Aggressor (36 page)

’But, tragically, he cannot do that now. He is dead, murdered by Akaki’s men, and others who did not want his evidence to see the light of day. Akaki now has possession of this document, but I have read it from cover to cover . . . and even if I wanted to, I could never forget the awfulness of what I have read . . .’

Paata muttered an acknowledgement to somebody into his mike and pressed a button. ‘Five minutes, Nana. Keep going.’

She put a finger to her earpiece and nodded. ‘The representative in question, a personal friend to many, known throughout this land as a man dedicated to fighting the corruption that stains our country, was murdered because he had proof that six members of our government are implicated in terrorist activities, in concert with the man you see before you—’

Paata hit the button again. ‘Correction, Nana. It’s ten, repeat ten minutes. Keep going, you’re doing well. If he gets suspicious, cut the English and switch to the straight interview. OK?’

She fingered her earpiece again.

‘Yes . . . these six pillars of our establishment will greet President Bush when he arrives in our country this month . . . and the hands they will extend to him in friendship are as bloodstained as that of the mass murderer, kidnapper, extortionist and drug trafficker they are in league with . . .’

Charlie touched Paata’s shoulder. ‘This isn’t actually going to the States, is it?’

He shook his head without looking round. We got the idea: shut the fuck up.

‘It hardly bears thinking about, but the objective of this barbarity is to perpetuate the terrorist threat, so that the United States continues to send us aid; aid that doesn’t find its way to feeding our hungry or repairing our hospitals, but lines the pockets of expensive, western-tailored suits . . .’

Nana’s voice cracked again. Akaki was starting to look concerned.

‘Good news, Nana. It’s four minutes, repeat, four – maybe less.’

‘Unimaginable.’ She nodded. ‘But you must be told . . .’ She turned her head to Akaki and somehow managed a smile. ‘This . . . monster . . . was paid one million American dollars by these politicians to plan and carry out the massacre of sixty women and children last month in the village of Kazbegi—’

She realized immediately that she’d fucked up. Akaki’s head jerked round.

‘
Sixty Minutes
 . . .’ Nana did her best to smile, ‘has the names of all six politicians, and the former FBI agent involved . . .’

Akaki had smelled a rat. He muttered something to his arse-lickers.

‘Three minutes, Nana. Hang on in there.’

‘I am now going to expose those murdering and corrupt politicians to the people of Georgia . . .’

Her eyes flickered to the sky.

I hadn’t heard anything inside the van, but the arse-lickers had; they ran outside and stared into the clouds.

Nana went for it. ‘Gogi Shengelia . . . Mamuka Asly . . .’

Akaki was on his feet, his expression thunderous. He swept the camera aside and charged through the barn doors.

Nana kept on going.

‘Giorgi Shenoy . . . Roman Tsereteli . . .’

The moment I stepped out of the van I could hear the beat of rotors. The helis must have stayed in dead ground until the last possible moment.

Akaki waved his arm and barked a sequence of orders. The arse-lickers tumbled into their Taliwagon. Akaki lifted his AK.

Nana was on autopilot.

‘Kote Zhvania . . . Irakli Zemularia . . .’

The Hueys were virtually overhead. Akaki tried to bring his AK into his shoulder, only to be buffeted by the downwash.

The fourth Taliwagon screamed to a halt alongside him and the arse-lickers pulled him aboard. The heli dipped its nose and headed for the field just to the side of the barn.

Nana was shaking. ‘There will be full exposure of all Zurab Bazgadze’s allegations in a special edition of
60 Minutes
soon. Now back to the studio.’

She dropped the mike to her side. By the time Paata had wrapped her in his arms, her whole body was convulsed with sobs.

‘Nana? We have to go.’

She looked over his shoulder at me. ‘I’ll help you, Nick. I’ll help you with the police.’

I shook my head. ‘No time for all that stuff. I’m taking Charlie home; there’s something he’s got to do.’

She shook her head, not understanding. ‘What can be more important than wanting to prove your innocence?’

‘Having the chance to die with your family around you . . .’

