by Andy McNab
There was a deep sadness in his eyes. But also, for the first time since I’d met him, I saw the rage in his heart.
‘Your factory ships sucked all the fish out of our sea. Your toxic waste killed everything else. So our fishermen became pirates to feed their children. To feed their children who are born like sick goats and die before their time.’
He busied himself finding the jack he was after, allowing his anger to subside.
‘Mr Nick, my job is done now. I’ll wait here for you. I’ll get you back to the airport. But what can you do? You have so little time before your friends are killed …’
I sat up, like he’d just given me the good news with a cattle prod.
He pulled a shoe from his belt and extracted the folded sheet of paper. ‘Tonight, it says, the criminals will be punished. After Maghrib. The Wahhabis – the advocates of Sharia law – they’re very strict.’
He started reading. ‘The Islamic Sharia Court of Merca District confirms that one man will lose his hand for stealing from another man’s house. Two men and two women have committed zina.’
‘Adultery?’
‘Yes. But it’s not like you think. Having sex with someone and not being married to them, that’s adultery to the Wahhabis. All of them will get ramj.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you know what that means, Mr Nick?’
The sweat on my chest and back went cold. I suddenly knew what those spot-lit holes in the ground were all about.
‘I can give it a fucking good guess.’
‘They’ll be stoned to death. They’ll be buried up to the neck, and then stoned.’
‘Tracy and Justin too?’
‘The same. They too have committed zina.’
The film on the memory chip replayed itself on the screen inside my head. ‘They think they have committed adultery …?’
‘She has another man’s child, Mr Nick. The Wahhabis. They’re crazy people.’
‘What happens to the boy? There are only six holes …’
‘He will live at the madrasah. He will become al-Shabab.’
‘What does it say about the other two white guys?’
‘Nothing. Do you know them?’
‘They came to do what I came to do – get the three of them out. But you were right. There’s no negotiating with these fuckers.’
Ant and Dec must have been linked into the same int as Jules had.
‘It gives me no pleasure to be right about that, Mr Nick. What is to be done? The ramj is tonight, after prayers.’
I took a breath; gathered my thoughts. ‘OK. Here’s the deal. You call Erasto. Tell him I need help to free my friends. Tell him I need as many men as he can send.’
He shook his head. ‘No, Mr Nick, it won’t happen. These people, they are not just crazy. They are very bad people. Erasto pays to keep them away. He will not—’
I pointed a finger at him. ‘Tell him I’ll pay him to fight them.’
He still shook his head. ‘No amount of money will persuade him.’
‘Tell him he can have the yacht as well. Fuck it, he can have every yacht out there, if he wants.’
‘Mr Nick, it wouldn’t be worth it to him. It would be war.’
‘So what have you got now? Peace?’
Awaale turned onto his side. ‘I am truly sorry. You’re going to have to do this thing yourself. I will wait here. I will make sure the skiff is ready to take you back, to collect my money. But Erasto will not help. He wouldn’t even listen to me. I am not my father.’
I glanced at the little red light on the Solar Monkey. ‘Well, get him on the phone then. Call your dad.’
‘My father?’
‘He’s got the pull around here, hasn’t he? Get your phone out, for fuck’s sake. Call him.’
I left him to it as I scrambled out of the shade. I didn’t want Awaale to listen in on my next conversation.
26
FRANK, AS ALWAYS, answered in two rings.
‘I’ve found them. They’re alive. But there’s no way I can negotiate. If we don’t act now, they’re going to be dead by this evening.’
If Frank’s heart missed a beat, he wasn’t giving any sign of it. Part of me was starting to admire this guy. ‘How much?’
‘Three million, one hundred thousand dollars. In hundreds. I want the one hundred thousand separate from the rest, so when the three million’s handed over, it won’t be spotted.’
‘OK.’
‘I want it at the airport, soon as. Keep that aircraft on standby. It needs to be fuelled up, ready to go.
‘I’m trying to get the clan to help us. If you don’t hear from me by first light tomorrow morning, then I’ve fucked up.’
‘OK.’ He said it like he was agreeing to a pizza delivery.
There was a silence. I’d said all I needed to.
Frank filled it. ‘You’ve seen Stefan, yes?’
‘Yes, Frank. I told you. He’s alive. Get the money to Mog so I can keep him that way.’
‘Is he hurt? Is he ill?’
‘As far as I can see, he’s all right. He was with his mother. She’s looking after him. She’s comforting him. She’s thinking only of him.’
I let the message sink in for a moment.
‘There’s one more thing, Frank. If all goes to plan, I’ll find out what our problem was in the UK – who the guys were, the ones following me.’
I might have heard him sigh. ‘That would be good, Nick. Thank you.’
‘It’s not only for your benefit. I don’t want Tracy and Stefan lifted again, do I? I don’t want to go through this shit again.’
I closed down the phone. I still had to manage Frank’s expectations. And I still didn’t know which way the arch poker player was going to jump. For all I knew, he might choose to fuck over Tracy and BB and lift Stefan from the madrasah later. That wouldn’t be good enough for me. I had a promise to keep.
