by Chris Ryan
‘And the others?’
‘Two others are cabinet ministers. The rest are staffers. Administrators. Nobodies.’
His voice was callous, cold.
‘What about the first floor?’ Bowman asked. ‘Anyone up there?’
‘All clear,’ Webb replied.
‘The barracks?’
Mavinda said, ‘Some of my guys are searching it as we speak. But it looks like they’re empty.’
Loader stared at the major. ‘So where the fuck is the family?’
‘Maybe the KUF has taken them hostage,’ Bowman said, thinking fast.
‘Why would they do that?’
‘General Kakuba could use them as bargaining chips. He could threaten to execute the president’s wife and kids immediately unless he agrees to step aside.’
Webb made a pained face. ‘If that’s true, we’re finished.’
‘We’ve got a live one here!’ Casey called out.
The others ran over. She was kneeling beside one of the guards. A skinny hollow-cheeked guy with long bony hands and eyes set deep in their sockets. He had the drowsy, comatose look of the almost-dead. Waiting for the light to appear at the end of the tunnel. His lips were cracked. His breath escaped his lungs in shallow, erratic rasps. Bowman glanced down at the man’s wound. The man had been drilled through the guts. The lifeblood was oozing out of him, drenching his shirt and groin.
His lips moved slightly, making a feeble sound. He repeated the same word over and over.
‘What’s he saying?’ Loader asked.
‘He is asking for water,’ Mavinda said.
Mallet turned to him. ‘Give him your canteen, Major.’
‘This man is dying. It is pointless.’
‘Do it.’
Mavinda reluctantly unhooked his bottle from his belt and pressed it to the guard’s lips. The man drank greedily, water dribbling down his chin. He swallowed another mouthful and groaned in pain. Then he said a few words to Mavinda in a tongue Bowman didn’t understand. It sounded similar to the language the president’s bodyguards had used when speaking to each other, back at the royal wedding.
‘Ask him what happened here,’ said Mallet.
Mavinda jabbered at the guard. The man winced and said a few words in reply. Then Mavinda translated.
‘He says the enemy attacked two hours ago. They came out of nowhere. A hundred of them.’
‘What happened to the rest of the Presidential Guards?’ Loader said.
Mavinda related the question. The guard wetted his lips again before making his reply.
‘Many of his brother soldiers chose to flee, when they saw the rebels approaching,’ the major said. ‘Only a few remained. They were cut down in a matter of minutes.’
‘By the Machete Boys?’ Mallet asked sceptically.
Mavinda shook his head. ‘KUF paramilitaries. General Kakuba’s men.’
‘KUF?’ Loader frowned. ‘But those guys we dropped upstairs were from the Machete Boys.’
‘They’re just scavengers,’ Mavinda said. ‘They wouldn’t have the skill or discipline to attack the palace. Only the KUF are capable of such a thing.’
‘Looks like they made short work of the opposition here,’ Mallet observed.
‘Do they wear lucky charms as well?’ Loader joked.
Mavinda’s expression was deadly serious. ‘The KUF are the closest thing the rebels have to a professional fighting force. Many of them deserted the army with General Kakuba. They even dress like soldiers.’
‘They must be the ones being trained by the Russians,’ Webb said.
Mavinda stared at him with raised eyebrows. ‘Russians?’ he repeated.
‘They’re supporting the rebels,’ Mallet said. He told Mavinda about the military advisers, the Kremlin plot to back the coup.
‘The Russians have chosen a dangerous ally,’ Mavinda said after he’d finished. ‘General Kakuba is a terrible man. He has attacked many villages in Karatandu. His soldiers rape, kill and loot anything they can find, then burn the villages to the ground. They say he eats the livers of his defeated enemies.’
‘Let’s hope we don’t bump into that fucker,’ Loader said.
Mallet said, ‘What happened to the president’s family? Ask your man.’
The major relayed the question to the wounded guard. He responded in a croaking whisper, then coughed up a gout of blood.
‘He says they managed to escape,’ Mavinda said after the man stopped talking. ‘Through a service exit.’
