The Spoilers / Juggernaut

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘About a ton. My guess is that they’ll convert it to heroin before shipment. If that amount of heroin gets on the illegal market in one lump I don’t like to think of the consequences.’

  ‘A ton,’ whispered Metcalfe incredulously.

  ‘It could have been double that,’ said Tozier. ‘But we wrecked the laboratory. Your lady-friend has been busy getting everything sewn up. This is one of the biggest smuggling operations of all time.’

  Metcalfe thought about it. ‘I don’t think the stuff’s here,’ he said slowly. ‘Just after I arrived a string of camels came in. There was a hell of a lot of palaver about them—all very mysterious. Everyone was kept away while the load was transferred into a truck. It left this morning.’

  ‘So what are you going to do, Tom?’ asked Tozier casually.

  ‘A good question.’ Metcalfe took a deep breath. ‘The first thing is to get you out of here—and that’s going to take a miracle.’ He smiled wryly. ‘No wonder Fahrwaz is all steamed up.’

  ‘Can you get any weapons in to us? I’d feel better with a gun in my hand.’

  Metcalfe shook his head. ‘They don’t trust me that much. I was searched when I came in here. There are a couple of guards outside all the time.’

  Tozier stuck out his finger. ‘We’ve got to get through that door—guards or no guards.’ He stood up with a quick movement and the sack of fertilizer fell over against his leg. Impatiently he booted it away, and then stopped and gazed at it. Abstractedly he said, ‘Could you find us a few bits of coal, Tom?’

  ‘Coal in Kurdistan!’ said Metcalfe derisively. He followed the line of Tozier’s gaze, then bent down to read the inscription on the sack. ‘Oh, I see—the Mwanza trick.’ He straightened up. ‘Would charcoal do?’

  ‘I don’t see why not—we don’t need much. How much oil is there in that can you found, Johnny?’

  ‘About a quart. Why?’

  ‘We’re going to blow that door off its hinges. We’ll need a detonator, Tom. If you nip down to the Land-Rovers you’ll find that one has a clock and the others hasn’t. Unscrew the clock and bring it with you with the charcoal.’

  ‘How do you expect me to smuggle a clock in here?’

  ‘You’ll find a way. Get going, Tom.’

  Metcalfe knocked on the door and was let out. As it closed behind him Warren said, ‘Do you think he’s…safe?’

  ‘For us—yes,’ said Tozier. ‘For Fahrwaz, no. I know Tom Metcalfe very well. He goes off pop if he even hears people talk about drugs. If we get out of this I’ll feel bloody sorry for the Delorme woman—he’ll crucify her.’ He bent down and started to open the sack of fertilizer.

  Follet said flatly, ‘You’re going to blow that door open with fertilizer. You did say that—or am I going nuts?’

  ‘I said it,’ said Tozier. ‘Tom and I were in the Congo. We were just outside a place called Mwanza and the opposition had blown down a cliff so it blocked the road and we couldn’t get our trucks through. We were low on ammunition and had no blasting explosives, but we had a secret weapon—a South African called van Niekerk who used to be a miner on the Witwatersrand.’

  He put his hand in the sack and lifted out a handful of the white powder. ‘This is agricultural fertilizer—ammonium nitrate—good for putting nitrogen into the soil. But van Niekerk knew a bit more. If you take a hundred pounds of this, six pints of fuel oil, two pounds of coal dust, and mix it all together then you get the equivalent of forty per cent blasting gelignite. I’ve never forgotten that. Van Niekerk scared the pants off me—he brewed the stuff in a concrete mixer.’

  ‘Is this on the level?’ said Follet unbelievingly.

  ‘We won’t need as much,’ said Tozier. ‘And I don’t know if our substitute ingredients will work. But we’ll give it a bang.’ He grinned. ‘And that’s a hell of a bad pun. Van Niekerk said they do a lot of blasting this way in the South African gold mines. They’ve discovered it’s safer—and cheaper—to mix up the stuff at the work face than to store gelignite in magazines.’

  ‘But we need the charcoal,’ said Warren.

  ‘And a detonator. We might as well relax until Tom comes back.’

  If he comes back, thought Warren. He sat on the box and looked glumly at the sack of fertilizer. He had said to Hellier back in London that they were going into what was virtually a war—but what a devil of a way to fight it!

