Tober and I raced up the beach to put distance between us and the departing boat. If Musa’s men thought we were on board, they’d have a fleet of fast skiffs out and be all over Tawfiq and Madar in no time. And I didn’t think they’d stop to ask questions.
The shooting had come from between the huts to the northern end of town. It meant we had to head for the centre if we wanted to avoid a full-on confrontation. It was probably heading deeper into trouble, but right now we were short on choices.
I heard the roar of an engine and saw light sweeping through the buildings, and remembered the pickups I’d seen before. Some of Musa’s men were camped in town, and had evidently got word of our presence. They would be joining in the search by now, and every minute that passed meant the net around the town would be growing tighter.
We pounded through a network of narrow passages between the huts. Twice men appeared out of doorways and tried to stop us. Each time we ran through them. It was brutal, close-quarter fighting, but if anything Tober and I had the advantage of surprise and momentum. We eventually found ourselves by the side of the town’s mosque. Just as we did so, a figure appeared round the corner and ran head-on into Tober, who smacked him down with the butt of his rifle.
Another man appeared, this one swinging up an AK and letting off a couple of rounds before I could stop him. I knocked him over with two quick shots and pointed off to our left towards the lower edge of town, away from the sound of shooting and the searchers’ lights.
Tober got the message and headed off fast, barrelling his way between two ragged lines of huts. I followed a couple of paces behind, ready to turn and defend our flanks.
It was difficult to see clearly ahead of us, and we didn’t always get it right. At one intersection we saw what appeared to be clear space between two buildings, only to crash through a wall of palm fronds surrounding a small plot of land. The noise was considerable and raised a volley of shouting from towards the beach as the pursuers zeroed in on our location and began closing in, letting off an occasional round to show they meant business. We were forced to duck as we ran down the lines of huts due to the overhanging canopies brushing our faces, which slowed us down, and all the way I could hear the slap of running feet on the other side as the men closed in. If they got ahead of us, all they had to do was run down an intersection and cut us off.
As we turned a corner and raced across a triangle of hard ground, we found two men with rifles blocking our way and yelling at us to stop.
It was bad news: Musa must have issued orders for us to be taken alive.
Tober and I opened fire together, both taking out the man nearest to us. He crashed sideways through a hut wall and disappeared, while his companion thought to hell with orders and sent a spray of wild gunfire our way. I felt something tug at my shirt and the canopy close to my head was blown apart in a shower of palm frond fragments, wood splinters and dust. I returned fire and the Somali fell hard, losing his gun in the process.
I looked round at Tober and felt my stomach go cold.
He’d been hit and was down on one knee.
Even as I watched, he grunted and fell forward in slow motion, instinctively trying to minimize the fall by putting out a hand. But he wobbled as he came half upright and I knew that wasn’t good.
I reached out and grabbed his collar, pulling him with me and heading for another narrow alley with lots of shadow. There was no time to stop and ask how badly he was wounded; if he stayed on his feet for another few minutes, that was good enough for now.
Suddenly the whole area was lit up by vehicle headlights, and a spotlight beam thrashed around before fastening on to us. I responded by instinct, flicking the selector and emptying the AK’s magazine at the vehicle, chopping out the spot and one headlight and hearing a man go down screaming.
I dragged Tober away under cover of a bungalow, letting go of him just long enough to change magazines, and felt a searing pain across my ribs as a stray round burst through the wall of the building. I recalled what Piet had told me about the Somalis’ rule of engagement, how they go for the spray option with little thought for selective targeting.
It obviously worked for them some of the time.
We skidded along the nearest wall, tramping over domestic debris in the process, and somehow found ourselves inside a small hut. It was some kind of storage shed, full of nets, cork floats and stuff I couldn’t work out, and stinking of stale fish. Right then it was the sweetest smelling place I’d ever been in.
I lowered Tober to the floor. ‘Where are you hit?’
