Shadow Kill: A Strikeback Novel

by Chris Ryan

  Soames squinted at the face peering down at him.

  ‘John,’ he croaked. ‘Thank God. Help me, man.’

  Porter stepped down into the ditch and thrust out an arm. Soames clasped his hand around Porter’s wrist and staggered to his feet, groaning as he climbed out of the ditch. He stood upright, breathing hard as he surveyed the carnage along the track. Tully hurried over.

  ‘Are they all dead?’ Soames asked.

  ‘Jock dropped half of them,’ said Porter. ‘The rest scattered. Don’t think they’ll be coming back any time soon.’

  ‘Good fucking job, too.’ Bald nodded at the gimpy resting on the Range Rover bonnet. ‘We’re out of ammo. That was the last of the link.’

  Tully glanced warily over at the treeline. ‘We shouldn’t stick around. This is the West Side Boys’ heartland. Place is crawling with hostiles. They’ve got training camps all over the fucking shop.’

  Soames dusted himself down. ‘Bloody savages. They came out of nowhere. I felt sure they were going to kill us all. Thank God you arrived when you did, otherwise it was curtains for us.’ He paused. A perplexed look crossed his filthy, blood-encrusted face. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

  ‘Bob told us about the stash at Kono,’ Porter said. ‘Told us the Russians are after the diamonds you’ve been stealing.’

  Soames straightened his back and arched an eyebrow at Tully.

  ‘Diamonds. Yes. Right.’ He pursed his lips. ‘It’s not what you think, Porter. There are interests at stake here, far greater than you can possibly imagine.’

  ‘Bollocks. The only interest you’ve got is lining your own pockets.’

  Soames stared defiantly at him. ‘Believe it or not, this has nothing to do with money.’

  ‘That’s fucking rich, that. You can dress it up all you want, but when it comes down to it, you’ve been caught with your hand in the till.’

  Soames shot him a stern look. ‘We’re wasting valuable time. We must leave at once if we’re to get to Kono and stop the Russians.’

  Porter shook his head vigorously. ‘I don’t take orders from you. Not any more. If you think we’re going to risk our necks to save your stolen loot, you’ve got another think coming.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, man. This isn’t about me. This is about the national interest. If the Russians seize the mine, it will have major repercussions for President Fofana and the future of this country. We’re looking at a national security disaster.’

  ‘Over a few poxy diamonds?’

  ‘It’s more than that. Much more. We’re fighting a proxy war with the Russians for control of this country. If they get their hands on Kono, they’ll have the upper hand. The president will be finished. Heads will roll at the Firm. You can add it to the long list of fuck-ups with your name on it.’

  Porter stared back at his old CO, but said nothing. He screwed up his right hand so hard his fingernails were digging into his palm. He stood there and thought about slogging Soames in the face. He thought about how good that would make him feel. To wipe that arrogant look off the guy’s face.

  Porter said, ‘How do the Russians know where to find your stash? Tully told us the location of the diamonds was top secret.’

  ‘It was.’ Soames shifted. ‘It isn’t now. The Russians made me disclose the location.’

  ‘You gave it up?’

  ‘I had no choice. They were going to kill me otherwise.’

  This bloke really is shameless, Porter thought. He might be a retired CO, but he’s still a fucking coward.

  ‘The Russians have already alerted their assets across the border,’ Soames went on. ‘I heard them talking on the sat phone. They’re en route from Liberia as we speak. If they reach the mine first, there’ll be too many of them for us to deal with. Now, are you going to take me there, or not?’

  Porter shook his head. ‘Our orders are to get you out of the country. Not go on some wild goose chase into the mountains.’

  ‘For Chrissakes, man,’ Soames growled, throwing up his arms in exasperation. ‘Use your brain, for once in your miserable little life. Who do you think the Firm is going to blame if the Russians capture the mine? They’ll have both your heads on stakes. You’ll never work again.’ He flashed a smile at Porter like the flick of a knife. ‘Ask your chums at MI5 if you don’t believe me.’

  Porter shook his head bitterly. ‘We can’t. The phone battery’s dead. We’ve got no way of reaching out to our handler.’