  III

  Metcalfe was back within the hour. He came in smoking a cigar and limping a little. As soon as the door closed he nipped the glowing end and handed it to Tozier. ‘A stick of charcoal,’ he said. ‘I did a bit of sleight of hand with a cigar when they searched me. I have a lot more stuffed in my shoes.’

  ‘The detonator?’ asked Tozier urgently.

  Metcalfe unfastened his belt and rummaged around in his trousers. From somewhere mysterious he produced the clock and handed it over, the spike of the detonator sticking out at right-angles to the back. Follet said, ‘How come they didn’t find that when they searched you?’ His voice had an edge of suspicion.

  Metcalfe grimaced. ‘I rammed the detonator up my arse and walked tight. I bet it’s started piles.’

  ‘It’s all for the cause,’ said Tozier with a grin. ‘Did you have any trouble, Tom?’

  ‘Not a bit. I spun Fahrwaz a yarn pretty close to the truth, but left a couple of gaps in it. He sent me back to fill them in. We’d better get our plans agreed now. They won’t be coming for you for a while; the old boy said he was tired and going to bed.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Dawn will be in three hours.’

  ‘A night escape might be better,’ said Tozier.

  Metcalfe shook his head decisively. ‘You wouldn’t have a chance at night. By the time you found the exit you’d be caught. The best time to make a break is at first light so you can see what you’re doing—and it’ll give me three hours to set up a few diversions I have in mind. How accurately can you set that clock?’

  ‘To the nearest minute.’

  ‘Good enough. Make it five-thirty. You’ll hear a lot of action just at that time.’ Metcalfe squatted on his haunches and began to draw on the sandy floor of the cave. ‘Your Land-Rovers are here with the ignition keys still in place—I checked that. The exit is here. When you blow off the door you’ll either kill the guards or give them a hell of a fright; in either case you needn’t worry about them if you move fast. When you leave the cave turn left—not the way you were brought. There’s a devil of a steep path down to the valley floor about ten yards along the ledge outside.’

  ‘How steep?’

  ‘You’ll make it,’ assured Metcalfe. ‘Now, there’s only one way in—or out—of this valley, and that’s through the gorge. You make your break for your trucks, drive into the gorge and stop at the first sharp turn. I’ll be right behind you in one of Fahrwaz’s vehicles which I’ll abandon in an immovable condition. If we can block up the gorge behind us we stand a fair chance of getting away. But wait for me, for God’s sake!’

  ‘I’ve got it, Tom.’

  Metcalfe took off his shoes and shook a pile of black dust from them and pulled some charcoal sticks from his socks. ‘I hope this stuff works,’ he said doubtfully. ‘If it doesn’t we’ll all be up the spout.’

  ‘It’s all we’ve got,’ said Tozier. ‘No use binding about it.’ He looked at Metcalfe and said quietly, ‘Thanks for everything, Tom.’

  ‘Anything for an old pal,’ said Metcalfe lightly. ‘I’d better be going now. Remember—five-thirty.’

  The guard let him out, and Warren said pensively, ‘Andy, supposing there weren’t any drugs involved—would Metcalfe help you out on the basis of the Old Pals’ Act?’

  ‘I’m glad I don’t have to put it to the test,’ said Tozier drily. ‘A mercenary is like a politician—a good one is one who stays bought. I’ve fought on the same side as Tom Metcalfe, and I’ve fought in opposition. For all I know we might have shot at each other some time. I think that if it weren’t for the drugs we’d have had to take ou
r own chances. We’re damned lucky he considers he’s been doublecrossed.’

  ‘And that he believed us,’ said Follet.

  ‘There’s that, too,’ admitted Tozier. ‘But Tom and I have swapped drinks and lies for a long time. We’ve never crossed each other up, so there’s no reason why he shouldn’t believe me. Come on; let’s get busy.’

  He set Follet and Warren to grinding the fertilizer down into an even finer powder, using plates as mortars and the backs of spoons as pestles. ‘I want all those lumps out of it.’

  ‘Is this safe?’ asked Follet nervously.

  ‘It’s just fertilizer,’ assured Tozier. ‘Even when it’s mixed it will need the detonator to explode it.’ He began to figure out quantities and weights, and then began to grind down the charcoal. After a while he went to the back of the cave and rooted about in the box which contained engine spares, and came back with a pipe closed at one end with a plug. ‘Just the thing we need—everything for the do-it-yourself anarchist. Ever made bombs before, Nick?’

