Stratton hoped she was right. ‘The drugs are his payment?’
‘Yes. Al-Shabaab pays him with heroin from Afghanistan.’
‘Do you think this is a new arrangement – between the pirates and the jihadists – drugs for their help?’
‘I don’t know. I think Lotto has been using hijacked ships to move drugs into other countries for several years. If it worked for drugs, it would work for weapons.’
Stratton found it disturbing. The jihadists could use the system to move practically anything they liked right under the noses of Western authorities. And they wouldn’t know a thing about it. Today, portable ground-to-air missiles. Tomorrow, biological weapons, dirty bombs. Even nuclear components and devices.
‘We have to stop those weapons from reaching their destinations,’ he muttered, more to himself. ‘I don’t suppose you know how many ships have already left here with missiles hidden on board?’
‘I only just discovered it today. Like you. It wouldn’t be difficult to find every ship that has been released from here since the weapons arrived.’
‘It will be if no one but us on our side knows about it.’ Stratton took a look at her as another thought came to him. ‘How were you supposed to communicate your findings back to your people?’
She took her time answering. ‘I was not completely truthful with you,’ she said. ‘Like you, we weren’t actually supposed to get captured.’
Stratton frowned at her.
‘We were supposed to make landfall and hide equipment we had on the boat. That included a satellite phone. One of Lotto’s boats saw us before we could get to shore. We dumped it all over the side. They would have taken it anyway and we wanted to look like simple sailors.’
‘What was supposed to happen after you reported you’d found the missiles?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t need to know, so I wasn’t told.’
Stratton thought about the Saudi again. Perhaps Sabarak had something to do with the weapons being moved from Indonesia. ‘Let’s get going,’ he said.
They covered the short distance to the first hut and then walked carefully up the street, hugging the houses. They criss-crossed through the town between the squat hovels until they reached the back of the prison hut. Stratton took a moment to study the window opening. ‘I’ll get my partner and we’ll get out of here,’ he said.
He jumped up and pulled himself into the opening enough to look inside.
He saw the prisoners lying on the floor. He saw Hopper in the darkness.
‘Hopper?’ Stratton said as loud as he dared.
Hopper didn’t move. Stratton climbed through the window as silently as he could and lowered himself to the floor. He crouched beside Hopper and rolled him on to his back. Hopper’s mouth had been taped over and his hands tied even more securely than before. A Somali who was lying on the floor across the room jumped up and shouted and aimed a rifle at Stratton. Another close by leaped to his feet brandishing a long blade.
The door burst open and more guards holding kerosene lights and weapons stomped in. The other prisoners parted before them, quickly back against the walls. Lotto walked in, swivelling his cane in his hand. He stopped in front of Stratton. The man reeked of perfume, which overpowered the smell of the kerosene.
Lotto said something in his native tongue. A pause, then Sabarak stepped into the doorway.
‘You were right,’ Lotto said to the Saudi. ‘He did come back for his friend.’
A Somali appeared in the windowless opening and said something. The leader nodded. The guard dropped out of sight.
‘Where have you and the girl been?’ Lotto asked.
Stratton had an urge to be flippant but he had seen Lotto’s quick temper. He decided it was unwise to rile the leader. ‘We were looking for a boat,’ he said. ‘We came back for our friends.’
‘You know the punishment for trying to escape,’ Lotto said. He barked a command and left the room. Sabarak followed him.
The guards had become much more hostile and two man -handled Stratton to the door, shoving him through it violently. Four others went to the injured Chinese man and Hopper and brutally hauled them to their feet. The Chinese man cried out but the Somalis showed no sympathy for his discomfort.
As Stratton stepped outside he saw the girl being pushed out of the gap between the buildings and falling to the ground, landing at Lotto’s feet. The pirate chief ignored her.
