Shadow Kill: A Strikeback Novel

by Chris Ryan

  ‘Roger that.’

  Bald crept forward from the hut and moved crosswise towards the Portakabin at his two o’clock. Porter held back at the workers’ hut next to Soames and Tully, his finger on the AK trigger, ready to cover Bald at the first sign of enemy movement. The chances of anyone inside the Portakabin spotting Bald through the window were slim, Porter knew. If the Russians were inside, they would be looking out from a well-lit room into a pitch-black void. The artificial light would screw with their night vision. Which meant they wouldn’t be able to see more than a couple of feet on the other side of the window. Bald could be pissing distance from the Portakabin and the Russians still wouldn’t see him.

  Porter looked on as Bald reached the cabin door. He leaned close and pricked his ears, listening for activity on the other side. Then he looked over his shoulder and waved his mucker over. Porter broke forward from the hut and pushed across the open ground, with Tully covering his approach from beside the workers’ hut. Porter hit the front of the Portakabin and drew up opposite Bald to the left of the cabin door, pressing up against the wall. He paused and listened for a few beats. Heard nothing. A sign fixed above the door said MANAGER’S OFFICE. The door was slightly ajar, Porter noticed.

  He signalled to Bald, indicating that he would clear the left side of the room. Then he took half a step back from the cabin and raised his AK-47, ready to follow his mucker through the door. Bald moved directly in front of the cabin door, took a deep breath and kicked it open with the heel of his boot. The door crashed back on its hinges. In the next instant Bald rushed inside the Portakabin and pivoted towards his three o’clock, clearing the right side of the room. Porter was hard on his heels, stepping through the open door and in the same motion turning to face the left side of the cabin, searching for opportune targets.

  The fluorescent light inside the Portakabin momentarily blinded Porter. He saw a corner desk piled high with papers, an old CRT computer monitor and a portable fan. There was a metal filing cabinet in the other corner with the drawers pulled open and a bunch of folders strewn across the floor. A framed photograph hung from the back wall, showing Soames in his military formals, pressing the flesh with a former prime minister.

  He saw no Russians.

  ‘Clear,’ said Porter.

  ‘Shit,’ said Bald.

  Porter swung around. Bald was standing on the other side of the room with his back to Porter, looking down at something in front of him. Porter couldn’t see it from where he stood. He lowered his rifle, marched over to Bald and looked down. Then he saw it too. A section of the carpet had been pulled back, revealing the concrete floor underneath. An underfloor safe had been built into the middle of the flooring, Porter noticed. The steel lid on the safe had been flipped open, and the deposit tube inside emptied of its contents. Then Porter noticed the stones. They were scattered across the carpet around his feet. Dozens of them, each one a different shape and colour. Some were white. Others were smoky grey, or yellow, or black. The smaller ones were the size of coffee beans. The biggest was about the size of a golf ball.

  Then Porter realised what he was looking at.

  Diamonds.

  A shit-ton of them. Rough, uncut. Glinting under the fluorescent lights. The golf-ball diamond was the biggest one Porter had ever seen. Bigger even than the one in the Crown Jewels.

  ‘This lot’s got to be worth millions,’ Bald said, a crafty look in his eyes. ‘We could help ourselves to a fortune here, mate. It’s not like Hawkridge is ever gonna pay us a decent whack, is it?’

  Porter looked steadily at his mucker. ‘Don’t even think about it. We’ve got a job to do, for fuck’s sake.’

  Just then Porter heard the pounding of boots on the dry ground as Soames and Tully rushed forward from the guard hut. They stepped into the Portakabin, glanced around. Soames caught sight of the rough diamonds scattered on the floor. His face went sheet-white.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Why the fuck would the Russians leave diamonds?’ said Bald.

  Porter thought for a moment. ‘They must be after something else.’

  Bald unglued his eyes from the rough diamond stash and wrinkled his brow. ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Tully stepped forward.

  ‘I think I know where they’ve gone,’ he said.

  Porter looked at him. ‘Where?’

