As I heard heli noise almost directly overhead I ran over to the console and flicked the lighter. The fuel ignited instantly. They mustn't fall into Charlie's hands; then all he would need was another missile and he would be back in business.
I turned and ran from the flames. Passing Pizza Man, I couldn't resist giving him a taste of the kind of kicking I'd got in Kennington.
He did the same as I had, just curled up and took it. I heard shouts from the track. Charlie's boys were here.
I flicked the Zippo again and tossed it on to the dump.
As the roar of the Hueys became almost deafening, I shouldered the rucksacks, picked up the weapon, and ran into the jungle as fast as the mud on my boots would let me.
FORTY-TWO
Friday 15 September Pulling down the visor to shade me from the sun, I watched through the dirty windscreen as passenger after passenger, laden with oversized cases, was dropped off outside Departures. I felt a twinge of pain in my calf and adjusted myself in the seat to stretch my damaged leg as the roar of jet engines followed an aircraft into the clear blue sky.
There had been enough anti-surveillance drills en route to the airport to throw off Superman, but still I sank into the seat and watched the vehicles that came and went, trying to remember if I had seen any of them or their drivers earlier.
The dash digital said it was nearly three o'clock, so I turned the ignition key to power up the radio, scanning the AM channels for news even before the antenna had fully risen. A stern American female voice was soon informing me that there were unconfirmed reports that PARC were behind the failed missile attack, which appeared to have been aimed at shipping in the Panama canal. It was sort of old news now and low down the running order, but it seemed that after it launched, fishermen saw the missile fly out of control before falling into the bay less than half a mile from the shore. The US had already reestablished a presence in the republic as they were now trying to fish out the missile and set up de fences to stop any such further terrorist attacks.
The polished voice continued, 'With approximately twelve thousand armed combatants, PARC is Colombia's oldest, largest, most capable and best equipped insurgency. It was originally the military wing of the Colombian Communist Party, and is organized along military lines. PARC has been anti-US since its inception in 1964. President Clinton said today that Plan Colombia, the one point three billion-' I flicked it back on to the FM Christian channel and hit the off switch before cutting the ignition again. The antenna retracted with a quiet electric buzz. It was the first bit of news I'd heard about the incident. I had done my best to avoid all media these past six days, but hadn't been able to resist any longer the temptation to find out what had happened.
The injury still hurt. Pulling up one leg of my cheap and baggy jeans, I inspected the clean dressing on my calf and had a little scratch at the skin above and below it as a jet thundered just above the car park on finals.
It had taken three long, wet and hot days to walk out of the jungle, clean myself up, and hitch a ride into Panama City. The rucksacks had contained no food, so it was back to jungle survival skills and digging out roots on the move. But at least I could lie on the rucksacks and keep out of the mud, and although they didn't fit very well, the spare clothes helped keep the mozzies off my head and hands at night.
Once I'd reached the city, I dried out the two hundred odd dollars I'd lifted from the guys in the house in the sun and the blood flaked off them like thin scabs. I bought clothes and the dirtiest room in the old quarter that didn't care as long as I paid cash.
Up until Tuesday, four days ago, my credit card still hadn't been cancelled, so it looked as if things were still OK with the Yes Man. After I'd cleaned myself up, I went into a bank and took out the max I could on it, $12,150, at some ripoff exchange rate, before using my ticket to Miami. From there I took a train to Baltimore, Maryland. It had taken two days on four trains, never buying a ticket for more than a hundred dollars so as not to arouse suspicion. After all, who pays cash for any journey costing hundreds? Only people who don't want a record of their movements, people like me. That's why the purchase of airline tickets for cash is always registered. I hadn't minded the Yes Man knowing I was out of Panama as he tracked me to Miami, but that was all I'd wanted him to know.
But now, three days later, who knew? Sundance and Trainers might already be sightseeing in Washington, even phoning that half-sister to tell her that once they'd finished off some business they'd come to New York for a visit.
I heard the door handle go and Josh was at the window of his black, doublecabbed Dodge gas-guzzler. One hand pulled open the driver's door, the other cradled a Starbucks and a can of Coke.
I took the coffee as he climbed into the driver's seat, and muttered, Thanks', as I placed the paper cup in the centre console holder. My fingernails and prints were still ingrained with jungle dirt; they looked like I'd been washing my hands in grease. It would take a few more days yet to wash out after my holiday from hygiene.
Josh's eyes stayed on the entrance to the long-term multi-storey car park, the other side of our short-term one. A line of vehicles was waiting to take a ticket and for the barrier to raise.
'Still thirty minutes to push until we're due,' he said.
'We'll drink them here.'
I nodded, and pulled back on the ring pull as he tested the hot brew. Anything he said was OK by me today. He had picked me up at the station, driven me about for the last two hours, and had listened to what I was proposing. And now here we were, at Baltimore International airport, where I should have arrived from Charles de Gaulle in the first place, and he had even bought me a Coke.
He still looked the same, shiny brown bald head, still hitting the weights, gold-rimmed glasses that somehow made him look more menacing than intellectual.
From my side I couldn't see the torn sponge scar on his face.
The Starbucks was still a bit too hot for him so he nursed it in his hands.
After a while he turned towards me. I knew he hated me: he couldn't hide it from his face, or the way he talked to me. I would have felt the same, in his shoes.
There'll be rules,' he said. 'You hear what I'm saying?'
Another jet came down over the wagon and he shouted over the roar as he pointed every other word at me.
'You are first going to sort out this shit you've got us all in, man. I don't care what it's about or what you have to do just finish it. Then, and only then, you call me. Only then we talk. We don't deserve this shit. It's a grim deal, man.'
I nodded. He was right.
Then, only when that's done, this is how it's going to be like a divorced couple, a couple that do the right thing by their kids. You fuck that up, you fuck yourself up. It's the only way it's going to work. You hearing me? It's the last chance you're ever getting.'
I nodded, feeling relieved.
We sat there and drank, both of us checking the vehicles that were trying to find a space.
'How's the Christian thing going?'
'Why?'
'You're swearing a lot nowadays ...'
'What the fuck do you expect? Hey, don't worry about my faith, I'll see you if you ever get there.'
That put paid to that conversation. We sat for another ten minutes, watching vehicles and listening to the aircraft. Josh gave occasional sighs as he thought about what he had agreed to. He was certainly not happy, but I knew he would do it anyway, because it was the right thing. He finished the Starbucks and put the cup `<49' into the console holder.
That recycled paper?'
He looked at me as if I was mad.
'What? What's with you?'
'Recycled, the cup. A lot of trees are used making those things.'
'How many?'
'I don't know a lot.'
He picked up the cup. The sleeve says sixty per cent post-consumer recycled fibre feel better now, O spirit of the fucking woods?'
