Dark Asset

by Adrian Magson

  It was rhetorical, but they grunted affirmatively, taking deep breaths to steady their nerves and each inserting soft earplugs against the coming gunfire.

  Ellison pulled away from the kerb and drifted along the street, passing the junction alongside the hotel. All the lights in the building had now been extinguished. There was no other traffic and no pedestrians in sight. As they reached the other Raptor they saw Domenic give them a thumbs up and a large grin. Then they were past and approaching the pickup, sitting a hundred yards back, its lights out. Outlined against a dim pool of light further down the street they could see the shapes of armed men standing in the open back to watch them come, and a flare of instrument lights on the faces of the driver and passenger.

  ‘What if they open fire before we get there?’ said Ellison.

  ‘They won’t,’ Ratchman said. ‘They want this vehicle way too much to spoil it. They’ll wave their guns and expect us to stop like good boys and hand it over.’

  As they drew level with the hood of the pickup, Ratchman lifted an assault rifle off the floor and told Ellison to slow further. Just as they drew level with the men in the back, they heard a shout from one of the bandits, who had clearly seen something he didn’t like. Ratchman fired a burst of automatic fire into the group of men at point blank range, aiming at two figures swinging RPGs over their shoulders. Meanwhile, in the back, Jesse was sitting ready with his feet braced against the bodywork. He opened fire into the front of the pickup, blowing out the windows and ripping apart the thin metal of the cab structure, seeing both men go down.

  The noise was deafening, echoing off the walls of the buildings on either side of the street and accompanied by screams from the men in the pickup as they were struck by the blast of withering gunfire.

  Carson lobbed his two grenades in among the men and shouted, ‘Go, go!’

  At that, Ellison stamped on the gas and took them down the street while Carson picked up a semi-automatic pistol and turned in his seat, calmly blowing out the pickup’s rear tyres and causing the vehicle to squat at the back like a downed buffalo.

  Seconds later, as they were turning the corner, twin explosions echoed down the street and the pickup was engulfed in flames.

  As Ellison took them fast down a narrow street heading west, Ratchman turned to his cell phone and watched as the tracking device picked up Domenic’s vehicle ahead of them and approximately two blocks north.

  His phone rang. It was Domenic, sounding buzzed with excitement. ‘You all clear?’

  ‘Clear and rolling,’ Ratchman replied, amid a chorus of shouts from the other three men. ‘They didn’t know what hit them.’

  ‘You lucky bastards. Are we calling in the Chinook?’

  ‘Not yet. I got a feeling about that vehicle you saw driving away. There’s nobody else moving around here, so why was there a car near that particular hotel? I want to take a closer look.’

  ‘Got that. We’ll see if we can find it. It’s dark where we are so it should be easy enough to catch the headlights if he’s still moving. Too risky to drive far otherwise, in case he hits something.’

  ‘I hear you. We’ll follow your signal on a parallel track.’

  He switched off and sat back. It was Masse or Portman, he could feel it in his bones. Either one would do just as long as it led to the recovery of the hard drive. Settling things with Portman would be a bonus. Then they could dump the bodies before heading for home.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I heard a crackle of gunfire some distance behind me as I headed away from the hotel. I couldn’t tell if it was connected with the two SUVs or was one of the many random acts of violence that takes place in this city most nights of the week. Put any mixed bunch of bandits, terrorists and trigger-happy regular army on the prowl in a lawless place like Mogadishu, and it’s like setting off a string of firecrackers and hoping the flames don’t spread.

  As for the SUVs, however they had arrived here, whether on my trail or Masse’s, it was likely that they’d done so through a combination of chance, good instincts and information. Whichever way it was, our situation didn’t look great.

  I kept going and tried Masse’s number. It rang twice before the signal dropped out. I placed the phone on the passenger seat and thought about my next move. I couldn’t go back to Djibouti until I found out what had happened to him. It was obvious that he’d already recovered the hard drive in spite of the porter’s denials, and had even been close enough to see what was happening and warn me. What I couldn’t figure out was why … unless he needed me to help him get out of the country.

  I was about to try his number again when I caught a flicker of light in the rear-view mirror. It was momentary, then gone, but with no other vehicles in sight it could only mean that the SUVs had latched onto me. It was tough to judge but I reckoned the light had been maybe half a mile behind me, and very bright with a bluish tinge. That discounted most other vehicles I’d seen so far, which were old, their headlights yellow and dull, if working at all. Whoever was behind me was driving something much newer and faster.

  I put on speed and dowsed my lights, hoping nobody would step out in front of me. But that soon proved too dangerous when I saw a cow loom up by the side of the road for a second and stand looking at me as if daring me to hit it. I swerved just in time and felt the front wheel touch the kerb, then corrected and turned the lights back on. If I crashed now, the men in the SUV would find me easy pickings.

  Part of my plan for getting back out once I recovered the hard drive or Masse, whichever was the most useful, was to drive back to the airfield and find some cover until the air taxi could come and get me. But with these guys so hot on my tail, that would be courting disaster. I was going to have to be inventive.

  My phone buzzed, taking me by surprise. It was Masse.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked. His voice was tinny and trembling with vibration, and I guessed he was on the move in a vehicle over rough ground, probably the same kind of street as me.

