take us to get to Turkey by horse and cart.
Charlie turned to Paata. ‘What now?’
‘Back to where Nana did the Kazbegi interview. We need to keep the Mercedes out of sight. Nana isn’t everybody’s favourite girl around here. She should be, but she isn’t. She likes to poke her nose into places people don’t want her to.’ His jaw tightened. ‘The farmer let us sleep here, with the truck. He’s a good man. He and his wife are the ones we’ve come back to see.’
We passed a dilapidated farmhouse, and turned right along a track. We pulled up in front of a huge barn, built of unmilled wood with gaps between the planks, and a roof of heavily patched and rusty corrugated-iron sheets. Paata jumped out to open the doors.
Bastard took it as his cue to started bumping his gums again. ‘That ID says you gotta help me. I want a truck.’
‘I’ll ask Eduard,’ Nana said sweetly. ‘He’s waiting inside.’
Paata slid back in and we drove a dozen or so metres into the centre of the barn. It was about three times the height of the wagon, and could easily have taken another six vans each side of us.
The whole place stank of decay and old manure, but at least it was dry. There were no tools or machinery in sight, not even a bale of hay. All I could see was a roughly hewn wooden bench in the far corner, by the remains of a small fire. It looked like it was where this lot had got their heads down.
Nana said something in Paperclip to Koba. He nodded, and took up station a few paces to one side of us. He unzipped his jacket as Bastard fell out of the wagon.
‘Where’s this Eduard guy? I’ve got some business to take care of.’
She was trying to keep it light, but I could see she was worried. ‘He’ll be here. He’s not the sort to break a promise.’ She glanced uneasily at Paata, then at me and Charlie.
Fuck this; there was too much eye contact going on here. It didn’t feel right.
‘We’ve got to get going too,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘Eduard will know if there’s transport. I’ll call him.’
I followed her line of sight to Paata and Koba, and sensed the tension between them. They were on starting blocks, waiting for something.
I looked back at Nana as she punched the buttons on her cell.
For just a second, I had a vision of a peasant farmer trundling along a bumpy track, fighting the wheel of his battered Lada as he scrabbled in his pocket to retrieve his Nokia.
A peasant Georgian farmer, with a cell phone. Who the fuck did he have to call?
My eyes shot back to Nana. Hers were glued to Koba, and the look between them told me everything.
I walked over to Charlie. My eyes were fixed on Koba’s feet, between us and the door. I wasn’t going to join the eye-contact fest and make things worse. ‘C’mon, mate,’ I murmured. ‘We’re off.’
6
Charlie backed me as I took a pace towards the doors, ready to take on Koba if he decided to get in our way. It wasn’t something I relished, but we were running out of choices again.
He took a pace towards us. It had gone noisy.
I charged at him, head down. Nana screamed, but Koba’s hand moved faster. A split second later, I was staring down a shiny chrome barrel, three or four metres from my face. He covered all three of us, the twitch of the.357 Magnum Desert Eagle’s muzzle making it clear that our next sensible move was to get down in the dirt.
I looked up at Nana. The cell was at her ear.
‘Nana, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?’
Koba swung his boot into my side. I shut up and took the pain, which was a lot more comfortable than a round from a Desert Eagle. It was no accident that the massive, Israeli-built semi-automatic pistol was weapon of choice for every self-respecting US gang member.
Nana’s eyes flashed beams of hatred down at me as she waffled away in Paperclip, and that didn’t feel much better.
Paata pulled a couple of aluminium boxes from the van and started dragging them towards us. I heard Baz’s name mentioned a few times before she closed the cell down.
‘You know very well what’s wrong. The police are coming.’
Fuck Koba and that boot of his, it was gob-off-and-play-stupid time.
‘But I don’t understand… why pull a gun on us? We haven’t done anything.’ I tightened up for another kick.
She came and knelt down by my head instead.
