‘Half the bill has been paid already.’ Rayne answered coldly. He did not trust this man.
‘I will have the other fifty per cent now, please, Mr Brand.’ ‘You will have the other fifty per cent when I leave, and only if I am completely happy with the service.’
‘This is not fair. I am not a wealthy man.’
‘I will pay you in American dollars when I leave. As long as the service is good.’
Realising he wasn’t going to win this argument, Fernandes left them and they both breathed a sigh of relief. The best that could be said of the two rooms was that they were clean. The pile of newspapers which were obviously meant to serve as toilet paper said everything about the state of the Mozambican economy. Rayne had hoped there would be more people staying at the hotel, but perhaps he had been a little unrealistic about that.
The balcony door of Rayne’s room would not open easily. He had to use all his strength to slide back the bolts which had rusted into place. With the doors open, the room immediately felt better. Rayne wondered how long it had been since it was last used. Perhaps not for over a year; maybe not since independence . . . From the balcony he had an excellent view over the harbour and the river mouth. The sound of the sea blanketed his thoughts for a few moments until he heard a knock on his door and Guy walked in.
‘I do not trust the Russians, Rayne. We will have to be wary of them. That scum Fernandes cannot be relied on either. He would sell his mother to the devil for ten dollars.’
‘Relax, Guy. We couldn’t have a better cover. It allows us to come and go as we please - we can go for a drive around town after lunch, maybe play some cards with Fernandes, let him win a little money and encourage him to drink a bit too much. We have to find out how the town works, who runs what, and what sort of security they have organised. There’s no way Fernandes can be in league with the Russians, they probably pay him next to bugger-all and demand everything. He thinks we’re loaded with money, which means he’ll do everything he can to please us - and I guarantee he knows more about this town than anyone else around.’
Ivan rapped his glass down on the table. He wanted another vodka and he couldn’t see Fernandes anywhere. Carl was lucky, he never drank much. Also, he liked Beira. He must be slightly crazy, because of all the places he had ever been posted to, Ivan thought this one was the worst. He banged his glass down again and screamed out at the top of his voice, ‘Fernandes!’
Carl roared with laughter at Ivan’s irritation. He shuffled the pack of cards again and dealt them each another hand. Ivan scowled at him.
‘I’ll strangle that bloody Portuguese to death before I leave this place. He disgusts me.’
He looked up as he heard a rattling sound coming from the reception desk and saw Fernandes waddling over with a tray filled with drinks. The Portuguese set another glass in front of Ivan and poured him a strong vodka, spilling some of it on the table.
‘You call yourself a barman and you can’t even pour a drink straight.’
‘Sir, I am not a barman. I am the owner of the hotel. There was a time when I employed five men to work behind the bar.’
Ivan stared at the man and decided that he wasn’t worth having an argument with. Besides, there was something he wanted to ask him.
‘I see you have guests, Fernandes.’
‘Yes, guests with money. Gentlemen who pay their bills. Men of substance.’
‘Cut the crap. Who are they?’
‘Why don’t you ask them yourself? I know nothing.’
‘When did they make their booking?’
‘Two weeks ago. Cash in advance. These men are in business. All that matters to me is that they pay their bills, what they do to pay them is of no interest to me. I am not your spy.’
‘Fernandes, if you know what’s good for you, you will cooperate with us.’
The Portuguese turned his back on the Russian and headed for the door. He spoke as he walked away. ‘I am sure General Vorotnikov would love to know that there are drunks on his staff.’
Ivan did not reply. It didn’t matter; in this place there was plenty of time. Still, he would find out what the men were up to. It would help to break the boredom.
The two Russians were the only other people having lunch. Almost as soon as Rayne had seated himself, the larger of the two men came over to him.
‘Would you like to join us?’ he asked in English. ‘We do not see many new faces here.’
This was the last thing Rayne wanted, but he could hardly decline the invitation without appearing hostile. He could see that Guy shared his feelings. Reluctantly they joined the Russians.
‘A bottle of wine?’ Ivan offered.
The Russian smiled, but Rayne and Guy shook their heads. It would be hard enough acting correctly while they were sober without risking the effects of a heavy drinking session.
‘Well, I’ll have a bottle by myself. Carl’s like you, he also dislikes drinking at lunchtime.’
There was no menu, and they had to wait a considerable time for the first course. They introduced each other and began talking about how run-down Beira was. Rayne carefully steered the questions away from himself and Guy, and Guy said very little. When the first course arrived it was cold tomato soup.
Ivan had clearly had far too much to drink. ‘Fernandes!’ he shouted. He was beginning to slur his words. They carried on eating and hoped that he would calm down, but this only aggravated him and made him shout more loudly. ‘Fernandes, you old bastard, come here!’
‘Ivan, leave him alone.’
‘It’s not good enough, Carl. How can he serve us this cat’s piss? It is the first time that our two friends have eaten here, they should not be subjected to this. I am embarrassed for them.’
Rayne wasn’t in the mood for this. ‘I’ve eaten worse. Let’s just relax and enjoy the meal.’
‘No! I cannot accept the way in which you have been treated.’ He was about to pour himself another drink but Carl snatched the bottle out of his hand.
