Zero Hour
ZERO HOUR
Andy McNab
Contents
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781407054940
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
61-63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
A Random House Group Company
www.rbooks.co.uk
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 publisher’s 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
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
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
PART ONE
1
Wednesday, 5 September 2007
22.39 hrs
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 didn’t fit. Tonight’s 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 she’d 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 don’t.’
‘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 I’d 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 didn’t really want to come. It was so soon after my divorce. But all my friends— Well, everybody has their own lives, don’t 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 won’t let them out in case I lead them astray. I’ve 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. ‘You’re right. A very long time. We didn’t have any kids. He left me for a younger woman, of course. He’s 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. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘How did she … pass away … if you don’t mind me asking?’ Her hand slid across and gripped my arm.
‘An accident. In London. She was … run over.’ I didn’t care if she thought I was lying or not. ‘Anyway, I’m knackered - I think I’m going to head back.’
‘Oh, please, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please stay.’
‘It’s not that.’ I smiled at her. ‘You know what? Maybe that’s why I’m here. The women in my life don’t 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 today’s highlights.
‘Thanks, Di. But I think I’ll 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 wasn’t giving up. ‘Nick, if you can’t sleep, call my room. I’ll only be reading. Or I’ll be downstairs with the others. Anything but sleeping. It’s just so … hot …’
She wasn’t 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 stone’s 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. I’d have to take his word for it. All I’d 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.
