PART EIGHT
1
The one-bar ran around barking orders into the open door of one of the Portakabins and the marines moved forward. We did exactly as we were told; we each had a muzzle in our face.
We waited for instructions; the trick is to show no sign of fear, or any other emotion that might spark people off. Be neutral; do what you’re told, when you’re told.
‘You! You with the dark hair,’ the marine closest to me shouted. ‘Get out of the vehicle, and get out real slow. The old one, stay where you are.’
I stifled a grin. Charlie wasn’t going to like that one bit.
More marines tumbled out of the Portakabins into the square, clad in body armour and Kevlar helmets but not carrying weapons. I had the feeling we were about to meet the reception committee.
I got out slowly, making sure they saw my hands at all times, and that I made no jerky movements.
The guy covering me came round to my side of the vehicle and stopped a couple of metres away, his barrel pointing into the centre of my chest. He leaned into the weapon, butt firmly in the shoulder, aiming down rather than up so that if he had to shoot, there’d be less chance of the round hitting someone else on the way out.
It was now Charlie’s turn to be hollered at. I heard rather than saw him step down from the wagon. I wasn’t going to turn round until the man with the semi-automatic said he wanted me to.
Two or three rubberneckers stuck their heads out of the windows on the far side of the square. Awhole lot of others came right outside and gathered in a circle around us.
‘What’s happening, man? They steal the 110? Must be Russians.’
‘Nah, drug dealers.’
‘No way. They’re terrorists, man. F*cking militants.’
These guys obviously spent more time watching reruns of Fantasy Island than checking the local news, but I knew it was only a matter of time before they made the connection with Baz.
My escort gripped the spacer bar on my cuffs and yanked my hands in front of me, and a couple of his mates gave me a brisk search. They didn’t seem at all pleased about us nicking their wagon.
A set of hands grabbed each of my arms and half carried, half dragged me along the hard standing and up two wooden steps. We turned down a wide, windowless corridor. Grey lino covered the floor and extended six inches up each wall instead of skirting board. Fluorescent light bounced off glossy white walls.
The marine ahead of us was clearing a path through the onlookers. ‘OK, guys, the show’s over. Back in your offices, please. We got this situation under control. Come on, people, let’s move here.’
We arrived at a pair of windowless double doors, heavily scuffed at the bottom where they’d been repeatedly opened with the help of a boot.
We barged through three or four sets in all before we finally stopped outside a bare room, furnished only with a single aluminium chair and a table.
Charlie was no longer behind me. I didn’t like that at all.
One of the guys pushed me inside.
The lino-and-white-wall combo was clearly all the rage in this neck of the woods.
They turned me round and sat me down. Then, without saying a word, one of them grabbed the spacer bar and yanked my cuffed hands behind my head. The weight of my arms pulled it into the back of my neck, so I tried to hunch up, to take some of the pressure off my wrists.
I was pulled back up by the hair. ‘Sit straight, you f*ck.’
Four guys and a woman stayed in the room with me, all in uniform, with radio earpieces and pistols in black nylon leg holsters. One of them kept hold of my spacer bar, his knuckles digging into the back of my neck.
Their eyes drilled into me.
The woman stood in front of me. ‘Undress.’
If she was here to embarrass me, she was a lifetime too late. I’d had to eat my own shit before now, and I’d do it again if it stopped them climbing aboard me. Anything was better than getting a kicking.
The cuffs were released and blood rushed back into my hands as I started to pull off my kit.
Except for the gentle hum from the air-conditioner vents high on the wall, the room was silent.
She dug into her box of tricks and snapped her hands into a pair of surgical gloves. I noticed a badge with two snakes coiled around some kind of stick on her lapel. Medical corps.
I stood with my clothes in a heap at my feet, awaiting instructions, though I had a good idea where this was leading.
She pointed to the chair. ‘Sit down.’
I did as I was ordered and the four guys formed a semicircle in front of me. One of them had a can of mace at the ready; another held a Taser. It was almost as if they were willing me to start something.
The metal was cold on my bare back and arse but I didn’t have time to think about it. The woman pushed my head back and dug around in my mouth with a spatula.
I could smell smoke on her shirt. I hoped she wasn’t too pissed off about being called away from her cigarette break, because I had the feeling this was about to get very intimate.
I wondered what they were looking for. Drugs? A miniature bomb under my tongue? Or were they just putting me through the wringer?
More important, where was Charlie?
She put the spatula aside, and probed around my gums with a finger.
What next? A free orange suit and daily trips to the interrogation room on a handcart? Who the f*ck did they think I was?
She checked my ears, then dipped back into the box for a party-size tube of KY jelly. I was obviously going to get the full Saddam.
She squeezed some onto the first and middle fingers of her right hand. ‘Stand up, bend over and touch your toes.’
I had only one consolation: it was going to be worse for her than me. I’d been saving up all day for a dump.
I felt her finger slide in, have a good dig around, then withdraw.
‘Stand up.’
I avoided looking her in the eye. I didn’t want to give her even the hint of a smile.
The heel of a boot slammed into my back and sent me flying towards the wall. I knew that was just for starters. They’d warm themselves up with a few more of the same before mob rule took over. They really did have hatred in their eyes.
I took the fall, curled up tight, and waited. Boots advanced on me across the floor. I kept my face covered, but one eye open.
One of the radios crackled and the wearer quickly pushed in his earpiece to keep it private. He conveyed whatever had been said to him to the others in hushed tones. They looked at me, clearly disappointed. That was it, then; they must know I was the TV star. It was now Georgian police time. I tried to kid myself it was a better option.
The medic pulled off her glove and deposited it into a plastic bag and bundled all her toys back into the box. She pointed at the chair. ‘Sit.’
I got to my feet, but not quite quickly enough. One of the guys helped me on my way with his toecap.
The aluminium hadn’t got any warmer. I heard the slurp of KY as I shifted position, then the sound of gaffer tape being ripped off a roll.