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  Except in my head. One half was telling me everything was OK. No way would he chance the job being exposed. The other was telling me that maybe he really didn't care what I was saying. I tried to make myself feel better by running through what had happened, convincing myself that I'd said the right things in the right way at the right time. Then I threw my hand in. It was too late now to worry about it. I'd just have to wait and see.

  Trainers and Sundance reappeared. I looked up, trying to read their expressions.

  They didn't look good.

  The first kick was aimed at my chest. My body re flexed into a ball but Sundance's boot connected hard with my thigh. By now my chin was down, my teeth were clenched, and I'd closed my eyes. There was nothing I could do but accept the inevitable, curled up like a hedgehog, my hands still cuffed, trying to protect my face. I started to take it and just hoped that it wouldn't carry on for long.

  They grabbed my feet and dragged me towards the centre of the room. One of the mugs rattled over on the tiles. I kept my legs as bent as I could, fighting against them being stretched out to expose my stomach and bollocks. I opened one eye just in time to watch a Caterpillar boot connect with my ribs. I brought my || head down further, in an attempt to cover my chest. It must have worked, because another boot swung right into my arse this time, and it felt as if the inside of my sphincter had exploded. The pain was off the scale and to counteract it I tried to clench my cheek muscles together but to do that I had to straighten my legs a little.

  The inevitable boot flew into the pit of my stomach. Bile exploded from me. The acid taste in my mouth and nose was almost worse than the kicking.

  It was past midnight and I was curled up back in my corner. At least they'd taken the cuffs off now. The lights were off and the

  TV flickered away with a Channel 5 soft-porn film. They'd had pie and chips earlier and made me crawl over to wipe up my bile from the floor with the used paper as they drank more tea.

  There was no more filling in, not even an acknowledgement of me being there. I had just been left to stew as Sundance lay half asleep on the settee. Trainers was wide awake and on stag, smoking his roll-up, draped across the two armchairs, making sure I didn't have any stupid ideas.

  I slowly stretched out flat on my stomach to lessen the pain from the kicking, and rested my face on my hands, closing my eyes to try to get some sleep. It was never going to work: I could feel the blood pumping in my neck and couldn't stop thinking about what might happen to me next. My Beachy Head trip could still be on the cards with these two; it all depended on what the Yes Man had to say yes to, I supposed.

  In the past, I'd always managed to get out of even the deepest shit with just the thinnest layer still stuck to me. I thought of my gunshot wound, sewn-back on earlobe, and dog-bite scars, and knew how lucky I'd been on those jobs in the last few years. I thought of other jobs, of being blindfolded and lined up against the wall of an aircraft hangar, listening to the noise of weapons being cocked. I remembered hearing the men each side of me, either quietly praying or openly crying and begging. I hadn't seen any reason to do either. It wasn't that I wanted to die; just that I'd always known that death was part of the deal.

  But this did feel different. I thought of Kelly. I hadn't spoken to her since this job started. Not because there had been no opportunity1 had agreed timings with Josh last month it was just that I was too busy with preparations, or sometimes I just forgot.

  Josh was right to fuck me off when I did get through: she did need a routine and stability. I could see his half-Mexican, half-black shaved head, scowling at me on the phone like a divorced wife. The skin on his jaw and cheekbone was a patchwork of pink, like a torn sponge that had been badly sewn back together.

  The scarring was down to me, which didn't help the situation much. He wouldn't be getting too many modelling offers from Old Spice, that was for sure. I tried to break the ice with him once by telling him. He didn't exactly fall about with laughter.

  I turned my head and rested my cheek on my hands, watching Trainers suck on the last of his roll-up. I supposed I'd always known the day would come, sooner or later, but I didn't want this to be it. Stuff flashed through my mind as if I was a split second away from a massive car crash, all the sorts of things that must hit any parent when they know they're about to die. The stupid argument with the kids before leaving for work. Not building that tree-house. Not getting round to filling out a will. The holidays not taken, the promises broken.

