“Here, untie me.” Jack said, holding up his wrists. Gustav pulled a hunting knife from his belt and cut quickly through the cable. The boy with the gun shouted at him, Gustav knocked him smartly to one side, opened the door and ran out, shutting it quickly behind him. He ran down the stairs without checking to see if Jack was following, walked quickly past the white Delft tiles in the kitchen, and into the rear garden. A row of jeeps were parked under the trees close to the house. Two of them had machine guns mounted on the back, three didn’t. Gustav picked one that didn’t, the lighter it was the faster it would travel.
“So where did Monsieur Blanc go in the middle of the night?” Jack asked, climbing into the seat beside him.
Gustav ignored him, gunning the engine determinedly. He took his pistol out of its holster and placed it on his lap, switching off the safety. The engine revved, rattling noisily as he reversed quickly, spinning a circle so tight it almost tipped them onto the courtyard floor. Around them young soldiers scurried from tent to tent, pulling on their make-shift uniforms in the orange glow of the lamp lights, draping bandoliers over their shoulders. Gustav drove toward the gate. The two guards on either side walked to the centre and hefted the heavy gates upwards, opening it just wide enough to let the car out. They didn’t ask any questions. Clement had already told them to ensure they treated Monsieur Blanc and his associate with respect, he was, after all, the man who supplied most of their armoury.
Gustav grated through the gears as the car bounced over the track. He turned the car towards the jungle, away from the camp and the runway. Once they’d put some ground between them and the house, he switched the safety catch back on his gun, replacing it in his holster.
Jack looked behind him, darkness swallowing up the road as they moved forward, chasing them, devouring the meagre amount of light they cast.
“So where is Monsieur Blanc?” He asked again. He wanted to know why there’d been a change of plan but he didn’t want to distract Gustav from his driving. The track they were on demanded his full attention, the potholes and vines attempting to wrestle the wheel from his grasp. He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“You should know. Whatever you said to him yesterday must have scared him. And he’s not an easy man to scare. Told me he was going to wait till the others had drunk themselves into a stupor, then leave the camp quietly under cover of darkness. Take that girl with him,” he added, shaking his head. He had known Monsieur Blanc a long time, but his boss’s sudden turns of sentimentality were still beyond his comprehension.
“So where did he go? I thought a helicopter was taking you both out tonight.” Jack said, a puzzled look on his face. The lights from the jeep were dim, casting a stingy beam over the bumpy road ahead. Jagged shadows thrown across their path.
“So did I. But Monsieur Blanc is a man who acts on instinct. He told me to meet him along this road. Be prepared for a trek. Drive as far as we can then continue on foot. No more helicopter from the runway. Too dangerous. He should be near here, can’t have walked far.”
52
Uko entered Clement’s room, hastily buttoning up his combat jacket. He spoke quickly, “I have ordered the soldiers to prepare themselves. What is the urgency, what is going on?” He squinted through the cast iron sheet of his hangover.
“Somebody is coming. Took out four of my boys on the way. No reason. Americans or British,” Clement replied. He looked at the briefcase in the corner of the room, his mind on the devices it contained.
“I have a feeling Monsieur Blanc has brought this on us.” He shook his head, “where is he? I want him brought to me.”
“Yes sir.” Uko saluted the General and ran down the corridor to Monsieur Blanc’s room. He opened the door without knocking. “The general wants you, get up, quickly.” No response from the sleeping form in the bed. He walked towards it, put his hand out to shake the body.
“Up, get up now,” the body fell forwards, two cushions plumped up under the sheets. Uko turned and ran.
“General, he is not here. The man has gone.” Clement banged his fist into the wall. He was used to be being the attacker, leading the offensive, now he had the distinct impression a game was afoot and no one had explained the rules.
“That white boy. The one they took the last device from. Tell me he is still sleeping in his room.” Uko ran down the corridor again, calling out. The boy who had been guarding wandered into his path.
