Dark Winter by Andy McNab Page A

because they are so seductive. They work by throwing up roadblocks all along the pain pathway from the nerve endings in the skin through the spinal cord to the brain, where they open the floodgates for the chemical dopamine, which triggers sensations of well-being.’
    ‘Chilled?’
    ‘Exactly. The dopamine effectively rewires the brain, so it becomes accustomed to those benign feelings. When an addicted person stops taking the drug, the body craves the dopamine again.
    ‘If Kelly takes Vicodin over a long period of time, she will become mentally and physically dependent on it, and may find the drug no longer works at the prescribed dosage. At that point a dependent user will increase dosage until the effect is felt once more. At the moment Kelly’s mostly just being bad-tempered and withdrawn, with noticeable mood swings. If the dependency is allowed to grow, she can expect blurred vision, hallucinations and severe confusion. Even if she does not decide to experiment with other drugs to achieve the required effect, this can lead to overdose, liver failure, convulsions, coma and, in some cases, death.’
    I gripped the phone hard. ‘These dealers, selling that shit to kids, they hang them in Malaysia. I’m starting to understand why.’
    ‘I’m not sure how much that would help us in Kelly’s current situation. Addiction and bulimia might only be part of a bigger picture, and that’s why I think it would be helpful if you and I were to meet again. I’ve been talking with my American colleagues who deal specifically with Vicodin, since my experience over here is more with prescription and over-the-counter painkillers. They say there’s a number of ways in which her therapy could continue once she has returned home. First of all we need to establish that she is bulimic, and that will affect where I think we should send her. But nothing is going to happen unless she wants it to happen. That is where you come in.’
    ‘Yes, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow. In the meantime, should I say something?’
    ‘No. We can talk further once I’ve confirmed the diagnosis. The greatest gift you can give her now is simply support.’
    ‘Be her mum?’
    ‘Exactly. I will see you both tomorrow.’
    I hit the button on my mobile to see who’d been calling, hating tri-band cells more and more by the second. It was a blocked number, and just as I was pondering the possibilities it rang again. I stuck the phone to my ear, to be told I had one message, and then treated to the unmistakable public-school-headmaster tones of the Yes Man. ‘Tuesday, 08:57. Call me back as soon as you get this message, same number you used last month.’
    Fuck, no!
    I turned off the phone. He could only know I was in-country from George – and by tracking the phone signal he would know exactly where I was to the nearest ten metres. It meant trouble, and I had plenty of that already. I hit the keys.
    He answered on the second ring. ‘What?’ The Yes Man had never been what you’d call a people person.
    ‘It’s Nick.’
    ‘Listen in, there’s a fast ball. Be here at one p.m. It shouldn’t take you long from Bromley.’
    ‘You listen.’ I hated the way he talked as if he still owned me. ‘I don’t work for you any more. I don’t even live here.’
    He sighed, just like my school teachers had used to. ‘The child’s grandparents can take care of the to-ing and fro-ing to Chelsea.’ The bastard wasn’t even listening. ‘You’ve been seconded again. If you want to waste your time, contact your American employers. They will confirm. I don’t care if you do or you don’t, just get here on time. Expect to be away for a number of weeks.’
    The line went dead and for several moments I just stared at the phone in my hand. No way. No way could I be away for weeks.
    I walked down the drive and began to wander along the pavement, gathering my thoughts. Not that that took very long. Within seconds I was tapping in the numbers for George’s