He nodded. He delved in the bag and produced a litre bottle of water and a box of dates.
‘Will this get you into trouble?’
He shook his head, showing white teeth in the gloom, a touch of rebellion. ‘No. I was told to get what water and juice I could find. It will not matter how much or how little. They do not know what can be bought here.’
I handed him some notes and he folded them and slipped them inside his bag.
‘Thank you, Madar,’ I said. ‘You won’t say we met, will you?’
He shook his head and picked up the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. ‘I must go now. Can I ask your name, sir?’
‘Marc. It’s Marc.’ Most people called me Portman. But for this kid it didn’t seem right, not after he’d helped me like he had.
He nodded and turned away, and I allowed him to disappear into the dark before setting off after him.
Time would tell if he was going to tell the others about me. I would know soon enough.
Thirty-Two
Angela Pryce stared around her at the inside of the villa and felt an instant wave of unease. The walls were pockmarked and bare of decoration, the plaster having come away in chunks from the underlying shell of rough bricks. What had once been a comfortable, if cheaply made structure of vaguely European design, was now little more than a draughty ruin.
She and Tober had been herded into a room at the front of the property, their every move watched by several armed men crowding in around them. They hadn’t been treated roughly so far, but there was undoubtedly a more hostile feel to the atmosphere here. It wouldn’t take much, she judged, for something bad to kick off if provoked.
They had been made to sit in rickety hard-backed chairs next to an ancient and warped card table laid out with water, fresh fruit and dried dates. It was a welcome relief after the dryness of the plane’s interior, and at Tober’s silent urging she had drunk as much water as she could take and eaten several dates. It brought to mind the stern teachings of the SIS survival instructor at Fort Monckton on the south coast, who had counselled all recruits that survival in the field was key, and eating and drinking to maintain energy levels should never be passed up, no matter how dire the circumstances might seem.
A large, brightly-coloured yellow and green flag had been tacked to the wall of the room, partially covering the boarded-up window overlooking the sea. The flag bore the familiar and disturbing symbols of the crossed assault rifles and Qur’an of al-Shabaab, which both the SIS people recognized immediately.
Xasan entered the room and stood watching them eat. The armed men paid him no mind, but whispered among themselves and shuffled their feet. Xasan said nothing, but it was clear that his attitude had changed dramatically since their first encounter in Nairobi. Angela couldn’t make out whether he was simply edgy or impatient to be getting on with the talks. This, after all, had been his game from the beginning. But when he spoke to his men it was in a terse manner, and the way he was looking at her and Tober verged on the openly hostile. She wondered if he was putting on a front for the others, and decided to ignore him until something happened.
Another man entered the room. It was the driver of the SUV that had brought them here from the landing strip. He approached Xasan. He was holding a cell phone and showed Xasan the screen. The middleman studied it for several seconds and the man pressed a button. Then Xasan turned his head and stared at Angela.
He walked over and placed the cell phone on the table in front of her.
‘Who is this?’ He spoke softly, but his voice was clear in the crowded room. The men around him fell silent and turned to stare.
The screen showed two men in a microlight aircraft sitting in tandem. In the background a small cargo plane was standing on a runway, with men loading boxes into its belly. The microlight pilot was concentrating on something off to one side, while the passenger had his head turned away, adjusting his harness. Both were white, she noted, although the passenger had a tanned look, and was younger than the pilot.
She shook her head. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Mr Tober?’
Tober said, ‘Me neither. Why should we know who he is?’
Xasan studied them carefully. The other men in the room were silent, not understanding but waiting for a reaction.
‘The pilot is a park ranger working for the Kenyan Wildlife Service,’ Xasan said finally. ‘He’s an Afrikaans who flies out of Malindi, down the coast. But he does not normally carry passengers.’ He pointed at a rifle hanging from a sling by the pilot’s side. ‘As you can see, he is also armed. Odd, do you not think?’