Stratton eyed Sabarak, who was standing between four hard-faced fighters. All sported long beards and looked like clones of the passenger of the truck who had delivered the missiles to the port. They were heavily armed with AK-47s, spare magazines in pouches and long machetes dangling from their leather belts. They stared aggressively at the two Englishmen like they wanted to eat their hearts there and then.
Sabarak smiled thinly at Stratton. ‘Now the tables have fully turned,’ he said.
Lotto shouted an order and a couple of his men grabbed Stratton’s arms and pulled them tightly behind his back, then securely fastened them together with nylon fishing line. One of the guards found the knife tucked into Stratton’s waistband and withdrew it. He recognised it instantly and said something to his leader.
‘Where’s the man who’s knife this is?’ Lotto asked Stratton. ‘He is not the only one who has gone missing tonight.’
Stratton could see little point in lying. The bodies would be found as soon as it was light anyway. ‘They came looking for revenge for our fight on the beach. They also wanted the girl. You can find them behind the building. I’m afraid they’re not in very good condition.’
Lotto seemed to be faintly amused by the account. ‘If they came for the girl, they deserved it,’ he said.
‘You’ll share their fate,’ Sabarak said, using every opportunity to fill Stratton with fear.
‘Only if the British don’t pay for them,’ Lotto interjected.
The comment angered Sabarak. ‘You said I could have them.’
‘I said you could have one of them.’
Sabarak clearly didn’t have the control over Lotto that he wished he had. ‘He’s the leader,’ he said, indicating Stratton. ‘I want him.’
Lotto didn’t appear remotely intimidated by Sabarak or his men. ‘Then he is more valuable,’ Lotto said. ‘Take the other one.’
‘He is more important to us,’ Sabarak argued.
‘What do you care which one you have? You will only kill them. You are at war with these people. I am in business with them. To you they are something to vent your anger at. To me they are a commodity. It makes no sense that you should cut the head off the most valuable one.’
‘We will interrogate him. He will know more than his subordinate.’
‘What will he know that you do not already know or you can guess? You can have the Chinese man too. How is that?’
‘And the girl.’
Judging by Lotto’s expression, Sabarak had clearly overstepped the mark. He turned to the Saudi, his eyes dark holes in his big face. ‘Don’t forget your place. You need me and I don’t need you. I am giving you two men as a gift. Be grateful. Or I will give you nothing.’
Sabarak and his crew looked much fiercer than the pirates but they were greatly outnumbered. The Saudi was a businessman before he was a fighter and knew when to back off. He averted his eyes and nodded. ‘Of course. Please understand that these people have murdered thousands upon thousands of my people.’
Lotto gloated over Sabarak’s cunning apology. ‘Take your gift away before I change my mind,’ he said.
Sabarak gave one of his men a look. The man took hold of Hopper while another grabbed the Chinese man and they pulled them both away.
Hopper twisted around to look back at Stratton. The operative saw the fear in Hopper’s eyes. He couldn’t help wondering if he would ever see the man again.
Lotto looked down at the girl as a Somali tied her hands behind her back. ‘It’s time you and I got to know each other a little better,’ he said with a raw
smile. He shouted another command and one of the guards stepped up and took the girl away.
Lotto turned to face Stratton. ‘Because you were trying to help the girl, I will not break your legs this time. If you try to escape again, I will cut off your feet. That’s a promise. Your people will pay the same for half of you … I am not confident the British will pay for you at all. They don’t normally, but perhaps you are special. If not, you will join your friend.’ Lotto laughed and walked off after the girl.
The guard holding the knife he had found on Stratton grabbed the operative by his shirt and held the blade to his throat. Stratton could tell the Somali wanted to say something but knew Stratton wouldn’t understand. The threat would have to satisfy them both for the time being. The message was clear enough. And in case Stratton didn’t fully understand, the Somali kneed him hard in the groin. Stratton wanted to go down but the guard kept the sharp blade against his neck. Another guy decided to join in and slammed Stratton in the kidneys with a vicious punch. Once again, Stratton fought to keep his legs steady to prevent having his throat cut.