“Where is he, where has he gone?” Uko shouted. The boy shrugged, fear in his eyes. He shook him violently by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall.
“Where has he gone?” He shouted.
“I don’t know. He left with the other man, the tall one who smelt of whiskey.” The boy’s eyes were confused, hurt. Clement had told him to ensure he treated Monsieur Blanc and his associate with respect.
“When did they go?” He asked, his thumbs digging sharply into the boy’s shoulders, making him wince.
“Just now sah, a few minutes ago.” Uko rushed down the stairs and out the front of the house. The soldiers at the gates had already closed them. The jeep had disappeared along the track. The heavy feet of the General thundered down the stairs behind him, the whole house shaking under his weight.
Clement breathed deeply, placed a heavy hand on Uko’s shoulder.
“Gone?” He asked. Uko nodded, his bald head gleaming with a fresh layer of sweat.
“Yes sir. Just now. Shall we send someone after them?” Clement clenched his fist into a ball and slapped it into his palm, pacing up and down the veranda. The old wooden floorboards creaked under his weight, furniture and windows rattling with each of his heavy steps.
“No. Waste of time. We have to prepare ourselves here. This is what we must do,” his mind sifting through the problem, five well-trained soldiers heading in their direction, possibly others, prepared to use lethal force. “For now we must carry on as normal. If these men are watching us I do not want them to think we are suspicious. There are only a few of them, their only advantage is surprise. Now we have taken that from them. Surprise will be on our side. Gather the captains together. We will hold a counsel of war.”
53
“Charges set. On our way Ed, over.” Gavin McCallister spoke into his radio. The explosives were hidden along one side of the runway, smoke bombs and phosphorous, enough fireworks to make it look like World War III had begun in the eastern Congo. “Good work. We’re in the treetops. Lot of movement at the camp. Early risers. Unusual for this type of army,” Ed replied. He was watching the camp through night vision binoculars, surprised that the soldiers were up and about already, cleaning and preparing their weapons, checking their equipment.
“How long till you . . . ” he stopped talking, his attention distracted by the two men who had appeared on the veranda. Impossible to see from this distance but he was certain one of them was Nbotou.
He signalled to the rest of his team, “who’s that, on the steps in front of the house?” He hissed. “Anyone have a positive ID?” They’d been shown pictures of the militia leader before they set off, but in the greenish glow of the night vision it was hard to be certain.
“Got to be the General,” Ian Cleaver replied. “I’d stake my rifle on it.” He was the best marksman on the team, his weapon already sighted on the imposing figure of Nbotou as he marched up and down the veranda. A clear night, no wind. Not more than 500 metres to the target.
“He’s in my sights Ed. Say the word and he’s a dead man.” Ed bit his lip, he would dearly love to give the order, drop the evil bastard right there on his own front porch. But he couldn’t, they’d need the back-up of Gavin’s team for the follow through. And Clement’s second-in-command might be an effective leader, might prevent them from taking control of the camp.
“Hold off Ian. We need to wait for Gavin’s team. Let’s watch a while, sight the mic and the thermal imaging cameras on them, see what t
hey’re up to.” The General disappeared inside the house.
Gustav pulled over, stopping at the side of the track. They hadn’t been driving long, not more than twenty minutes. Ahead of them a torchlight flashed on and off. A thin pencil beam of light.
“That him?” Jack asked. Gustav nodded but didn’t reply. Went through his little routine with his pistol instead, turning off the safety, setting it on his lap. He let the jeep crawl slowly forwards.
“You know, it might be easier if you gave the gun to me. Let you focus on the driving.” Jack suggested. Gustav shook his head, “don’t worry, I can drive and shoot.” The dull beam from the headlights pulled Monsieur Blanc into their yellow pool. He was sweating, breathing heavily. His linen suit was soaked through and clinging to his skin. On his back was a large rucksack, and he had a gun slung over each shoulder. Jack was impressed he’d made it this far, didn’t realise the man was capable of walking without the support of a desert trolley.
