Free Exit Wound by Andy McNab

can walk away any time we want to, lads.’
    Red Ken climbed into his buggy. ‘I’m not walking away from anything, son. I can’t. There’s too much at stake for me.’
    Dex followed. ‘Come on, Nick. Let’s finish playing golfers, and then we can get to work. You have a lot of recces to do.’

18
    Mall of the Emirates
1450 hrs
    The mall felt like Monaco with a roof on, only bigger. All the usual international suspects were there, from a Carrefour hypermarket that took up half the ground floor to Asprey, Rolex and hundreds of others in between. To make Brit tourists feel at home, it even had an indoor funfair a few escalators up, complete with bumper cars and fluffy toys.
    Most bizarre of all was the world’s biggest indoor ski slope. A huge steel cocoon towered over the car park and taxi drop-off point on the roof. Inside, I imagined, Arabs were skiing in dishdash es under Versace Puffa jackets, but I hadn’t got to see it yet. After the golf game we’d gone to the hotel for a quick shower, then straight out again. Ken and I were now busy keeping up with Dex as he bounced from one perfume shop to another.
    We’d had a white Toyota behind us all the way from the hotel to the mall, a good twenty-minute drive. Not unusual on its own, as the mall was one of the city’s major venues. But it was three up, all Arab males in Western dress, and they’d stuck to us like glue. We’d soon see if we’d been pinged, and maybe by whom. It could be UAE internal security – or Spag’s people keeping tabs on us. Right now, it didn’t matter who. What did was confirming that we were targets and then deciding what to do about it.
    ‘Doesn’t anyone here sell Amouage Homage?’
    ‘They must do – it’s the most expensive perfume on the planet. Nick and me’ll go and ask at McDonald’s.’
    I followed Red Ken as Dex disappeared into yet another shop. He shook his head. ‘A whole field of rose petals to produce a teardrop of the stuff. They make it in Oman. I bought Chrissie some and she went crazy about it. I think that’s where Dickhead got the idea. He’s trying to get Cinza back.’ Red Ken smiled at me. ‘Can you see the one with the checked shirt? He still about?’
    We headed for the food court.
    ‘Nope. He could have gone with Dex.’
    There had been a young guy, maybe mid-twenties, who hadn’t got past Surveillance 101. He was always getting in our eye-line. Either he was bad, or we just happened to share exactly the same shopping preferences.
    ‘We’ll soon find out, Nick. Not that it’s going to make a difference to me. Fuck ’em, whoever they are.’ Red Ken led me past the falafel and vegetarian joints. ‘He really is soft in the head, that lad. You can’t just bribe women back – and don’t I know it.’
    We reached the counter and ordered Big Macs. We didn’t check for anyone or anything yet. There was no need – we’d soon see if someone had a trigger on us once we sat down. Besides, we didn’t even know for sure we were being followed. And if we were, we didn’t want to look aware.
    ‘Dex want anything?’
    ‘He won’t touch any of this shite. I’ll get him an orange juice.’
    We carried our trays to the seating area and sat each side of the table to maximize our view of the hall. Three women on the next table were burqa ’d up in black gear. Each time one of them brought food to her mouth she had to lift the beak and try to post it through without leaving a blob of mayonnaise on the flap of the letterbox.
    Beyond them, a table-load of local kids were busier texting than eating. On our other side, two overweight American lads with goatee beards, ball caps and overalls emblazoned with an energy company logo and the Stars and Stripes were making up for them, in supersize.
    Women of all races paraded around us in short, strapless dresses. A couple of hours down the road in Saudi it would have been a capital offence. There were a lot of girls down that way with mayo stains round their