'Yes.'

You never make a threat that you can't carry out, and b.a.s.t.a.r.d knew it. He could see my hand over the front of my jacket.

His nostrils flared. He breathed very slowly and deeply. 'I burned them.' He enjoyed telling me that.

Over b.a.s.t.a.r.d's shoulder, I could see a 110 pull up in front of the terminal, its rear doors already opening. Charlie would be out any minute. He didn't know we had the Pajero now; that there was now no need for desperate measures. All he had to do was bluff his way into the back and retrieve the gear.

Maybe b.a.s.t.a.r.d had the pa.s.sports on him, maybe not. We'd soon find out. I nodded over his shoulder. 'You're going to turn round and head for the one-ten.'

'The what?'

'The Land Rover. Move.'

I came up on his left, eyes peeled for Charlie. Cars and buses moved between us and the 110, temporarily blocking the view.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d gobbed off far too confidently for someone this deep in the s.h.i.t. 'We going back to town? You thinking of turning yourself in, or do you just like stealing military vehicles?'

The wheels of his carry-on rumbled along behind us as we made our way to the road. Two guys stepped out of the 110, luggage in hand. Charlie would come out as soon as he saw them check in.

'Get your a.r.s.e moving. Go and tell the driver you were in the duty wagon a few days ago. Pull up the back seats, tell him you've lost something. I don't give a s.h.i.t what you say, just pick up what's under there.'

He stopped in his tracks. 'You f.u.c.k!'

I pushed him forward and carried on walking, eyes peeled for Charlie steaming through the terminal doors. 'If you say anything to the driver or start f.u.c.king about, I'll drop you. Understand? I've got nothing to lose.'

'f.u.c.k you.'

'I'll take that as a yes.'

Charlie emerged from the terminal. His gaze was fixed intently on the 110 a few metres ahead of him.

We started to cross the road and I could now see the front plate. HF 51 KN. Different driver but the same vehicle, apart from a brand new set of tyres.

Charlie was closing in on the driver's door when he finally pinged us. I shook my head and he carried on hobbling.

Two police walked out of the terminal, one of them tapping a couple of cigarettes from a pack.

I could see b.a.s.t.a.r.d weighing up his options as they came towards us, sharing a lighter. His eyes bounced between them and me.

I couldn't turn away or try and hide my face. It would only attract their attention.

f.u.c.k it; if they pinged me, there was nothing I could do about it.

I was on autopilot. It was the only way.

They pa.s.sed us. Then we pa.s.sed Charlie, who was waiting for a bus to pull out so he could cross over to the sheds.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d looked at me. 'What I'm reaching for now is my wallet, OK?'

I held back a metre or so as he approached the driver's window. He started talking even before the guy had finished winding it down.

The two policemen had stopped by the terminal entrance and were leaning against the wall, enjoying their smoke break.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d thrust his ID in the driver's face. I could tell he was talking from the way the roll of fat wobbled against his collar.

I concentrated on the driver's face. Young, Latino. Most importantly, betraying no sign that b.a.s.t.a.r.d was telling him the truth.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d moved around to the rear doors of the 110. The Latino turned and leaned across to help him lift the seats.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d emerged with the magazine in his hand and tapped a goodbye on the window. We turned and headed back the way we had come. The policemen hadn't moved, but they had stopped chatting and seemed to be watching b.a.s.t.a.r.d closely.

I held out my hand for the magazine.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d hesitated. 'Do I get my flight now? Hey, I was going to let you go if you came up with the goods.'

'Keep walking. We've got plans for you.'

I heard laughter and out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the policemen pinch a fold of skin on his neck and give it a good wobble.

A second or two later, it started to rain.

6

n.o.body talked as I drove the Pajero away from the airport perimeter. You could cut the atmosphere with a gollock. I drove; b.a.s.t.a.r.d was next to me in the pa.s.senger seat. He knew I had a pistol tucked between my legs out of his reach but within mine, and that Charlie had another behind him, but there was no knowing what he might do if he saw an opportunity to escape. If I was him, I'd be gone the first chance I got.

I pushed the heater to full blast, to get rid of the condensation. It had only been a short walk back to the 4x4, but we'd all got drenched.

I'd given b.a.s.t.a.r.d a physical search when we got in, but he didn't have the pa.s.sports on him. Charlie was emptying his carry-on across the back seat.