‘Not really,’ Tober ventured easily. ‘It’s pretty standard equipment for a park ranger, I’d have thought. Don’t they have a lot of poachers in Kenya?’
Xasan pursed his lips but did not reply. He did a tour of the room, hands behind his back. Like a strutting little general on parade, thought Angela. He stopped in front of them. ‘It would be a grave error,’ he murmured, ‘for your SIS to have sent any of your highly-esteemed Special Forces here, Miss Pryce. It would lead to severe consequences for one of you if they have.’ He turned his gaze on Tober as he said this. ‘Very severe.’
Tober grunted. ‘One man in a microlight? I know the UK’s strapped for cash, but if they were going to send anyone in, I think they’d go for a bit more punch than that.’
Angela shot him a warning glance, but Xasan appeared satisfied by the blunt logic. ‘You are probably right, Mr Tober. Perhaps I am being over-cautious and this ranger has simply brought a visitor to the area.’ He tapped his chin with a forefinger, then murmured, ‘However, better to be safe than sorry – isn’t that what you English are fond of saying?’ He tossed the cell phone back at the man who had brought it in and gave him rapid instructions. The man grinned and left the room.
‘What happens now?’ Angela demanded. She flicked a glance at Tober. The way Xasan was talking didn’t sound good.
‘You will see.’ He turned to his men and gestured at the door. Two men each approached Tober and Angela, and took them by the arms. Others crowded in with their weapons ready. ‘For now,’ Xasan explained, ‘you will wait until we are ready. You will be fed again in the morning. Do not attempt to resist or to get away; you are a long way from nowhere and guards have been posted with orders to shoot.’
‘What is this shit?’ Tober said quietly. He towered over the two men flanking him, and they began to look nervous.
‘Wait.’ Angela held up a hand to prevent any over-reaction from Tober or Xasan’s men. ‘Has there been another delay?’ she queried.
‘Not a delay, Miss Pryce. A change of plan.’ Xasan turned his back on them, signalling the men to take them away. ‘No more questions.’
They were bundled out of the room into what appeared to be a rough kitchen at the back, complete with a gas stove and food in plastic boxes. A large wooden trapdoor in the floor was open, revealing a flight of rough stone steps disappearing into the dark. A dank smell came up from below. One of the men handed Tober a flashlight and gestured for him to go down.
Tober hesitated, then stepped into the darkness, followed by Angela.
The trapdoor was slammed shut behind them.
They stood where they were for a few moments on the steps. Tober used the flashlight to investigate their new home. It didn’t take long. The basement was a simple square space approximately twelve feet by twelve, with a low ceiling which meant they both had to stoop. Two grass-filled sacks lay on the floor, alongside an earthenware pot of water. A larger pot, which was empty, stood near a blanket screen hung by nails across one corner. It was as much privacy as they were going to get, and confirmed if the two needed it that something about this whole negotiation meeting had changed dramatically. And for the worse.
Tober inspected the walls for signs of another way out. But there were none. They were underground and surrounded by hard-packed dirt and rock. Digging their way out would take days, even if they had the means.
�
�I should have paid more attention in class,’ Angela said, in an attempt at pragmatism. ‘I read Arabic and one of the add-ons was a basic course in Somali. I didn’t get a single thing they were saying up there, it was all too fast.’
Tober shrugged and kicked the mattresses over, checking for bugs and snakes.
‘I didn’t read languages,’ he said bluntly. ‘Didn’t really read much English, come to that. But I did six months on armed protection for tankers in the Gulf before joining SIS. It was ninety-eight per cent sun-tan time, so a couple of us got a Somali crewman to teach us the basics. I picked up enough to know what Fat Boy was saying.’
She stared at him. ‘Go on.’
His eyes glittered in the flashlight, but his face was blank of emotion. ‘He ordered the guy with the camera phone to go find the microlight pilot. He’s going to wait for him to make a pass come daylight, then shoot him down.’