He coughed, which didn’t sound good. ‘In the side and the leg. The leg’s not bad but I think the bullet in my side might have done some damage. It feels like one good cough and you’ll see my guts on the floor.’
Checking a wound in the dark is not to be recommended. I told him what I was going to do, but I was shaking with tiredness and the rush of adrenalin. He swore silently as my fingers brushed against the swollen area of skin around the bullet wound, and I felt the slick wetness of blood seeping out of him and running down his side. I felt round the back but there was no sign of an exit wound.
All I could do was get it strapped up. But right now wasn’t the time or the place. We had to get out of here before Musa’s men closed in and found us by a process of elimination.
‘You should bug out,’ Tober muttered, his breathing ragged. ‘No point us both getting chopped.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Keep up with that crap and I might save Musa’s men the trouble and shoot you myself.’
‘It’s no longer your fight, Portman. You did what you had to – you got Pryce out.’
‘Matter of fact, I got paid for both of you. Now shut the fuck up unless you have a miracle plan to get us out of here.’
He tried a chuckle but it didn’t quite come off. ‘What happened – you left a mate behind once and never forgot – is that it?’
‘Something like that. Any bright ideas?’
His head lolled to one side and I figured he was going into shock. But his survival instincts were still kicking in. ‘Boat. It’s the only way. Get me a boat and I’ll tell you what to do.’
He was right. First we had to find one we could use. ‘Did you see any on the beach with engines?’
‘A couple. But they weren’t great.’ He coughed and clutched his side. ‘The hulls looked heavy and the engines were lightweight. The Somalis would catch us in no time if they called up one of their assault skiffs. They may look like shite but those things can really move.’
I decided to check them out for myself. It was risky but anything was better than staying here and waiting to be caught. ‘Come on,’ I said, giving him my arm. ‘We’re off to the beach.’
He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Oh, goodie. It’s been ages since I had a day by the seaside.’
We stepped outside and stood in deep shadow. Voices sounded all around us, the configuration of the huts making it difficult to pinpoint precisely where they were coming from.
Safe to assume all over.
I checked the nearest alleyway, which I estimated ran roughly in a north-south direction, dog-legging between huts and bungalows. From the map in my head I reckoned we needed east to west, with a slight kink south to fetch us close to where the nearest boats were moored. I set off, holding Tober’s arm until he shrugged it off, and led the way past two bungalows until we came to a narrow intersection. This was about right to turn east towards the beach.
Our one advantage was, nobody had told Musa’s men that a hunting party had to be quiet if they wanted to catch their prey. With all the hollering, the roar of vehicle engines and the occasional shot being fired as somebody spooked at shadows, we knew exactly where they were, and could plan our route accordingly.
Well, almost.
As we slunk past a small hut, I heard a sudden intake of breath in the darkness and a shot was fired so close it lit up the night around us.
Sixty
We got lucky; the sh
ooter was as surprised as we were. His finger must have tightened on the trigger as he brought up his gun and the round slammed harmlessly into the hard-packed earth at our feet. In the flash of light I saw a shocked face above a bandolier of shells and a white shirt, and a pair of bug eyes staring back at me from less than three feet away. I was too close to bring the AK level, so made do by chopping him under the chin and stashing him back inside the hut under a heap of netting and canvas.
We hurried on and hit the beach a few minutes later, emerging between two long bungalows lit by flickering oil lamps. I kept my fingers crossed that the people inside were fishermen and not Musa’s men looking for a taste of glory.
Tober squatted next to me and pointed at a group of five boats in the distance. They were about three hundred metres away across open sand, which is a long way to go with a wounded man losing blood, and being chased by a bunch of trigger-happy gunmen.
But we had no choice.
‘Three of those have got engines that looked in working order,’ he whispered, and stifled a cough. ‘The rest are useless.’
