by Jo Black
‘Mister Green, it is an honour!’
‘Gentlemen,’ Alex replied dryly.
‘So, what can we help you with? Are you looking for something in particular?’
Alex drew breath and walked around the Mig and the Hind, he walked over and inspected the dollies in a line, each racked with freshly painted, but rusting underneath, ordinance. ‘What’s the package?’ he asked nodding at the dollies.
‘Full suite of High-Explosives, fragmentation clusters, and, purely for testing purposes subject to the current restrictions on sale, napalm incendiary. Do you have a specific tactical scenario in mind?’
‘I want to blow some shit up with a big a fireball as possible as cheaply as possible,’ Alex replied very matter of fact.
‘The model we have on offer here is, a classic example, while her airframe does have some recorded incidents she is still certified airworthy.’
‘By whom?’ Alex asked.
‘The Air Ministry of Ukraine.’
‘You have the maintenance books?’
‘Of course.’ He gestured to his desk. Alex walked over and clicked his fingers at Two-Stroke: his Russian mechanic. Two-Stroke checked through the logs, removed the air certificate and handed it to Alex. Alex took out his satellite phone and punched in a speed dial code. He spoke briefly in Russian. A short pause then a long exchange before he read out the aircraft serial number. Another long conversation before he thanked them and hung up.
‘It’s faked. They issued it, but this hasn’t seen an inspection since the last pilot threw it off the runway at Donetsk Air Force Base into the long grass and broke its back.’
‘It is a crash-repaired airframe, but it has been fully repaired to factory standard.’
‘That doesn’t fill me with confidence...’
‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate, the twenty-nine is a rare opportunity on the private sale market.’
‘If it doesn’t fly straight, and the frame snaps in half as soon as you put the ordinance on the pylons, it’s an expensive hanger ornament.’
‘For a collector, or show perhaps?’
‘This is an arms fair, do you see any collectors round here? Is this your first time?’
‘We are trying to establish a new-’
Alex cut him off. ‘Let me give you some advice. These customers are not the people you sell a clocked car to. They’re the sorts of people who tend to make warranty claims on every living relative you have. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, I appreciate the...’ He trailed off.
‘What the fuck are you two doing here?’ Alex raised his hands in disbelief. ‘You see those guys out there? The ones with the boxes full of R.P.Gs, AK’s, all that tat?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’re the ones making easy money, that shit doesn’t break. It’s not complicated, and there is a constant demand for it. Bigger is not more profitable. You thought you could pick up two pieces of scrap metal from a junkyard in Ukraine, paint it up with your air-fix hobby brush then turn it round and retire to the Caymans. That’s not how this business works, that’s how you get killed before your thirtieth birthday.’
The pair looked at each other nervously. ‘So you’re not interested...’ he said with obvious disappointment.
Alex looked at the plane and shook his head. ‘What do you think?’ he asked Two-Stroke.
‘It’ll fly like a banana, it’s pissing fuel everywhere, it’s seen more action than a Phuket whorehouse, the best thing you could do is fly the fucking thing into the target loaded with fuel.’
‘And the Hind?’
‘The last time it flew was in Afghanistan. It looks like a farmer kept a family of chickens in it.’
‘Okay sit down. You’ll want to sit down.’ Alex gestured at the sellers to return to their seats. Alex stood in front of the table. ‘Luckily for you I have some Ukrainian pilots stupid enough to fly these things, and I only need them to last one sortie before I break them. So I’m going to give you parts value, don’t say anything yet; I can see that in your head you’ve already spent all the money on cocaine and hookers. I’m going to give you parts value, plus a sum that will allow you to rethink your whole stupid venture and invest in something that will not make you instantly rich, but will allow you to sleep in your bed without getting your throats’ slit. I’ll throw in enough for a couple of Ferraris so you can get laid by impressing gullible young women with tales of how you went to Libya and sold a fighter jet and a helicopter gunship to the sort of people who’d cut your fucking ears off and wear them for comedy effect at Halloween. I’m going to have four of these young ladies escort you back to your hotel, pack your bags and put you on the first plane back to whatever mindlessly dull town you originated from where you likely cooked up this hare-brained scheme while no doubt high as fucking kites on hashish watching terrible 1980’s action films. Do we have a deal? Don’t say no, because trust me I’m going to take the fucking jet off you idiots regardless of payment, and if you don’t like it you can go and explain to Colonel Gadaffi how you bullshitted your way in here before he feeds you to his pet fucking lions. Okay?’