  Josh was the only person apart from Kelly I cared for and who was still alive.

  Would he miss me? He'd just be pissed off that we had unfinished business. And what about Kelly herself? She had a new start now would she just forget all about her useless, incompetent guardian in a few years?

  SEVEN

  Monday 4 September Sundance's StarT ac short, sharp tones cut the air after a long, painful night.

  It was just after eight. I didn't bother to move from the prone position because of my kicking, but tried instead to convince myself that the pain was just weakness leaving the body, something like that.

  Trainers jumped up to turn off the BBC breakfast news, showing the embankment, as Sundance opened up his phone. He knew who it was. There was no preliminary waffle, just nods and grunts.

  Trainers hit the kettle button as the StarT ac was closed down and Sundance rolled himself off the settee. He gave me a big grin as he brushed back his hair with spread fingers.

  "You have a visitor, and dye know what? He doesn't sound too pleased."

  It was the witching hour.

  I sat up and leant into the corner of the brick walls as they pulled the armchairs apart and put their shirts on while waiting for the kettle to boil.

  It wasn't long before I heard a vehicle and Trainers went out to open the shutter. Sundance just stood there staring at me, trying to get me flapping.

  The kettle cut out with a click just before the shutter opened; it looked like their brew was on hold for a while. I pulled myself up against the wall.

  The slamming of car doors drowned out the sound of Kennington's morning commute.

  Before the shutter had come down, the Yes Man was striding into the room.

  Throwing a glance at Sundance, he walked towards me, screwing up his nose at the smell of roll-ups, chips and early-morning farts.

  He was dressed today in a light grey suit, and still in enraged-teacher mode. He stopped a couple of paces short of me, put his hands on his hips, and looked down at me in disgust.

  "You, Stone, are going to be given one chance, just one, to rectify matters. You don't know how very lucky you are." He checked his watch. The target has just left the UK. You will follow him tonight, to Panama, and you will kill this target by last light Friday."

  I kept my head down and let my legs flop out straight, just inches from his highly polished black brogues, and raised my eyes to him.

  Sundance made a move towards me. Should I be saying something? The Yes Man held up a hand to stop him, without taking his eyes off me.

  "PARC are waiting for the delivery of a missile launch control system a computer guidance console to you."

  I looked down again, concentrating on the pattern of his shoes.

  "Are you listening?"

  Nodding slowly, I rubbed my sore eyes.

  "One anti-aircraft missile is already in their possession. It will be the first of many. The launch system has to be stopped if PARC have a complete weapons system in their hands the implications for Plan Colombia will be catastrophic.

  There are six hundred million dollars' worth of US helicopters in Colombia, along with their crews and support. PARC must not get the capability to shoot them down. They must not get that launch control system. You don't need to know why, but the young man's death will stop that happening. Period."

  He hunched down and thrust his face so close to mine I could smell menthol aftershave, probably for sensitive skin. There was a whiff of halitosis, too, as we had eye-to-eye just inch
es apart. He breathed in slowly, to help me understand that what he was about to say was more in sorrow than in anger.

  "You will carry out this task in the time specified, with due diligence. If not? No matter when next week, next month, or even next year when the time is right, we will kill her. You know who I'm talking about, that Little Orphan Annie of yours. She will simply cease to exist and it will be your doing. Only you can stop that happening."

  He burned with the kind of evangelical zeal I supposed he'd copied from whoever he'd heard in the pulpit last week, while Sundance smirked and moved back towards the settee.

  The Yes Man hadn't finished with me yet. His tone shifted.

  "She must be about eleven now, eh? I've been told that she's settled in very well back in the States. It seems that Joshua is doing an absolutely sterling job. It must be hard for you now she lives there, eh? Missing her growing up, turning into a fine young woman..."

  I kept my eyes down, concentrating on a minute crack in one of the tiles as he carried on with his sermon.