I dialled Anna. Things were about to get busy.
It didn’t even go to voicemail. A female voice waffled at me in Arabic. I knew I didn’t have a wrong number, so she must have been telling me that Anna’s mobile either didn’t have a signal or was switched off. I closed down. It had to be out of signal. Anna’s mobile was linked into her bloodstream.
Back in the bunker, Awaale was talking to his father. ‘He’s come back.’
I crawled under the burqa and got the sweat-covered mobile to my ear.
‘Mr Awaale?’
‘Mr Nick, you are—’
He sounded half asleep. There was no time to fuck about.
‘Your son has told you that I need some help?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Mr Awaale, with respect, please listen. Hear me out. See if what I say makes sense. If it does, I need you to talk to Erasto. Persuade him that helping me helps him. And for your time, I will pay you twenty-five thousand dollars, the same as I will pay your son. He can send it to you. You have my word.’
I heard him rustling about. Now that I had his attention, he was probably sitting himself up against his pillows.
‘Mr Awaale, I can offer Erasto two million US if he sends all of his guys to Merca today to help me rescue the three people I’ve come for. Erasto knows who I’m talking about. Whatever commission you need to share with him is up to you.’
There was silence as some serious thinking went on in Minneapolis.
‘Mr Nick, it will cost you more than that. This is very, very dangerous.’
‘There will be more. Erasto can take back the yacht that al-Shabab stole from him. Tell him there are also three pleasure boats here, as well as several cargo ships. He can take as many as he wants. Tell him that if he keeps paying al-Shabab, he’s only delaying the inevitable. He’s going to be fighting them at some stage. They will not want to stay out of his part of the city for long.
‘So why not carry the fight to al-Shabab? Why not show what great fighters and strategists he and his men are, with a preemptive strike? Hit them where they feel safe. Show them that he won’t stan
d for them coming in and taking over the part of the city that belongs to Erasto.
‘I can make that happen, Mr Awaale. I can help your son here plan the attack, like we did yesterday. He will be a hero, just like you. Maybe one day he’ll become head of the clan, because he knows how to carry the fight to the enemy. He can show the clan, again, today, what a great fighter he is. And Erasto’s part of the city could be his, one day.’
I waited for him to mull this over. Or maybe he was playing with me. I didn’t really care which: I just needed an answer.
In the end, I filled the silence for him, as he probably wanted me to. ‘All I need is help to get me and the prisoners back to the airport. We will exchange cash for them there and then. It will be very, very easy. And I have one more thing, one more very big thing, to offer Erasto.’
‘What is that?’
‘I can give him the two men who killed Nadif. I can do that at the airport.’
‘Nadif? Nadif is dead?’
‘Yes. In England. I found him. He had been tortured first. I’ll hand over the two men who did this, as part of the deal. They are here in Merca. But I’m going to need five minutes with them myself. I will not kill them. If there is no deal, I will kill them here in Merca, before I leave. Erasto will have no satisfaction, no revenge.
‘Erasto needs to make a stand against al-Shabab. He’s going to have to do it one day. Now is the perfect time. And he’ll make a lot of money. So will you. I need Erasto’s help, Mr Awaale. I need it now. Not later tonight, not tomorrow. Now. I need to know how many people he’s going to send, so we can prepare. I need to know, one way or another.’
He had certainly woken up now. Money. Revenge. Fame for his son. Joe was right. My brother and me against my father. My father’s household against my uncle’s household. Our two households against the rest of my kin. Even Nadif had taken the side deal with me, against his brother. It was The Sopranos, with shemaghs and AKs.
‘Please, Mr Nick, hand me back to my son. We will try to get your loved ones home safe. I will talk with Erasto. I will earn twenty-five thousand US for talking to him. Is that correct?’
‘Correct.’
I handed Awaale the phone. As I did, I gripped his sand-covered hand. ‘Make sure you tell your father that it must be now. Remember the stoning. We must take action now. I need to know.’
He nodded, and started mumbling into the phone. I lay back, marshalling my thoughts. If this didn’t work, I had a ton of shit to do before last light.
Ten minutes later, I rolled onto my elbow and flattened out a patch of sand between us, so I could at least show Awaale what I had in mind. For now, it didn’t matter how many men Erasto might send, so long as Awaale had the basics of the attack in his head. With all this talk of heroism, he was coming with me whether he liked it or not.
Once we found out whether or not Erasto was up for it, we could start fine-tuning. And, with luck, we’d find that out extremely soon.
PART SEVEN
1
BOTH OF US were sweltering inside our pepper-pots once more. We were hidden behind a couple of upturned skiffs on the beach next to the harbour. The stone pier was a continuation of the road that came down from the court-house square. It jutted out to sea for about a hundred metres, and then did a dog-leg to our left and continued for another fifty. The stonework was crumbling badly. Maybe that was why no boats were moored anywhere near it.
From where we were, the court-house was at the top of the road on the right. The compound was to the right of that. A small alleyway divided them. The long shadows cast by the buildings behind us were fading fast. Awaale still had his mobile stuck to the blue material covering his ear.
He looked at me and shook his head. ‘Still nothing.’