‘Yes, we have a deal,’ the lead salesman stammered.
Nish looked at his accomplice. ‘What’s your name son?’
‘Brad Sir.’
Nish nodded down under the table. ‘Did you piss yourself Brad? Or is that AvGas from sitting in the jet?’
‘I pissed myself Sir.’
‘That’s the right answer.’
‘Get me a book value on this heap of junk Sooty. Do you even have a pro-forma prepared?’
‘No, I thought we’d get a lawyer.’
‘A lawyer?’ Alex shook his head in disbelief. ‘What is this business coming to...’ Sooty handed Alex a piece of paper with the amount written on it. Alex nodded. ‘You have a numbered account?’
‘We have Western Union.’
‘Really? Do you want to explain to the F.B.I, the A.T.F and the I.R.S why a military company in Libya is wiring you money to your checking account?’ Alex took The Company chequebook from Sooty and made out a bill of sale and signed it. Sooty handed him a pro-forma invoice. ‘Sign it here, here, and here.’ The salesman signed the form, his hand shaking. ‘Where did you get the ‘terps?’
‘Craigslist.’
‘Here’s your money. Your escort will take you to the bank where you can draw the amount in U.S Dollars. I suggest you take a flight to the Cayman Islands and deposit it there. If I read about you two idiots getting picked up at J.F.K with suitcases full of money, I will not be happy. Now get out of here before anyone realises you sold this scrap collection and are worth enough to kidnap and bury in the desert.’
‘Thank you for your business, would you like our card?’
‘No I would not.’
The pair quickly grabbed their briefcases before being quickly hurried away by four of Alex’s entourage guard to a waiting Libyan military jeep.
‘How much?’ Nish asked.
‘One point five for the Mig, five-hundred for the Hind.’
‘You robbed them.’
‘We’ll flip the Mig for fifteen to twenty and the Hind for five to someone down in Africa that wants UNICEF to feed their country’s kids after they commit some sort of genocide atrocity. Easy fifteen to twenty million in the bank less broker’s fees.’
‘Are they airworthy?’ Nish asked.
‘Of course they are. Get us some pilots and get the ordinance on the pylons before any of these bandits try and plane-jack us.’
28
Amin gazed out from behind the bars of a window on the upper floor of the fort. He looked down at the ice cubes in his tumbler of scotch as they vibrated softly before returning to staring outside as the distant bass thump of rotors broke the desert silence. His protégé entered the room. ‘He is coming...’ Amin said in a near whisper.
‘What?’
‘He is coming,’ Amin said louder.
‘Who? Who is coming?’
Amin s
tared out of the window with a resigned fateful look. ‘The Devil.’ Amin drank his scotch, returned to his desk and sank into his chair. He picked up a photo of his wife and daughter then stared at it.
The protégé went down the stairs, calling his men to action; he exited through fortress’s large wooden main door and looked up into the sky, shielding his eyes against the relentless glare from the sun. The thump grew louder until like a hurricane a vortex of rotor wash ripped the sand from around him as the hulking mass of a Hind helicopter gunship passed overhead before looping around in a circle. The fortress guards rushed out as the Hind made a wide circular arc around to shed speed before lining up towards the fort. The Tunisian conscripts spilled from their posts in blind panic and ran to cover as the Hind dipped its nose and fired a salvo of rockets into the perimeter walls’ main gate. The rockets impacted around the huge rusting iron trellis before the walls collapsed into rubble and the gates blew inwards off their hinges, landing with a sickening screech of tortured metal. As the dust settled, the conscripts dropped their rifles and fled in all directions out into the desert. The Hind moved to a hover before gently landing some two hundred metres from the fort. The rotors slowed to an idle as the turbine engines wound down, all fell silent and the cargo doors opened. The protégé raised his hand to shield against the overhead glare and made out a dozen shadowy black silhouette figures emerging through the distant heat haze, spread out into a line as they beat a slow deliberate march towards the prison.