  ‘It’s hardly likely, is it?’

  ‘I don’t suppose it is much in your line. But this isn’t the first time I’ve had to make do. When you’re on the losing side the money tends to run out and you have to do a lot of patching. I once assembled quite a serviceable tank out of six wrecks.’ He smiled. ‘But this lot is a little too much the Moses lark for my taste—making bricks without straw.’

  He cleaned out the coffee-pot and dried it carefully, then poured in the ground-down fertilizer and added the powdered charcoal a little at a time, keeping the mixture well stirred. When he thought he had the right proportions he gave it to Follet. ‘Keep stirring—it’ll help pass the time.’

  He picked up the can of oil and looked at it dubiously. ‘The recipe calls for fuel oil—I don’t know if this will be suitable. Still, we won’t know if we don’t try, so let’s do the final mix.’ He poured a little of the oil into the out-held coffee pot. ‘Keep on stirring, Johnny. It shouldn’t get wet enough to form a paste; just damp enough to hold together when you squeeze it in your hand.’

  ‘You can do the squeezing,’ said Follet. ‘The only thing I squeeze is a dame.’

  Tozier laughed. ‘They’re just as explosive if not handled right. Give it to me.’ He tried the squeeze test and added a little more oil. This proved to be too much and the mixture was rebalanced by the addition of fertilizer and charcoal. It was quite a time before he pronounced himself satisfied, but at last he said, ‘That’s it; now we make the bomb.’

  He took the tube, checked that the plug was screwed home firmly, and began to stuff the explosive mixture into the other end, using a long bolt to ram it down. Follet watched him for a while, then said tensely, ‘Andy—stop right there.’

  Tozier froze. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘That’s a steel tube, isn’t it?’ asked Follet.

  ‘So?’

  ‘And you’re using a steel bolt as a ramrod. For Christ’s sake, don’t strike a spark!’

  Tozier eased out his breath. ‘I’ll try not to,’ he said, and used the bolt much more carefully. He crammed the tube full of the mixture, well packed down, took the clock and set it, then pressed the detonator spike into the end. ‘There’s a few bits of sheet metal back there, and the box Warren is sitting on is screwed together. That’s how we fasten it to the door.’

  It took a long time because they had to work quietly, fearing to attract the attention of the guards outside. Tozier’s small penknife, which they used as a makeshift screwdriver, had all its blades broken by the time they were finished. He regarded the bomb critically, then looked at his watch. ‘It took longer than I expected; it’s nearly five now—just over half an hour to go.’

  ‘I don’t want to appear difficult,’ said Follet. ‘But we’re now locked in a cave with a bomb that’s about to explode. Have you thought of that little thing?’

  ‘We should be safe enough lying at the back behind those boxes.’

  ‘I’m glad we have a doctor along,’ said Follet. ‘You might come in useful, Nick, if that firecracker really works. I’m going to pick me a good safe place right now.’

  Warren and Tozier followed him to the back of the cave where they built a rough barricade of boxes, then they lay down using the sacks of straw as improvised mattresses. The next half hour crawled by and Warren was mightily astonished to find himself nodding off to sleep. If anyone had told him this could—or would—happen in such a critical circumstance he would have laughed; yet it was not surprising considering that this was his second night without sleep.

  Tozier’s elbow jerked him into wakefulness. ‘Five minutes—get ready.’

  Warren found his mind full of questions. Would Tozier’s ridiculous bomb work? If it did, would it work well enough? Or too well? Follet had already expressed his apprehensions on that score.

  ‘Four minutes,’ said Tozier, his eyes on his watch. ‘Johnny, you go first, then Nick. I’ll bring up the rear.’

  The seconds ticked by and Warren found himself becoming very tense. His mouth was dry and he had an odd feeling in his stomach as though he was very hungry. In a detached manner one part of his mind checked off the symptoms and he thought—So this is what it’s like to be frightened.

  Tozier said, ‘Three minutes,’ and as he said it there was a sound from the door. ‘Hell’s teeth!’ he exclaimed. ‘Someone’s coming in.’

