Cobra 405

by Damien Lewis

  Bill Berger was the first to his feet. Before he could even make the dance floor he was grabbed by a tall smoky-skinned beauty. The rest of the lads let forth a wild cheer as the big American started bopping away to the beat. The girl certainly knew how to move, and before long he had his hands on her lithe hips and was giving her his best gap-toothed grin. Bill Berger had always been one for the ladies, and Kilbride presumed that all thoughts of Tashana the maid had been driven from his mind. Which was a relief, as the last thing he needed right now was trouble at The Homestead.

  The beer flowed, the girls flashed their smiles, and Kilbride’s men were captivated by it all. One by one they joined Bill Berger on the dance floor, until only Smithy, Boerke and Kilbride were left at the table. The rhythm pounded, the Q-Bar grew more and more crowded, and the room got hotter still. The dance floor became a sweatbox, where already-skimpy T-shirts clung tightly to glistening bodies. The girls reverse-danced into the men, shaking their hair in their faces and thrusting their tight butts up against them. Only Boerke remained unmoved by it all. He ran a similar bar down in the Cape. As for Kilbride, he was a regular here, so the girls knew him and pretty much left him alone.

  Suddenly a cute little lady appeared at Smithy’s side, and in one slick move she slid herself onto him. ‘Not dancing?’ she asked over her shoulder. She wriggled further onto his lap. Then, in his ear: ‘If I dance with you, would that change things?’

  ‘Too bloody right it would,’ Smithy enthused. ‘Where you lead and all that … I’d follow your arse bloody anywhere …’

  Soon the bulky Sergeant was jerking about to the rhythm, along with the rest of the men and their girls. Kilbride and Boerke exchanged glances. It was good to see the men enjoying themselves. They had the mission of a lifetime ahead of them, and they were no longer in the flush of youth. Best to enjoy life now while they still could, for some of them would doubtless not be making it back from this one alive.

  An hour or so after Bill Berger disappeared, he was back at the table. He poured himself a beer and took a greedy pull. ‘You know what, buddy?’ he remarked to Kilbride. ‘Lovely girls, ’n’ all, but I ain’t interested in none of them. Tashana’s the one for me.’

  Kilbride laughed. ‘Piss off, mate. Since when did you get serious about any woman?’

  Berger eyed Kilbride. ‘Listen, buddy, I seen what you got goin’ here and I’m impressed. A good, honest woman; a place to live like fuckin’ paradise; a couple of great kids. You’re in a country where no woman’s ever gonna sue your ass off, ’cause that just don’t happen here. They appreciate a man, that’s what I seen, and I mean really appreciate. I’d like a slice of that myself, buddy. That being the case, Tashana’s gotta be the one …’

  ‘They’re not all night fighters in here, mate,’ Kilbride interjected. ‘There’s a lot of girls come here that are students and stuff, just looking for a man.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe—’

  Bill Berger’s reply was cut short by a drunken Smithy cannoning into their table. ‘I’ve sussed it,’ he blurted out. ‘The Black Arseholes … We parachute a load of girls from the Q-Bar into the Black Arseholes’ camp, along with a few crates of Kilimanjaro lager. That way they’ll think they’re in bloody Paradise already, so there’s no need to go dying to get there. That should take the fight out of ’em. Whadyureckon?’

  Kilbride grinned. ‘I like it, mate. We’ll put it to the vote tomorrow.’

  ‘Only we’re not parachuting my Janey in,’ Smithy added, nodding at his sexy young thing. She was fetching more drinks from the bar. ‘Once we’ve got the loot I’m gonna make an honest woman out of her. I promised her. I told ’er I’d buy a beach plot next to yours, mate, and settle down for a life of ease in the sun. And that fucking wife of mine – “you’ll never amount to nothing.” That old dragon will never darken my door again.’

  Kilbride slung an arm around Smithy’s shoulders. ‘You could do worse, mate. What does … Janey do? You know they’re not all angels in here …’

  ‘Nah, she’s not like that. Seriously, mate. She’s already said we ain’t going to do anything tonight. She’s a student, studying some ’ology or other. Can’t remember which. She’s like a proper girlfriend. I feel like I’m eighteen years old all over again …’

  Smithy weaved off to rejoin his woman and Kilbride turned back to Bill Berger. ‘You serious about this Tashana shit? I mean, you only just met her … The age difference …’

  ‘What is it, thirty years? So what, buddy? What’s it between you and your lady? It’s got to be pushin’ twenty with you guys.’

