Exit Wound by Andy McNab Page B

cleaned.
    I watched the shadow under the occupied cubicle door. The bloke was still squatting. I eased myself up against the wall. If anybody came in, I’d stop what I was doing and leg it.
    I stood on the tips of my toes, and stretched up my hand as Red Ken had instructed. The ledge was shaped like a tray for the air-con unit. My fingertips brushed the taped-up plastic bag and the hard steel it contained. Red Ken’s three pistols were still where they should be. Now I knew precisely where they were we could head towards the old gold market and the wagon Dex would lift tomorrow night.

22
    A mountain of sacks, crates and plastic-wrapped white goods covered every square metre of pavement. Indian lads loaded up with cargo ran up and down the line of dhows like they were stepping-stones. As we headed deeper into the old part of town we mostly had to stick to the road.
    Once past the main offloading point, we could see the lights of Ye Olde Dubai across the Creek. Swarms of water-taxis waited to ply you over to the purpose-built tourist trap sited right opposite the real deal.
    The two shirts were behind us, on the town side of the road.
    Red Ken was deep in thought. He fished out his cigarettes and Dex and I took a couple of brisk paces to get ahead of his smoke cloud. ‘What are we going to do with them?’
    I shrugged. There wasn’t much we should do right now. ‘They know where we’re staying. If they lose us they’ll go and wait for us there. We might as well keep playing tourist until tomorrow night. Then we ditch them and get on with the job.’
    Dex nodded. ‘And then, Red, I think we should consider missing out on the Friday-morning golf. We should get an earlier flight.’
    Red Ken took a big drag and, a moment or two later, smoke seemed to curl out of every hole in his head. ‘Agreed.’
    ‘I’m going to keep saying it, lads. You sure you still want to go on? We’ve just picked up another problem, something else we have no control of, and—’
    ‘Save your breath, son.’ Red Ken moved forward a little and slapped Dex between the shoulder-blades. ‘Right, boy? Still got your eye on that castle?’
    Dex turned and grasped his hand. ‘Definitely.’
    There was a lot going on there that obviously went beyond words. I felt a little jealous, and pissed off with myself at the same time. These two and Tenny had made the effort to stay tight all these years. ‘What’s all this Monarch of the Glen shit?’
    Dex gave a smile that seemed more wistful than his normal don’t-give-a-fuck version. ‘It’s not shit, Nick. I’ve been thinking a lot about my father lately. The night before I went to Eton, he sat me down and gave me just one piece of advice. It’s something I’ve never forgotten.’ The smile faded. He was lost in another world. His voice deepened. ‘“Son, the only way for people like us to succeed in this country is by keeping our heads below the parapet. Laugh, be the happy chappie. Don’t let anyone see you’re cleverer than they are. If you do, you’ll become a threat.”’
    We walked some more. ‘And you know what, chaps? He was right. I was the class clown all through school. They called me the Wacky Paki and I crept in under the wire and was top of the class before they knew it.’
    We stopped and looked across the hundred metres of Creek. The lights of Ye Olde Dubai danced on the water.
    ‘And then I joined the RAF, just like my dad. He flew Hurricanes, as you know. They called him Curry-in-a-Hurry. He was brilliant at putting on the smiley face, but in his head he was giving everybody the finger. I’ve done the same, but I’m fed up with smiling now. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to become a Scottish laird. I’m going to buy the title. I’ve got a castle in mind.’ He looked at Red Ken. ‘Five acres when the tide’s out . . .’
    He came in on cue: ‘. . . three when it’s in!’
    They laughed.
    ‘I’m going to invent a McWacky-Paki tartan and join Gleneagles and