Working order might not be enough to do it, but it was better than the alternative. ‘Good. Can you make it that far?’ He sounded bad and I wasn’t sure I could carry him far; he was a big guy to throw over my shoulder.
‘I’ll beat you any day,’ he muttered sourly.
We set off for the boats, our feet sinking into the softer, sun-dried sand at the top of the beach. It was hard going, especially for Tober, but the sooner we got down on to the harder surface, the easier it would be.
We were about halfway across when whatever thin cloud lay overhead shifted away completely as if a puff of breeze had been thrown up by the fates. Then a shot came sizzling past our heads and a man shouted, followed by others. As we turned and looked, two vehicles burst out through a thin fence at the far end of the beach, throwing wood and palm fronds into the air and charging straight towards us. The lead vehicle had two headlights, while the one behind had only one. We’d met that one already; now he was back for a rematch.
‘Go!’ I shouted, and pushed Tober towards the boats. I needed him to find one that worked and to get the engine started.
But he wasn’t having any of it. ‘Too far,’ he gasped. ‘It’ll take too long and they’ll be all over us before we leave the beach.’
I glanced towards the charging vehicles. He was right: they were moving too fast and would cut us off in seconds. The light of the second one lit up its companion and showed a bunch of armed men clinging on to the back, and among them, something long poking into the night sky. Then a man stood up behind it and swung it down towards us and I felt my blood run cold. I’d seen that profile before.
It was a heavy machine gun.
Jesus, what else were they going to bring to the party?
‘Here.’ Tober jerked a thumb at his shoulder and knelt down heavily on the sand, putting his fingers in his ears. He was indicating that I should use him as a firing platform.
Good plan.
I laid the AK across his shoulders and dropped to one knee, pushing the muzzle as far forward from Tober’s head as I could. I sighted on the lead pickup, which was the most dangerous.
The gunner beat me to it. The muzzle flickered crazily as each round left the barrel, the yammering sound of the shots rolling across the bay towards us in a frenzy of firepower.
The air around us turned crazy as the shots went over our heads in a deadly stream, snapping through the night. But the gunner was too keen to show what he could do and didn’t wait for the truck to hit firmer ground; the pickup was bouncing too much for him to get a bead on us and he had an unsteady platform beneath him. We both ducked instinctively, and I turned my head and watched as a stream of shots curved downwards beyond us and kicked up sand at the water’s edge … and ripped through the very boats we had been heading for.
The devastation was total. The heavy shells tore the wooden hulls apart like papier maché, throwing a shower of wood chunks, torn canvas and punctured engine casing into the air. The shots that missed the boats with engines continued on by and chopped through the remainder, rendering the entire fleet beyond use.
I turned and sighted back on the pickup, and felt Tober settle and take a deep breath to steady himself.
I aimed at the gunner first. If he got even half lucky with that thing, we’d be reduced to dog meat. I fired twice and saw him punched back off the pickup as if he’d been slapped aside by an invisible hand. Then I aimed at the other men and hosed a brief burst at them, watching them jump or fall as they lost their tenuous hold on their ride.
The pickup swerved wildly, its lead offside tyre digging deep into the sand. The driver struggled to correct but he’d been frightened by my shots coming close by over his head and sensing his colleagues jumping ship. In trying to regain control, he only managed to over-correct. The vehicle swerved again, this time more violently and turning the other way. Only now there was no way he could hold it. With a groan, it flipped, showing us its underside before slamming down on it back and rolling twice before coming to rest on one side.
The second pickup driver did the one thing he shouldn’t have done in the circumstances: he slammed on the brakes and pulled to a stop.
‘Firing,’ I warned Tober, and squeezed the trigger. The shot punched straight through the windscreen, knocking the driver sideways. The engine roared like a wounded beast, but the pickup didn’t move.
Driver down.
I grabbed Tober’s gun and fired a burst at the rear of the vehicle. After the silenced AK, I needed the noise of hot gunfire to demoralise the men further. It worked. I saw figures jumping clear and racing back along the beach away from us. I fired a short burst over their heads, then dropped the rifle and took out the Vektor.