  Kilbride remained silent, largely because it was. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter so much in Africa. The girls just seemed to appreciate the more mature man, believing that he was more solid, less likely to stray, a stronger base upon which to build a home and a family.

  ‘I’ve told her, buddy: once the mission’s over and I’m back safe ’n’ sound, the lady gets a big diamond …’

  Kilbride grimaced. ‘I’ve got a bad case of déjà moo.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘The feeling I’ve heard this bullshit before.’

  ‘Ha, ha. You can jerk my chain all you want, buddy, but I’m serious. She ain’t gonna live in the States, but what the hell? I’d be more ’n’ happy to move out here …’

  ‘Fucking hell, at this rate I’m going to have the whole bloody lot of you living on my doorstep. And I came out here for the quiet life …’

  At 5 a.m. Smithy stumbled out of the Q-Bar with Janey on his arm. The rest of the lads had already left, all apart from Moynihan. The Irishman had drunk himself into a stupor and they had found him asleep under a table. Smithy manhandled him into the back of a cab and together they set out for The Homestead. On arrival, he and Janey half carried the comatose Irishman to his room and dumped him in his bed. Then, somehow naturally, their feet led them down to the beach. They kicked off their shoes and for a while they strolled hand in hand in the breaking surf. The sea was warm between their bare toes and inviting …

  When they were a good distance from The Homestead Janey turned and faced Smithy. She was going for a swim, she told him, with a provocative smile. Smithy tried to object – the undertow, the sharks … But she teased him gently, and let her dress drop to the sand. She stood for a second, proud in her skimpy silk bra and tiny panties, and then she was in the sea up to her thighs and splashing salt water at him. Smithy laughed, ran after her, chased her around in circles, splashed her back. And then he was stripping down to his boxers, joining her in the warm water.

  She came to him then, dripping wet, her skin glistening, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He lifted her up and held her clasped to him, her tiny weight easy in his arms. As the sea washed over them her mouth found his ear, her tongue nibbling and flicking inside.

  ‘You strong, powerful man,’ Janey whispered. ‘You big, beautiful man. I’ve changed my mind – I want you …’

  Smithy carried his woman up to the beach. He laid his shirt down for her and then lowered her onto the sand. She slipped herself out of her wet things and lay there, naked before him. Smithy hardly dared look. She was so lithe and firm and so fucking beautiful. Her breasts were beaded with drops of sea water, glistening like dark pearls in the moonlight. Smithy lowered his head and feasted upon them. She knotted her fingers in his close-cropped hair and guided his head lower … This woman was so gorgeous he’d do anything for her …

  They made love slowly at first, but with increasing desperation, as each strove to possess and consume the other. When they were finished they lay alongside each other, naked and sated, wrapped in each other’s embrace, skin against skin and sweat and sea water intermingling.

  ‘That was lovely,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘That was so wonderful …’

  Smithy couldn’t find the words to respond. Suddenly he was all choked up. He began to cry, silently at first. He tried his best to hide it, but the heaving of his chest gave him away. Janey just held him close
and stroked his hair. When the tears had passed she asked him what was wrong. Smithy sat up and stared out to sea, his arms hugging his knees. He started telling her about thirty years of a failed marriage; about the last time anyone had ever held him, really held him, with affection and passion and desire.

  ‘You’ll never amount to anything,’ his wife had always told him. ‘You’ll never amount to anything. You’ll never amount to anything. You’re a loser. A loser.’ Well, he and the lads were about to prove her very bloody wrong …

  Smithy and Janey lay on the beach almost until sunup, wrapped in each other’s arms and the warmth of the African night. They talked and they talked. Smithy told her his own fairly simple life story: a non-existent education; an early army career; his entry into the SAS; the Beirut injury and being invalided out of the military. His sense of loss at leaving and his alienation on the outside. The dog years of working in crap security jobs, made all the worse by a seriously dysfunctional marriage. A sense, somehow, that life was all for nothing.