‘He’s sure?’ Casey asked.
‘The family fled before the KUF rebels could get into the compound,’ Mavinda said. ‘This man says he is certain of it. The senior ministers tried to flee through the same exit, but the rebels cut them off and herded them into this room with the remaining guards. Then they executed them, one by one. The staff pleaded with their captors to spare them, but General Kakuba did not care. Some of his men were laughing when they tossed grenades at the victims.’
Casey suppressed a shiver. The man said something else. Mavinda’s face clouded with unease.
‘What is it?’ Bowman demanded.
‘He says Mr Gregory is with the family as well. He helped them to safety.’
‘Mike? He’s with the family?’
‘Yes.’ There was a hint of trepidation in his voice. The major gave him a wary look. ‘You know him?’
‘He’s a good friend of mine,’ said Bowman.
‘Where did they go?’ Mallet interrupted. ‘Ask him, Major.’
The guard was drifting out of consciousness now. He muttered something inaudible. Mavinda told him to repeat it. The man mustered one last reserve of strength, lifted his dimming eyes to the major.
‘Rogandu,’ he said. ‘Rogandu.’
His head dropped. His breathing faded to a faint murmur.
Mallet turned to the major. ‘What’s this Rogandi gaff your man is talking about?’
‘Rogandu,’ Mavinda corrected. ‘It’s a small village. The most eastern district in the country.’
‘Why would the family leg it there?’
‘There’s a private estate near the village. A few miles to the north. One of Mr Seguma’s friends built the place. It was intended as a gift to the president.’
Bowman said, ‘Who’s the friend?’
‘A Canadian. Mr Camby. He’s responsible for all public transportation in Karatandu. A very lucrative position. He paid for the mansion in Rogandu, but it really belongs to Mr Seguma.’
‘Must be good mates,’ Mallet noted. ‘Not everyone has a friend who builds them a fucking palace for free.’
‘Mr Camby owes his fortune to his friendship with Mr Seguma. It’s in his interest to keep the president happy.’
‘Is that where we’ll find his wife and kids?’
Mavinda thought for a moment. ‘Makes sense. Rogandu is isolated, far from the capital. Mr Seguma hasn’t stayed there for several years. They say the place has fallen into disrepair these days. I can’t think of a better place to hide.’
‘It’s a lot safer than staying in the city,’ said Loader. ‘What with the Machete Boys running around chopping people up.’
‘How far is it from here?’ asked Webb.
‘A hundred and fifty miles. Four hours, if you stick to the main road. Less, if you take the short cuts.’
Mallet said, ‘Will the rebels know about this place?’
‘Everyone knows about Rogandu. It is the worst-kept secret in the country.’
‘In that case, we can assume the enemy will be heading for the mansion soon,’ Casey said.
‘Then we’re fucked.’ Loader threw up his hands. ‘They’ve got a head start on us. Even if we leave now, we’ll be lagging behind. They’ll get to the residence before us.’
Mallet shook his head firmly. ‘There’s a chance we can get there first.’
Loader threw him a doubtful look. ‘How’d you figure that, John?’
‘The president owns a load of other residences ar
ound the country. The rebels will assume the family has fled to one of those other homes. They’ll be busy searching them all. That should buy us time to get to the jungle estate before them.’
‘You might be wrong,’ said Casey.
‘What’s the alternative? Either we go to Rogandu, or we throw in the towel. Unless anyone has got a better idea?’
‘We’d still have to get there fast,’ Webb argued. ‘It won’t take the KUF long before they figure out where the family is hiding.’
Mallet swung back round to the major. ‘Do you know where to find this mansion?’
‘Of course,’ said Mavinda. ‘I’ve been there many times. No one knows the route better than me.’
‘How fast can you get us there?’
‘Three and a half hours. Maybe less.’
‘Any checkpoints along the way?’
‘We can get you there safely.’ Mavinda pressed his lips together. ‘But how do you expect us to hold out against the KUF if they attack us? I have only one platoon under my command. They cannot defend against General Kakuba’s men.’