  ‘Soames is right,’ Bald said. ‘We don’t have a choice, mate. We’ve got to stop the Russians.’

  Porter hesitated. I don’t trust Soames further than I can piss, he thought. But whatever he’s hiding at Kono, the Russians are desperate to get their hands on it. And we’re the only ones who can stop them.

  ‘Fine,’ he replied at last. ‘We’ll do it. Bob, you’re up front with me. Jock, you’re riding in the back with this cunt.’

  ‘What about Hawkridge?’ Bald asked.

  ‘We’ll worry about him later,’ Porter said. ‘Let’s get moving.’

  He turned to head back to the Range Rover.

  Then he heard the screams.

  TWENTY-TWO

  1719 hours.

  The screams came from Porter’s six o’clock. More than one of them. They were high-pitched squeals. Like voices that hadn’t broken. He spun around and looked beyond the Land Cruiser. Towards the treeline on the opposite side of the track, eight metres away. Half a dozen child soldiers were charging forward from behind the trees, their puny biceps straining under the weight of the AK-47 assault rifles they were pointing at the four men in front of them. They quickly fanned out across the track, shouting and jeering. The kids were the strangest sight Porter had ever seen. The child opposite him wore a white princess dress and a pair of dirty Nike trainers. His lips were smeared with red lipstick and he’d applied some kind of white paint to his face in long, jagged lines. His index finger twitched nervously on the AK-47 trigger. He looked wired, mad. Ready to kill.

  There was no time to displace. No time for Porter and Tully to reach for the Makarovs they were packing. No time to do anything at all. At a distance of eight metres even the worst shooter in the world could hit a human target without much difficulty. Porter stood very still, feeling his guts tighten into a tense knot. Lipstick stood in front of him, scowling.

  ‘Where the fuck did this lot come from?’ Bald said.

  ‘No idea, mate,’ Porter said. Remembering what Tully had said earlier.

  This is the West Side Boys’ neck of the woods.

  Now we’re really in the shit.

  A seventh figure emerged from behind the treeline. He was a foot taller than the child soldiers and he sported bumfluff growth on the lower half of his face. Probably in his early twenties, thought Porter. Practically a pensioner, by the standards of Sierra Leone. His dress sense was as weird as the other kids. He wore a threadbare Calvin Klein t-shirt and brightly-coloured trousers with a pair of flip-flops. Glass shards dangled from his hair. He had a necklace knitted out of what looked like pubic hair. The world’s largest ganja joint dangled from his lips. Porter guessed that this guy was one of the West Side Boys’ senior commanders. Or one of their recruiters. The guy had a hungry look in his eyes. He looked like he’d been living in the jungle for a long time. Months, or maybe even years. In his right hand he gripped an M1911 semi-automatic. A hefty pistol, chambered for the .45 ACP round. A true American classic. Like the Ford Mustang, or morbid obesity. But not well maintained, apparently. The sliding mechanism was covered in rust, Porter noted.

  The older guy crossed the track and stomped over to the four men, the child soldiers flanking him on either side. He drew up in front of Porter. Looked him up and down. His breath reeked of booze and weed. The guy thrust his M1911 at Porter and started jabbering at him in the local Krio language. He saw the blank expression on Porter’s face and tried again.

  ‘You kill my boys, white man? You tink you kill dem boys and get away wit it?�
�

  The guy had a slow, drugged accent. He sounded like the man from Del Monte, loaded up on amphetamines. Porter said nothing.

  ‘You know who you fucking wit?’

  Porter still said nothing. The guy stepped closer. Thumped a fist against his chest.

  ‘Me Captain Big Trouble. Dis my country. Dese my boys,’ he snarled, waving an arm at the dead kids littering the track. ‘You fuck wit me. Kill my boys. Now me gonna fuck wit you. Me gonna waste all you white crackers.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ said Bald.

  The captain turned to Bald and flashed a manic grin. Half of his teeth were gold. The rest were missing. Then he shouted an order. One of the kids stepped forward, dropped his shoulder and thrust the butt of his rifle into Bald’s midriff. Bald gasped in pain as he folded at the waist, clutching his guts. Porter lunged at the captain but two other kids instantly set upon him, striking out with their rifle butts. A third kid giggled as he clubbed Porter round the side of the head. Porter felt a searing pain explode between his temples, dragging its fingernails down the inside of his skull. He stumbled and fell forward, landing on the baking hot earth. Blood trickled down the side of his face, sticky and warm.