The Somali with the knife took hold of Stratton’s hair and he ran the operative inside the hut, where he hit the floor, knocking over the water bucket. Behind him, they slammed shut the door and bolted it.
Stratton lay where he fell, concentrating on recovering. It was going to take several minutes of controlled breathing and focus to weather it.
When the pain in his crotch finally eased, it gave way to the one in his side, which also ached deeply. Eventually he rolled over and up on to his knees. He shuffled to a wall and eased himself back against it. He suddenly felt very tired.
Light from a kerosene lamp filtered in through the cracks in the door. A similar glow reflected around the edges of the windowless opening. Voices filtered into the room from both sides. The guards were obviously taking their duties more seriously.
Stratton looked at the roof of the hut. It had suddenly all gone horribly wrong.
8
They led the girl to a house at the top end of the town. It was bigger than the others and better appointed. She could see electric lights glowing inside. The dull hum of a generator came from around the back.
They pushed her up a short flight of steps on to a porch. They opened the door and took her in. On one side of the large room she could see cardboard boxes. Piled up the wall. All shapes and sizes, advertising booze and electronics, clothing and toiletries. On the other side there was a modern leather couch, worn but comfortable-looking. In the middle an ornate coffee table. A dresser with a mirror stood alone away from the wall. A large bed in the corner, its headboard made from boxes of liquor.
Lotto walked in and gave the guards a look. The men stepped back courteously and left, closing the door behind them.
Lotto regarded the girl, like he was assessing her, his eyes exploring her. She looked like a ragamuffin. But he could see beneath the bedraggled clothing and it gave him immense pleasure.
He removed his beret, placed his cane in a rack and the beret on top of it. ‘Drink?’ he asked.
She shook her head.
‘Have a whisky?’ he said.
The girl reconsidered and nodded.
He chuckled and walked over to a stack of boxes that acted as a drinks cabinet, reached inside one, brought out a bottle of Scotch and cracked open the top. He sniffed the bottle, took a short sip and rinsed it around his gums and tongue. He swallowed. ‘Wonderful invention, Scotch.’
He removed a couple of glasses from another box and near filled them both. He went to a fridge and took a bowl of ice from it. He placed several chunks in each glass, returned the bowl to the fridge, walked over to her with the glasses and offered her one. She looked at him – her hands still tied firmly behind her back. She hoped he might untie them.
‘Open your mouth,’ he said.
She obeyed and he touched the edge of the glass to her lips and gently poured the drink into her mouth. She grimaced at the bite of the liquor. He tipped it all the way up, emptying the entire contents into her mouth, much of it spilling down her neck and inside her shirt. As he removed the glass, she coughed and spluttered.
Lotto took a long sip of his drink and put both of the glasses down. He stepped closer to her, his smile turning lustful. She looked defiantly into his eyes.
‘I’m disappointed in you,’ he said.
She did not react.
‘I hope you’re going to put up a bit of a fight,’ he said, grinning. Then brought up his bony hand and slammed her across the face. She flew back on to the bed.
She went giddy instantly, found it hard to focus her eyes on him.
He leaned over her, turned her on to her front and untied her hands. He pulled one of them to a corner of the bed and secured it with the line to the bedpost. She started to struggle beneath his heavy frame. He put a knee into her small back and stretched out her other hand, tying it with another piece of line. She fought to get him off her, bringing her legs up to try and kick out. But he was too strong for her. He got off her and grabbed her left ankle, tied it to a post and then did the same with her right leg.
She struggled for long enough to realise how hopeless it was. She pressed her face down into the mattress, panting with the effort.
Lotto kept smiling as he reached for a knife at his belt. He inserted it at the bottom of one of her trouser legs and sliced all the way up to the top. He did the same with the other leg and then, with a magician’s flourish, ripped the garment away leaving her in her panties.