  That's the same age as my daughter. They're so funny at that age, don't you think? One minute wanting to be all grown up, the next needing to cuddle their teddies. I read her a story last night when I'd tucked her in. They look so wonderful, yet so vulnerable like that... Did you read to Kelly, isn't it?"

  I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an acknowledgement, just concentrated hard on my tile, trying to show no reaction. He was really making a meal of this. He took another deep breath, his knees cracking as he straightened up and hovered above me once more.

  "This is about power, Stone, who has it and who does not. You do not.

  Personally, I am not in favour of you being given a second chance, but there is the broader matter of policy to consider."

  I didn't exactly understand what that meant, but it was a fair guess he'd been told to sort out this situation or he'd be severely in the shit.

  "Why kill the boy?" I said.

  "Why not the father? I presume he's the one moving this system."

  He kicked my thigh with his shiny toecap. It was pure frustration. I was sure he'd meant it to be harder, but just didn't have it in him.

  "Clean yourself up look at the state of you. Now go. These gentlemen will collect you from your residence at three."

  He gave 'residence' the full three syllables, enjoying every one. Sundance smiled like the village idiot as I hauled myself to my feet, the muscles in my stomach protesting badly.

  "I need money." I looked down like a scolded schoolboy as I leant against the wall, and that was exactly how I felt.

  The Yes Man sighed with impatience and nodded at Sundance. The Jock dug out his wallet from the back of his jeans, and counted out eighty-five pounds.

  'You owe me, boy."

  I just took it, not bothering to mention the six hundred US dollars he'd liberated from my pocket, and which had already been split between the two of them.

  Jamming it into my jeans, I started to walk, not looking at either of them as I reached the door. Trainers saw me in the doorframe and hit the shutter, but not before the Yes Man had the last word: "You'd better make good use of that money, Stone. There is no more. In fact, think yourself lucky you're keeping what you already have. After all, Orphan Annie will need new shoes from time to time, and her treatment in the States will cost a great deal more than it did at the Moorings."

  Fifteen minutes later I was on the tube from Kennington, heading north towards Camden Town. The dilapidated old train was packed tight with morning commuters, nearly every one radiating soap, toothpaste and designer smells. I was the exception, which was bad luck for the people I was sandwiched between: a massive black guy who'd turned his crisply laundered, white-shirted back on me, and a young white woman who didn't dare look up from the floor in case our eyes met and she sparked off the madman reeking of bile and roll-ups.

  The front pages of the morning papers were covered with dramatic colour pictures of the police attacking the sniper positions and the promise of a lot more to come inside. I just held on to the handrail and stared at the dot-com holiday adverts, not wanting to read them, instead letting my head jolt from side to side as we trundled north. I was in a daze, trying to get my head round what had happened, and getting nowhere.

  What could I do with Kelly? Nip over to Maryland, pick her up, run away and hide in the woods? Taking her away from Josh was pure fantasy: it would only screw her up even more than she was already. It would only be short-term, in any event: if the Firm wanted her dead, they'd make it happen eventually. What about telling Josh? No need: the Firm wouldn't do anything unless I failed. Besides, why stir him up any more than I had already?

  I let my head drop and stared at my feet as we got to a station and people fought each other to get on and off all at the same time. I got shoved and jostled and gave an involuntary gasp of pain.

  As the carriage repacked itself for the journey under the Thames, a pissed-off voice on the PA system told everybody to move right down inside the cars, and the doors eventually closed.

  I didn't know if the Yes Man was bluffing any more, probably, than he knew if I was. But it made no difference. Even if I did expose the job, that wouldn't stop Sundance and Trainers taking their trip to Maryland. There were enough Serb families short of a kid or two because Dad hadn't gone along with the Firm's demands during the latest Balkan wars, and I knew it hadn't stopped there.