Charlie came up alongside me. ‘See that treeline, lad?’ He pointed to the slope behind the barn. ‘Last one there buys the kebabs.’

5

I looked through the slats. Four Hueys were touching down in the field a hundred metres away. BDU-clad bodies leaped out and took up fire positions.

Paata was out of the van, dragging the camera from its mount, ripping out all the leads. He extended the small antenna that would maintain the link with the satellite dish and keep the feed live.

There was the rattle of automatic gunfire from the high ground to our right. Akaki’s crew were putting down fire from the village.

The helis’ engines roared and they lifted sharply. The guys on the ground spun around like headless chickens. It was like watching Kazbegi all over again.

One or two shots came from the field as the BDUs began to engage. I hoped they were aimed up at the village and not towards us.

Paata rushed outside, camera on his shoulder, Nana by his side.

I grabbed Charlie. ‘Well?’

He looked at me but didn’t answer.

I ran to the barn doors. ‘Nana! Nana!’

She indicated to Paata what she wanted filmed.

‘
Nana!
’

She turned back and I mimed the cut-away sign, finger across my throat.

The helis thundered overhead, eager to get out of the contact zone.

‘Go!’ she screamed. ‘Go!’

She turned away and got on with her job.

I skirted round the side of the barn, Charlie following at a hobble.

We scrambled up to the treeline, using the building as cover, and then turned back towards the village, paralleling the road. We had a bird’s-eye view of the chaos below us. BDUs milled around in the field, trying to take cover, not sure where. Maybe they hadn’t got to page two of the textbook yet.

American voices tried in vain to command and control as one-in-four tracer burned down from the militants’ light machine guns, thudding into the grass around their students.

One long burst arced down from the rooftops, scattering earth around the BDUs. They had no choice but to keep moving and get the fuck off the open ground.

Nana crouched against the woodpile outside the barn, talking to camera as the contact went on behind her. Paata panned across the sky as the whirl of rotor blades sounded from the high ground behind the barn.

The Huey was really close, coming in low, and swept over our heads, banking into a steep climb over the field then breaking right, towards the village. The crew were trying to get some kind of fix on the attackers.

Another burst of tracer forced the heli to bank sharp left and disappear back into the dead ground.

Charlie slowed. I grabbed his arm, hooked it over my shoulder, and dragged him along. I slipped in the mud, finally bringing both of us down.

Charlie landed on top of me. ‘Any chance of a breather, lad?’

We lay where we had fallen, trying to catch our breath.

Another sustained burst from above us echoed around the valley. This time there was return fire; the boys in the field had finally got their act together.

Charlie shook his head. ‘Why aren’t those fuckers up there just running for it? Do they really want to take on the army? They all escaped from the same asylum as Koba?’

I dragged him to his feet. Before long, wooden houses began to appear alongside the road below us.

Charlie stopped. ‘Listen, lad . . . No helis. Must have gone for reinforcements. Now’s our chance.’

6

A tractor and an old Lada sat abandoned at the side of the track, but nothing that looked as though it might get our soaked arses out of here at any sort of speed, even if we could have dodged the militants to our right, and half the Georgian army down below us to our left.

The whole place fell eerily quiet.

‘What about the Taliwagons?’

A burst of automatic echoed round the village before I could answer.

‘Fuck it, let’s go.’ Charlie slid downhill and broke free of the treeline. I followed. He was making for a cluster of small wooden houses that hugged the main drag.

We edged into an unfenced yard and flattened ourselves against the back wall. All the shutters were closed. I heard a frightened child whimper behind them.

Squaddies at the bottom of the road loosed off with their AKs. From higher up, to our right, Akaki’s men gave it back in spades. The barrels of their light machine guns must have been red hot.

A round ricocheted off the wall beside us and screamed up into the air.

I tugged Charlie’s sleeve. ‘Wait here, old one.’

Keeping low, I moved to the corner of the house. A dog started barking inside.

My hair was flat against my head. My trousers were caked in mud. My clothes stuck to me like clingfilm. I was just beginning to realize how hungry and thirsty I was.

I checked Baby-G. We had an hour and a bit until last light, maybe less, given the cloud cover.