“Gustav, mon dieu, thank God you are here. I was worried you might not get away.” The girl from the camp was beside him, ammunition draped over her shoulders. She appeared calm and composed, not a bead of sweat on her. The walk had evidently been less of an effort for her.
“Come along Florence. We’ll travel by car as far as we can. Till the road gets too rough.” He held out his hand to help the girl but she jumped past him, clambered in without taking it, then turned and offered him her hand with a shy smile. Monsieur Blanc wasn’t too proud to take it.
“Incredible. She can walk half the night, pull someone twice her size into the car and still she doesn’t break into a sweat,” he said, moping his brow with an already wet handkerchief and squeezing his bulk into the seat beside her.
“Get going Gustav, this area is not safe.” He hefted his rucksack off his back. “Once we leave Nbotou’s territory we’re in the north Kivu district. The militia there is every bit as cruel and ruthless,” he paused for a moment, looking for something in his pack, “but fortunately for us not quite as well organised.”
He handed Jack a gun. “I trust you know how to use it? If not just point and shoot but for goodness sake don’t hit any of us.” Jack turned the Beretta over in his hand. A long time since he’d held one, a sudden memory of a trip to the firing range with his father. Shortly after his mother left. Both of them unable to articulate their feelings, shooting the hearts out of paper targets at a distance of 50m.
“I know how to use it Monsieur Blanc, but why the change of plan? I thought a helicopter was picking you up from the runway this evening,” Jack said, leaning over his shoulder. The car caught a heavy bump in the road, he worried for a moment the axle had cracked, but somehow it kept going.
Monsieur Blanc raised an eyebrow, “I believed you, Jack, that is all. About the setup. Not when you first suggested it to me, no, then I thought you were just trying your luck. But once I cut the device out, saw it wasn’t attached to anything, that there was no reason for it to be inside you other than for effect. Then I had my doubts. And like you I am perfectly capable of recognising the sound of an RAF Hercules, even from a distance of several miles.” He wiped his forehead again. “A man can ignore his suspicions once, but only a fool would ignore them twice.” Rain had started to fall, heavy splashes that cooled the warm air.
“So you’ve sorted out a new pick-up?” Jack asked. Monsieur Blanc nodded.
“There is a clearing not far from here, 40 kilometres or so. We will drive and then hike. You are welcome to stay with us or make your own way out of the jungle, but I should warn you now there is no room for you in the helicopter.”
Jack nodded, he had suspected as much, he was just surprised Monsieur Blanc had sent Gustav to collect him at all.
“Why not just leave me at the camp?” He asked somewhat reluctantly, afraid Monsieur Blanc might now decide that was a much better idea than taking him with them. Monsieur Blanc frowned, and then smiled a smile that seemed almost embarrassed.
“You gave me information which I believe may have saved my life. So I must do my best to save yours. As far as I can. Otherwise,” he paused and laughed quietly laugh to himself. “You may think me superstitious, but in my experience the universe does not look kindly on that sort of unpaid debt.”
Not so much superstitious as positively certifiable, Jack thought. He turned and looked away, into the jungle, the dull light of dawn bringing the world around them slowly to life, the dark grey trees of the forest taking on more distinct forms. The jeep suddenly skidded across the mud track.
“If the rain keeps up we’ll be on foot, boss.” Gustav said, skilfully spinning the wheel so the car caught the skid, accelerating out of it. Water was splashing up on either side, the tyres working hard to keep a grip on the slippery surface.
“Slow down. We need to stay in the car as far as possible. Otherwise it will be a very long walk.” Monsieur Blanc replied.
54
Nbotou sat at the head of the table, waiting impatiently for his captains to take their seats. They could see his anger, the coiled spring inside of him. Fit to burst.
