Firewall by Andy McNab Read Free Book Online Page B

complain.
    I didn't normally take sugar myself, but today was an exception.
    I walked over to him and put his mug on the floor. He gave me a brisk nod of thanks. I couldn't tell him, but I knew what it felt like to entertain all three of Mr. and Mrs. Death's little boys-wet, cold, and hunger-and wouldn't wish them on anyone. Anyway, it was my job to keep him alive, not add to his misery.
    The scanner was still giving the odd burst as I settled down at the table facing Val. I took a couple of sips and then it was time to get out of my costume. I felt uncomfortable in it, and if I had to start performing, the last thing I wanted to be wearing was a suit and a pair of lace-up shoes. Lugging my duffel bag over to the table, I dug out jeans, Timberland boots, T-shirt, sweatshirt, and a green Helly Hansen fleece.
    The Chechen watched me intently as he drank coffee and I got changed. I got the sense he was enjoying my failure to interpret the scanner traffic.
    I felt much more my old self as I tucked my weapon into the front of my jeans.
    I went back to my coffee. Valentin had finished his and the empty mug was at his feet. I brought him the coffee pot and package of crackers.
    He nodded as I poured new cups for both of us.
    I sat at the table and ate the last of the bananas Jesse and Frank had left behind. The scanner continued to crackle away, and in the silences between bursts from the operating stations, all I could hear was the crunching of crackers.
    I couldn't stop thinking about Sergei. What if he didn't turn up? I hadn't worked that one out yet. I hadn't even wanted him to come on the lift. It would have been better if he'd just stayed with the truck; we'd all have RV'd with him, then been chauffeured across the border, but he insisted on being there in case there was any shady dealing. I would probably have done the same myself. But now what?
    I had another thought. What would happen if one of Sergei's boys was still alive? It probably wouldn't take too long for the police to get him to talk. I stopped munching and put down my mug. Shit, we had to get out of here.
    Getting to my feet, I grabbed Carpenter's and Nightmare's bags and took a red ski jacket and bottoms from mine. I put the 88 and the mags in the front pockets and threw Carpenter's cold-weather gear to Val.
    Carpenter was a big boy, so the fit wasn't going to be a problem.
    Leaving him to figure out how he was going to put it on with his arm still secured, I ran upstairs to get two double comforters. Once back downstairs I pulled my weapon, cut him free, and stepped back. "Get dressed!" I shouted, miming putting on a jacket.
    He got the hint and started removing his overcoat and tuxedo. I watched him, ready to react to any wrong move. Everything he was wearing stank of money. His shoes were so smart I looked at the label.
    English, Patrick Cox. A few pairs of those would have paid for my roof repair.
    I let him keep his wallet, having checked through it and seen old pictures of children dressed in snowsuits. I'd always avoided getting lumbered with stuff like that myself, but understood that these things were important to people.
    Val was soon dressed in a pair of yellow snow pants a green ski jacket, an orange ski hat with big dangling pom-poms, gloves, a scarf, and a pair of cold-weather boots-all of which must have been at least three sizes too big. He looked ready for a stint as a children's entertainer.
    I pointed the pistol up and back toward the pillar. He went over obediently. I showed him that I wanted him to hug it, an arm either side. Then it was just a matter of making up another set of extra long plasticuffs, doing up two ratchets so it was like a lasso, looping it over his wrists and pulling tight.
    I left him to adjust himself as I took my flashlight and went outside into the garage for a couple of shovels, one a big trough-type one, used for clearing pathways of snow, the other a normal building-site job. I dumped them on the table and the