I lay down on my stomach, and inched my way along the wall until I could see up and down the road. It was deserted. The villagers were keeping well out of this. I didn’t blame them a bit.

The road stumbled uphill for about a hundred metres before disappearing. The militants’ fire position must have been just beyond the bend. They’d chosen well. They had a clear line of fire all the way down into the valley where the helis had landed.

An American voice barked instructions about 200 to my left and BDUs darted around in response. Nana and Paata would probably be in among them as they pushed uphill, but we weren’t going to stick around and find out.

I made my way back to Charlie. He had his leg elevated against the back wall, rain falling onto his face. ‘The squaddies are getting close.’ I held out a hand. He grabbed it and I pulled him up. ‘I didn’t see Akaki’s crew, but they must be past the bend, a hundred up. We need to get up there and beyond their line. We’ll stay behind the houses.’

‘Well done, lad. So what are we hanging about for?’

I hooked his arm over my shoulder and we started to pick our way through a succession of unfenced back yards.

We’d gone another eighty or ninety metres when the houses veered left with the road. Another twenty or thirty and we’d be well beyond the line of fire.

We hit a fenced compound filled with pigs. It wasn’t worth the effort of getting Charlie over the top. We doubled back up the slope and boxed around it. It all took time, and I didn’t know how much of that we had to spare. The road might not be the squaddies’ only axis of attack. The last thing we needed was to be caught in crossfire.

As we worked our way down again, the militants opened up with their light machine guns.

‘Poor little buggers,’ Charlie muttered. ‘Talk about baptism of fire.’

‘Shut up and get moving.’

I stopped, head up.

‘Listen.’

The firing had come from behind us. We were beyond the contact.

All we had to do now was drop down into the village and see about hot-wiring ourselves some freedom.

7

We emerged beside what looked like the village hall. There must have been an election in the last year or so; the walls were plastered with fading campaign posters. A line of Zurab Bazgadzes beamed down at us.

‘Our carriage awaits, lad.’

ATaliwagon sat just thirty metres away in the middle of the road. It was rusty and dented, but had four wheels and, with any luck, an engine. Best of all, there seemed to be no-one with it.

‘You ready, mate?’

He nodded.

I started running without checking he was behind me.

There was no movement, but the village was far from deserted. Shouts and a burst of automatic blazed from the other side of some buildings to my left, down towards the road.

I headed for the driver’s side and flung open the door.

No keys.

I rummaged around in the glove compartment, the foot well, the door pockets. They were under the seat.

I jumped in and hit the ignition. The warm diesel fired first time.

I heard a shout to my right, and it wasn’t Charlie.

An Akaki lookalike in a poncho glistening with rainwater was sheltering in a doorway no more than three metres away. His eyes were wide with shock. He came to his senses, dropped the handful of medical supplies he’d been holding, and went for his RPK.

The weapon swung up, almost in slow motion.

He looked beyond me and shouted again, but I shouted louder. ‘Charlie!’

I hunched forward, praying that he’d bounce onto the back before I got sawn in half.

There was a blur of bodies and muzzle flash. The light machine gun jerked and sprayed a short burst into the air, then weapon and owner disappeared under Charlie’s flailing body.

I leaped out and took a running kick at the militant’s head.

My boot connected and Akaki’s mate cried out.

Charlie rolled to one side and grabbed the weapon, and I kicked again. Charlie staggered to his feet and leaned over him, jamming the barrel into his chest. ‘Get his mags, Nick! Get his mags!’

I lifted the poncho. The RPK was basically an AK-47 with a longer, heavier barrel and a non-detachable folding bipod mounted under the muzzle. It could be fed from special box or drum magazines, but also the familiar curved AK-type thirty-round mags. This boy had two of them in a chest harness. I pulled them free and we both legged it into the wagon.

I sawed at the wheel to aim the Taliwagon uphill, away from the square. The fuel gauge gave us just over half a tank.

Charlie pulled back on the cocking handle of the RPK to check there was a round in the chamber. Then he unclipped the mag and pressed his finger down on the top round to see how many were left.