9
The curtain of water in front of us was now so solid I had to slow the Pajero to a crawl.
The noise was horrendous. We’d had to open all the windows, to try to deal with the condensation from our soaking clothes. The heater was going full blast, but it didn’t stand a chance.
Bastard was trying without success to shift some of the mud off his clothes and skin. He looked like he’d just crawled out of the black lagoon. He paused mid-scrape and had a crack at getting back into the good lads’ club. ‘Hey, Nick, believe me, I’m sorry about that Anthony guy. I’m sorry about the whole goddam thing. It was a really heavy time.’
‘But it didn’t have to be, did it?’
Bastard fidgeted some more. ‘It wasn’t like that. Just think what would have happened if Koresh and his buddies had gotten away with giving the finger to the ATF. Law and order would’ve lost all credibility. A thing like that couldn’t go unpunished. Anarchy, lawlessness – gotta be nipped in the bud, or you end up like this shithole.’
Rain crashed onto the car like breaking waves. The wipers were on full power, and still I couldn’t see a thing.
Charlie had arranged himself across the back seat, weapon tucked under his arse, legs draped over the carry-on. It was one of those airtight, fireproof, everything-proof aluminium things that come with a lifetime guarantee and a thousand-dollar price tag.
I got to thinking about what Bastard had said when he was plugged into the mains, and it didn’t stack up. When it came to being f*cked over, I was the world’s leading expert, and the smart money didn’t say anything like Bastard wanted us to think it did. There was something a whole lot more serious going on here than a little light spring-cleaning before the US President arrived.
I kept an eye on the pipeline scar to our left; more often than not, now, it was the only way of telling we were still on the road. The river had burst its banks an hour or two ago, and raged along the bottom of the gradient to our right.
Bastard glanced over his shoulder and leaned towards me, as if he had a secret to share with his best mate. ‘Nick, listen. What about you and me making a deal? Let me go with the papers and tapes when we get to Borjomi; I’ll call my guys, see to it you’re off the wanted list, and make everything cool once you two get into Turkey. We’ve had enough of this shit, don’t you think?’
He nodded at Charlie, whose head was wobbling from side to side as I bounced the wagon along the track.
‘Just tell him I got out for a dump and made a run for it. Hey, how’s he to know . . .’
Things weren’t looking good out there. Brown slurry cascaded off the high ground to our left, carrying rocks and broken branches across our path.
Bastard wasn’t giving up. ‘You and me, Nick, we’re both really in deep shit. We’re singing off the same hymn sheet here.’
‘Why don’t we start with Swan Lake, lad?’ Charlie sparked up from the back. ‘We’ll hum it, you go jump in it.’
I glanced in the rear-view. He’d turned onto his side, knees bunched up, and was chuckling quietly to himself. ‘You’ve got two problems with your plan, Fat Boy. One’ – he tapped the top pocket of his jacket – ‘it’s all in here. Two, running isn’t exactly your strong suit. You couldn’t even bend over to run a bath, for f*ck’s sake.’
There wasn’t time to laugh.
Ariver of mud ten metres wide sluiced off the hill and hit the wagon broadside, pushing us to where the road fell away to the river below.
I swung the wheel to steer us into the skid, but nothing happened.
‘Charlie, out the wagon!’
The mudslide gathered weight and momentum, and started to spill in through the open windows.
I grabbed the edge of the roof and hauled myself out of the gap.
Bastard was sliding his fat arse towards the passenger door. He could look after himself.
The Pajero was beginning to tip. I wrestled the rear door open and dragged Charlie clear by the shoulders.
He tumbled out on top of me as the vehicle slewed another couple of metres, then finally succumbed to the sheer weight of mud and cart-wheeled down towards the river.
A dozen or so metres away, Bastard struggled to get himself upright.
Charlie blinked as the rain lashed his mud-caked face.
‘Papers and tape?’
Charlie tapped his pocket and nodded.
We both heard a sound like an approaching train.
I looked up, but before I could shout a warning the knee-high surge of mud and debris had gathered Bastard up and swept him over the edge.