‘Maybe not,’ I agreed. ‘If we’re lucky they’ll get overrun by the two SUVs and blown off the road. Hopefully that will slow the SUVs down until we can find somewhere to hide.’
‘And if not?’
‘Then we stop and fight. What weapons do you have?’
‘A Beretta nine mil. But two magazines only.’
It wasn’t anywhere near enough, but it would have to do. Pistols were only ever useful for close-up work; beyond about thirty feet it was just punching holes in the scenery and scaring the birds.
I was staring through the windscreen, evaluating our chances, when I saw what appeared to be a rise in the road up ahead. It was difficult to tell but there was just enough starlight to see the road level against the sky. It wasn’t much but it might be the best bit of luck we were going to get.
I pointed ahead. ‘Get past the top if this rise and stop the other side.’
‘What are you going to do?’ His voice rose a notch and I hoped he wasn’t going to bug out as soon as I was out of the car. If he tried it, I’d shoot him.
I lifted the AK. ‘If we stop to take them on along a flat section of road we won’t stand a chance. Behind that hill, I’ll have the element of surprise.’
‘God, Portman, you’re crazy. It will never work.’
‘Have you got a better idea? If the men in that pickup are anything like the ones I encountered in Mogadishu, they’ll be high on khat and eager to kill. They won’t be expecting anybody on foot to jump out at them.’ I wasn’t entirely sure about the khat aspect of my argument, but the odds were in my favour. ‘Get ready to stop when I tell you but don’t use the footbrake. We don’t want to give them advance notice that we’re springing a surprise.’
He still looked at me as if I was nuts, but didn’t argue as we hit the first stage of the slope. I checked behind and saw the pickup’s lights, yellow and feeble in the distance, bouncing about on the road. Then our engine note began to fall as the momentum dropped, and Masse gave it more gas to take us over the crest and down.
The moment the hood dipped again I unlatched the door and said, ‘This will do. Wait for me a couple of hundred metres along and keep the motor running.’
He nodded and switched off all the lights, then hauled on the handbrake lever. I stepped out before the pickup had stopped and watched him drive away. As soon as I was sure he was going to stop, I turned and hoofed it to the crest of the rise and hunkered down to wait. Peering over the top I saw the lights bobbing about in the distance. The noise of the engine was a hum over the night air, but with it came a ragged sound as if struggling to breathe. It might explain why they had taken off after us: they needed a change of transport and we looked like a good target. I figured if they didn’t blow up first they’d be here inside a couple of minutes.
I checked the AK and settled myself. And waited.
TWENTY-THREE
Two miles to the rear, Ratchman was wrestling with tiredness and the wheel, having taken over from Ellison who had promptly fallen asleep against the door in spite of the bumpy ride. The other two men were also getting what rest they could in the rear, occasionally stirring to cast an eye out the back and sides for signs of pursuit.
They were all feeling the effects of their trip from Djibouti and the drive out of Mogadishu. The hot contact near the hotel, in spite of having gone to plan, had put them all on edge. Every time they turned a corner or squeezed down a narrow street lined with darkened buildings, they had expected to find themselves facing an ambush or a blockade. Twice they had spotted other vehicles packed with armed men, and it seemed evident that word had gone out about the gunfight, and groups of bandits or insurgents were now combing the city for the two SUVs.
Although disposing of the gunmen in the pickup had given them a welcome burst of adrenalin and triumph, the downside had soon caught up with them as they drove out of the city and into the dark of the open countryside. Out here there was no guarantee that they were safe because they were still in bandit territory, as open to attack for no other reason than being an interesting target for whoever wanted to take the SUVs, or a military patrol wanting to check their credentials.
Getting free of the city had brought welcome relief and a chance of relaxation. Catching up with Dom and the other men hadn’t taken long, and the two SUVs were now a quarter of a mile apart, with at least one set of eyes in each vehicle alert for signs of trouble.
