4
Paata sat hunched in front of us, one earphone on, the other high on his head, ignoring everything but the image of Nana’s face on the screens. We just watched and listened.
‘Yep, that’s OK, Paata. How am I for level? Did you get through? Are they coming? One, two, three, four, five . . .’
She took a deep breath and composed herself. ‘Five seconds!’ Paata kept his voice level. ‘Yes, they are airborne. String it out.’
I caught Charlie’s eye, and knew he was also thinking that we might still be able to keep our bollocks the right side of the barn door.
Nana just stared into the camera, nodding as the countdown crackled in her earpiece.
‘Two . . . one . . . On air . . .’
‘Standing right here next to me . . .’ She turned to Akaki and gave him a deep, respectful bow, ‘is a disgrace to mankind, the most despicable gangster ever to walk the blessed earth of Georgia.’
He nodded his acknowledgement then stared back into the camera.
‘And within the last few minutes I have seen documentary evidence of his most appalling act of treachery to date . . .’
Her voice quavered and Akaki’s brow furrowed.
‘An abominable act . . . perpetrated by the murderer who sits before you . . .’
Akaki nodded his appreciation, not understanding a word. I hoped neither of the arse-lickers had taken a year out at Princeton.
Nana smiled and nodded back. ‘Evidence so important that I have to relay it to our beloved nation right now, in case I do not live long enough to hand it over to the appropriate authorities . . .’
Nana swept her arm to embrace the whole valley, as if describing it as Akaki’s domain.
‘An affidavit was to have been sworn today by a member of parliament whose name I cannot mention because this monster beside me will recognize it . . .’
Her hand gripped the mike so tightly I could see her knuckles whiten.
’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 f*ck 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 f*cked 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.’