  For her part, Janey had also had a tough time of it. The stigma of a teenage pregnancy, followed by a forced marriage to a man who had never cared for her and used to beat her up in front of their infant son. After six years Janey had found the strength to leave him, and despite the shame she’d gone back to live with her parents. She was now trying to fund her way through college so that she could provide a life for herself and her child. But it was never easy. She was a mature student, being all of twenty-nine years old, and her parents had little money to help her. So sometimes she did what she had to do to pay the course fees … The rest was left unsaid.

  Smithy smoothed her hair and breathed in its exotic musky perfume as he reflected on what she’d just told him. So sometimes she slept with people for money. What of it? It was no worse than what he’d done for the last thirty years – killing people for a living. Somehow it drew them closer together, this shared experience of life on the dark side. Smithy felt a real connection with this woman tonight, on this beach, a kind of closeness like he’d never felt before.

  ‘No man should ever beat a woman …’ Smithy murmured. He turned Janey’s face towards him and gazed into her warm, gentle eyes. Pools of dark honey, that’s what they reminded him of. ‘Look, I’ve got one more job to do, Janey. I’m not going to kid you – it’s dangerous. But once it’s done we’ll be sorted. I’ll come back and I’ll marry you, that’s if you’ll have me. I’ll settle down, maybe buy a place on this beach. What d’you say? There’s nothing for me in England, that’s for sure. Just a dead marriage with no kids.’

  ‘You spent thirty years and no children?’ Janey asked in amazement. ‘It’s not possible. No African man would ever put up with—’

  ‘Forget about all that,’ Smithy interjected. ‘Forget about her. I have. Let’s think positive … I’m not in the spring of youth, but I’m still strong and healthy. We’ll have a good life together. No worries about money. And kids. Come on, Janey, you’ve got the one – how about some more, eh?’

  Janey laughed. ‘Maybe seven, one for each day of the week …’

  It was Smithy’s turn to laugh now. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’

  ‘No. African women like to have big men … and big families.’

  ‘All right, it’s a deal. I come back, we get married, and then we bang out six kids, quick as we can, like. What with the one you got already, that’ll be the seven – just like the doctor ordered.’

  Janey laughed, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she was serious for a moment. ‘I’ve heard many promises, Smippy …’ She still couldn’t pronounce his name properly, which amused him. ‘Don’t make these ones empty …’

  Smithy got onto one knee and took her hand in his. ‘I’m a lion-hearted Englishman, Janey, and you are the woman of my dreams. When I make a promise, there’s no going back. You ask Kilbride. There’s a motto in the military where I come from: “Who dares, wins.” I’m daring all on this next mission, Janey, and you are the prize I’m after winning – you and the six little ones that are going to follow …’

  Sunday was a wash-out at The Homestead, with most of the lads failing to surface until mid-afternoon. After a few hours spent on the beach they gathered for a beer in the evening. Kilbride did a quick round-up of the operational plans, and laid out a provisional schedule leading up to the mission itself. As he did so Kilbride exuded a quiet calm, in spite of the issue of how to wipe out the Black Assassins remaining unresolved. Smithy and Boerke had volunteered to remain with Berger and Kilbride at The Homestead. Together, they were bound to hit on a solution – or so the men believed. For one of the first lessons they had all learned in The Regiment was that no enemy was ever invincible.

  The Old Man’s eyes flashed a dark anger. ‘Why has it not been found? You tell me this Emile revealed all – yet still no gold!’

  The young man in front of him held up his hands to try to calm the Sheikh. He had never before seen the Old Man so angry. Anger, passion, desire – these were not the emotions he had ever associated with the Old Man of the Mountains. His was a life of complete abstinence, of stillness and iron control, of absolute devotion to the one true God.

  ‘Your Holiness, we did find Emile,’ Sajid objected. ‘I questioned him myself. He told us the gold was at Enfeh. We have checked. There is nothing there. He lied to us, Sheikh. He lied.’

  ‘Then return to London and cut out his heart,’ the Old Man snapped. ‘But first, you cut out the hearts of his children. And you force him to eat them while the flesh is still warm. See if that might persuade the infidel dog to talk. Once you have done so, kill him and his wife.’