‘That’s enough, Ivan. You’ve had far too much. I think we must leave these two gentlemen alone.’
He pulled Ivan out of his chair by the scruff of his neck. Rayne was surprised that the bigger man did not fight back, but it was apparent that Carl was in control.
‘You must excuse us, gentlemen. We’ll eat together another time, I am sorry if you have been embarrassed. Ivan can never tell when he’s had too much to drink. Now we must go.’
Rayne heaved an immense sigh of relief as the two Russians left the room.
‘We’ll have trouble from those two, I can sense it.’
‘Well, there’s not much we can do about it. Just keep out of their way for as long as possible.’
They finished their coffee and returned to their rooms. It was time for them to start working.
Rayne took a pair of binoculars from his suitcase, and with Guy following, made his way up some back stairs and onto the flat roof of the Hotel Beira. Fortunately the roof was not overlooked by any of the other buildings in the area, and the wall surrounding the outer edge was quite high. They were able to make their way to the front of the hotel and squat down behind the parapet without the slightest risk of being detected from the ground.
After a few moments Rayne raised himself cautiously above the height of the wall and looked around carefully. The main street was completely deserted. He gestured for Guy to come up alongside him, and then focused his binoculars on the front entrance of the bank. He couldn’t believe that it was unguarded, yet this appeared to be the case. Now was the time for patience. He moved the glasses up and down the length of the building. Nothing moved.
They took it in turns from then on. At ten-minute intervals they alternated looking through the field-glasses. It was only after an hour that Guy picked up a slight movement in the front side-window of the building. Now they concentrated on the window, and the other windows round it, which wasn’t easy from their angle. Eventually Rayne also saw a movement within the building.
They would have to get closer to see right into the room but for this afternoon they would remain where they were.
By four o’clock a few people had appeared on the main street, obviously taking a Sunday afternoon stroll. No one paid any attention to the bank.
Rayne took the binoculars again. After a few minutes of watching the window where they kept detecting movement, he moved his field of vision to the street in front of the bank.
There was the sound of a heavy truck in the distance and immediately everyone on the street became more watchful. As the noise grew louder Rayne returned his focus to the front of the bank. Now there was a face looking out of the window. He focused the high-powered binoculars on the figure - a Portuguese in his thirties. The Portuguese had also obviously heard the noise of the truck and was waiting to see who it was. Everyone in the town was on edge. Rayne wondered how long things had been like this. Was it because of the Russians, or had it been this way ever since the Portuguese pull-out?
After the earlier silence of the afternoon, the noise of the truck coming into the street was deafening. The face moved away from the window, and one of the blinds was pulled down.
Rayne moved his focus to the truck, a GAZ-53A with an open rear deck filled with an assortment of troops. It was moving quickly, the V8 engine humming smoothly along. Only a few of the men had their rifles in a ready position, all of them black troops. If Rayne had wanted to, he and Guy could have taken out the truck with ease.
He looked at the driver as the truck drew closer to the hotel, and noted that he was also a black soldier. His passenger carried an automatic rifle across his chest in a ready position. Rayne raised the glasses again and took a quick view of the back.
‘Lot of troops around in town. More than I expected.’
‘So. We have to move fast. Kill or be killed, as you English say.’
The ruthlessness of the professional soldier, the weighing up of alternatives. Guy had survived by thinking this way.
Rayne was watching the bank again now, his mind beginning to operate with cool precision. ‘I’ll make enquiries at the bank on Monday. Then I’ll draw up a floor plan and calculate our attack.’
Rayne made his way carefully back to his room. From what Fry had told him, he had believed the town to be relatively empty of troops. Already, what he had seen had created precisely the reverse impression. Soldiers seemed to be about the only people in Beira.
Larry, Mick and Guy would be able to do most of the fieldwork on the bank, which would allow him the time to plan their attack faultlessly. He had six days to work the whole thing out. If anyone discovered that there were enemy operators in Beira, security would be stepped up and the chances of successfully hitting the airfield would be greatly reduced.
He walked out onto the balcony of his room and watched the sun setting. What if he found it was impossible to hit the bank? What if there was no way that they could hit the airfield and get out? He drove these questions out of his mind. He had to think of the larger issue at stake - the attack on Salisbury and the loss of the Western peace initiative.
He was back on the roof again at nine o’clock. Fortunately there had been no one in the dining room and he had been able to eat in peace. He found Guy exactly where he had left him, crouched over the wall, staring down at the bank.
Bunty Mulbarton was not in the least bit comfortable. The constant buzz of mosquitoes in the night air was driving him up the wall. He, along with Ted Donnell, was going to have to endure this for another six days. At least they had found a good position relatively easily. He was lying in a small cave in a rocky outcrop that rose above the main road running from Beira to the airport.
He heard a noise beneath him and raised his silenced 9mm pistol, ready to fire. Two short whistles told him that it was Ted coming back up from the road. There was nothing to worry about.
‘Sod this.’
Ted’s Rhodesian accent stood out against the sounds of the African night. Bunty liked him, a good soldier and one of the men who had fought with Captain Gallagher in Rhodesia.
