I shrugged. ‘I always thought the person holding it was the important bit.’ I kicked the hatch cover closed. ‘Suppose he needs all the help he can get.’
‘Seems you’re the one needs all the help,’ said King, pointing at the bloody tear in my T-shirt, ‘since you’ve got us along to babysit you.’
‘You guys go way back?’ Martinez asked.
‘Too far,’ I said.
Fields finally put the gun down and started picking at a croissant. ‘You served together?’
I shook my head and leaned against the wall to brace against the rocking motion. ‘I’m not military.’
She looked puzzled. ‘Weird career choice, then. How’d you get into it?’
‘I knew someone who knew someone.’ I looked at King.
He coughed and picked up his coffee. ‘Ranger, aren’t you?’ he asked her.
She nodded. ‘Past tense. You?’
‘Paras. Long time ago, now.’
‘Royal Marines,’ said Fields. ‘Probably even longer ago.’
‘You guys all been private a while?’ she asked. I knew she’d not been freelancing as long, similar age to me but a career soldier.
King nodded and held his hand up. ‘G4S, Aegis, Bidvest. Over fifteen years.’
‘Same,’ said Fields. ‘Started with Cresswell in ’08.’
‘Where have you worked?’ Martinez was looking at me but, since I didn’t answer straight away, Fields jumped in.
‘Mostly Afghanistan. Iraq late-on, Syria, some protection in South America.’
‘So you’re the odd one out?’ Martinez persisted in aiming questions in my direction.
‘Don’t let that fool you,’ said King. ‘He’s been in more shit than all of us. His brother was…’
‘My brother was an idiot.’ I gave King a cold look.
The speaker outside the door burst into life with a crackle and a hiss.
‘What was that?’ Martinez stood, opening the door.
‘Tyler to the saloon,’ the speaker repeated.
I sighed, chances of getting any rest were diminishing. I looked at my watch, quarter to four. Grabbing a roll of duct tape and a rope from my rucksack I stretched, opened the smuggling hatch, climbing down and pulling it shut again above me.
The tray was empty, he’d wolfed everything. I tore a strip of tape off, he started shaking.
‘No, not that…’ He shut up when he saw my balled fist.
I stuck his mouth shut, placed the bag back on his head, and pulled a new cable tie out of my pocket, securing his hand to the chair. I looped the rope around the chair and through the bars of the grill in the floor to prevent him sliding around too much. After checking everything to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere I scooped the tray and climbed back up, flicking off the lights and securing the hatch.
The speaker out in the corridor crackled again. ‘Tyler to the saloon, now.’
The others were on their feet. I ushered them into the corridor and locked my door, pocketing the key. I looked to King and Fields, still cradling their coffees. ‘Stay here. No one enters this room, no one. Martinez, with me.’
She gave me a nod, happy to be finally doing something.
My bare feet slapped the rubber flooring, a lot easier than wet trainers but the flickering lights and flaking rust made me question the wisdom of it.
‘You can call me Anna, you know.’ She swayed in time with the walls better than I was managing to as we walked to the stairs.
‘Don’t use full names around the crew, they’re not that friendly. Martinez will do.’
‘Make it Marty then. Look, I didn’t wanna argue in front of the others, but this op is bullshit.’
‘King said you weren’t much of a talker.’ I gave her a look. ‘Probably for the best.’
‘I get the secrecy,’ she persisted. ‘But you said this was all about gathering intel, not people. And why me? You and King go way back, Fields is a Brit too…’
‘Don’t let him hear you say that.’
‘…but we’ve never worked together.’
‘That’s exactly why you’re here.’
She bounded up the stairs two at a time. ‘Are you gonna be cryptic all the way? Cos if you are, the price just went up. I need to know what I’m into.’
The speaker at the top of the stairs crackled. ‘Tyler! Saloon!’
I followed her up the stairs more cautiously, wincing on the ribbed metal treads. ‘You’re new to this, so I’ll cut you some slack. The price is good and you should have specified if you were squeamish.’
She stopped and raised her eyebrows at me.
‘How good’s your French?’ I asked.
‘Non-existent.’