She looked stunned. ‘But he’s nothing to do with us! That’s appalling.’
‘It is for the pilot. I know some of those guys – they don’t bother with parachutes.’
Thirty-Three
There was no noise coming from the villa and no lights. I laid low for ten minutes, tuning in to the night sounds, and eventually picked up the scuff of footsteps as a guard appeared at one corner of the building. Satisfied that nobody was lying in wait further out, I waited for him to disappear and made my way back to my OP.
Before sliding in under the branches, I used a stick to prod around the hollow in case a friendly puff adder had taken up residence. All clear.
I checked the building and surrounding area through the scope. The SUV was parked out front and two men were visible wandering around outside. No sign of the man in the generator shed.
I gave it fifteen minutes to see if Madar had changed his mind about telling the men about me. If he did, they’d soon come boiling out armed to the teeth. But the house remained silent.
I decided it was time to take the hi-tech approach to find out what was going on inside. For that I would need the third package acquired for me by Khaban in Mombasa.
It consisted of a black handset, little bigger than a pack of cigarettes, with a small antenna and tuning dial. With it came a round disk, like a hockey puck. This was the listening bug, fitted with a short wire antenna. The third component was a simple ear bud with a jack plug to fit into the handset. Put together, it was a device for covert audio surveillance of conversations through solid walls. I was well within the maximum operating range of a hundred metres, and with no obstacles in the way to block transmissions, I should be able to pick up on what was being said. First, though, I had to place the bug on the outside wall of the structure.
And that meant getting past the guards.
I monitored and timed their movements, but it didn’t help much. They were operating at random, with no fixed patrol times. One would stay by the door while the other would hoof off round the villa at his own pace. Then they would change places, sometimes stopping for a brief chat before the other would do his thing. I tried getting an average time, but it was all too casual to draw any firm conclusions. I would have to play it by ear.
I checked the lithium batteries were working correctly, then gathered the various parts together and got ready to move out. I lifted the overhead branches and slid out on my belly, moving slowly down the slope and ready to freeze. The listening device was in my pocket and a Ka-Bar knife in my hand.
I left the ghillie net over my head as a precaution and I headed at an angle away from the front door. I was aiming at a point just outside the route taken by the two guards.
I came to the crumbling ruins of the garden wall, which were little more than knee height, and waited. Moments later, one of the guards came shuffling round the corner dragging his feet. He had his rifle over his shoulder, held by the barrel, and was humming softly, eyes on the ground. It took him thirty seconds from the time he appeared to the time he vanished again. I waited some more. Two minutes later the second guard appeared. This one was even less attentive, and seemed more interested in chewing on something and spitting out whatever he didn’t like.
I took out the bug which came fitted with an adhesive strip. All I had to do was find a suitable spot on the wall, rip off the cover and slap it in place. Then it was back to my hide.
I waited for the other guard to do his thing. He came and went, and the moment he was out of sight, I was up and over the ruined wall and heading for the front side of the building.
I’d gone no more than three paces when I slammed into a low obstacle in the dark. It felt like another section of wall, and I instinctively fell sideways. I hit the ground hard and lay still, listening and sweating, feeling bruised. I wasn’t on the path used by the guards, but I was close enough to be seen if one of them chose to take a slightly different route.
As I lifted my head, sub-consciously counting off seconds for the next man to appear, I became aware of a strong smell close by. It carried the stench of rotting matter and human waste, with the telltale buzz of a few late flies.
I’d nearly stumbled into some kind of waste pit.
I felt around in front of me. The wall was about a foot high, and I was thankful I’d instinctively chosen to go down sideways. I was trying to figure out how extensive the pit was when I heard a cough from a few metres away.
It was the other guard – and he was early.
I hugged the rim of the pit, stuffing the bug inside my shirt and grasping the knife. I had nowhere else to go and not enough time to hop back over the garden wall. I held my breath, ready to surge up and take the guard out before he raised the alarm.
