Crisis Four (34 page)
Authors: Andy McNab
The heli was somewhere behind us, doing its stuff between the river and the houses; I couldn’t tell exactly where it was, but it had to be near or I wouldn’t be able to hear the rotor blades groaning as it tried to keep a low hover.
I went over to her, grabbed hold of the belt and pulled her to her feet. She looked into my eyes. ‘Nick, why not take this thing off? Please. I’m not going anywhere, am I?’
I ignored her. Gripping the belt with my left hand, I moved down to the water’s edge, keeping my eyes lifted to the sky. I tried to convince myself that the only thing that mattered right now was the helicopter.
A spit of rocks extending about five metres out looked as if it would give us some sort of platform to begin our crossing; water sluiced over the top and there was no way of telling how deep it was on either side. I hoped Sarah could swim, but if she couldn’t, tough, she should have said. I looked at her eyes and suddenly saw fear there, then I looked at the river again. It was a fair one. There was no way I couldn’t remove the belt. I needed to keep her alive. Her death had to be at a time and place of my choosing.
As I undid the knot she said very quietly, ‘Thank you.’
I caught her eye, trying to read the message there, then nodded and moved on, throwing the belt into the bag. She stepped gingerly over the small stones at the water’s edge. ‘Come on!’ I snapped.
She kept her head down, watching her footing. ‘I’m trying, it’s hurting my feet.’ As we started to wade in she gasped, ‘Oh fuck, it’s so cold!’
She was right; the water temperature had to be near zero. I told myself just to get in there, get it done, and worry about warming up again on the other side.
I fought the current until I was up to my waist, with Sarah behind me grasping the strap of her bag which was still over my shoulder. Then, with my next step, I was into fast-flowing water, the current tearing at my leg, threatening to throw me off balance. I grabbed her hand, whether to support myself or to help her, I didn’t know, but no sooner had I lifted my other leg than the weight of water whipped it away from under me and I was being swept downstream. I still clung to Sarah, both of us kicking and thrashing to keep afloat and make some progress towards the opposite bank, but the current was starting to drag me under. If you’re trapped against a rock by water that’s just half a metre high and moving at 12 mph, you’d need to be able to bench press 550 pounds to lift yourself away. We were no contest for the tons of water surging downstream.
My head was forced under and I swallowed a mouthful of freezing river. I kicked back to the surface, forcing myself to breathe in through my nose, only to choke as I inhaled yet more water. I let go of her. We each had to fight our own battle now. She looked at me, her eyes the size of saucers as she realized what I’d done. That wasn’t my problem; it would only become one if I couldn’t find her body before they did. She still had to disappear without trace.
I saw her through wet, blurred vision, trying to keep her head up, kicking and swimming and wading like a seal. Then she was sucked under by the current and I couldn’t tell how far across I was. The water kept taking me under, and I was more concerned about sucking in air than getting to the other side. I couldn’t see Sarah at all now, but there was nothing I could do about that. I was in enough shit of my own.
As I came up again and snatched a lungful of air, I heard a scream. ‘Oh God! Oh God!’ I looked around for her, but saw nothing above the torrent.
I was dragged back down and inhaled more river water. Scrabbling my way to the surface, I saw that this time I was almost at the far side. The current wasn’t dying down, though, because the river curved around to the right and I was on the outside of the bend, where the force of the water was at its fiercest. An eddy caught me and the momentum threw me against the bank. I threw out my hands, trying to grasp an exposed tree root or an overhanging branch, anything I could.
I shouted for Sarah, but all I got in reply was another mouthful of river. I coughed, trying to force my eyes open again, but they stung too much. Thrashing around blindly, my left hand connected with something solid. I made a grab, but whatever it was gave way. The next thing I knew, my right arm had hooked into a large tree root. The current swung me round and pressed me against the bank, and my feet connected with solid ground. I clung to the roots and took deep breaths to slow myself down. Downstream, nothing was moving in the water but branches and lumps of wood.
I struggled against the weight of water until I could reach with my free hand and grab another root higher up the bank. I finally hauled myself up until only my feet were left in the water, being forced sideways by the current. One more grab and pull and I was lying on the bank, fighting for breath. I’d never felt such relief. I lay there for more than a minute, coughing up water and slowly feeling some strength return to my limbs.
As my head cleared, I realized my problems weren’t over. I’d now have to find Sarah, and she could be anywhere downstream. Clearing the banks would expose me to view from the ground, and the river was a natural route for any follow-up to be taking. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the heli, if it came back, would ping me at once.
There was nothing I could do about any of that; I just had to get on with it and retrieve what I could from this gang-fuck. Turning my head, I could make out the river behind me, blurred by the water in my eyes. There was still no sign of Sarah.
My soaking clothes weighed me down as I started to stumble along the bank, leaning over the edge from time to time to double check that she wasn’t concealed behind rocks or in some kink in the ground below me. If I couldn’t find her and she was discovered downstream, or even on the coast, I’d just have to accept that it was a big-time fuck-up. However, not yet.
As I moved, I kept my eyes skinned for somewhere to hide her body if she was dead. Hiding her wouldn’t be the ideal solution, but there was fuck-all else I could do. It would slow me down, carrying her out of the area, and I could always come back in a month or two and finish the job. It needed to be a spot that I could ID at a later date, and perhaps after a change of season, and one that wasn’t near a hikers’ route or a water course.
As the current reached the bend and changed direction, its noise became almost deafening. I followed round, the dead ground gradually coming into view. I couldn’t believe it. Just 300 metres further downstream, resting on timber supports driven into the riverbed, was a small footbridge. The story of my life. If I’d been looking for one, it wouldn’t have existed.