‘Everything OK, Ted?’
‘Yes. Dead easy. We’ll blow up the whole lot without any problems at all. There’s a nice drainage ditch running either side of the road. I’ve burrowed in on one side already, I’ll go down in another three hours and do the other. With the explosives we’ve got I can lay three good sets of ball-breakers. We can just sit back and let them off one after the other. Usually after two the enemy gives up. I would - I’ve seen that stuff lift a twenty-five- ton truck in the air. Leaves a crater so bloody big you’d think that the earth had opened up. I’m glad it’s not a dirt road; we can lay the entire perimeter with heavy mines and anti-personnel mines. It’ll teach those Rusky bastards a good lesson.’
Bunty swatted another mosquito that had just landed on his face. ‘Nice work, Ted. Pity about our home, but there doesn’t seem to be any air-conditioning and the flies are a pain in the ass.’
‘You can say that again, sir. Do you want to take a kip? I’ll keep watch for another three hours, then I’ll go down again.’
Bunty lay down on the ground with relief and Ted took over watching the road. In the distance he could see the lights of Beira twinkling in the night and he wondered how Rayne and Guy were making out.
‘Fernandes has agreed to let me rent the disused shop he owns next to the hotel. I told him I was bringing in a consignment of goods and that I needed a place to store them. It couldn’t be better for our purposes; we can get in and out the back way without being seen, and it affords a good view of the front of the bank.
‘I want to get Larry and Mick in there by the middle of today. The sooner they can take over watching the bank, the better. I need time to consolidate our position with the bank manager. I’ll stay here while you have breakfast and until the bank opens, then we can make our first visit together. And check on our funds.’
‘You mean you’ve actually got money in this bank?’
‘Yes, but we’re going to take it back at the end of the week. We have to establish our credentials. I’m going to ask the bank to give us a loan, so the deposit is just a sweetener to show them that we’re men of substance.’
‘Well, it’s your money.’
Guy went across the roof and through the door to the stairwell. Rayne waited till he heard the click of the lock before he sat down with the binoculars. It was Monday morning and he was getting restless. The bank was the centre of his interest. He carefully examined the buildings surrounding the shop to make sure that he hadn’t missed any viewpoints.
The guarding routine on the bank was simple: the guard was changed every six hours. Obviously they weren’t taking major precautions, but then why should they? Anyone who robbed the bank would find great difficulty in getting away, especially with so many army personnel around. The guard’s sole duty was obviously to alert the army if the bank was attacked. That was all.
At nine o’clock a chauffeur-driven Mercedes-Benz pulled up in front of the bank. It was an old model, with funereal black paint and masses of gleaming chrome. An Indian, conservatively dressed in a black suit, got out of the back of the car. Rayne guessed that he was the bank manager. His chauffeur followed behind him, carrying his case.
A slow procession of business people filed into the bank over the following hour, probably collecting their cash float for the day’s business. Fernandes was amongst them. Rayne knew that Fernandes was in overdraft and wanted to see as little of the manager as he could. He’d established this over a game of cards with Fernandes the previous evening, which was how the subject of the shop had come up. Rayne realised that more than anything else, Fernandes needed money.
At nine-thirty precisely another large car pulled up outside the bank. An armed guard got out of the front passenger seat with a Soviet AK-47 in his hands. He moved round to the rear, right- hand passenger door, opening it carefully. A white-haired, aristocratic head emerged and after a few seconds Rayne recognised the uniform - a Russian general.
The general walked to the door of the bank and turned round to the guard, bellowing an order at him. This was no puppet commander, Rayne thought, this was the real article.
He felt something tap on his shoulder and he swung round in surprise, almost dropping the binoculars. He had forgotten where he was in his fascination with the general.
He looked up to see Guy staring down at him.
‘Don’t worry Rayne, the door to the roof was locked.’
‘I thought you were Fernandes.’
‘He won’t be coming up here in a hurry. I stole his keys.’
‘Good thinking. What’s up?’
‘Fernandes wants to see you.’
‘Mr Brand, you must not go to the bank now, it is not safe. The Russians might arrest you.’
‘I’m not scared of them, Fernandes.’
‘No, no. You still do not understand. This is no ordinary Russian, it is General Vorotnikov. He is a terrifying man. They say he tortures his victims with drugs - that his victims will say anything once he has got hold of them, and then he sends them back to Russia.’
Rayne remained calm. ‘Thank you, Fernandes. I wasn’t going to the bank, in fact, but I’ll be sure to stay away from it until the General has left. Now I must be on my way.’
‘Mr Brand, you have not forgotten about the money?’
It was obvious that Fernandes had only been interested in Rayne’s safety because he thought he wouldn’t get his money if Rayne was arrested. Well, that was excellent insurance: as long as Rayne owed Fernandes money, he would have the man under his complete control.
‘No, I have not forgotten about the money.’
‘You are a good man, Mr Brand. Please do not underestimate the Russians. Carl and Ivan whom you saw last night are always in the company of the General, they are dangerous men.’ He moved a little closer to Rayne and whispered quietly in his ear. Rayne winced as he smelt the Portuguese’s fetid breath.
Hyena Dawn Page 24