I flicked the wipers from steady to rapid and threw Charlie a map from the side pocket. 'Which way?'

He opened it out. 'This is a f.u.c.king sight better than the one in the one-ten. Looks like just over two hundred Ks to the Turkish border.'

'Four or five hours, maybe, as long as we don't have to go off-road?'

He shook his head. 'As the crow flies. But I reckon the best route's south until we hit the pipeline, then follow it south-west.'

It was good thinking. What could be more normal than three Westerners mooching along that route especially with official government accreditation in Mr Bastendorf's wallet? It looked like someone had gone mad with a rubber stamp, then added, in Paperclip and English, that he was a welcome guest in their country, and should be given every a.s.sistance in carrying out his important work for the government. The added bonus was the $450 he had tucked away to go supersize when he hit Vienna airport.

I felt safer now I was in a vehicle, but I knew it was an illusion. If we hit a checkpoint we'd still have to bluff it big-time and bank on b.a.s.t.a.r.d getting us through. Our two pistols should help persuade him to do that. Besides, he might be the world's biggest a.r.s.ehole, but he wasn't a fool. He was a survivor.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d coughed up a mouthful of phlegm, and started unwinding his window. He gobbed it out through the two-inch gap.

'I don't remember saying you could do that.' My hand reached for the pistol. 'Don't make another move unless I say so, you understand?'

b.a.s.t.a.r.d scoffed. 'You think that's scaring me? My mama done better.'

I concentrated on the road, barely visible through a near-solid curtain of rain.

My guess was, b.a.s.t.a.r.d wasn't in the FBI any more or at least, he certainly didn't carry any ID to say he was.

Charlie finished checking the carry-on. 'No mobile here either.'

b.a.s.t.a.r.d stared straight ahead. 'I said I didn't have one. Why the f.u.c.k would I need one now? The local things don't work stateside, do they?'

'Heading home, were you? What happened to the dream of the dusky senoritas?'

'Go f.u.c.k.'

Even dog-legging it, we'd probably still get to the border well before last light, which would give us time to find a decent crossing point. I wasn't going to tell him yet, but b.a.s.t.a.r.d was coming with us. Georgia was in the good lads' club with the USA these days, and probably had all sorts of pooling arrangements between police forces. Following Bush's 'If you're not with us, you're against us' doctrine, any enemy of Georgia's would be an enemy of America's, and right now I seemed to be top of Tbilisi's Most Wanted.

We skirted the city to the west and soon swapped the shiny new dual carriageway for a more familiar, knackered metalled road. Old guys sat behind tables at the verge, sheltering from the rain under trees and bits of plastic, trying to sell jugs and bottles of ancient engine oil.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d scoffed. 'f.u.c.king stuff's been through every truck in sight about sixteen times.'

Charlie and I didn't respond. b.a.s.t.a.r.d was trying to draw us in. He'd tried aggression, and now he was trying to lighten the mood and get all chummy.

The road ahead was flanked by giant cubes of grey concrete. Rusting steel skeletons jutted through their flaking skin. There had been no pink or orange facelift around here. Washing hung from the windows, getting a second rinse.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d tried again. 'I guess this particular boulevard didn't make it onto the presidential route.'

We continued to ignore him. If he thought we were going to be sharing toothbrushes by the end of this trip, he was receiving on the wrong frequency.

I zigzagged round puddles for a kilometre or two, then we hit a sign for Borjomi, 151 km.

That cheered me up; the pipeline ran through Borjomi.

Dark cloud blanketed the high ground and I flicked on the lights. We weren't the only vehicle on the road, and we were all competing in the giant pothole slalom. It could only be a matter of time before there was a pile-up in the gloom.

Puddles the size of bomb craters had claimed a couple of dilapidated Ladas. They still had exposed spark plugs, Charlie Clever b.o.l.l.o.c.ks had explained to me, and flaked out nineteen to the dozen once they encountered a bit of moisture.

I glanced back at Charlie again. He seemed all right, no shakes, just sitting there, staring out of the window. Four or five hours from now, I could get him and his disco hands on a plane home.

7

The air con was still doing its stuff to keep the windscreen clear on the inside. We were well out of the suburbs, up in the high ground and shrouded in mist, when the tarmac stopped abruptly and we hit a wide gravel track.

