Liberation Day by Andy McNab

still didn’t care. All that mattered was that George was coming to Boston in a few days’ time, and I’d be getting Nick Stone’s shiny new U.S. passport, social security number, and Massachusetts driver’s licence. I was about to become a real person.
    I looked around the train. Most of my fellow travelers had now gotten bored looking at the jerk brushing his teeth and wiping the foam that ran down his chin, and were buried in their papers. The front pages were plastered with the war in Afghanistan, reporting that everything was going well and there were no casualties. Northern Alliance fighters were silhouetted against the sunset as they stood watching U.S. Special Forces soldiers carrying enough gear on their backs to collapse a donkey.
    I looked out and chewed on my brush. To my right, and running parallel with the track, was the coast road, also cutting through the icy marshland. We were overtaking a taxi, his side windows festooned with patriotic imagery; there was even a little Stars and Stripes fluttering from his aerial. I couldn’t see the driver, but knew he just had to be an Indian or a Pakistani. Those guys didn’t want to leave anything to chance in these troubled times.
    The marshland petered out, and whitewashed clapboard houses sprang up on either side of the train, then the blur of supermarkets and used-car lots also draped in the Stars and Stripes. I felt my pulse quicken with anticipation. I didn’t have to work for the Firm (British Intelligence) any more, didn’t have to do anymore jobs for George. I really felt I’d been given a new start, that life was coming together. I was free.

6
    I shoved the toothbrush into my brown nylon duffel bag as the train came to a halt and people stood and got their hats and coats on. The automatic doors drew back to reveal the signs for Wonderland Station, and I stepped out of the train, hooking the bag over my shoulder. I got an immediate and fierce reminder that I wasn’t in North Africa anymore. The temperature was several degrees below zero. I zipped up my fleece jacket, which did nothing to keep out the bitter wind as I joined the throng heading for the barrier.
    She was standing by a ticket desk, dressed in a green down jacket and a Russian-style black sheepskin hat, her breath billowing about her face as we both waved and smiled.
    I got through the barrier and threaded my way through the crowd. Taking her in my arms, I planted a big, exaggerated kiss on her forehead, hoping that the toothpaste routine hadn’t been in vain. I ran my fingers gently down her cheek as I drew back and we exchanged huge smiles.
    Her large green eyes stared into mine for several seconds, then she hugged me hard. “I missed you big-time, Stone.”
    “Me too.” I kissed her again, properly this time.
    She linked her left arm in mine and rubbed her free hand up and down my stubble. “Come on,” she said. “Places to go, things to do. Mom’s at a church meeting until this evening so you don’t have to say hello until later. Gives us a little time.” She rested her head on my shoulder as we walked outside. “But we’re not going home just yet. There’s something I want you to see on the way.”
    We weren’t quite in step: the leg she’d broken in Panama had left her with a slight limp. I grinned like an idiot. “I’m all yours.”
    The dog-track parking lot was used by commuters during the day. The November air had already worked its magic on line upon line of windshields and frozen them white.
    I looked down at her face poking out from the sheepskin. “How’s Luz?”
    “Oh, she’s fine. She says hi. She might be coming back next week—with a new friend.”
    “It’ll be good to see her. Who’s the lucky boy?”
    “David somebody, I think.” She turned to me. “But you’re not to—”
    “I know.” I held up my hand to swear the oath. “No jokes, don’t worry, I won’t embarrass her…” If I did, though, it wouldn’t be the first time.
    We