  Tully tipped his head in the direction of the open doorway. ‘There’s a separate compound at the edge of the mine. That’s where they’ll have gone. I’m fucking certain of it.’

  The security lights, thought Porter. The ones I saw to the north of the field.

  ‘What’s there?’ he said.

  Soames paused. ‘Military intelligence.’

  Porter looked at him.

  ‘The top brass sometimes come here for secret meetings,’ Soames continued. ‘I’ll explain it all later, but right now we don’t have time for this. We have to get to the other compound and stop the Russians before it’s too late.’

  His voice sounded urgent, thought Porter. ‘Where’s the compound?’

  Tully said, ‘North of the mining field.’

  ‘Is it guarded?’

  ‘Same deal as the mine. There’s a metal fence, security lights. Normally we post a few guards outside the entrance. But them fellas were relieved of duty at the same time as the rest of us. Soon as the shit hit the fan with the rebels, everyone was recalled from the mine.’

  ‘So there’s no one to stop the Russians from getting inside the compound?’

  ‘No.’

  Bald said, ‘Won’t they see us coming?’

  Tully shook his head. ‘There’s a drainage ditch that runs from the mine to the north-west corner of the compound. We can crawl through it and get inside without anyone spotting us.’

  ‘What kind of military intelligence?’ Porter asked.

  ‘There’s no time,’ Soames replied. ‘We’ve got to stop the Russians.’ He forced a smile. ‘I’ll make it worth your while. There’s a job for you both if you do this.’

  Bald nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  2017 hours.

  They hurried out of the Portakabin. The fluorescent lighting had degraded their natural night vision and Porter struggled to pick out much detail beyond the illuminated patches of ground immediately in front of him. As they moved north he heard movement. He turned and saw a pair of dark shapes approaching from the direction of the guard hut. Porter stopped in his tracks and reached for his weapon. Tannon and Solomon moved into the reflected glow from the Portakabin window, then stepped tentatively forward from the darkness. Tannon glanced at the cabin. Then at the four men in front of her.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Where are the Russians?’

  Porter told her about the diamonds they had found. ‘We think they’re at another compound, on the other side of the mine.’

  ‘What’s in there that the Russians want?’

  Soames sighed irritably. ‘We’re wasting time. We need to go, right this bloody second.’

  Tannon said, ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Porter shook his head. ‘Not until we’ve taken care of the Russians.’

  She went to reply, but Soames interrupted her.

  ‘Porter’s right, for once in his damn life. It’s too dangerous. I’m the authority here. If you know what’s good for you, young lady, you’ll stay put.’

  Tannon stared pointedly at the ex-Rupert but didn’t respond. Porter dug out the dead sat phone from the back pocket of his combats and handed it to her.

  ‘You want to make yourself useful, search the buildings for a charger. We need to get the sat phone up and running so we can make contact with our handler. Tell him the Russians have reached the mine and we’re going after them.’

  ‘Try the accommodation blocks,’ Tully said. ‘There’s no phone lines in these parts. Most of the guards used sat phones to call home on the job. You should find a charger lying arou
nd somewhere.’

  ‘What about me?’ Solomon interrupted.

  ‘Guard the entrance,’ Bald said. ‘Look out for any approaching enemies. We think the Russians have called for reinforcements.’

  Solomon nodded eagerly. ‘Anything you say, boss.’

  The man-mountain turned and padded towards the front of the compound. At the same time Tannon made for the concrete buildings opposite the Portakabin. Porter watched them depart. Then he about-turned, hurried north past the buildings and joined Tully, Soames and Bald by the edge of the mining field.

  ‘This way,’ Tully said.

  They set off through the mine, following a rough track that ran down from the buildings. For the quick transportation of excavated diamonds, presumably. Tully led the way. Porter and Bald fell into step behind him, with Soames pulling up the rear. The four moved at a brisk pace, picking their way past the open-air bell pits that covered the length and breadth of the field. Mounds of excavated soil were heaped next to each pit. Shallow streams bisected the field, snaking between the piles of loose dirt. There were a few pieces of machinery lying around the field, but most of the work here was done by hand. Hour upon hour toiling at the earth, sifting through mud and gravel deposits, searching for the stones that would eventually end up in the jewellery shops of Hatton Garden and Fifth Avenue. A process that hadn’t changed much in centuries.