  ‘Enough!’ Captain Big Trouble barked.

  The child soldiers stopped landing blows. They withdrew a few paces and stood in line next to their mates, keeping their rifles trained on the four men. Porter spat out blood and scraped himself off the ground. Big Trouble was staring at Soames, he noticed. Something like recognition flashed behind his eyes. He took a long toke on his joint. Peered at Soames through the green haze of ganja smoke. Then he took a step forward.

  ‘I know dis face.’

  Soames blinked in ignorance. Big Trouble jumped up in excitement and snapped his fingers, like he’d remembered the answer to a quiz show question.

  ‘You de diamond man! I seen your face on de TV. You de friend of dat man call himself de president. Dat’s you.’

  Soames’s expression tightened.

  ‘Let us go,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘I can make it worth your while. Just name your price. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Diamonds, women. Guns. You have my word. Just let us walk away.’

  Big Trouble laughed. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘Me got better idea. We gonna take you back to de village, kill your friends. Den me kill you.’

  The colour drained from Soames’s face. ‘No. Please. I’ll give you whatever you want.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Big Trouble roared. His eyeballs were inked with hatred. ‘Me gonna make you pay, for all the bad tings you did to our people. Me gonna make you hurt.’

  He shouted an order at the kids in Krio. Two of the child soldiers marched over to Soames and dragged him away from the others, prodding him along with their weapons. Soames looked towards the captain, shaking his head hysterically.

  ‘Christ, no. Please, don’t do this. Please!’

  Big Trouble ignored his pleas. He took a final pull on his joint then flicked the butt into the ditch. Then he turned to the four other kids. Pointed his weapon at Bald and Porter and Tully.

  ‘Kill dem,’ he said.

  The four kids simultaneously raised their rifles. The child aiming at Porter didn’t look old enough to shave. His lips quivered with excitement as he curled his finger around the trigger mechanism. Porter stared down the black mouth of the rifle muzzle. His arsehole instinctively clenched with fear. It’s over, he thought. We failed. Now we’re fucked. The warrior inside him bristled with rage at the indignity of his death. Slotted in this squalid little corner of the world, by some kid young enough to be my own son. He closed his eyes. Said a silent farewell to his daughter.

  I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry for fucking everything up.

  Then he heard two booming cracks.

  Porter opened his eyes after the first crack whipped through the air. Saw Big Trouble’s head snapping back, his eyes rolling up into the roof of his skull. The kid’s arms slackened. Blood squirted out of a hole in the side of his head, like red paint out of a graffiti spray can. The second bullet struck another one of the kids in the throat, sending him into a tailspin. The kid did a kind of spasmodic pirouette before crashing to the dirt. The AK-47 slipped from his grip, clattering to the dry earth beside him.

  Porter looked towards the direction the gunshots were coming from. Towards the Range Rover, eighty metres downstream from their position. A dark-green Land Rover Discovery had pulled up a few metres behind the Range Rover. The front passenger door hung open and a hulking figure stood a few metres ahead of the wagon, his massive head tilted as he aimed down the barrel of an AK-47 at the kids. The weapon looked ridiculously small in the man’s giant grip. Like a wrestler brandishing a toy gun. Porter recognised the guy from his huge frame.

  The man-mountain.

  Solomon.

  The five other kids turned to face the new threat from the south. But they were slow to react. They were still processing the trauma of seeing their commander die in front of their eyes. Only one of the kids remembered his training and aimed his weapon at Solomon. The man-mountain fired again. The AK-47 snout flashed. The bullet struck the child in the face, smashing open his jaw and shattering his teeth. Solomon dropped the kid next to him before he could get off a shot, shooting him in the throat and tearing a hole big enough to slide a crowbar through. The child made a hissing noise and fell backwards, landing next to the kid with the missing jaw.

