Cobra 405

by Damien Lewis

  Kilbride considered this for a moment. ‘We need to talk, Nick. If they found us here, they can come for us again. We need to accelerate the mission schedule.’

  There was a slight pause. ‘I’ll check flights, Kilbride. But, tell me – you have thought of a way to hit the enemy, haven’t you?’

  ‘The plan from our end is perfect, Nick. It’s a slice of genius …’

  ‘In that case I’ll catch the first available flight. Shall I book the same hotel?’

  ‘Well, I would extend you an invitation here, Nick, only I’m not so sure you’d want to stay. See, we have this little problem with the Black Assassins. They keep wanting to drop by. Call me when you know your flight details.’

  Nick Coles replaced the Thuraya handset and leaned back in his chair. A faint smile spread across his grey features. He was just digesting the contents of the phone call, and on balance he was feeling pretty good about it. The enemy had been to Kilbride’s home, his sanctuary, his family’s place of safety, and caused whatever mayhem he didn’t like to imagine. Which meant that for Kilbride this had now become intensely personal. There was no way out for him now – unless he and his family started running, and ran for the rest of their lives. And Kilbride wasn’t the running kind.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KILBRIDE WAS IMPATIENT for the meeting to begin. He’d run through the previous day’s conversation in his mind several times, and something told him that Nick Coles was lying. There was no way in which Emile could have led the enemy to The Homestead. Operational security had been tight on the Beirut mission, and Emile would have known only their nicknames, at best. He certainly knew none of their personal details, and few of their operational ones.

  Kilbride welcomed Nick Coles with a brusque handshake. There followed a quick exchange of pleasantries, and then it was down to business. As succinctly as he could, Kilbride laid before him the details of Operation Trojan Horse and the tungsten bomb.

  ‘The beauty of it is that you’ll be able to track the shipping container right to the very heart of the enemy camp,’ said Kilbride. ‘What we need is your agreement to hold off detonating the bomb for as long as possible. We’d like a minimum of twenty-four hours, so that we can load up the bullion and get the hell out of the Lebanon. I presume that’s doable?’

  Nick smiled. ‘I can’t see a problem, Kilbride … It’s magnificent – the plan, I mean. A true stroke of genius. You know the real beauty of it? It’s that the enemy embrace the engine of their own destruction. They have every reason to congregate around it in great numbers, and marvel at it … To celebrate. And even as they celebrate … Kaboom, as they say. In one fell swoop no more bloody Assassins. No, it’s inspired, simply inspired.’

  ‘We’ve got a factory in China lined up to make the tungsten-gold shipment. They can turn it around in a week, maybe less. We need someone to construct the RDX charge and place it within the shipping container, plus the detonator and tracking device …’

  Nick waved a hand dismissively. ‘We have people who can organise all that. I’ll get someone onto it right away.’

  ‘Why not use Moynihan, Nick? He’s ex-Regiment and the best explosives man I know.’

  ‘What an excellent idea. You speak to Moynihan and let me know.’

  ‘The other advantage of the Irishman is that he won’t charge. I’m trying to keep costs down, Nick. It’s not cheap to make up that tungsten shipment. It’s a half-million dollars …’

  ‘Don’t worry, Kilbride, we’ll cover it. It’s been rubber-stamped from on high. Don’t worry, you just concentrate on planning the mission.’

  ‘How’re things looking on the Emile front?’ Kilbride asked, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Any developments?’

  ‘No, and I’m not expecting any. I think we all know who did it, and why. But we’re allowing the police to run with their random-killing theory. It wouldn’t do for the public to learn that a terrorist group has tortured and murdered a whole family in London. Might lead to just a hint of panic, don’t you think?’

  ‘One of your specialities, is it, Nick? Withholding information?’

  Nick bridled. ‘What the devil is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘There’s no guarantees, not even for us, are there, Nick? There’s no guarantees you’ll share everything you know with us, as soon as you know it.’

  ‘Sorry? I don’t know what you’re driving at. Brilliant plan – Operation Trojan Horse. But now I’m afraid you’ve lost me …’

  ‘Emile never led the enemy to us, Nick. It’s just not possible. There’s something else. Don’t look away, Nick. It’ll just confirm my worst suspicions …’

  Nick glanced at Kilbride. ‘Look, I’ve told you all that I can tell you.’