‘Peachy.’
We carried on, at the top the lights flickered and went out. There was a commotion up ahead, a door swinging and banging with the motion of the sea, the room beyond was still lit with the multi-coloured glow of the TV. Marty stood to one side, I overtook her and pushed the door open.
Saloon was right, it was like stepping into the Wild West, the commotion stopped instantly. Marty closed the door behind us as I looked round the room, taking in the new faces. Miller had shed his outdoor gear and squeezed into a grubby Led Zep shirt. He was leaning on a counter that ran the length of the room, pouring himself a drink and managing to get every drop in the glass as the stream swayed in time with the motion of the ship. Next to him sat Doc, deep in thought, whether about our situation or simply whether to go with rum or gin next, I wasn’t sure. The young guy from the radio room – had Poubelle called him Nic? – was stood in the corner, eying me intently. There were two other men, the big bald dude I’d seen watching TV earlier and a smaller ferrety guy, both dressed in grimy overalls, oil smeared on their faces, these must be the two new engineers, Sébastien and Vincent. They reminded me of that childhood rhyme:
Fatty and Skinny went to war
Fatty got shot by an apple core.
‘Something funny?’ asked Fatty in singsong rural French, rolling the vowels round slowly. I stared blankly, pretending not to have understood, he looked at my sodden jeans and bare feet, smirking. I glanced at the muted TV over his shoulder, Jaws with French subtitles.
Miller spoke first, in English for our benefit. ‘Tyler, the crew is… unhappy.’
Fatty took over, switching into perfect English himself. ‘You brought somebody on board.’
‘I’ve hired this tub, my cargo is none of your business.’
‘It is definitely our business,’ Fatty said.
‘Seb’s right, it’s our business if it gets us killed,’ Miller said.
So Fatty was Seb.
‘We were told four passengers,’ said Nic, the radio guy, in French. I understood perfectly fine, but stared at him while waiting for Miller to translate.
When he’d finished I laughed. ‘Health and safety concerns?’ I shook my head. ‘Stick to drug-running, is that it? Arms? Gimme a break.’
‘We shouldn’t be takin’ no passengers, you know that,’ said Skinny. ‘She doesn’t like it, not at all.’
‘Shut up, Vincent,’ said Miller.
So I was right, Skinny was the second new engineer, Vincent.
‘It’s true, Captain,’ said Vincent. ‘These passengers will bring the curse down on…’
‘Shut up.’ Miller looked at me. ‘Things have changed,’ he jerked a thumb at the young radio operator. ‘Nic here’s been listening. There’s a bounty out, on you and your “cargo”.’
Everyone looked at Radio Nic. He leaned forward, a serious expression on his face, switching into broken English.
‘There was interference, it was difficult… but someone was out there. Dead or alive, they will pay for the return of their friend. One million euro.’
Marty was holding her breath. Behind Nic, Robert Shaw began a subtitled monologue about never putting on a life jacket.
I looked at Miller. ‘I hope for your sake the call went unanswered.’
He spread his
arms out and gave me a lopsided smile. ‘It’s more than you’re paying.’
The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees, everyone was silent, the room creaked with the crashing waves. Skinny flexed his knuckles and slowly reached into his pocket. Seb patted the wrench into his free hand. Sod’s law had already told me this wouldn’t be plain sailing, but things had taken a turn much quicker than I’d expected. Lightning flashing through the windows, glinting off tensed jaws sheened with oil and sweat, narrowed eyes. Nic slid away from the wall, reaching behind him. His hand came out with a large knife, one of those evil black tanto types the Bundeswehr use. The fact he was wasting time posturing with it meant he was young and stupid. I always think the first time anyone should know you’re carrying a blade is when they’re wondering why they’re bleeding out.
Marty took a step forward, shoulder to shoulder with me, flicking the cover off her holster. Intakes of breath as she slid the Walther up just an inch.
Miller’s eyes darted between her, his nervous crew and me, still no one breathed. Vincent continued to fidget with his pocket, which I noted was distinctly revolver-shaped. Marty’s fingers twitched at her side as we leaned one way then the other with the ship, swaying in unison like a poor man’s Michael Jackson video.