The fucker. I knew Erasto’s skiffs were out there, in the dead ground behind the cargo ships. We’d watched them come along the coast and take cover about two hours ago. They also had a mobile-phone signal. Awaale had been chatting to them regularly, giving his orders for the attack like the true leader he was.
Now they were silent, just like Anna. I’d tried her twice since the first beach call. All I’d got was the Arabic pre-record. The message was so fast and loud it sounded like she was giving me a bollocking.
I checked my iPhone as adhan kicked off from the mosque’s speaker system. It was four minutes past six. It wouldn’t be long before igama, the second call to line up for Maghrib. We needed to be on target by then.
This wasn’t good. The skiff crews should be answering their mobiles. Awaale needed to give them the order to move into the harbour. They should be on their way in by now. Erasto was getting enough fucking cash. Or maybe he thought there was more where that came from, and all he had to do was bide his time.
There were five skiffs, but I had no idea how many crew between them. Awaale said it was going to be no problem, he’d got it sorted. They were supposed to come from the other side of the cargo ships and hold position beyond the stretch harbour wall that ran parallel to the beach, covered from view and from fire. Those boats were our way out.
We’d RV with them down there. We’d get on board, have one final brief, and arrange the fire support group. Awaale liked the phrase ‘fire support group’. He’d been saying it all day, shoving it in between the Somali waffle as he spoke to the crews on his mobile.
The fire support group would stay with the skiffs, to protect them and cover our move back down the road from the square. Awaale would take the rest of the crew with him. This assault group would split into two. One would pound the court-house with RPGs, machine-guns, everything they had, killing anyone running out of it and any AS who decided to leg it from the mosques and back up their mates. As that kicked off, Awaale would take me and the rest of his guys around the back of the court-house, along the dividing alleyway and into the compound. The locals would be at prayers. The one rule was: no zapping civilians. Apart from anything else, we’d be in enough shit if we were captured without having that hanging round our necks.
There had to be AS in the court-house, even at prayer time. And the prisoners next door had to be guarded. I’d seen six hard men in the compound an hour ago, sitting in the shade while the prisoners found shelter where they could. The new lot were the group of four we’d passed in the street earlier this morning, headed up by the tall Pakistani.
All I was going to do was scream into the compound and tell everybody to take cover before Awaale’s team got busy with the RPGs. The crew’s orders were then to kill any AS they saw, while I went and dragged the five of them out. Simple as that.
I’d steer them behind the court-house while Awaale kept giving us fire support – and then we’d get our heads down and leg it along the road to the skiffs. Awaale and his crew would then withdraw, and we were off. In and out in ten minutes.
That was if the fuckers answered Awaale’s call.
2
ADHAN WAS STILL being called. The muezzins’ wails drifted from minarets all over town.
I nudged Awaale. ‘Try again. If there’s nothing, we’re on our own.’
I gripped the AK under my burqa. Even if these fuckers let me down, at least it looked like BB was in the mood for a fight. And if Ant and Dec had two brain cells between them, they’d throw their lot in with us as well for their own survival. I’d worry about what to do with them once we were out of this shit. If they didn’t want to help, that wasn’t a problem. I’d just do what I was there to do.
Now igama was being called. Time to cut away from Awaale.
I pointed at the upturned skiffs. ‘I’ll meet you back here. Try and get one of these fucking things into the water. If you can’t, we’ll chuck a left and get back down the beach. We’ll just have to take our chances.’
His mobile rang.
I dropped back to my knees. ‘I told you to turn that fucking thing off.’ I poked his shoulder with my finger. ‘Keep it on vibrate. We’re not supposed to be here, are we? We should be praying.’
‘Sorry,
Mr Nick.’
He answered the mobile with a voice that was a lot quieter than the ring. I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t getting any good news. The arc lamps in the square made the place look like a football stadium. I could just about make out the shape of his pepper-pot head in the ambient light as he stared at me through the mesh.
‘Erasto … He wants more money. He wants four million.’
‘He can have three. And I want an answer, yes or no, right now. If he delays this deal, it isn’t worth a thing. It’s going to be too late because they’ll be dead. Tell him three million, yes or no. I’ve no time to fuck about.’
He put his hands up. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’
Erasto must have heard me. I fucking hoped so. Awaale mumbled into the phone as I got back to my feet. He brought it down from his ear, and I saw the screen light dim.
‘He’s thinking.’
I leant closer to him, keeping my voice low. ‘Well, while he’s thinking, they’ll be dying. I’m going up there now. He’s fucking playing me, isn’t he?’
The pepper-pot nodded, almost imperceptibly. ‘You were expecting that, no? This is business. I heard your call today.’
‘If you still think this is business, Awaale, you’re missing the point. There are two kinds of people up in that compound: my friends, and your enemies. He’s not going to get more money out of me, so fuck the lot of you.’
I heard a shout from where the road met the harbour wall. A male voice, and angry. An AS fighter strode towards us, yelling the same word, over and over. I didn’t know what it was, but didn’t need Awaale to translate. We were in the shit and getting a bollocking, big-time.