‘They won’t have to,’ Mallet said. ‘If we leave now, we’ll get to the mansion before four o’clock. Ninety minutes before first light. There’s a strike force coming in to take back control of the country. Two hundred Special Forces operators. They’re due to get in at six o’clock. We’ll only have to guard the family for a couple of hours before they arrive.’
‘What if they are late?’
‘They won’t be,’ Mallet said. ‘They’re scheduled to fly down from Libya as we speak.’
‘You think they’ll succeed?’
‘It’s the Regiment. We don’t do failure.’
‘The rebels are determined. They won’t give up without a fight.’
‘Neither will we.’ Mallet flashed a savage grin. ‘Trust me, Major. By the time the sun comes up, the rebels will be wishing to fuck that they had stayed tucked up in bed tonight.’
There was a look of steely determination in the Scot’s eyes as he spoke. The major drew strength from it and relaxed slightly. A question hesitated on his lips. ‘You say you have a direct line to Mr Seguma.’
‘Aye.’
‘Don’t forget to mention my name to him, OK? Tell him Major Julius Mavinda did not let him down, in his hour of need.’
‘Major, when this thing is over, you’ll be a colonel before long.’
Mavinda puffed out his chest, perhaps imagining shiny new medals pinned to his breast.
He said, ‘I’ll give the order to my men.’
‘We’ll need more fuel,’ Bowman pointed out. ‘The Land Cruiser won’t get us as far as Rogandu. Not without a top-up.’
Mavinda said, ‘We have some spare jerry cans. In the back of the Unimog. Take what you need. Sergeant Nakamba will help you.’
Mallet turned to his team. ‘Tiny, take care of it. The rest of you . . . get your shit together and get back into the vehicles. We’re on the road again in five.’
‘What shall we do about him?’ Casey indicated the guard.
Mallet dropped his gaze to the dying man. His breathing had reduced to a faint murmur. Dark blood pumped steadily out of his stomach wound.
‘We should put a bullet in his head,’ Mavinda said. ‘Put him out of his misery. Best thing for him.’
‘No.’ Mallet looked up and turned to Webb. ‘Give him a couple of morphine shots from the emergency kit. That’s the least we can do for this poor bastard.’
Mavinda clicked his tongue. ‘A waste. It would be easier to shoot him.’
‘He gets the shots,’ Mallet snapped.
‘Your choice.’
He walked out of the room. Casey’s gaze lingered on the massacred civilians for a beat. ‘I thought the Russians were directing the coup,’ she said.
‘They are,’ Mallet replied.
‘But the guard didn’t say anything about Russians being involved in the assault. We haven’t seen them on the streets. Where are they?’
‘They’ll stay in the shadows. They won’t be doing the actual fighting.’
‘Why not?’
‘It would make the Kremlin look bad. Assisting a band of rebels to destabilise a central African government. That’s too much, even for Moscow.’
‘Especially if they lost,’ Bowman added. ‘The Russians would be embarrassed. They’d have to deal with the prospect of their own guys being taken hostage. There’s no way they’d want to risk that.’
‘So they’ll just stay in the background, giving orders?’ asked Casey.
‘More or less.’
Mallet looked up at her.
‘Don’t underestimate these fuckers,’ he said. ‘They might operate in the shadows, but they’re just as lethal as if they were out there doing the shooting. They’re doing exactly what we do on team jobs. Training up a foreign force, showing them how to kill the enemy. We won’t be trading any bullets with them, but the Russians are our main enemy in this fight.’
He stood up straight and nodded at the others.
‘Get back to the wagon. We’re leaving for Rogandu at once.’
Twenty-Four
They took the back roads out of Marafeni. The major and his three deputies led the way in the Hilux. Then the Cell team in the Land Cruiser. Then the ten other guys in the platoon in the Unimog. Mavinda guided the convoy north from the palace, past the rows of foreign embassies and terracotta-roofed high commissions. Tendrils of smoke trickled upwards from behind several of the compound walls. The mood was tense. Bowman could feel it in the air. Bands of marauders prowled the city, smashing up storefronts, clubbing people to death. Several of the Machete Boys were passed out drunk in the streets. Three of them were celebrating in front of a hostel, jeering wildly as they loosed off rounds into the air. They scarpered for cover at the first sight of the approaching convoy.