  ‘You’re holding out on us, Nick, and it had better not be mission-critical. If it is …’

  Nick Coles rubbed his temples. The tension was getting to him. ‘Look, I’ll make you a deal, Kilbride. I think you know all you need to know. Nothing I could tell you would make one iota of difference to your mission. And I promise that if it ever gets to the stage where that changes, then I’ll talk. Is that enough?’

  Kilbride shrugged. ‘I guess it’ll have to be. There’s one more thing, Nick. Operation Trojan Horse is predicated on the enemy knowing our every move. You say they have the airports watched and they’ll be tracking us as soon as we arrive in country. Maybe. But we have to be certain, Nick. We have to be certain that they follow us, attack us, and make their getaway with the dummy gold. I presume you have avenues to let them know exactly when we’re arriving?’

  ‘Well, we’re not exactly on speaking terms, but yes, we do have … people. We have people on the ground in Syria who pass us information. They can certainly pass a little bit back the other way.’

  ‘Make sure the enemy know just enough, Nick. They need to know enough to swallow the bait, but not to get us killed.’

  ‘Of course.’ Nick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Erm, there is one other thing,’ he ventured. ‘My people have said that they’d like the gold delivered to a British base, after retrieval. They just want to ensure that The Project’s investment in the mission is safeguarded. Cyprus is the nearest …’

  Kilbride stared at Nick, incredulously. ‘You mean you don’t trust us to deliver up your two million?’

  ‘Of course we trust you. But the high seas are a potentially hazardous place for any operation, and pirates operate off the African coast. No one wants the gold … disappearing before either The Project – or you, for that matter – can recoup their investment.’

  ‘So what exactly are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’m suggesting that we have a chopper on standby. When you’re ready we do a pick-up and drop you on Cyprus. You’ll leave us the two million, and you catch a flight onwards to wherever you wish. The chopper can fly below radar level, nap of the land and all that stuff, so it won’t be detectable.’

  Kilbride shrugged. ‘I’ll put it to the rest of the lads.’

  ‘I’m told it’s a deal breaker, Kilbride. If you won’t agree then our role in all of this may be placed in jeopardy. I’m sure you understand …’

  *

  On the drive back to The Homestead two things crystallised in Kilbride’s mind. The first was that his instinct was correct. Nick Coles knew more than he was saying and had been ordered not to reveal it to Kilbride. It irked him that this was so, but there was little that he could do about it. The second thing was that The Project had started playing games. The demand that Kilbride and his team should deliver the gold to Cyprus was complete bullshit, and Kilbride suspected a hidden agenda. There was only one way to deal with it. Ridiculous though it might seem, they now needed a second decoy shipment. They needed the first to fool the enemy, and the second to fool their own people – The Project, MI6 and HMG in turn.

  That evening Nick Coles took dinner alone on the hotel terrace. The service and the food were excellent, and he looked forward to a long, leisurely meal of several cours
es, all washed down with a bottle of crisp French Chablis. As he tucked into a starter of braised king prawns served with a hot, spicy sauce, he ran over the details of Kilbride’s plan one more time. He could just imagine the scene: the Black Assassins gathered excitedly around the shipping container, when suddenly their world would disintegrate around them …

  He was pulled away from his thoughts by one of the hotel waiters. ‘Excuse me, sir. Is everything to sir’s liking?’

  ‘Very fine,’ Nick confirmed. ‘Excellent, thank you.’

  The waiter bent closer. ‘Sir, there is a lady who would like to join your table. She is alone, you are alone, and she thought you might like some company …’

  Nick looked where the waiter indicated, and his jaw practically dropped to the table. Perched on a stool at the bar was one of the most beautiful and exotic female specimens he had ever seen. While she had the grace and the poise of an African woman, there was something of the Arab about her in the warm, coppery skin, the arched brows and the almost sharp line of her nose. She wants to come and sit with me, Nick found himself thinking, in amazement. As if to confirm that this was what she wanted the woman smiled, showing a flash of dazzling white teeth. She looked to be no more than in her early twenties. Christ, she wasn’t just beautiful, she was young, Nick told himself.