Charlie sparked up from the back. 'How are Hari and Kunzru?'

b.a.s.t.a.r.d shrugged. 'How the f.u.c.k should I know? I got the call; at least one of them was still breathing. I was heading back there when I saw you guys on the road. Anyway, f.u.c.k 'em. Welfare ain't my responsibility.'

The mist cleared as we wound down the side of the mountain. A wide, fast-flowing river sparkled in the sunlight below us. Apart from the vivid brown scar that cut across the lush green of the valley floor, we were back in Sound of Music Sound of Music country. country.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d jerked his thumb towards the point at which the line of freshly turned earth cut back towards us and started to run level with the road. 'There's your pipeline.'

'Where's the metalwork?' I'd been expecting to see something above ground, as I had in the Middle East.

'They've buried it. Makes it a whole lot tougher to blow up.'

Charlie leaned between us. 'Our old mates the militants?'

'Militants, Kurdish separatists, Muslim extremists, Russian a.s.sholes, you name it. They all either want a piece of the action, or to use the thing as a bargaining counter.

'The Kurds wanna split from the Turks: you give us our country, we don't f.u.c.k with your pipeline.

'The Russians, well, they just want to f.u.c.k the pipeline up, period. Perestroika, my a.s.s; the cold war never ended for those guys.

'And closer to home, there's the Georgian politicos, doing side deals with whoever comes within reach and charging the oil companies a f.u.c.king fortune to give the pipeline house room in the first place.'

Charlie nodded. 'And we have a few bits of paper tucked away explaining where our late lamented friend Mr Bazgadze fitted into all this.'

b.a.s.t.a.r.d glowered at him. 'Don't count on it, a.s.shole.'

The rain started again. I flicked the wipers back into overdrive, but still had to press my face against the windscreen to see where we were going.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d squinted through the curtain of water ahead of us. 'But who gives a s.h.i.t? My job was just making sure things ran real smooth.'

'f.u.c.ked up there then, didn't you?' Charlie tapped the package in his jacket pocket. He'd wrapped the camcorder tape and the doc.u.ments from Baz's safe in a plastic bag he'd found in b.a.s.t.a.r.d's carry-on. 'And I'm no expert here, but the local media seem to be painting a rather different picture than the one you gave us...'

b.a.s.t.a.r.d couldn't help himself. 'Hey, I only told you what I'd been told myself.' He gave a deep, frustrated sigh. 'I'm not the decision-maker here. I'm like you guys; I'm a worker bee a worker bee who just wants to get the f.u.c.k out of here.'

I'd promised myself to stay out of this, but my blood was starting to boil. 'Worker bee, my a.r.s.e. You're a f.u.c.king maggot. You feed off situations like this, and leave the real worker bees to pay the price.' I changed down to take a bend. 'Remember Anthony, the Brit you slapped around at Waco?'

He went quiet for a moment. The rain was now hammering so hard on the Pajero's roof it sounded like we were trapped inside a snare drum, but I could almost hear his mind whirring. 'Anthony? Anthony who? I don't remember slapping any Brit at Waco.'

'Yes, you do.' My eyes were fixed on the mud-covered gravel ahead. The Pajero was starting to slip and slide, and I had to fight the wheel to correct it. 'He designed the gas you used, but shouldn't have, remember? He committed suicide about a year afterwards. He couldn't live with the guilt.'

'Oh, that that Anthony...' b.a.s.t.a.r.d ran an index finger over his moustache. 'Sure I remember him... f.u.c.king Limey f.a.g. He shouldn't have been there. Never send a boy to do a man's job...' Anthony...' b.a.s.t.a.r.d ran an index finger over his moustache. 'Sure I remember him... f.u.c.king Limey f.a.g. He shouldn't have been there. Never send a boy to do a man's job...'

I swung the Pajero up a track that suddenly opened up to the left. We bucked over the pipeline towards a stretch of trees.

I shouted back at Charlie. 'Let's see if this a.r.s.ehole's b.o.l.l.o.c.ks are as big as his mouth.'

I braked hard at the treeline, killed the ignition and shoved b.a.s.t.a.r.d towards the pa.s.senger door. 'Get the f.u.c.k out! Now!'

I swivelled in my seat, leaned back against my door and kicked at him with both feet as he scrabbled for the handle. 'I was there, I was with Anthony. I saw the whole f.u.c.king thing...' I kicked him again as his door swung open and he slithered out into the mud.