Andy McNab - Zero Hour

Andy McNab

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Epub ISBN 9781407054940

www.randomhouse.co.uk

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First published in Great Britain in 2010 by Bantam Press an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Copyright (c) Andy McNab 2010

Andy McNab has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBNs 9780593064986 (cased)
9780593064993 (tpb)

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Addresses for Random House Group Ltd companies outside the UK can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 954009

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Also by Andy McNab

Novels featuring Nick Stone

REMOTE CONTROL

CRISIS FOUR

FIREWALL

LAST LIGHT

LIBERATION DAY

DARK WINTER

DEEP BLACK

AGGRESSOR

RECOIL

CROSSFIRE

BRUTE FORCE

EXIT WOUND

Andy McNab with Kym Jordan

WAR TORN

Quick Reads

THE GREY MAN

LAST NIGHT ANOTHER SOLDIER

Non-fiction

BRAVO TWO ZERO
IMMEDIATE ACTION
SEVEN TROOP
SPOKEN FROM THE FRONT

For more information on Andy McNab and his books, see his website at www.andymcnab.co.uk

The Arab guy at the keyboard was so small his feet only just touched the pedals. His shirt collar was far too big for him, and so were his green suit and matching bow-tie. It looked like the management had ordered a dozen the same size and tough shit if you didnt fit. Tonights menu had been dished up along much the same lines, but at least the place had air-conditioning.

Diane perched herself on the stool next to mine. She was dressed up for a night out. Everything was covered, but shed overdone the makeup. She crossed her legs and leant towards me. The pack of B&H glinted in the bar light.

I picked up my orange juice with a shake of the head. No thanks, I dont.

Quite right too. She tapped a long red nail on her disposable lighter, took her first deep drag and reached for her G-and-T.

What do you think of it so far, Nick?

My kind of party. I checked my G-Shock. Less than nineteen minutes to go.

Her half-emptied glass went back on the bar. She studied me as she took another drag. Your first time?

I gave her a grin. Thought Id give it a go.

This is my second. She swivelled to face me, losing herself for a moment in a cloud of cigarette smoke. The first time I didnt really want to come. It was so soon after my divorce. But all my friends Well, everybody has their own lives, dont they? Kids and mortgages. Too much going on, I suppose.

Same here. I was left at a loose end. My mates have better things to do than play around with a single lad. Or maybe their wives wont let them out in case I lead them astray. Ive always wanted to come here, so when I saw the ad I thought, Why not?

She took another drag and raised her drink again. We clinked glasses, toasting our exclusion from the world. She sucked an ice cube into her mouth and crunched it.

How long were you married, Nick?

Not long. Couple of years. You?

Fifteen. She made it sound like we were cellmates comparing stretches.

Long time

She downed the rest of her gin a bit too quickly. I sensed her life story was about to swamp me. I pointed at her glass and mimed a scribble to the barman.

She kept going. Youre right. A very long time. We didnt have any kids. He left me for a younger woman, of course. Hes got a little girl now.

A fresh glass appeared. The first sip went down very smoothly.

What about you, Nick?

Only one.

How old?

She was sixteen.

Her face fell. Im so sorry.

It was a long time ago.

How did she pass away if you dont mind me asking? Her hand slid across and gripped my arm.

An accident. In London. She was run over. I didnt care if she thought I was lying or not. Anyway, Im knackered - I think Im going to head back.

Oh, please, I didnt mean to upset you. Please stay.

Its not that. I smiled at her. You know what? Maybe thats why Im here. The women in my life dont tend to stick around for long. I tend not to get that involved, you know what I mean?

The bill arrived. I made a move for my wallet but she gripped me more tightly.

I think you and me are exactly the same, Nick. The last thing I want is an attachment.

I freed my sleeve and counted out some notes. She was getting ready to leave too. So, Nick, maybe we could go back to the hotel and have a quiet drink there, away from the rest of the gang?

She nodded over at the restaurant area, where a table of eight or nine was still waffling about todays highlights.

Thanks, Di. But I think Ill just get my head down.

I grabbed my nylon day sack and slid off the stool. I turned for the door as she finished off her drink. She wasnt giving up. Nick, if you cant sleep, call my room. Ill only be reading. Or Ill be downstairs with the others. Anything but sleeping. Its just so hot

She wasnt wrong. I pushed open the doors and walked out of the Jisr al-Kabir into the heat of the night. The restaurant was only a stones throw from the landmark suspension bridge that spanned the Euphrates in the north-eastern city of Deir el-Zor, but there was no cooling breeze off the river. Deir el-Zor meant monastery in the forest, Baltasar had told us. Id have to take his word for it. All Id seen was rugged mountains and desert, and farmers tilling the fields on the banks of the river. Not much went on here unless it had to do with the newly invigorated tourist trade. All the action was eighty miles downstream, in neighbouring Iraq.

There were untold numbers of ancient cities around here, our guide had continued. Theyd survived Romans, Jews, Ottomans and even the French, who ran the country until 1946. Just about the only natives wed come across were street vendors trying to flog us camel-hair blankets or sacks of cardamom or coriander. What the fuck was I going to do with any of those?

It was here that wed be staying for the next three nights of our ten-night run-around of Syrias religious and cultural sights and antiquities. Our tour group was a mix of born-again singles looking for the Promised Land, history-buff singles who wanted to follow the routes of Crusaders and sad-fuck singles like me and Di.

The hotel was the other side of the river. I wandered past the teahouses that lined the road down to the bridge. The pavement tables overflowed with old guys, their hookah-pipes bubbling away as they spun the shit. You name it, the topic was taboo in Syria, but the night was the coolest time to get out and get waffling to your mates, so here they were. And the open air was just about the only place they could be confident the secret polices ears werent flapping.