I ran the scenario through my head, going over each move automatically. Up, attack, strike, away. I’d have only seconds after silencing him to get out of here.
He approached my position, but instead of continuing on by, he stopped. I heard the rustle of clothing, then the patter of water followed by an echo, and a sigh of relief.
He was taking a leak in the pit.
He finished after what seemed like an age and moved away. As soon as he was gone, I was up again and flat against the wall of the villa, searching for a section of cinder block that was free of plaster. A relatively clean surface would make attaching the bug easier, and picking up voices a lot clearer.
Thirty seconds gone.
I found a section of bare block and rubbed away the dust of the old plaster. I could taste the grit on my tongue, acid and tainted with years of salt spray off the ocean.
Forty seconds.
I ripped off the adhesive cover and clamped the bug hard against the wall, low down behind a clump of dried grass where it would stand less chance of being seen by the guards.
It refused to hold. Damn. I moved it over and tried another spot.
Fifty seconds.
I tried again, this time grinding it hard to get some traction on the rough surface.
It held.
Sixty seconds.
I started back.
‘Amiir?’
Jesus – I swung round, reaching for the Ka-Bar.
It was the other guard. He must have got worried by his pal’s delay for a comfort stop and come looking for him. He hadn’t seen me yet, but was moving out towards the waste pit. Two more steps and there was no way he could miss me.
I launched myself at him.
He heard me coming and tried to step back, but too late. I slammed into him and used my bodyweight to force him to the ground, slapping my hand across his mouth. He was strong, and struggled like a wildcat, trying to wrench his head away and call for help. I could feel his saliva coating my fingers, threatening to lose my hold on him, so I changed my grip and jammed my forearm down hard across his throat to cut off any sound. Then I thrust the Ka-bar in under his ribs, towards the heart.
He struggled briefly for a few seconds, the life draining out of him. Then he went limp and lay still.
It had taken only seconds but I knew my time was up. The other guard would be bac
k soon. I tipped the body over the wall of the waste pit. He was all skin and sinew and weighed very little, and I lowered him as far as I could, then let him go. He dropped into whatever lay at the bottom with barely a sound.
I dropped his rifle in after him. Hopefully, if they found him, it would look as if he’d stumbled in the dark and fallen in.
Thirty-Four
I woke after sunrise and lay still, tuning in, adjusting to the sounds and feel of a new day and thinking briefly about the man I’d killed. It had been him or me, a simple trade-off, but I knew it would be with me for a long while yet.
I forced the thoughts away and listened to birds calling somewhere behind me, and the faint hiss of the ocean to the front. It was a strange contrast. I rolled over and checked the villa. It looked out of place along this stretch of coast with its thatched huts and palm trees, and anywhere else it would have been a harmless, if decrepit dwelling long past its use-by date.
Only now I knew better.
I watched for a full ten minutes, wary of moving in case a guard was awake and watching. Nothing moved, which told me they probably weren’t expecting company anytime soon, so I slid back down into my hole and dropped some iodine tablets into the bottle of water I’d bought from Madar. I gave it a shake, hoping it would be enough to counter any local contamination.
My sat phone gave a soft buzz. It was Piet.
‘How’s it going, man?’
‘I’m good. Seen anything?’
‘That Skytruck from yesterday – it’s back in the area.’ He sounded pissed off. ‘Nearly took me out, coming in out of nowhere at less than five-hundred feet. Soon as I get back to Malindi, I’m reporting him to air traffic for flight violation. If he thinks I didn’t get his registration, the asshole, he’s got a surprise coming.’
‘Can you hold off on that for a few hours?’ I wasn’t worried about some bush pilot getting into trouble for illegally overflying the border; but if the Kenyans decided to look into it immediately, which was a possibility with their troops in the area to the north, it could screw with the SIS meeting and put lives in danger. ‘I could use the registration, though.’
The Watchman Page 14