  ‘Sir, shall I say to the lady to join you?’ the waiter prompted.

  Nick tore his gaze away from her. ‘Oh, by all means, yes, do.’

  The waiter pulled up a chair and set a second place opposite Nick. He gave the woman a slight nod, held the chair for her and she sat down. She held out a hand to Nick and introduced herself as Sairah, a student at Dar-es-Salaam University. The waiter gave Sairah a menu and she ordered. There were a few seconds of awkward silence, and then Nick asked her what she was studying. Tourism Management, Sairah told him. The curriculum was a little boring, but at least it had good job prospects.

  Nick did his best to break the ice by cracking a few jokes, and soon they were onto their second bottle of Chablis. He plucked up the courage to ask Sairah where she was from, exactly. She had remarkable looks, he explained, quite unlike any that he had seen before, and he liked to think of himself as fairly well travelled. She came from Somalia, Sairah said – so she had a mixture of Arab and African blood. By the end of the second bottle of wine, Nick had confessed that he found her quite extraordinarily beautiful, although he hoped she didn’t mind him saying so …

  They moved on to desserts. Nick ordered more drinks – a single malt for himself, a Baileys on ice for her. Sairah asked if she could try his sweet, a tiramisu. When he offered her his plate she demurred, and asked him to feed her instead. After a moment’s hesitation, Nick leaned across the table and placed a spoonful of the rich dessert between her lips. He would never have been so brave to do so were it not for the wine. Dutch courage, and he was glad of it – especially when her pink tongue darted out and flicked away a speck of cream. Nick felt himself going weak at the knees.

  Sairah read the agitation in his eyes, and threw her head back and laughed. Then she asked him for another spoonful. As he leaned across to feed her again, Nick tried to disguise the embarrassment that he was feeling by cracking a joke.

  ‘Two cannibals are eating a clown: one says to the other, does this taste funny to you?’

  Sairah smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Nick,’ she murmured, in her rich, exotic accent. ‘I know you’re shy. I like it. Don’t try to hide it – it’s cute.’

  Nick glanced across at the waiter, wondering what he must be thinking, but the man didn’t seem to be paying them much attention. In fact, there were several other male diners who also had been joined by pretty young females, though none quite so stunning as Sairah. Nick guessed that the waiters had an informal deal going with the girls, to hook them up with lone male guests. And if he had landed Sairah as a result, then he was all for it.

  When it came time for them to leave, no one seemed the least bit surprised that Nick placed an arm around the sensuous curve of Sairah’s back to steer her to the door. He had left a very large tip on the table, and he hoped that it would make up for any discomfort he might feel at breakfast the following morning. If nothing else it would buy the waiter’s silence. As they passed through the lobby Nick felt as if he were in a wonderful dream. He gazed at their reflections in the elevator’s mirror, as this exquisite woman pressed her body a little closer to him. It was a tantalising promise of things to come.

  As soon as they entered Nick’s bedroom, Sairah excused herself and went to the loo. Nick heard a flush and the running of water into a basin. She was obviously powdering her nose. For a second he wondered what state he’d left his bathroom in, and then he told himself to hell with it – he should relax. After all, he was drunk and about to get laid by the most beautiful woman that he had ever had the good fortune to coax back to his bedroom. Well, there hadn’t actually been that much coaxing involved, Nick reflected, a little smugly.

  He moved to the balcony and gazed out over the Indian Ocean. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had sex with his wife. Apart from the children, who’d all left home, it was a stagnant, joyless marriage. He was pushing sixty and had to get his sexual thrills wherever he could – even if he had to pay. In fact, he rather liked the idea that he was paying for it. No money had been mentioned, of course, but Sairah had talked at length about how she struggled to pay her university fees. This was going to be a financial transaction, he had no doubt about that. He was buying Sairah. Buying her sex. Handing over dollar bills to get access to her lithe young body.

  For a second Nick wondered if he might have misjudged things, if maybe she had come to his room for a nightcap only and would be leaving with a chaste kiss. He took a pull on his whisky and lit up another cigarette. He only smoked when he drank, and only when he was away from the wife. It helped to calm his nerves, and right now the very thought that Sairah might actually walk away without having bedded him was causing him no small degree of concern. Over coffee she’d suggested staying the night. Surely that could mean only one thing?