  ‘No idea,’ I told him truthfully. ‘I’m heading west and must be close to the outskirts of the city. But this is new territory for me. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m heading the same way. We’re probably in the same quarter. Can you see the minaret of a mosque to the north of your route?’

  I looked round, trying not to slam into the side of one of the many buildings on the side of the road. ‘I can see two.’ It wasn’t too hard, even in the dark; they were taller than any other buildings and stood out against the sky.

  ‘How close?’

  ‘One is about two hundred metres away, the other much further over. That one’s got a faint light in the top.’

  ‘That’s good. You’re heading the right way. What are you driving?’

  I told him and he said, ‘You need something less obvious if you want to get out of this. We must meet up and dump your car. That is the only way.’

  ‘Fine by me. But where?’

  His voice dropped out for a few seconds, before coming back halfway through a sentence. ‘… and drive inside.’

  ‘Say again – I didn’t get that.’

  ‘There is an abandoned grain store on an intersection maybe three kilometres ahead of you, to your right. Drive behind it where you will find the doors have been taken off. Put the car inside and wait for me. I will join you shortly.’

  I put on speed, one eye counting down the distance. Three kilometres wasn’t far at this speed, and I’d have to be ready to slow down enough to turn without using my brake lights. A clutch of shanty buildings came up, with the reflected glow of my lights from the eyes of several animals tethered behind a rough stick fence. Goats, mostly, maybe a couple of cows. I changed down and allowed the engine to take the strain, and saw a larger shape in the distance, among a collection of mud or brick buildings.

  This had to be it.

  I swung in behind the larger building and immediately saw what Masse had described. It had once been a fairly substantial structure of metal and stone,
most likely a government project to help local farmers, but a lot of the material used to build the rear wall and doors had been plundered and taken away, probably used by locals to build or repair their houses and make stock pens for their animals.

  I aimed for the inside and drove in, slamming on the brakes. Then I jumped out and grabbed the AK and the SIG. If Masse had made a misjudgement I was about to make a glorious last stand here. It wouldn’t be of Alamo proportions but just as fatal.

  The lights behind me were approaching fast. They were making no attempt at subtlety but aiming at speed and a quick finish. Something must have alerted them that I was in danger of getting away and they’d had orders to end the chase.

  Then another glow of lights appeared from the north, moving on an intersecting line towards the road I’d just left. I couldn’t see the vehicle but it was obviously going at a lick. If it continued on its present course it would eventually meet up with the oncoming SUV.

  I checked the AK. If they were together I was in trouble. I hadn’t got enough ammunition for an all-out fight, especially if the men in the SUVs had modern assault rifles as I suspected. But I didn’t have to make it easy for them. Besides, a gut feeling told me they had no intention of taking me alive, but of simply wiping me out, problem solved. In which case all they had to do was pour a bunch of rounds into the building and sooner or later I’d be down and dead.

  The vehicle approaching from the north disappeared for a moment behind some buildings before reappearing, this time on a collision course with the approaching SUV. There was a blare of a horn and a flare of lights, then a crunch as the incoming vehicle hit the SUV at an angle, driving it off the road into a patch of waste land. The SUV driver had probably been distracted sufficiently by the horn to have failed to react to the collision in time, and had momentarily lost his hold on the wheel.

  The second vehicle broke contact and continued towards me, the driver flashing his remaining headlight. I grabbed my bag and headed for the outside. When it pulled up alongside I dropped to one knee with the SIG pointed at the door and waited. The vehicle was a pickup with a long bed, of the kind used by small construction professionals. The bodywork was battered and dusty, and the front fender caved in from the collision. But the engine sounded good to go.

  Masse stuck out his arm and banged the side of the door. ‘Are you coming or not?’

  ‘I’m guessing they were Lunnberg’s men back there,’ I said as Masse tore across an intersection. The pickup bounced twice, bottoming out as we hit a drainage gulley and making my teeth ache, and scattering a wall of litter in the air behind us. I really had to write to the city authorities and ask them to set up a road improvement program.

  ‘Correct. Driving Ford Raptors, too. Good vehicles for this terrain. I probably know the dealer who supplied them. He brings them in for the Special Forces guys who like serious off-roading.’ As he shifted in his seat a wave of sour body odour came off him. I wondered where he’d been hiding up for the past few days and whether he even noticed the state he was in. His hair was a mess and he hadn’t shaved in a while, and his eyes were flicking wildly back and forth between the road in front and the rear-view mirror like a man high on narcotics.

  ‘You recognised them?’

  ‘Yes. I saw them with Lunnberg in Djibouti. They are mercenaries … but they prefer to call themselves private military contractors.’ He made a vile noise in his throat and spat through the open window. ‘Lunnberg has the most to gain from seeing that we do not reach Djibouti in one piece. I think he also sent his little army to deal with the body of the man he sent looking for me.’

