PART ELEVEN
1
Nana had balls, that was for sure.
She was straight over to confront Akaki and the first of his men who piled through the doors. She seemed to applaud his courageous victory over the cowardly capitalist lapdog, Koba, then she treated them to a blur of hands and Paperclip as she pointed to the satellite dish, the van, the arc lights, the camera.
But I didn’t get to see her whole performance. Another wagonload had swarmed round our side of the Merc and were using their boots and rifle butts to corral us in the corner of the barn, near Baz’s memorial bench. I’d already seen enough, though, to know that whatever she was on about, Akaki’s men were very poor listeners.
I tried to look on the bright side. At least we got to sit down. I also tried to look relaxed and avoid eye-to-eye with the guys herding us. One of them had tucked Koba’s mud-splattered Desert Eagle into his belt.
Bastard’s eyes were everywhere, scanning the crowd.
Some of Akaki’s boys were beginning to pull off their masks, exposing rough bearded faces and blackened teeth. There were a couple of teenagers still struggling to get past the bum-fluff stage, but most of them were in their late twenties or older. Whatever, they all affected the same swagger; they knew they were the big swinging dicks around here. They looked like battle-hardened Afghani mujahideen, right down to their choice of wheels. For a long time now, nobody I knew had called a Toyota pick-up anything but a Taliwagon.
Some had made a beeline for the Merc, and were poking about inside. Others, worryingly, just stared at us with glazed, f*cked-up eyes, like the junkies in the graveyard.
Nana was still trying to engage the group near the doors, but they were losing interest fast. Most of them were just giving her lecherous looks and sharing the sort of boys’ talk that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Paata’s eyes never left her. I hoped he wasn’t contemplating playing superhero. One of us dead in the mud was enough.
Charlie still seemed to be looking out for the non-existent back door, and the treeline on the high ground beyond it.
Akaki’s men took a deferential step or two back as he swept Nana to one side and strode into the barn. He stopped and surveyed the scene with wild, crazy eyes. Droplets of rain spilled from his curly black hair. He grabbed a handful of beard and squeezed out a pint or so more.
Nana was steeling herself to confront him when two blood-drenched corpses were dragged into the centre of the barn like dead dogs. They’d both taken several rounds to the torso, but the carefully positioned shots through their hands and feet told the most significant story.
Eduard and his wife had already had their interview.
Nana stormed across the barn, but Bastard was quicker. He jumped to his feet and brushed aside a couple of militants who weren’t quick enough to step out of his way. ‘Akaki, you miserable f*ck!’
Akaki pulled his rain-soaked poncho over his head, to reveal a pair of Levi 501s, a US BDU jacket and the kind of woollen jumper that could only have come from the shop where Charlie and I had bought ours. He’d shoved some sort of semi-automatic into his shoulder holster and four extra AK mags in his chest harness.
He didn’t even blink as Bastard approached; just raised a hand to calm anyone shaping up to blow holes in him. The expression on his face was that of a man who’d spotted a relative he’d never much liked, but had to put up with. They knew each other all right.
‘You!’ Bastard’s finger jabbed in Nana’s direction. ‘F*cking Barbara Walters! Give him those papers; tell him I want out of here.’
The Merc’s suspension groaned as he disappeared through the side door.
Akaki ripped Baz’s papers from Nana’s outstretched hand. She kept talking, f*ck knows what about, but he was no more in the mood to listen than she had been ten minutes ago. He lashed out with his fist; she took the punch square on the cheek and crumpled to the floor.
Paata sprang to his feet but took the butt of an AK in the chest for his trouble. Nana screamed at him to stay put. Akaki bellowed at her and raised his hand to deliver another slap.
Bastard was firing on all cylinders. ‘Happy now, you demented f*ck? Got what you want?’ He jabbed at Akaki with a sausage finger to emphasize every word. ‘I nearly got killed because of you. Now get me out of here!’ He kicked Nana in the ribs. ‘Translate! F*cking tell him! Tell him the police are coming.’
Nana did as she was told; at least I thought she did. The word ‘police’ is pretty much universal.
Akaki just laughed, and one by one his men joined in. Yep, they were really shitting themselves that a couple of blue-and-whites were on the way.
Bastard wasn’t fazed. I saw the outline of the Marriott cassette in his wet jacket pocket.
He turned his attention towards me and Charlie, as if the joke was on us. ‘You two f*cks really think I was coming all the way with you?’
He came and stood inches from my face. ‘You know what? I should have gone to the cemetery and done the job myself, instead of hiring a moron with a machete to make a king-size f*ck-up.’
He spotted Koba’s weapon and hooked it out of its proud new owner’s belt.
F*ck him; I wasn’t going to flinch this time when he squeezed the trigger.
I looked him straight in the eye as he closed one hand on the grip and brought the other one up for good measure.
Nana screamed Paata’s name but she needn’t have bothered. Akaki roared an order and Bastard got an AK butt on the side of the head before he even saw it coming.
Charlie kicked the Desert Eagle away as it fell to the ground at our feet.
The militant leader stormed across and started yelling at Bastard, punctuating every sentence with a good kick to the American’s prostrate bulk. The fat man only managed to crawl away as his attacker began to tire.
Nana translated. ‘He says you can take Eduard and Nato’s car. If you don’t go now, he will kill you. He says that he imagines he’s not the only person here who would like to see that.’ She paused. ‘And on that score, at least, he is telling the truth.’
Bastard reached Eduard’s corpse on his hands and knees, and delved into the bloodstained pockets like a starving man fighting for food. A set of keys glinted in Paata’s arc lights, and he staggered to his feet. His gut heaved. He stared at me, his nostrils flaring and whistling as his overweight body sucked in oxygen. He had things he still wanted to say, but he’d left them too late.
Akaki grabbed him by the roll of fat above his collar and frogmarched him all the way to the door.
Bastard disappeared from view, but he was still determined to have the final word. When Akaki’s boys had finished applauding their beloved leader’s most recent show of strength, his voice echoed along the rain-soaked track.
‘I want those f*cks dead! Kill them!’