‘What shall we do?’ the other security officers asked.
‘Call for reinforcements. Call everyone. Call anyone!’
The figures continued forwards. The protégé took out his pistol, and with a shaking hand, checked it was loaded. He walked forwards to the wreckage at the gate to confront the attackers, he made it halfway across the courtyard, level with the wooden poles, before a pair of high velocity rounds impacted, one on each knee, cutting him down to the floor. He tried to focus and aim his pistol as the twelve figures emerged through the smoke and burning wreckage of the gate and continued towards him. He aimed his pistol at the blurred outline of the centre-most figure. ‘Stop!’ he ordered. He tried to pull the trigger, but was already too weak. Alex grabbed the pistol from his hand and wrenched it outwards, crushing his wrist back on itself before he plunged a knife into the protégé’s neck. He gagged as Alex withdrew the blade before lifting his chin up to look at him. ‘Who are you?’
‘The last person you ever should have fucked with,’ Alex seethed before stabbing the blade clean through the top of his skull down to the hilt, discarding the lifeless corpse, blade still protruding as a warning to all of what was to come.
Alex continued on to the fort, looking up at the front central window, already knowing the location of his target. Escorted by his men, one by one each of the Tunisian security service members were swiftly executed before they could even respond.
Inside his office, Amin sat silently, listening to the tortured screams, the muffled struggles, the cracks of pistol shots, and then the heavy boots on the stairs. Then silence. He didn’t look up. The door creaked open slowly. Amin stared at the picture. ‘Do what you are here to do,’ Amin muttered.
‘No. You don’t get to leave so easily,’ Alex said with a chilling menace. A deep breath drawn, he slammed the door shut hard enough that the impact against the frame knocked the pictures off the walls. He walked over to the desk and stared down at Amin. ‘Your silence is incriminating.’
‘To protest would be pointless, there is no lie I can tell, to which the truth is not already known to you. That you are here makes it so very clear.’
Alex’s eyes dotted around the office. ‘This is all you are,’ he said. ‘Your life. This is it. Here in this room.’
‘Not all.’
Alex looked down at the photo he was holding. ‘Ah, yes. Not all...’ he said with a knowing smile. Amin finally looked up at Alex. Alex held out his hand for the picture, reluctantly Amin handed it him, knowing to protest was pointless, as Alex would simply take anything he desired with impunity. Alex looked at it. ‘It is a riddle. How something so ugly can have such a beautiful family.’
‘Is it not a riddle we share?’
‘No. We’re not the same.’
‘Aren’t we?’
‘You chose this. I did not. You created the situation. I merely reacted to it. We are not the same. You are the crime, I am the punishment.’
‘I would ask for mercy, for them. They have no part in this.’
Alex handed him the picture back. He walked over and opened the filing cabinet. He pulled out a stack of files, dropped them on the desk. He flipped through them casually. ‘What about them?’ Alex pulled off the photos from the files one by one and tossed them across the desk to Amin. ‘Did you show them mercy?’
‘They were not innocent.’
‘Who gave you the power to judge what is innocence and what is guilt?’
‘The same people who give you such power I imagine. We are all just tools of others.’
‘I’m not the one asking for mercy though, you are. You took these people, from their homes, their families. And you broke them in every way it is possible to break all that is decent and beautiful and pure. Some of them may have been guilty, but of what? A belief in their god, a belief in freedom, a belief in the right not to be ruled by tyranny? Terrorists or liberators? It’s all just a question of perspective. And the innocent? Simply enemies of a regime. Broken because they disagreed. You don’t have a shred of mercy in you.’ Alex drew a deep breath. ‘It hurts so much, doesn’t it? Not knowing. Not knowing. What has he done to them? Where are they? Will I ever see them again? Why? So many questions...and no answers. Now you’ll feel my pain.’ Alex headed for the door. He stopped and looked half over his shoulder. ‘My wrath is yet to come.’ Alex exited Amin’s room into the corridor. Nish looked at him. ‘Take him outside. Give him the full legionnaire’s experience.’ Alex walked away.