Time to get us out of here.
I walked towards the pickup, my heart pounding with blood and my head singing from the gunfire. As I got close, I saw movement behind the windscreen and caught the glimmer of metal.
Rifle barrel.
I fired twice, aiming for a spot at the bottom of the screen. The shots punched through the metal surround and blew off the windscreen wiper blade, and the rifle disappeared.
When I got closer, the driver was slumped in his seat, his face towards the sky.
I couldn’t see any passengers but I wasn’t taking any chances. I fired two rounds from the Vektor at the passenger side of the cab, then walked off at an angle, waiting for someone to pop out from hiding.
Nobody did.
I opened the driver’s door and pulled the man out on to the sand. He stared up at me with dead eyes. I jumped in and drove towards Tober. He was sitting where I’d left him, holding his side and shaking his head at me, but grinning weakly. I got him into the passenger seat and securely wedged in, then drove north along the beach and headed as fast as I dared along the track towards Dhalib and the villa.
‘Where we going?’ Tober grunted.
‘Back to where there are boats with good engines,’ I replied. Back to the hornets’ nest.
As we bumped over the rutted ground, Tober’s head lolled against the back of the cab. He was trying to hold on but his grip was failing. He gave me that weak grin again and said, ‘You’ve done this shit before, haven’t you?’
Then he passed out.
I was close to Dhalib before I dared risk pulling off the track and heading inland for about half a click. I found a dip in the landscape behind some scrubby trees, where the pickup would be invisible, and parked with the truck’s nose pointing towards the villa. It wasn’t a great location but I didn’t dare risk driving off too far for fear of getting stuck in a gulley. With Tober’s condition and Musa’s men almost certain to be scouring the area looking for blood after all the damage we had done, I needed to be ready for a fast getaway.
Before that, though, I had to check on Tober’s wounds and call Vale.
Sixty-One
‘What are you going to do?’ Moresby looked beaten, his voice du
lled and tired as he looked across his desk at Vale. It wasn’t quite the response Vale had been expecting; he’d been anticipating more venom and wondered if Moresby was playing him. Not that he was going to trust the man further than he could throw his desk; even wounded animals can fight back.
He’d spent the day waiting for news from Portman and talking to the SIS liaison officer at the embassy in Nairobi. Pryce had been delayed by bad weather out of Mombasa, and the local security officer had advised against trying to speak to her until she was safe in the embassy’s secure suite. In between, he attended to two other operations he was running and a third where he was first stand-in. The hours had been eaten away surprisingly quickly, and it was only now that he’d been able to go back to Moresby to find out what the man had done since their last meeting.
The answer, it turned out, was almost nothing. In fact, Moresby seemed nearly paralysed by indecision, pushing papers around his desk in a seemingly random manner as if hoping to find an answer buried in their midst.
‘How far away are the frigates?’ Vale asked him.
Moresby’s eyes flickered. ‘I don’t know – several hours, last I heard.’
Vale picked up Moresby’s phone and slid the handset across the desk. ‘Get on to the MOD and find out their best estimate. We need those Lynx choppers in the air as soon as they get close enough.’
Moresby shook his head. ‘But the Somalis—’
‘Screw the Somalis,’ Vale barked, cutting him off short. ‘We can worry about territorial niceties later. If they had better control of their coastline, none of this would be happening.’ He reached for his mobile and punched in the speed dial number for Portman’s satellite phone.
It rang but there was no reply.
He let it ring out for a full minute, hoping against hope that Portman was either in a dead zone or unable to answer securely due to outside circumstances.
He cut the connection. Even if the Lynx and their detachments did arrive, it would take time to locate Portman and Tober – if they were still alive. Better to concentrate on Pryce and make sure she could give a full account of what had happened.
The Watchman Page 24