  Panic set in amongst the three remaining child soldiers. Two of them turned and bolted down the track, away from Solomon. Tully and Bald lunged after the kids, tackling them to the ground before they could escape. The third child spun away from Porter and raced towards the treeline to the right of the track. Porter dived at the kid and sent him tumbling to the dirt, knocking the AK-47 out of his grip. The kid groaned as he landed on his back, the force of the impact driving the air from his lungs. He struggled wildly as Porter pressed his weight down. Porter gave the kid a few slaps. The fight quickly drained out of him, replaced by an animal-like terror. He screamed hysterically, kicking out and crying for his mother. Porter slapped him again. The kid stopped fighting. Porter slid off and scooped up the rifle, aiming it at a point between the kid’s eyes. The kid froze.

  Porter turned his attention to Bald and Tully. Bald had disarmed one of the child soldiers and was hauling the kid to his feet. Tully was on top of the third kid, smashing his face in with the kid’s AK-47. Each blow landed with a sickening wet crunch as Tully slammed the rifle stock into the bridge of his nose. Porter rushed over to Tully and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him away. Tully managed to land another blow before Porter dragged him clear. The guy stood over the battered child, his chest muscles heaving up and down, the rifle’s wooden stock glistening with blood and stringy bits of tissue. The child lay on his back, motionless. His face was an unrecognisable mush. Porter looked up at Tully, stunned.

  ‘Jesus, Bob.’

  Tully shot Porter a hostile look. Drops of the child’s blood glistened on his face.

  ‘Piss off. You don’t understand what it’s like here. These kids don’t watch Power Rangers and play PlayStation. They’re stone-cold killers. There’s no point trying to reason with them. It’s not like their lives are worth fuck-all.’

  ‘They’re just kids, mate.’

  ‘No.’ Tully shook his head vigorously. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. This lot are scum. Plain and fucking simple. What do you suggest we do with them? Let them go, so they can go back to their camps and butcher a few more villagers? We’re doing the locals a favour, killing these animals.’

  Porter stared at Tully. It’s one thing to take down a child soldier threatening to pull the trigger on you, he thought. But it took a special kind of cold-bloodedness to beat a child to death with your bare hands.

  He heard the slam of a car door at his three o’clock. Porter looked over his shoulder and saw Dominique Tannon hurrying over from the Discovery, several paces behind Solomon. The man-mountain breezed pa
st the rest of the group and made a beeline straight for Bald.

  ‘Sir! Are you okay?’ he said.

  Bald stared at the guy in puzzlement. Solomon just stood there in obedient silence, waiting for a reply. ‘Yeah, mate. Never felt better.’

  ‘Never mind him,’ Soames barked. ‘I’m the one you should be concerned with. I’m the one who got kidnapped by the Russians and almost died in a bloody firefight, for Chrissake.’

  Porter ignored him and looked towards Tannon. ‘How did you know where to find us?’

  ‘We’ve been tailing you since you left the hotel,’ she explained. ‘You told me you were going to Kono, remember?’ She shrugged. ‘I figured you could use a little extra help.’

  ‘We didn’t see you behind us.’

  ‘We left a few minutes after you. It’s taken us this long to catch up. Frankly I was beginning to worry that Solomon had us lost.’

  The man-mountain smiled. ‘Miss Tannon found me after you left. She said you needed someone to follow you into the jungle. I told her I know the secret way. You aren’t the only one who knows the shortcut to Kono.’

  ‘You should have stayed at the hotel,’ Porter said.

  ‘I’m invested in this thing just as much as you. Besides,’ she added, scanning the bullet-riddled Land Cruiser and the corpses, ‘it looks like we got here just in time.’

  ‘Bloody good job, too,’ Soames piped up. ‘At least someone round here knows which side their bread is buttered.’ He cleared his throat and flashed a thin smile at Tannon. ‘I’ll be sure to put in a good word with your bosses once this is over. Pull a few strings. See if we can get you a cosier posting in some more pleasant country.’

  Tannon ignored him. She surveyed the ground again and frowned. ‘What happened here?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ Soames snapped. ‘We ran into an ambush. The West Side Boys attacked us. One of the Russians was killed, but the other two got away. Then these three showed up.’ He gestured to Porter, Bald and Tully. ‘The child soldiers were going to kill them and take me away.’