Last Light by Andy McNab Page A

number bought in the Good Mixer, I was able to get a place in the hostel, lining up at mealtimes by the Hari Krishna van, just outside the Mecca bingo hall. It had also got me the Somerhurst passport and supporting documents. I didn't want to have the Yes Man tracking me with docs from the Firm.
    I couldn't help smiling as I remembered one of the Krishna gang, Peter, a young guy who always had a grin on his face. He had a shaved head and skin so pale he looked as if he should have been dead, but I soon discovered he was very much alive. Dressed in his rusty red robes, hand knitted blue cardigan, and a multicoloured woolly hat, he used to run about inside the rusty white Mercedes van, pouring tea, dishing out great curries and bread, doing the Krishna rap.
    "Yo, Nick! Krishnaaa, Krishnaaaa, Krishnaaaa. Yo!
    Hari rammaaaaa." I never felt quite up to joining in, though some of the others did, especially the drunks. As he danced about inside the van the tea would spill and the odd slice of bread would fall off the paper plate, but it was still much appreciated.
    I went on staring out of the window, cocooned in my own little rusty world while the other one passed me by on the street.
    The A40 opened up into motorway and Sundance decided it was time for a bit of a performance.
    "You know what?" He looked over at Trainers, making sure I could hear.
    Trainers swung into the outside lane at the same time as passing his tobacco to Sundance.
    "What's that, then?"
    "I wouldn't mind a trip to Maryland ... We could go to Washington and do the sights first..."
    I knew what they were trying to do to me and I continued to stare at the hard shoulder.
    Trainers was sounding enthusiastic.
    "It'd be good craze, I'm telling yer."
    Sundance finished licking the Rizla before answering.
    "Aye, it would. I hear Laurel..." He turned to face me.
    "That's where she lives now, isn't it?"
    I didn't answer. He knew very well it was. Sundance turned back to face the road.
    "Well, I hear it's very picturesque there -you know, trees and grass and all that shite. Anyway, after we finished up there in Laurel, you could take me to see that half-sister of yours in New York .. ."
    "No fucking way you're getting near her!"
    I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and had to breathe out quickly as I thought about what might happen if I didn't get the job done. But I was fucked if I was going to play their game. Besides, I was just too tired to react.
    Just over an hour later the Merc pulled up outside the air movement centre at Brize, and Trainers got out to organize the next stage of my life.
    Nothing was said in the car as I listened to the roar of R.A.F transport jets taking off and watched soldiers from the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders wander past in DPM camouflage, berg ens on their backs and Walkmans clamped to their ears. It was like going back in time. I felt I'd spent half my military life at this airfield, because as well as loading up for flights on a regular basis, just like the Highlanders, I had learnt to parachute here. I'd loved it:
    after being stationed in a garrison town with only three pubs one of which was out of bounds to low-life like me and a chip shop, this place had been Butlins. They even had a bowling alley.
    I watched as a captain herded the trogs through the doors, ticking them off on a clipboard as they passed into the large 1960s glass building.
    Trainers came back with a nervous-looking Crab Air (R.A.F) movements corporal. He probably didn't have a clue what was going on, just that he had to escort some pissed-off looking civilian on to one of his nice aircraft. He was told to wait short of the car as Trainers came and opened the rear kerb side door. I could only see him from the chest down as his hand beckoned me out.
    As I shuffled my arse across the seat, Sundance called out, "Oil"
    I waited, looking at the foot well
    "Don't fuck up, boy."
    I nodded: after our little talk on the way here, and the Yes Man's lecture