  Every so often Porter glanced up at the security lights to the north. They were five hundred metres from the lights. Was Soames lying when he’d claimed the Russians were after military intelligence? Porter couldn’t be sure. But whatever is inside that compound, we’ll soon find out, he thoughts.

  They pushed on, weaving past the bell-pits and the stacks of sifting pans dumped beside each hole. Pools of water glistened in several of the deeper craters and Porter had to scramble for purchase as he followed Tully along the soft, muddy ground. Tully upped the pace as they drew closer to the security lights, chopping his stride. They were three hundred metres from the compound now. Porter could feel his calf muscles burning. A powerful stitch speared his right side. Every muscle in his body ached with tiredness. The years of hard drinking, taking its heavy toll. His body screamed at him to rest. You made it this far, Porter told himself. You can’t give up now. Keep going.

  Stop the Russians, and then it’ll be over.

  They were a hundred and fifty metres from the compound now. To the north Porter could see a wide one-storey concrete building with a shingle-tiled roof, partially obscured by a line of ironwood trees. A farmhouse, he thought. It looked older than the mine. Perhaps the farm had been here first. Then the geologists had arrived, and the mine had opened but the farmer stubbornly refused to sell. Hence the present arrangement. Several outlying structures were situated to the west of the main building, backing onto a densely forested slope. An additional two-metre-high metal fence surrounded the farmhouse, with a gated entrance visible between the security lights. Porter scanned the area around the house. A pair of torchlights cut through the darkness, moving from the outlying buildings to the farmhouse.

  ‘The Russians,’ Bald said. ‘Must be them.’

  ‘Looks like they’re searching for something,’ Porter observed. He looked over at Tully and frowned.

  ‘What the fuck is this place, Bob?’

  ‘Keep moving,’ Soames urged.

  They hurried on. When they were a hundred metres from the fence Tully tacked to the left and manoeuvred towards the north-west corner of the compound, avoiding the stark glare of the security lights arranged along the perimeter. Porter understood now why they couldn’t make a frontal approach to the compound. There were no dark areas they could use to sneak forward. All the security lights at the front of the compound were in perfect working order. Unlike the lights guarding the approach to the mine itself, Porter thought. Which made him wonder. Why is this place better protected than the diamond mine?

  Tully hit the north-western corner and stopped. Porter halted alongside him. A gentle slope led down to a deep drainage channel that backed directly onto the perimeter fence. There was about an inch of standing water at the bottom of the ditch. The ground this side of the fence was slightly downhill from the compound, Porter realised. Which made it a natural flow point for excess water. The ditch extended south for half a mile from the edge of the compound, emptying out into the river west of the mining field. At the mouth of the channel was a water-flow outlet mounted on a concrete base, with a metal grating fastened across the opening.

  The outlet looked just about wide enough for someone to crawl through. Large rocks and logs had been piled high on the slopes either side of the outlet. To prevent soil erosion, probably. On the far side of the perimeter fence Porter spied a manhole cover, twenty metres west of the farmhouse. The outlet tunnel led underground from the ditch up to the manhole cover on the opposite side of the fence. From the manhole to the bottom of the drainage ditch was a drop of about six feet, he estimated.

  Tully picked his way down the slope and waded towards the outlet, motioning for the others to follow. Porter and Bald dropped down into the ditch, with Soames awkwardly lowering himself into the channel after them. All four waited for a moment beside the outlet, stilling their breath and listening for movement on the far side of the fence. Above the trickle of water, Porter heard a pair of faint voices. Like tuning into a radio station at the edge of the signal range. They sounded guttural, harsh. Foreign.

  The Russians.

  Five seconds passed. The voices faded. Porter and the others waited another ten seconds, in case the Russians returned. Then Bald grabbed hold of the metal grate and tried wrenching it open. The grate rattled. Tully set down his pistol, stepped forward and grabbed the other end. The two of them tried again.