  Follet grunted. ‘A hell of a time to pick.’

  Tozier raised his head cautiously as the door creaked open, and saw men silhouetted against the grey light of dawn. The mocking voice of Ahmed echoed from the stone walls. ‘What—all asleep? No guilty consciences here?’

  Tozier pushed himself up on one elbow and stretched as though just aroused from sleep. ‘What the hell do you want now?’ he said in a grumbling voice.

  ‘I want somebody to talk,’ said Ahmed. ‘Who shall it be? Who do you think we should take first, Mr Tozier?’

  Tozier played for time. He looked at his watch and said, ‘You start too early for my liking. Come back in an hour. Better still, don’t come back at all.’ One and a half minutes to go.

  Ahmed spread his hands. ‘I regret I cannot oblige you. My father sleeps lightly—he is an old man—and he is now awake and impatient.’

  ‘All right,’ said Tozier. ‘Wake up, you two. I’ll give you one minute to be on your feet. One minute, do you hear?’

  Warren heard the emphasis and pressed himself to the floor of the cave. He said, ‘What is it, Andy? I’m tired.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Warren,’ said Ahmed. ‘I trust you slept well.’ His voice sharpened. ‘Up with you, all of you; or do I have to have you dragged out? My father is waiting to entertain you with some of our typical Kurdish hospitality.’ He laughed.

  Tozier took one glance at him before throwing himself flat. Ahmed was still laughing when the bomb exploded. It blew the door off its hinges and hurled it bodily at the laughing man and swept him aside to smear him bloodily against the rock wall. Dust billowed and far away someone screamed.

  ‘Move!’ yelled Tozier.

  Follet was first out of the door as planned. He skidded to the left and stumbled over a body on the ledge and nearly went over the edge of the cliff. Warren, right behind him, shot out his arm and grabbed him before he toppled.

  Follet recovered and plunged forward along the ledge. At the top of the path there was a guard, his mouth opened in surprise and desperately trying to unsling his rifle. Follet was on him before he could get the rifle free, and hit him in the face with his closed fist. The fist was wrapped around a big steel bolt and Warren distinctly heard the crunch as the man’s jawbone was smashed. The guard gave a choked wail and fell aside and the way down the narrow path was open.

  Follet ran down it at a dangerous speed, slipping and sliding, with his boots starting miniature avalanches of dust and pebbles. Warren stumbled over a loose stone and pitched forward and for one blind moment thought he was going to fall, but Tozier’s big hand grabbed
him by the belt and hauled him back. That was all the trouble they had going down to the valley floor.

  Across the valley things were happening. A fusillade of small-arms fire popped off, interspersed with the deeper note of exploding grenades. One of the further caves erupted with an earth-shattering explosion and a part of the ledge on the cliff slid abruptly into the valley. Metcalfe’s ‘diversion’ was taking on all the aspects of a small war.

  In the dim light of dawn they ran towards the Land-Rovers. A man lay writhing with a broken back just below the cave in which they had been imprisoned, and Warren surmised he had been blown off the upper ledge by the force of Tozier’s bomb. He jumped over the feebly moving body and hurried to catch up with Follet. Behind him he heard the regular thudding of Tozier’s boots.

  A small herd of camels tethered close by were much alarmed by the sudden noise and some of them plunged wildly and, tearing up their stakes, went careering up the valley ahead of them, adding to the confusion. A bee buzzed past Warren’s head and there was the sharp spaaang and a whine as a bullet ricocheted from rock, and he realized that someone had recovered enough from the general alarm to shoot at them. But he had no time to worry about that—all his attention was directed to getting to the Land-Rovers in the shortest time possible.

  There was a hundred yards to go and the breath rasped in his throat as his lungs pumped hard and his legs pumped even harder. Ahead, in front of the vehicles, three Kurds had materialized from nowhere and one was already on one knee with rifle poised to shoot at point-blank range. It seemed he could not miss but as he fired a camel cut across between them and received the bullet. Follet swerved to the right, using the staggering camel as cover, and the second of the Kurds was bowled over by another maddened beast.

  Follet jumped him and put the toe of his boot into his throat with great force. He scooped up the fallen rifle and fired as he ran, rapidly but with no great accuracy. But the unexpected spray of bullets was enough to make the two opposing men duck and run for cover, and the way was clear.