Dom’s car had suffered minor damage earlier after being side-swiped by a pickup driven by a single man, and for a few minutes he had lost sight of it as he’d struggled to regain the wheel and get back on solid ground. But then brake lights had flared ahead of them as the other vehicle had skidded to stop and another man had appeared from a deserted building and jumped aboard before it had taken off again. It had to have been Portman, but Dom had been forced to jump out and kick part of the ripped fender out from the front wheel before continuing. By then, the other vehicle had disappeared.
Ratchman, at the time nearly half a mile behind, had received the news in silence. If they’d been travelling in closer formation they might have been able to do something about it. But they had lost that initiative and would have to catch the other vehicle as soon as they could. He’d told Dom to fall back and then leap-frogged him, telling him to keep up as best he could.
Now he was focussed on getting some more speed out of the SUV. He’d already caught a glimpse of tail lights up ahead, and figured maybe ten minutes until contact, maybe fifteen at most if the pickup noticed they were coming and put on speed, too.
He checked his watch. It would soon be time for him to report in. Lunnberg was getting more demanding the longer this went on, but since he was the one paying their wages, it was his call. The sooner they got what they had come for, the sooner they could head for home and be out of this shithole of a wasteland.
Before he could reach for his phone, it rang. He picked it up and checked the screen. No caller ID. ‘Yeah?’
‘What have you got? Something good, I hope.’ Damned if it wasn’t Lunnberg, jumping the gun. He sounded alert and ready and, as always, impatient for news.
‘We’re on Portman’s tail and we think he’s got Masse with him.’ Ratchman explained what they had found at the office building.
‘Was it McBride?’
‘No idea. I never met the guy. The body was too far gone to tell. He was white, though; that’s all I can say.’
‘Then it must have been him. Pity.’ In spite of the word, Lunnberg sounded unmoved by the revelation, as if the man’s death was no more than a figure to be written off and forgotten, dropped casually into the ‘lost’ column of whatever ledger men like him liked to keep. ‘You destroyed the evidence?’
‘Done and gone.’
‘And the hotel?’
‘We drew a blank; if Masse or Portman had been there, they’d skipped town. We had a little trouble from some local bozos, but the boys dusted them down good. We’re currently following Portman north-west into open country.’
‘North-west? There’s nothing out that way but rocks and bushes.’
Ratchman didn’t waste time asking Lunnberg how he knew that; the colonel would have checked the terrain for himself already. ‘I’m not sure what he’s doing. Could be he knows of another landing strip like the one he came in on, or maybe he figures he can continue running until we lose interest and go home.’
‘That’s not going to happen.’ Lunnberg’s voice was flat, leaving no room for argument.
‘I figured. Either way they won’t get far. They’re driving a crappy little pickup on a lousy road, so we can take them whenever we want.’
‘Not yet. Follow them, keep them on your radar but don’t hit them until I say so.’
Ratchman was surprised by the change of tactic. ‘Is there a problem? I thought you wanted these two dead and buried first chance we got.’
‘I do. But I’ve been thinking, this man Portman could present us with a problem. He’s known in Langley and I have to find out whethe
r he’s been in contact with them recently. If he has and he’s being tracked, his disappearance will bring down a lot of heat on our heads. When you do it, you might have to be creative, so it looks like a third-party hot contact.’
‘Bandits, you mean? That shouldn’t be too difficult; there are plenty around here. We can dress it up to look like Portman and the Frog strayed into the wrong kind of people, no question.’
‘That would be ideal. Don’t worry – you’ll get your chance. I’ll be in touch.’
Ratchman signed off and dropped the phone in his pocket with a feeling of irritation. He figured maybe Lunnberg had been too long out of the field and had forgotten how unpredictable these situations could be. Like they could just hang back until he decided what to do, then sail up unseen alongside Portman and Masse and blast them off the road. Yeah, just like in the movies.
Lunnberg’s call had woken the other three men, and they were sitting up and checking their weapons. Nobody was speaking because there was nothing to say. It was Ellison who eventually spotted something and broke the silence. ‘Boss, is that them up ahead?’