He sat beside her and cut away her shirt, unwrapping her in a way that gave him great pleasure. She wore no bra and lay there naked but for her knickers. She closed her eyes tightly in an effort to control herself. She tugged at the bindings again but it was hopeless.
Lotto turned his attention to her panties and cut one of the sides and then the other and pulled them off her. He got up from the bed and stood to admire her.
He took off his shirt, then his boots, then his trousers and he stood naked.
She expected him to climb on top of her but she was wrong. He had something else in mind. He took the heavy leather belt from his trousers and wrapped it around his fist a couple of times to leave a long tail. He cocked back his arm so that the end of the belt fell down his back. When he brought it forward, he did it with great effort.
The cutting thwack could be heard along the street. Her scream reached even further into the town. The guards outside the prison hut heard the shrill cry. One of them said something and the others laughed.
Stratton sat in the darkness of the hut, his eyes closed, but far from asleep. He couldn’t see a way out of the predicament. The girl’s screams bulldozed into his thoughts until he could only think of her and her suffering. He looked at the other prisoners. All of them could guess what was happening to the girl, more or less. He didn’t feel responsible. Not for her. But he felt utterly sympathetic. His thoughts turned to Hopper again. His partner’s position looked many times worse than his own. And it was Stratton’s fault.
He could have taken Hopper with him. It hadn’t been so import -ant for him to stay behind. Stratton knew well enough why he had gone to the ship by himself. He just preferred operating alone. He always had. He achieved his best results that way. He could easily explain it. And his bosses knew it too. One man is never afraid to push it that extra step more when he operates alone. There’s no one else to convince or debate with about choices or solutions. Instant decisions can be made, a direction can be changed without warning, and you don’t risk leaving someone behind.
But on this occasion he’d been wrong. He had left his friend exposed to a great danger. The Saudi. Who had disappeared, which had been a clear warning. Hopper had known it. He said as much to Stratton. He ignored it. Hopper was probably thinking something like that right now. As well as wondering how long he had left to live.
The girl screamed again but she sounded weaker. The fight was going out of her. Stratton looked at the bonds around
his hands. He tested them again. He couldn’t stay where he was. That was impossible. He had to get going. But the bindings had been carefully tied this time. He needed an edge to rub them against. That would take a long time. He stood, walked to the wall under the window. His arms in the air, he stood on his toes and tried to scrape the bindings along the edge of the sill.
A prisoner across the room got to his feet and stepped quietly over to Stratton.
Stratton stopped to look at the man. It was the Dutchman who had made a stand on the beach when the girl was being attacked.
‘My name is Vorg,’ he said. ‘I was in the Dutch Marines. Many years ago of course. I am very concerned about your friend. He will not survive long with those fellows who have taken him. You should be concerned about yourself too.’ Stratton wanted to thank him for stating the bloody obvious. He also wanted to tell him to go away and mind his own damned business.
‘The ransom drop today was for my ship,’ Vorg went on. ‘The Oasis. The biggest one. We should be going soon. In a few days perhaps. It’s the only code these bastards have. They don’t want to discourage the owners of all the other ships from paying. I’m telling you this because I think you should try to escape again. All you have to do is get on board my boat.’
It was a good idea. But getting just himself home was not a solution Stratton was open to at that moment. He had to get Hopper. The cold-hearted bastards among the Brit Secret Service would fully support Stratton getting himself out of Somalia and leaving Hopper to his fate. That was part and parcel of the job, they would say. But Stratton could not agree. Especially when it was his fault that Hopper had been left behind.
The Dutchman produced a strange-looking blade several inches long. ‘I made it out of a small sheet of metal I found on the floor when I got in here,’ he said. ‘I rolled it over and over, the same way they make Samurai swords. I sharpened the edge on a stone in the floor. It’s taken me three months. I hide it in my corner. I didn’t know what I was going to use it for. I think you might have a use for it.’
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