I stopped, looked and listened. The bridge would be on their maps, and anyone sent to follow us would use it to cross.
As I got to within maybe 150 metres of the structure, I could see that it was made of three thick wooden supports rising up from the river on each side. The walkway, made of what were probably old railway sleepers, was maybe two metres above that.
In any search pattern the police would use this bridge as a key point, somewhere that it would be natural to go to. Maybe they had already identified it and had a team hidden, waiting for us to cross.
Should I move into the canopy a bit and then come back to the river further down once I’d boxed round it? No good: I needed to search the whole bank. The way things were going she was probably just a metre from the bridge, dead. I watched for a while longer. The wind bent the treetops and the water crashed along at warp speed.
At first I thought it was the white water pushing itself against the middle support, with the occasional plume of foam being thrown into the air. It wasn’t. It was Sarah, clinging to the post and reaching up, trying to make the two metres to safety. Time and again her hand moved up the support, only to be ripped away again as the current got hold of her. For a split second I hoped she’d be washed away; then I could concentrate on saving my own arse and getting away, taking any flak when I got back to the UK. Then reality kicked in. There was still a chance I could pull her out and do my job properly.
I moved back into the canopy and made my approach towards the bridge, lying down about twenty metres short for one last look. She wasn’t making a sound. Either she was switched on enough to know not to scream, or she was just too scared. I didn’t care which, as long as she stayed quiet.
There didn’t seem to be any other activity, but then again, if the police were switched on I’d be very lucky to ping them. It was decision time: I could either get her out and complete the task, or let her get carried away and drown. Then it hit me that there was a third option. She could be swept away and survive.
I looked around for a branch that was long enough to do the job. It didn’t have to be strong, just long. Jumping up, I grasped one with both hands and pulled down with all my weight. Water sluiced onto me from the leaves. The branch snapped. I twisted and pulled, and it finally parted from the tree. I didn’t bother stripping it of its smaller branches, just headed down towards the bank.
I stopped to pull off first my boots, then my jeans. For a moment I fantasized that maybe I could be doing the world a great service here. Maybe London knew that she was going to be the next Hitler. Then my jacket came off and the wind bit into me. What the fuck was I doing, freezing cold in the back of beyond, with the police after me, taking my kit off to save a woman’s life just so I could kill her somewhere else? I gave myself another reality check. ‘Shut the fuck up, Stone. It’s pointless honking, you know it has to be done.’
I secured my weapon and the contents of my jeans in the bag and put it back over my shoulder. With my boots back on, but my jeans and jacket in my hands, I left the canopy and ran out towards the bridge. I must have looked like someone doing a runner after being caught in bed with another man’s wife.
As I hit the railway sleepers that made up the walkway, I could see her still playing the limpet, the current pushing her head against the support as she fought to keep it out of the river.
She saw me. ‘Nick, Nick. I’m here… here!’
As if I didn’t know. I leaned over the handrail. ‘Shut up!’ I had to holler above the noise of the water as I started to pass down the end of one jeans leg, knotted to help her grip. The other was tied to one of the sleeves of my jacket. I could never remember the name of the knot. If I’d wanted to know it I would have joined the Navy. The other sleeve also had a knot at the end, to help me.
‘Take the jeans end only,’ I shouted. ‘Now listen to me, OK?’
She looked up, shaking the water from her face. Her eyes kept flicking towards the knotted jeans leg that was her lifeline. They were wide with fear.
I kept hold of the knotted sleeve as I dangled the material so that it would be easy for her to get hold of, yet still keep in contact with the support. Her teeth made contact with the material first and she bit down, turning her head to bring it closer to her hands. Once there I could see by the determination in her expression that she wasn’t going to let go.
‘Sarah, look at me.’ I wanted her to understand exactly what was expected of her. When people flap they nod and agree to everything without really understanding what’s being said. ‘I’m going to drop the rest of this lot into the water, and retrieve it on the other side of the bridge. When I shout, I want you to let go of the support and just hold on to the jeans. Got it?’
‘Yes, yes. Hurry.’
‘Here goes.’ I checked again to see if anyone was watching, then I threw the rest of the makeshift rope under the bridge.
I switched to the other side, lying on my stomach on the sleepers and leaning down. My jacket was snaking from side to side in the current. Looking back upstream under the bridge, I could see her coughing and spitting out water, only to take another mouthful.
Moving the branch down into the water, I made contact on the third attempt and pulled up the free end of the rope. Wrapping the knotted end round my wrist, I braced myself against the wood supporting the handrail, ready to take the strain. I could no longer see her.
‘Now, Sarah. Now!’
She must have let go and the current swept her under the span. There was an almighty jolt, then what felt like the world’s biggest dog pulling on its lead. I held on to the jacket sleeve like a man possessed.
‘Kick, Sarah. Kick.’
She didn’t need telling twice. The combination of her efforts and the pendulum effect of the current swept her in towards the bank like a hooked fish.
I got to my feet and managed to reel in two more twists of the jacket, taking a few steps towards the end of the bridge. By the time I reached the bank I had hands full of jeans. I dropped to the ground above her and we linked arms. She didn’t need to be told what to do next. I heaved and rolled and she used my body as a climbing frame. A moment later and she was lying beside me on solid ground.
I thanked whichever guardian angel was looking over me that day.
She was coughing and fighting for breath. She wasn’t going to be in any condition to help herself for a little while, and we had to get away from here. I hauled myself to my feet, bent down and scooped her up in a fireman’s lift over my shoulder. I picked up the knotted jeans and jacket as I moved off, staggering more than running into the trees. I needed us to be out of sight of the helicopter, and to find some shelter.
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