‘Look at this lot,’ Loader said as they passed the hostel. ‘Running around like headless chickens. We could drop these idiots in their sleep.’
‘They’re not the ones we have to worry about,’ Mallet said. ‘It’s the KUF rebels under the command of the Russians. General Kakuba’s men. They’ll be a different proposition.’
‘Would they really be much better than this mob?’
‘You’ve worked on training teams before, Tiny,’ Bowman said. ‘All they need is a handful of elite warriors to take charge, drill them and instruct them in some basic manoeuvres, and they’ll be a tough opponent for anyone.’
Loader grunted his agreement.
‘How many guys are we talking about?’ asked Casey.
‘A dozen Russians,’ Mallet guessed. ‘They’ll be spread out across the country with units from the KUF. Kakuba’s best men. Three or four hundred rebels, I’d say. One group in the capital, another to take the airport, a third to secure the borders. A fourth to seize the mines. That’s the way I’d do it. With the Russians pulling the strings, they could have the coup wrapped up in a matter of hours.’
‘Not once D Squadron and the other SF teams get in. They’ll send the twats packing,’ Loader said. ‘All we’ve got to do is make it to Rogandu, protect the family, and it’s job done.’
No one replied. Casey stared out of the window at the burning buildings, the mutilated corpses dumped at the side of the road.
‘What’s the plan once we get to the mansion?’ she asked Mallet.
‘We’ll link up with Mike Gregory, secure the family, sort out the defences around the estate. Then wait for the reinforcements to come in.’
She inclined her head slightly. ‘Do you think we’re in for a fight?’
‘Anything’s possible. But General Kakuba and his men won’t be heading to Rogandu, not immediately. It’ll take them a while to search the president’s other homes. By the time they arrive at Rogandu, we’ll be getting a brew on.’
‘The timing is tight,’ Bowman said. ‘If there’s a delay, we’re fucked.’
Loader said, ‘I think we can handle a few poxy rebels.’
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‘We’re down to the bare bones, mate. We were counting on those forty lads from the Presidential Guard to bolster our numbers. If Kakuba attacks us in force, we’re gonna be up against it.’
‘We won’t have to wait there for long,’ Mallet said. ‘A couple of hours, max.’
They continued north until they were within sight of the port and then navigated east, steering well clear of the obvious targets. Police stations, army barracks. Radio stations. The president’s numerous residences. Anywhere the rebels might be gathered in large numbers. Mavinda took them on a winding route out of the city, through narrow roads lined with shanty huts and modest dwellings partially hidden behind graffiti-decorated breeze-block walls. The darkened streets were heaped with mounds of rubble and chopped timber and plastic bottles.
As they bulleted east Mallet put in another call to the Voice. He got no answer, left a long message, filling the Voice in on the current situation. The massacre at the palace. The family’s flight to the country pile in Rogandu. The new plan. He asked for an update on D Squadron and the other elements of the strike force: SFSG, the SBS. He told the Voice to get hold of Mike Gregory, if possible. Let him know that the team was on the way. He hung up, plugged the phone into the cigarette lighter receptacle and left the handset on charge.
They crossed a small bridge over the Karatandu River and skirted around the fringes of several outlying villages, avoiding the main highway. The only stretch of paved road outside the capital. The most obvious route to Rogandu, the major had explained. But slower and less direct than the country tracks. And much more dangerous. The rebels might have ambushes set up on the main routes, he said.
The road soon degraded into a rough track, the lights from the smaller settlements shrank to dots, and suddenly they were pushing through the Karatandan countryside. The slums and ruined colonial villas gave way to a seemingly endless sprawl of lowland plains and claustrophobic forest, the muddied track slithering like some giant black snake beneath the gloom of the canopy. The Hilux rocked along in front of them, headlamps cutting through the pitch-black night.