Alex made his way slowly down the stairs; he reached the bottom and walked down the corridor.
The pitiful wretches that were once human cowered in the shadows of their cells; fearful of what devilry the wind had blown in. Alex looked at each of them as he walked down. He stopped on his heels, sensing he had reached the place, he didn’t want to look, wary of what he might find inside, at once wanting an answer, but afraid of what it may be, and if he could tolerate the agony it would unleash. He pushed the door open and peered around it towards the bed to find an empty space. He walked in slowly, lowered himself to sit on the bed. Alex picked up the rough wool blanket and stared at it before lifting it up to his nose and inhaling deeply. Amidst the stench of decay his attuned nostrils picked up the most delicate remnants of a floral bouquet he recognised only too well, he gave his lungs a second wind as he pulled every last trace of it trying to prevent it escaping into the ether. He held it in, savouring the memories it evoked, the emotional connection. His eyes closed, mere hints of tears rolled from his lashes onto his cheeks. ‘My love...’ his eyes opened and he looked up. ‘Where are you?’
He got up again and placed the blanket over his shoulder. He walked over to the wall and scanned the old sandstone carvings made by so many inmates, reading its history with every inscription until a fresh mark caught his eye.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield
He reached his finger and traced each word delicately, admiring the precision of the calligraphy on such a harsh canvas, imagining the care and time taken to fill the void with such a laborious task. He knew the verse well, from Tennyson’s Ulysses, he remembered reciting it to the person who carved it. He looked around the cell, memorising every inch of it, imagining the ti
me spent there, waiting for the tormentor to come. At once hating the entrapment, but strangely comforted for the sanctuary from the pain and suffering endured outside it. He slowly, reluctantly, exited into the corridor. His head turned to the right, drawn to the door at the end of the corridor, knowing where it led, drawing him in to bear witness to the truth of its horror. To know and to feel what she had felt. He walked in and stared at the empty table in the middle. The chair. The buckets. The electric clamps. The table set by the wall full of knives and cutting tools. The blood stained so deep into the stone it could never be washed away. The wretched stink of fear, of misery, of pain, of suffering and pleading. The thick low ceiling ensuring no prayers to anything above would ever be heard. He walked over and slumped into the chair. Stared ahead, imagined the stoic resolve to maintain dignity, chipped away by the sense of hopelessness, that no end would come, no escape was possible. He sat silently, soul soaked in all the spirits of the lives that had been ended so brutally, so casually, and without remorse. The knowing that those left behind would never learn of what happened here.
‘Alex.’ He heard a distant voice say. ‘Alex.’ Nish’s voice echoed.
‘She was here. She was here...’
‘We’ve searched everywhere. There’s no records. He’s probably burned them.’
Alex nodded, still seemingly lost. Nish walked over and put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, Alex instinctively reached up and squeezed it, hanging onto it as a child to its parent. ‘I can’t bear it Nish.’ Tears welled in Alex’s eyes. ‘If she’s...I don’t know that I can stand to know.’ Alex’s tears broke in an emotional flood.
‘Hey come on. Shhh.’ Nish hugged Alex as he wrapped his arms around him, tears welled in his own eyes as he saw the most effective tool of destruction he’d ever trained reduced to a tattered and emotionally lost helpless little boy at the mere prospect of losing that which all he had become was anchored on. ‘It’s going to be okay. You need to be strong for her. She needs The Dragon. She needs it.’ Nish held the tears back, sensing the raging emotional torment his young protégé, the man who was as close to a son as he ever had, hung on to the slimmest of hopes with a thread. For Nish knew, as Alex knew only too well, in the dark places of the world they existed there were no happy endings, and there were no heroes deaths to be celebrated, only the beaten and abused shattered remnants of the once proud laid bare to the fragile skin and bone that they were left with when dispossessed of their souls. Alex pulled himself together. ‘Come on now. You can’t let the boys see you in this mess. If they catch us hugging like this they’ll think we’ve caught the gay.’ Alex wiped his eyes on his sleeve. ‘Come on get up.’ Nish dragged Alex back to his feet. ‘You okay?’