  The Old Man waved Sajid away. He backed out of the room, his mind already focusing onto his new mission. He grinned, a wolfish grin. If he was to execute the whole family as ordered, he and Abdul might as well have some fun with the wife first …

  ‘Wait!’ a familiar voice commanded. The young man turned back to face his spiritual master. ‘You appreciate the value of your holy mission, brother? Without this money, nothing can proceed. Islam waits with bated breath for this Great Day, the Day of the Seven Assassins. So do not fail us, Brother Sajid. Do not fail. On your head be it if you fail …’

  When he turned away again the smile had been wiped off Sajid’s face. He would torture this Lebanese dog Emile until he cried for mercy. He would write the greatness of God, of their cause, of their Brotherhood, in the infidel’s blood on his walls. He would make the wife and children beg for death, for an end to their suffering. And when he and Abdul left their London flat, not one of their infidel hearts would still be beating …

  Kilbride had broken down mission preparations into four areas, each to be dealt with by one man. Berger would draw up a shopping list of weaponry to be presented to Nick Coles. There were several new pieces of kit that he had been dying to try out, and he wanted them all for this mission. Boerke was dealing with logistics. He had to get the A Team and B Team into the Lebanon by sea and air bang on schedule, and organise the delivery of a serious amount of weaponry to each of them. Smithy had taken on the difficult task of figuring out how to make up 17.5 tons of decoy gold. He’d volunteered to do so largely because he knew some shady figures in the London underworld.

  As for Kilbride, he was organising delivery of the decoy gold into the Lebanon, and finding a suitable place to hide it. Plus he was still wrestling with the thorny problem of how to wipe out the Black Assassins. No enemy is ever invincible, he kept telling himself. No enemy was ever invincible, as the Mongol hordes had proven against the original Assassins.

  On the Tuesday after the lads had left, Smithy was working away at one of Kilbride’s computer terminals. He was feeling happier than he had done for many years. He had a mission to prepare for, a future that just might be going somewhere and a beautiful young woman to share it with. He’d agreed to meet up with Janey on the Wednesday evening, after a heads-up with the others. But the longer Smithy looked into the making up of this shipment of fool’s
gold, the more it turned out to be a bloody nightmare.

  Kilbride wanted a near-perfect decoy shipment that would stand the scrutiny of experts. Lead was the obvious starting point, Smithy reasoned, as it was a heavy metal that was easily smelted. Might lead replicas of the original gold bars, covered with gold paint, do the trick? But lead, he soon discovered, was less than half the weight of gold. If made the correct weight, a replica gold bar produced from lead would be fifty-four per cent too large. Anyone who knew their gold – and they had to assume that the Black Assassins did – would never be fooled. Other common metals – brass, copper, steel – were equally useless.

  Finally, a friend in the London mafia gave Smithy a personal introduction to ‘Goldenboy Gus’, a maverick American who acted as a middleman for various interests in the precious-metals business. If it was borderline legal, and there was money to be made, Goldenboy Gus was the man. Over the phone Smithy told him his cover story – that he was producing props for a feature-film company, and needed to make up an entirely realistic shipment of gold bullion. Goldenboy Gus told Smithy that he didn’t give a damn who or what he was making them for. There was nothing strictly illegal in producing a false shipment of gold bars, so Gus was happy to advise.

  Gus went on to explain how to manufacture the perfect fake gold bars, ones that would be all but impossible to detect. He knew a factory in China that could manufacture them, no questions asked, and China was also the source of the metal used. However, there were two potential drawbacks: the first was cost. Gus did some quick calculations. The raw metal costs were twenty dollars per kilo. Seventeen and a half tons equalled 17,850 kilogrammes, which at twenty dollars per kilo made $357,000. With each bar weighing 12.5 kilos, there would be 1,428 bars. Allowing one hundred dollars per bar manufacturer’s cost, that would add another $142,800 to the bill. So, the cost would be $499,800, plus Gus’s five per cent facilitating fee. That made a final total of $524,790. It had to be some feature film with a budget to cover that little lot, Gus figured.