  Try as I might, I couldn't stop myself picturing Kelly tucked up in bed, her hair spread in a mess over the pillow as she dreamt of being a pop star. The Yes Man was right, they did look both wonderful and vulnerable like that. My blood ran cold as I realized that the end of this job wouldn't put an end to the threats. She would be used against me time and again.

  We stopped at another station and the crowd ebbed and flowed once more. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I was starting to get pins and needles in my legs. No matter which way I looked at it, my only option was to kill the boy.

  No, not a boy, let's get this right, just as the Yes Man said, he was a young man some of those weapons being cocked in the aircraft hangar all those years ago had been held by people younger than him.

  I had fucked up big-time. I should have killed him yesterday when I had the chance. If I didn't do this job Kelly would die, simple as that and I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn't fuck up again. I'd do what the Yes Man wanted, and I'd do it by last light Friday.

  The train stopped again and most of the passengers left for their jobs in the City. I was knackered and fell into a seat before my legs gave out. As I wiped the beads of sweat off my brow, my mind kept going back to Kelly, and the thought that I was going to Panama to kill someone just so that Josh could have her to look after. It was madness, but what was new about that?

  Josh might not exactly be my mate, these days, but he was still the closest thing I had to one. He'd talk through gritted teeth, but at least he'd talk to me about Kelly. She'd been living with Josh and his kids since mid-August, just a couple of weeks after her therapy sessions had ended prematurely in London when the Yes Man handed me the sniper job.

  She hadn't fully recovered from her PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), and I didn't know whether she ever would. Seeing your whole family head-jobbed took some recovering from. She was a fighter, just like her dad had been, and had made dramatic strides this summer. She'd moved from being a curled-up bundle of nothing to being able to function outside the private care home in Hampstead where she'd spent the best part of the last ten months. She wasn't in mainstream schooling yet with Josh's kids, but that would happen soon. Or at least I hoped it would: she needed private tuition and that didn't come cheap -and now the Yes Man had cancelled the second half of the money... Since March I'd had to commit myself to being with her during the therapy sessions three times a week in Chelsea, and on all the other days had visited her at the place in Hampstead where she was being looked after. Kelly and I would tube it down to the plush clinic, the Moorings. Someti
mes we'd talk on the journey, mostly about kids' TV; sometimes we'd sit in silence. On occasion, she'd just cuddle into me and sleep.

  Dr. Hughes was in her mid-fifties and looked more like an American news reader than a shrink in her leather armchair. I didn't particularly like it when Kelly said something that Hughes considered meaningful. She would tilt her elegant head and look at me over the top of her gold half-moons.

  "How do you feel about that, Nick?"

  My answer was always the same: "We're here for Kelly, not me." That was because I was an emotional dwarf. I must be Josh told me so.

  The train shuddered and squeaked to a halt at Camden Town. I joined a green haired punk, a bunch of suits and some early-start tourists as we all rode the up escalator. Camden High Street was teeming with traffic and pedestrians. We were greeted by a white Rastafarian guy juggling three bean-bags for spare change and an old drunk with his can of Tennants waiting for Pizza Express to open so that he could go and shout at its windows. The din of pneumatic drills on the building site opposite echoed all around us, making even people passing in their cars wince.

  I diced with death as I crossed the road to get into Superdrug and pick up some washing and shaving kit, then walked along the high street to get something to eat, hands in my pockets and eyes down at the pavement like a dejected teenager.

  I waded through KFC boxes, kebab wrappers and smashed Bacardi Breezer bottles that hadn't been cleaned up from the night before. As I'd discovered when I moved in, there was a disproportionate number of pubs and clubs around here.

  Camden High Street and its markets seemed quite a tourist attraction. It was just before ten o'clock but most of the clothes shops already had an amazing array of gear hanging outside their shop fronts, from psychedelic flares to leather bondage trousers and multicoloured Doc Martens. Shop workers tried ceaselessly to lure Norwegians or Americans, with day sacks on their backs and maps in their hands, inside with loud music and a smile.