‘Who else?’ said Carson from the rear seat. ‘Ain’t nobody but us fools out here.’
Ellison grabbed a pair of binoculars from the glove box and struggled to get a fix while bouncing around in his seat. Then he said, ‘I’m not so sure. It’s a different light array.’
Ratchman looked at him. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘No, I’m not. My uncle Ned had an auto dealership and I got to recognise them when I was a kid, especially on pickups and small trucks. Never lost the habit, either. That one’s too far off to tell what it is for sure but it’s not the one we’ve been following from the city.’
Ratchman leaned forward and peered into the dark at the tiny specks of red light up ahead. Damned if he could tell what they were, but if Ellison said they were different it was good enough for him.
‘It must have joined this road somewhere. Whoever they are, they’re in our way but they might be useful.’ He turned to Ellison and said, ‘Call Dom and tell him to close up on us and have his guys awake and ready. We’ll use the vehicle up ahead for cover until we get word from Lunnberg, then we take them both out.’
Ellison nodded and got on the phone, and got an affirmative that the men in the other car were primed and ready to go.
Ratchman said, ‘Carson, you got that rifle ready?’ Carson was their nominated sharpshooter, and came equipped with an M4A1 carbine and the eye of a professional hunter.
‘Sure have, boss. What’s the plan?’
‘When we get the word, I’ll get up close to the vehicle in front, then stop long enough for you to hit them with a few rounds. If that doesn’t work we’ll hit them hard and fast and take them off the road. Then we go straight on through and hit Portman. I’ll slow down now so you can get in the back. Jesse, you go too.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ Carson grinned in the back and opened his window ready to climb out. The rear cargo area would be an ideal gun platform for shooting when the time came, and not the first time he’d used one like it. The moment the speed dropped and Ratchman gave him the nod, he passed his rifle to Jesse and slid out, swinging himself with ease into the back. Then he took the rifle from his colleague, who followed him out and got ready to back him up.
As the cold night air flooded the vehicle, the mood among all four men lifted at the thought of impending action.
TWENTY-FOUR
Back in Djibouti, Colonel Lunnberg’s mood wasn’t quite so upbeat. He dropped his phone on the bed and stared out across the dark waters of the gulf with a growing sense of frustration. He was wondering how long this was going to take. They should have had this mess wrapped up a couple of days ago, instead of which here they were chasing shadows around Somalia and still no closer to retrieving the hard drive and disposing of the evidence that could see them all locked up for many years if it went public.
He swore mildly at the nagging thought and eyed the navigation lights of a frigate sitting offshore. It was here on escort duties for a French aircraft carrier and helped monitor air movements over the region, and he almost envied its air of detachment and serenity. Almost but not quite. Lunnberg had never been one for sitting still for long, and he wasn’t going to sit and wait for this business to play out without taking action. Doing nothing wasn’t an option in his book, even if it meant going against the wishes of those above him when the opportunity presented itself.
He dialled a number in Virginia and got through to a contact named Henry Seibling, a senior analyst in the sprawling intelligence community housed in several high-security buildings among the tree-studded landscape. Seibling owed Lunnberg for a favour the colonel had performed for him two years before. It wasn’t much in Lunnberg’s view, just a nod and a wink towards some developing markets that had enabled the man to make a quick buck and plan for an early retirement. But Lunnberg never did favours for nothing, and he figured now was the time to collect. He needed information about Portman, and Seibling, who worked in the bowels of a section dealing with highly sensitive human records, was the source who could get it.
‘Clay?’ Even in a single word Seibling’s voice became instantly guarded, and Lunnberg figured the analyst had been hoping this was a call that he would never have to take. ‘This is a surprise.’
I bet it is, thought Lunnberg savagely. And right now you’re sitting in your nice BarcaLounger at home, wondering why I’m calling and trying not to mess your pants as you figure it out. ‘Henry, I must apologise for this late call,’ he said smoothly, ‘but I have a little favour to ask.’