I put my arm out, across Marty, waving her hand down, and looked at Miller. ‘You know who I’m working for. You’ll make some powerful enemies if you double cross me.’
‘We are not kidnappers,’ Vincent said, turning the revolver, still in his pocket, to point towards me.
‘Easy, Vincent,’ said Miller, waving his hand back at him and his revolver-shaped pocket.
Doc finally made his decision, pouring a glass of rum. ‘Gentlemen, this is all very confrontational. You know I abhor violence.’
‘Says the man discharged for affray in a South African bar,’ I said with a wry smile.
‘The fire of youth, Mr Tyler.’ He looked round his shipmates. ‘We may not agree with Mr Tyler’s ethics, but neither do we make deals with despicable racists and bigots.’ I raised an eyebrow, he smiled. ‘It is not difficult to put two and two together and know who you have brought aboard, Mr Tyler.’ He looked at Miller. ‘I think the quicker we get to England and help Mr Tyler on his way, the better for everyone, hmm?’
Miller looked round the crew then stared at me, taking a drink. He gulped it down and slammed the glass on the countertop. ‘From now on, no one uses the radio. Let’s get these bastards off our boat as quickly as possible.’
He wiped his beard with the back of his hand and strode across the room, Marty’s hand flexed on her gun, the others leaned forward. I stood aside and let him push past, the cue for everyone to stand down. I followed, backing out of the room, Marty did the same, never taking her eyes off them. The way she moved, the way she held her nerve, fingers hovering close to that pistol; she hadn’t been cheap, but like a bottle of L’Oréal she was clearly worth it. I’m pretty sure she could have put bullets through the eyes of every man in that room before they knew what’d happened. I shuddered as I pictured the last time I’d seen someone point-blank put a bullet through someone’s eye.
Marty closed the door behind her, gave us both a black look.
I grabbed Miller by the lapels of his shirt, slammed him against the dirty wall. ‘What the hell was that?’ He pushed against me but I slammed him again, his eyes went wide. ‘Thanks for the backup,’ I said close to his face.
‘How long have we known each other, Tyler?’
‘Since Sierra Leone.’
‘Fifteen years, give or take, so I’m gonna be frank. I don’t like it.’ He nodded at Marty, still scowling at us by the door. ‘And it looks like your own team feel the same.’
The saloon door opened, I couldn’t see who it was because they didn’t make it to the threshold before Marty had her pistol drawn. Several shouts sprang up inside the room, Miller leaned round me and waved his hand.
‘Shut the goddamn door,’ he shouted. It slammed. ‘I don’t like it, Tyler, and neither do my crew.’
Marty watched us carefully, one hand on the door handle, the other still gripping her pistol down low. Her eyes flicked as she assessed which was the biggest threat – the crew, Miller, or possibly me. I let go of Miller’s shirt.
‘Didn’t tell us what you were transporting, did ya?’ he continued. ‘We smuggle drugs, Tyler.’ He waved for us to follow him, striding along the tilting corridor, swaying in time with the floor while I staggered and bounced in his wake. ‘We smuggle drugs and bullion and guns and pretty much anything else UPS won’t carry.’ He stopped at the top of the stairs. ‘We don’t smuggle people.’
I paused, gesturing for Marty to go below. ‘Fifteen years… Bit late to grow morals.’
He looked like he wanted to say something else but saw the anger in my eyes and stopped himself. I left him, following Marty down the stairs into the cold bowels of the ship.
He found his voice when I was out of arm’s reach. ‘Fuck you, Tyler,’ he shouted after me. ‘You know which ships carry people? Slavers.’
Marty was hanging on to the railings at the foot of the stairs, face flushed, eyes burning. ‘He’s right,’ she hissed quietly, finger in my face. ‘And I gotta be honest, right now I’m siding with those guys.’ She marched along the corridor away from me, I jogged to catch up.
‘Transporting people, transporting intel, same thing,’ I said. ‘Don’t go all saintly.’
‘I’ll back you up in front of the crew, but I swear to God…’ She stopped, bracing against the wall as the boat heaved and dropped.