  There was the click of the bathroom door closing behind him and the pad of bare feet across the tiled floor. Nick didn’t dare turn around. He took a long pull on his whisky and a draw on his cigarette, like a drowning man. Sairah joined him at the balcony, her bronze arms resting naked on the wooden railing. Nick stared out to sea, hardly daring to look at her.

  Gently, playfully, she nudged him with her thigh, and somehow Nick knew that it too was naked. Finally, he glanced down at her, taking in the long golden legs, the tiny pair of polka-dot knickers, the wispy silk vest that barely covered her breasts. Nick felt a burning desire course through him, a bolt of sexual excitement such as he hadn’t felt in years. Sairah glanced across at him, her deep, dark eyes willing him to lose himself in her – to let her take him places where his ageing body had all but forgotten that it could go.

  ‘It’s a nice view, isn’t it?’ Sairah remarked, her teeth smiling white in the darkness. She made no effort to indicate the sea. She left her mouth a little parted, and he could see the pink tip of her tongue. ‘And tonight it’s all for you …’

  ‘Erm … delightful,’ Nick managed to stutter. ‘You really are a rare beauty.’

  Sairah placed a finger over his thin lips. ‘Ssshhh … No more talking …’

  She led him by his hand into the bedroom. She took her time undressing him, each unfastening of a button on his shirt executed with a deft flick of her slender fingers. Every now and then she slipped a hand inside and raked his chest with her long, carefully manicured nails. They were painted a bright red, and for a second they reminded Nick of chilli peppers. No doubt about it: Sairah was going to be hot. She was working him up into a frenzy already, and she knew it.

  Each time he tried to kiss her she pulled her head away. ‘Not yet … wait,’ she told him, teasingly. ‘Wait until I’m ready …’

  With his shirt off Nick tried for a second to pull his paunch in, the
sort of thing he used to do on the beach when taking his summer holidays with the family. But then he thought better of it. Sairah wouldn’t mind. She wasn’t with him because he was a young Adonis. She was here for the money. So be it. He should stop pretending.

  She pushed him, naked, onto the bed and knelt over him. In one swift movement she slipped her top up over her head and revealed herself to him – back arched, shoulders thrust back, surprisingly muscular and beautifully shadowed, breasts small and pert and ripe. Momentarily, Nick thought of the last time he had seen his wife Anna naked. He shuddered, and pushed the image to the back of his mind.

  Sairah shook her hair free, and her braids fell down. They were like sweet rain after a cruel and parching drought, Nick told himself, a drought that had lasted longer than he cared to remember. Let it rain, Sairah, you beautiful, gorgeous sex goddess, let it rain …

  Nick tried to sit up so he could kiss her breasts, but she forced him down again. ‘Wait … Be patient … There’s one more thing to come off …’ She squatted beside him on the bed, and with a deft flick of her hand she slipped herself out of her knickers. He couldn’t look. Not until he entered her heavenly body and possessed her did he feel he could do so.

  Sairah leaned across to the bedside table and felt for her handbag. ‘A girl should always come prepared … to meet a handsome Englishman,’ she purred. She mouthed the word ‘condom’ at him, each syllable pursing her lips in a hugely provocative ‘O’.

  ‘Ah, yes … erm …’ Nick was going to add that he had got some but they were in the bathroom. He carried them with him whenever he was on a foreign trip and away from the wife, although he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had cause to use them.

  ‘Relax …’ Sairah urged as she pulled a silver packet out of her bag. She gave him a wicked smile. ‘Now we’re ready …’

  She bent over him with sensual, feline grace, clamping her lips on his, fiercely, aggressively, her tongue flicking hotly into his mouth. Nick kissed her greedily as he felt her hands unwrapping the silver package – his ticket to her inner paradise. He was losing himself in her, the exotic smell and feel and taste of her, the beautiful tautness of her lithe body, the smooth ebony smokiness of her skin. Her braids tumbled about him – like a curtain to hide their lovemaking, Nick thought. He felt a small prick on his left wrist, and there was a tiny flash of alarm in his head. But then Sairah bore down on him more heavily, straddling him more forcefully.