‘What kind of favour?’
‘I need some information on an individual.’
‘Well now,’ said Seibling carefully, a nervous tone entering his voice. ‘I don’t know about that, Clay. You know I can’t access personnel files …’
‘I’m not asking you to do that. This person is not a government employee, so I’m not expecting you to break any rules. I just need to know if he’s currently – how do I say this – attached to any of the agencies in any way. That’s all.’
‘I see. What’s this about? I mean, I’m very grateful to you for your past help, as you know, but—’ his voice dropped a notch to a whisper, which meant he was hoping his wife couldn’t hear him – ‘there’s a lot of risk involved here. I can’t simply enter the name in a search engine and give you what you want. It’s not like using Google – there are audit trails and internal firewalls that stop me going above a certain level.’
‘Marc Portman, Henry,’ Lunnberg continued heavily, ignoring the excuses. ‘He’s a private contractor and gun for hire who has worked for the agency on at least one occasion that I know. All I need you to tell me is, does he still have a connection to them?’
‘Connection?’ Seibling’s voice became a squeak at the word, revealing his fears. To him, the only connections worth worrying about were the people in power on the upper floors of the building; the men and women who could make a career, but also end it by rooting out at will and send to jail anyone caught doing anything not in accordance to the rules of the job. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Does he have a current contract?’
‘Well, like I just told you—’
Lunnberg brushed his words aside with an impatient snap. ‘I’ll call back in one hour, Henry. That should give you plenty of time. I know you can get to your office inside twenty minutes from where you live, and I know you keep unconventional hours like so many of your colleagues, so please don’t disappoint. I’m sure you would hate Catherine to find out that her retirement is likely to be very lonely with you gone. And visiting hours in our correction facilities are so inconvenient.’
‘What?’
Lunnberg disconnected and set his phone timer. Not that he needed it but he liked the idea of precision when it came to applying pressure on individuals. It let them know that he wasn’t fooling around.
Next he rang James Warren. He hadn’t heard from th
e power broker for a while, which always made him nervous. Non-military types lived by different rules to those in or out of uniform, and while they enjoyed playing by the slow rules of commerce, Lunnberg needed to know what was happening at the top end of the operation.
‘Mr Warren’s office.’ A soft female voice answered and Lunnberg hesitated, feeling a tingle of alarm. He’d dialled Warren’s private cell phone as always – the one Warren used for strictly off-the-books discussions – and had expected to hear the man’s voice. Nobody, but nobody else had ever answered before.
‘I’d like to speak to James, please,’ he said. ‘It’s urgent.’
‘I’m sorry, but he’s not available right now. May I ask who’s calling?’
‘That isn’t necessary, ma’am. As I said, this is an urgent matter and I need to talk with him.’ He found he was gripping the phone like a vice and forced himself to relax. ‘When will he be … available?’
‘I’m not sure, sir. Can I take a message? I’m certain he won’t be long. If you would like to give me your number, I’ll—’
Lunnberg ended the call and resisted hurling the phone across the room. Something was wrong; he could feel it in every fibre of his being. Over the years he had developed the hunter’s instinct for knowing when the suits in and around Washington were stalling or making a change of plan. But for a man like Warren to allow somebody else to use his private phone, this wasn’t just a stall; it had to be bad news.
He left his room and hurried down to the ground floor, where he found the night porter signing in a late arrival.
‘Yes, sir?’ the man said, when the guest had gone.
‘I need a drink.’ Lunnberg figured the bars were closed, but he didn’t care. Right now he needed something to occupy his mind. He pulled out some folded notes and pushed them into the porter’s hand. ‘Whisky. Neat. A large one.’
The porter nodded gracefully and pocketed the money. ‘Of course, sir. Should I bring it on the terrace?’
Lunnberg nodded. The terrace would be fine. It would be cool and swept by the night breeze coming off the Gulf, and seated among the carefully tended palms would be the ideal place to calm his nerves and think.
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