taking in the smell of vomit and petrol and the mess of pans and sock-covered glasses in my preparation area. The last of the sulphuric acid was still in its glass. But mostly his eyes darted between me and the Passat.
He was desperate to know what was going on but didn’t want to ask.
‘He’s in the boot.’
‘In there? You’re sure it’s him?’
‘You tell me. Whoever it is, I got his sidekick as well. Don’t ask.’
I fished out the key fob from my pocket and pressed the button. The bodies had hardened up completely. They were both curled up like Pompeii victims. Their puke- and bloodstained white shrouds only half covered them.
I went and picked up Brogues’s camel-hair coat and extracted a slim crocodile-skin wallet. I produced a credit card with an unpronounceable name on it and tried to pass it to Bradley.
‘Very good.’ He didn’t want to touch it. ‘How did you do it?’
‘Like I said, don’t ask. That’s my job. I’m more interested in what you’ve been up to. You get the cartridges?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He put the bag down and started to unzip it.
I talked to the top of his gelled-back hair. ‘Have you spoken to Mission Control since we met up yesterday, last night, whenever?’
‘No, not at all. Why do you ask?’
He was still hunched down by his bag, his eyes on the cooker. Mine were on the boxes of shotgun cartridges.
‘How many did you get?’
‘Twenty. When are you going to the silo?’
‘Tonight.’
He nodded slowly as if the message had to sink in. ‘I think I need to know what time you will be leaving here. I need to be ready to pick up the girl.’
‘I’ll drop her here as soon as I’ve got her, and then I’m heading straight off. I’ll gaffer tape her up so she won’t go anywhere.’
‘What about the Passat?’
‘Like I said, everything here will be clear. I don’t know what time - nine, ten, eleven o’clock - but it’ll definitely be clear tonight and the girl will be waiting.’
He knelt down to unload the cartridges. ‘Excellent.’
He picked up the empty bag and we headed for the fire door.
‘I suppose I’ll never meet you again, will I, Mr Smith?’
‘No, mate, never.’
If only he knew the real reason. Both of us would be dead really soon. I was coming to terms with that myself, but I almost felt sorry for him. He was a two-timing little shit, but all in the name of queen and country. Sadly for him, people like Bradley didn’t realize that his queen had no idea he even existed, and his country didn’t give a shit in return.
We went back down to the front entrance. Bradley stretched out his hand. ‘Good luck, Nick.’
‘Thanks, mate. And you.’
I unlocked the door and he stepped onto the road. Empty bag in hand, he carried on walking without looking back.
8
Back in the office, I threw open the cabinet doors. She was curled up like another Pompeii victim. Her face was creased with concern. It wasn’t about being tucked into a filing cupboard and doing her own little Anne Frank, it was more to do with winning approval. ‘I was quiet, yes? You did not hear me?’
‘Yep, you were quiet. Now I have to go and work, so you have to stay up here again, OK? Go back to the airbed, rest, keep warm.’
‘OK, Nick.’
I followed her into the back room. ‘Not long now. We’ll go out and buy you some real clothes for when we go to see my friend. I’ll stay with you, don’t worry, and we’ll get some more food, OK?’
She nodded.
‘You stay here.’
I closed all the doors behind me and headed back to the loading bay.
There were twenty cartridges in each of the twenty boxes, which was more than enough. In fact, it meant I could make my devices a bit bigger and a lot better.
Laying out my ingredients as before, I got back to work. The gaffer tape was a standard two-centimetre roll. I pulled out about two metres and placed a pan on each end so it didn’t curl.
I opened the knife bit of the Chinese Leatherman and cut the top off the first cartridge. They were old. The red waxed-cardboard body cut far too easily, and the small pellets that dropped out were lead. They’ve been steel for years now.
After the front two-thirds of the cartridge was empty, I dug out the cotton wad that separated the shot from the propellant. I tipped the grains of propellant onto one end of the gaffer tape and an inch or two along it. I was doing pretty much the same as my stepdad used to do when he rolled his own fags, only this one packed a bit more of a punch than Gold Leaf did.
It took just over an hour to cut and pour the full two metres. I needed to make sure that whatever propellant was touching the tape was actually stuck to the adhesive. That way, there would be continuity in the burning even if there was a break here and there among the loose stuff if the fuse got bent. Once I’d done all that, I rolled the gaffer tape nice and tight until I had two metres of fuse half a centimetre thick. I put it to one side with the picric acid, well away from where I was working.
The next job was to make sure my bulb detonator was going to do its stuff. With the pliers part of the Chinese Leatherman, I crimped off the glass nipple to expose the insides of the bulb. I poured in propellant from one of the sixty-odd cartridges I had left over. Then I turned on the clock, set the alarm for one minute’s time, and waited. The element lit up. Within three seconds the propellant ignited in a burst of bright flame. A small cloud of cordite was left hanging in the air.
I shook the residue off the bulb and reset the clock. I tried it again, this time without the propellant, and the light came on. I now knew the wire connections to the two terminals of the bulb were good, and the bulb itself was still working. Why use a new bulb and run the risk it was a dud?
I moved the assembly away from everything else. The clock was the initiation device, and the bulb was the detonator. Now that they were joined, I had to make sure they didn’t do their jobs until I wanted them to. I took the batteries out and laid them to the side.
There was just one more manufacturing task, and that was to pour the remaining propellant into two of the freezer bags, one for each charge. It took me just over an hour. When I’d finished, the bags went alongside the picric acid and the fuse.
I was almost done. All that was left was to retrieve the bags of damp picric. I cut them open and spread the yellow, claylike substance on plastic to dry. Then, making one final check that Brogues’s coat, credit cards and wallet were back in the boot of the Passat, I headed up the stairs.
The market would be open now, and we both needed clothes for our exfil. I needed to look as clean leaving the country as I had when I came in. And Angeles, well, she just needed to look dressed.
9
The food stalls were piled with all kinds of products you’d normally find in a souk, from dates and spices to