I pushed past her and rounded the corner. King and Fields were still waiting outside the room, neither looking overly anxious, though a full holster and fifty years’ combined combat experience can do that. Their complacency worried me, though it was somewhat offset by the fact they were both looking a little pinker; the seasickness pills were taking effect.
I unlocked the cabin door and walked in, throwing my pistol on my bed.
‘Bad news?’ asked King.
‘Mutiny isn’t out of the question,’ I replied.
King gave Marty a wink. ‘Welcome to Tyler’s world.’
‘Does he always have to rely on retirees to save him?’ she said. ‘If that doctor hadn’t talked them down…’
King laughed. ‘Doc’s a tougher old devil than any of us.’
I shrugged. ‘There isn’t a person on this boat who isn’t going straight to hell.’
‘And you at the top,’ said Marty. ‘Extraordinary rendition. There are laws, you know.’
‘There are laws against a lot of things we do, it’s never stopped any of us before.’
‘I’m serious, it’s not what I do.’
Fields leaned on the desk, shaking his head. ‘Look, I don’t really care about the niceties, all that matters is who’s paying and how much.’
‘See, there’s a man with the right attitude,’ I said.
Marty could see she’d lost the argument, the others were staring at her like morals were a bad thing. After another few moments she sat on the bed, sighing.
‘Well I’m gonna lose ma nut down here,’ said Fields. ‘Like a fucking iron tomb.’
King nodded. ‘Can we at least get one of the topside cabins?’
I stepped into the en-suite and peeled off my wet T-shirt. ‘This is the most secure part of the ship, only one way in and out.’
‘Aye, that’s what bothers me,’ said Fields.
‘And you a Sea hat as well?’ King smirked.
‘A what?’ Marty asked.
‘Paras think they’re hilarious,’ Fields said. ‘Anyone who doesn’t have wings is a hat. I’m a Marine, so…’
‘Yeah yeah, I get it. Airborne have the same sense of humour, they call us legs.’
I dropped my soaked T-shirt in the sink with the socks, stretching, feeling every muscle tighten, wincing every time something clicked out of place. When I returned to the room the others stared at me.
King pointed at my arm, at the black outlines wrapping round it. ‘Collects tattoos from everywhere he’s done jobs. I don’t know why, when he picks up so many scars from them for free.’
‘That’s recent,’ Marty said, pointing at the line running down my ribs, the fresh red puckered skin where the staples had been removed.
‘Got it in Scotland, would you believe?’
Fields laughed. ‘I’ve known English folks to drink in the wrong pub, but that’s ridiculous.’
‘Thought you’d been sunning it up on an island?’ asked King.
I smiled, looked at my watch, just gone four in the morning. ‘Fields, Marty, you guys turn in, get some rest. We’ll regroup at 0900.’ No arguments from either of them. ‘And be ready.’
Marty narrowed her eyes. ‘For trouble?’ she asked sarcastically, arching an eyebrow.
Chapter Fifteen
Château des Aigles
One week previously
I turned off the ignition, the Audi shuddered and went quiet.
‘On yesterday’s run I took it further up the road,’ said Lennon from the passenger seat. ‘There’s a cabin below the drive where Bananarama live. Nice early warning system.’ She reached up and flicked the interior lights off. ‘That Beemer of theirs followed me back as far as the village.’
‘I told you to be careful.’
She scowled. ‘Maybe you should have been here instead of pissing about in Santander whorehouses?’
I gave her a matching stare. ‘Well I’m back, so we’ll use the Audi from now on. We need the Porsche to stay clean.’ I wound down my window and reached over to the glovebox. The target’s house was over a mile away across open white fields, lit up brightly, all glass and steel making the night recces easier. I pulled out a pair of binoculars and put them to my eyes. ‘Looks like Bono’s already having his fag on the deck.’
‘He is early tonight.’
‘I still think that snowdrift might cause access issues. Hang on. Yep, he just walked round it and the security light came on.’
I glanced at Lennon, she opened a pad and started scribbling notes, then held a rifle scope to her good eye.
Black Run Page 9