  The man in the office block. McBride. I wondered if Masse had worked out who the man had worked for or whether he had some inside information he wasn’t sharing.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘It’s the only explanation. It’s the sort of thing Lunnberg would do: he is not a man to put all his trust in one person or action, but always has a back-up plan.’ He tapped the wheel in a nervous tattoo with the palm of his hand. ‘I read about him. Petrus sent me a briefing paper when we learned who would be running this deal for the Americans. He is well known in certain circles.’

  It sounded to me as though the French had the same information on Lunnberg as Angela Pryce, and probably just as full of holes. Known or not, Lunnberg had turned out not to be the kind of team player the French had expected. To a man like him information is power, and if he could gain the upper hand in what was supposed to be a two-sided arrangement, while suppressing any information about his own involvement if things went badly wrong, he would come out with clean hands.

  That reminded me. ‘You have the hard drive, right?’

  He looked at me and shook his head. ‘It wasn’t there.’

  He couldn’t help himself and it showed. ‘I don’t believe you.’ Just to demonstrate how much I didn’t believe him I took out the SIG and held it against his thigh. ‘This won’t kill you immediately I pull the trigger, but it’ll put paid to any hopes you have of doing the French tango when you get back home. If you make it that far.’

  He tried to laugh it off but failed, flinching away from the gun. ‘Hey – Portman, come on! You want to get out of this godforsaken hellhole or what? You need me, remember? You won’t get anywhere in this country if you kill me!’

  ‘You want to bet your life on that? I’ve been in worse situations. If I dump you out on the road for Ratchman and his men to find, we’ll see how much they need you. Now, the hard drive. Where is it?’

  He held out for about ten seconds before caving in. ‘Yes, OK, I got it. I got it.’ He, took a silver biscuit from his pocket. It was identical to the one I’d found on the body. ‘But it is mine to return, Portman. I have worked very hard for this for a long time. They will owe me for getting it back!’ His eyes looked wild and he stuffed the hard drive back in his pocket.

  ‘Owe you what?’

  ‘A return ticket. I want to get out of here. My best way of doing so is to take this back with me. Not you, not Lunnberg, not even that salaud, Petrus.’ He jabbed a thumb at his chest. ‘I have gone through too much for this.’ He closed his mouth with a snap when he nearly hit a large pile of something by the side of the road. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, and focussed instead on not getting us killed.

  I figured there must be a whole lot of bitterness and stress built up inside Masse that had been seeping out for a long time, and his superiors had failed to spot it. But whatever his complaints, he wasn’t behaving professionally, more like the only kid on the block who owned a football. If he wasn’t careful he was going to find his boss very unsympathetic if he got in the way of Petrus’s own ambitious plans to see this thing through and head on back to Paris with the hard drive.

  It made me wonder what Lunnberg would think about that, and I glanced behind me and saw another glimmer of light in the darkness. It didn’t seem a lot closer than before, but it didn’t need to be; all they had to do was stay on our tail in the hope that sooner or later we would make a mistake or simply run out of road. Once that happened they would be all over us like a rash.

  I put the gun away and heard him breathe a sigh of relief. He glanced at me. ‘You’re a scary son of a bitch, Portman, you know that? Is it me those men are after … or you?’

  ‘If we get caught you can ask them.’ I jerked a thumb behind us. ‘They’re right there in our smoke. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Of course. We keep going on our present route and meet up with Marten at first light and go home.’

  ‘Who’s Marten?’

  ‘The crazy Zimbabwean who flew you here.’ The way he said it sounded so simple, but I knew it would be anything but. Right now we were heading out into open country with only one road to go on, and we couldn’t keep running for ever.

  ‘How do we do that? Even if we stay clear of the SUVs, the plane won’t be able to land in the dark. That gives us several hours to play hide-and-seek until dawn. Do you have any spare fuel?’

  He nodded.
‘I have a couple of containers in the back but not enough to get us to the border – even if I thought it would be possible. It’s very bad terrain and very dangerous. If we don’t run into insurgents we will hit Somali forces, and they don’t stop to ask questions in the dark – they will shoot first and drive away afterwards.’

  ‘Can we reach the airfield where the pilot dropped us?’

  ‘No good.’ He thumbed the air behind us. ‘There’s no direct route and I’m sure these men will have thought of that. The moment we change direction they’ll head us off. The only way is to hide up and get Marten to come to us.’

  I didn’t like leaving the decision to Masse, but I didn’t have a lot of choice. This was his turf and he knew it inside out. And if we were to get out of this immediate mess, we needed each other to cooperate in dealing with the opposition. Two against at least six was not the best odds in any kind of fight, and I didn’t know how proficient Masse was when it came to combat. Wisdom says you always allow for any opposition to be at least competent, but in a running fight it would be numbers that counted most.

  ‘Then what? Are you going to head for the airport in Djibouti and fly out with the hard drive like a tourist?’

  ‘No. Lunnberg and Petrus will have somebody monitoring all arrivals and departures. I might get into the airport but I do not think I would be allowed to leave.’ He took out his phone and dropped it in my lap. ‘Speed dial number one. It is to Marten. Tell him we need a pickup at first light.’

  ‘Will he do it?’

  He gave a tight grin and steered around a couple of goats squatting by the side of the road. ‘Only one way for finding out, right? If you promise him many dollars he will land over the roof of Mogadishu police station itself.’