  ‘No good,’ Bald muttered. ‘Bastard’s fastened tight.’

  Porter reached for a log from the pile of rocks and timber to the left of the outlet. The tip of the log was splintered from where the other end had broken off. He shoved the split end of the log into the narrow gap between the outlet mouth and the grating. Then he started prising the grate open, using the timber as a lever. The metal resisted at first, groaning on its hinges.

  ‘Hurry, man!’ Soames hissed, his voice straining with anxiety.

  Porter pushed harder against the log. The grating buckled but held firm. Porter dug his boots into the slippery ground and leaned in again, applying his full weight to the log. There was a pause, and then the grate sprang loose from the outlet mouth and clattered to the rocks piled up against the concrete base. Porter froze. He listened and waited to see if the noise had alerted the Russians on the other side of the fence. He heard nothing. After several moments he stepped back from the tunnel and nodded at Soames.

  ‘Wait here. Don’t fucking move.’

  Then he turned to Bald and gestured to the outlet.

  ‘Ladies first, Jock.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Bald whispered.

  He dropped to his elbows and knees and crawled into the drainage tunnel, clutching his AK-47 close to his chest. Porter went second. Then Tully. It was darker then night inside the tunnel. A dense, solid blackness that made it impossible to see more than two inches in front of his face. Dank water slicked along the bottom, and there was a putrid smell in the air that made Porter want to gag. He crept on behind Bald, his elbows grazing against the sides of the tunnel. The pipe extended horizontally for eight metres and stopped directly beneath the manhole cover on the far side of the fence. A shaft of artificial light pierced the darkness through a gap in the manhole. Ahead of him, Bald stooped low beneath the cover. He placed both palms on the underside of the manhole and pushed up. There was a dull scraping noise as the cover lifted, then slid across. Then Bald stood fully upright, spread his arms up through the opening and hoisted himself out of the drainage tunnel.

  Porter waited for a couple of beats while Bald checked the surrounding area. He had emerged five metres north of the fence and twenty west of the farmhouse. When he was sur
e the coast was clear, Bald signalled down to Porter. The latter climbed out of the opening and joined his mucker next to a dense thicket of bushes. A few moments later Tully crawled out of the drainage tunnel and crouched down beside the two operators. Then Porter crept forward and looked out across the compound.

  The farmhouse was set back at the end of a wide yard. There was a generator shed to the left of the building, with a small timber-framed structure further west, at Porter’s twelve o’clock. What looked like some sort of shed. Further back, to the rear of the property, Porter could just about see a one-storey concrete annexe to the farmhouse. Another larger outlying building to the left of it.

  In front of the farmhouse there was a playground, fitted out with brand-new equipment. There was a wooden climbing frame with a plastic green slide attached, a metal swing set and a see-saw. A swingball to the right with a couple of bats lying next to the pole. Five-a-side football pitch to the left, next to a wooden clubhouse. A sandbox. Everything looked immaculate. The grass was freshly clipped, the toy dolls neatly arranged in colourful boxes. The lines on the football pitch looked freshly painted. A light beamed in one of the windows at the front of the building. There was a sign fixed to the front of the building that said KONO ORPHAN PROJECT.

  Not a farmhouse, Porter realised.

  An orphanage.

  ‘Who the fuck builds an orphanage right next to a mine?’ Bald whispered.

  Tully said nothing.

  Porter scanned the compound again. Above the whir of the generator, he heard two voices.

  The Russians.

  Coming from inside the shed at their twelve o’clock, twenty metres away.

  Porter observed the shed for a few moments. He caught the flicker of torch-light slanting across the window. The Russians sounded angry, he thought. As if they were shouting at one another. He heard the distinct crash and clatter of equipment inside the shed. They’re tearing the place up, Porter realised. They’re definitely looking for something. Something more valuable than a safe-load of rough diamonds.

  He turned to Tully and lowered his voice. ‘What’s in there?’