“There is someone out there, heading this way. Might even already be here. From the report given to me it is most likely to be Special Forces. I do not know what they want, who they are after. I have my suspicions they are here because of a deal I did with that fat Chinaman.” He paused, breathing deeply, lighting a cigar. He found the rich smoke from the Monte Cristo helped focus his mind.
“But who can predict what the army of a so-called western democracy will do next.” He cleared his throat and spat on the floor. “Whatever the reason, I need not remind you how dangerous these soldiers can be. You are all aware of the tactics they employ, when they raided the Uganda Liberation Army’s camp last year to free those hostages, they used lethal force. So lethal they killed two of the hostages.” He shook his head, the men around the table chuckled, a useful release of tension. Clement drew heavily on the cigar, letting the smoke flow out of his broad nostrils.
“Their main weapon is surprise, the confusion they cause. That is what they need in order to overpower a superior army, like ours.” His men nodded their heads, murmuring their assent. “But we have taken that advantage from them, we have taken their most powerful weapon. This time the surprise will be for them.” A chorus of “yes sirs” echoed round the table.
Ed had the parabolic mic focused on the camp, but the rain was falling so heavily it was hard to pick anything up, just the background noise of drops hitting the broad leaves of the jungle trees. Finally he got it, centre of the main building, a strident voice, a language he couldn’t understand. He adjusted the amplifier, isolating and heightening the frequency. A sophisticated bit of kit. He signalled to their linguistics expert, carefully passing him the headphones. The officer leant forwards gingerly to take them. Although the treetop provided good cover it was difficult to manoeuvre. Each man was secured to the thick branches with climbing rope, but with the rain they were becoming treacherous. One slip and you might find yourself dangling like a hapless bungee jumper in front of the camp.
The linguistics expert, Oliver Denbigh, placed the headphones over his ears. A crackle of static as Ed repositioned the mic. The officer identified the language immediately, a Bantu dialect, similar in tone and inflection to Swahili. He couldn’t follow every word but he could get the gist.
“Soldiers killed last night, four of them . . . on guard . . . in position . . . ready ourselves,” fragments of what sounded like a speech. Although the precise meaning was beyond his grasp the significance of the words he had just said was clear. He turned to face Ed, the same thought occurring to them at that moment. They know we’re here, they’re onto us.
“Shit,” Ed said as he picked up his radio mic and called Gavin. “Where are you, over?” he asked.
“Two kilometres from you, according to the GPS.” Gavin replied.
“Look, you’re goi
ng to have to be careful. We think they might be expecting us. I need you get here as fast as you can.
“Fuck,” was all Gavin said in reply.
“We’re going to move in as soon as possible. While there’s still some cover from the darkness. Dawn will break in the next half hour, so it has to be now.”
“You’re going in without us?” Gav asked.
“No other option. I need you to set off the fireworks.”
“When?” Gav replied.
“Now,” Ed said tersely. He turned to his men. “In about 20 seconds there’s going to be a hell of a firework display over at the runway. We expect to see a significant number of soldiers heading out the camp to try and defend it. Once they’ve gone we’ll launch a rocket attack on the house,” a loud explosion to his left, the vibrations shaking the tree, interrupted him. “Denbigh, you stay here, get the thermal imaging camera on the house. You’re going to be our eyes and ears on this one. You’ll also be providing covering fire.” Another explosion, even louder, the sky lit up in flash of bright white light. For one moment all their faces visible, grimly determined, ready to do what was needed. Then darkness. “Check headsets.” The four of them checked the earpieces and mics were working.
“I want the camp in darkness, so make sure you get an RPG off at their generator,” Ed said as he leant backwards, letting the climbing rope take the weight. The forest shook with another explosion, almost sending him straight to the ground, face first. He held on, grinning at this team, “just my luck to break my bloody neck before the battle begins.”
The walls of the old Colonial mansion shook with the force of the first explosion. A shower of white dust from the cracks in the plasterwork. The men around the table were startled.
Decoy Page 18
