by Paul A. Rice
Then, and in a moment of total incredulity, we saw a different side to Raouf. Our placid, friendly driver suddenly turned into a Tasmanian-Devil. He just ripped that guy apart, I have no idea what he said, but his victim seemed to visibly shrink under the barrage of Raouf’s words. In a few minutes we had discovered that there had been some kind of a fracas in front of the café, and yes, it had involved a camera crew that had a tall, blonde woman with them.
‘Where are they now?’ I said. ‘Ask him where they’ve gone; batter him if you have to, Raouf!’ Time was running out and we had no room for fucking about.
Raouf nodded and turned to say something to our informant, the man just shrugged and shook his head. With the speed of a rattler, and with twice the venom, Raouf leaned over the table and slapped the guy’s face. The noise was like a pistol shot. Then the full-on, Arabic argument started, voices raised, arms waving, the two of them had it like a couple of fish-wives. Seeing that the man didn’t seem to be telling our driver what he wanted to hear, I began to look around for someone else to ask. That was a waste of time, even though were making a quite a racket, not one other soul could be seen in the small square surrounding the café.
Then Raouf did something quite amazing – he just reached into his pocket and whipped out a pistol. As calm as you like, he cocked the action and leaned forward, placing the muzzle of the weapon onto the man’s forehead. The noise stopped then, in fact, it became so quiet that you could’ve heard a sparrow fart.
Raouf said a few more words to the man, very quiet words, but there was no mistaking the viciousness in his tone. His victim simply sat there with his eyes wide open, listening in transfixed fear as our driver gave him his choices. I figured that the choices in question would have been something along the lines of: ‘Tell us what we want to know, or I’ll just blow your brains out!’ Yeah, even though I couldn’t understand the words, I felt that it was a fairly reasonable interpretation of the one-way conversation happening in front of me.
A few minutes later and Raouf had as much information as the guy could give. Dragging the man to his feet, our driver said a few more words to him before shoving him away. To say that the man couldn’t get out if there fast enough would be an understatement – he literally took-off down the alleyway like his pants were on fire.
Turning to Rory and me, Raouf said, ‘They have taken the crew with them, I’m not sure to where, but I know maybe, we should go quickly and look, yes?’ Without argument, the three of us turned and ran back to the Land Cruiser.
As we drove back towards the main road, Raouf was busily talking into his phone, snapping out the words and nodding his head as he gave some form of direction to whoever may have been on the other end. Sticking his phone back into his pocket, Raouf banged the steering-wheel with his fist, blasted the horn at a wayward motorcycle, and floored the accelerator.
‘Where are we heading?’ I asked him.
‘To the other side of the compound – that area is not good for us, but if they are with them then that is where they will go…’
‘With them… who is that we’re talking about?’ Rory said.
‘There is one man, his name doesn’t matter to you, but he is a bad man – he tries to make himself important, he tries to be a big man in Tripoli now!’
‘Does he have the crew?’ I asked, cutting in to the conversation.
‘I don’t know if he does, but that man said he was there, so we go and find him, yes?’ Raouf looked at me, brown eyes blazing.
As we travelled along, we got the background on the man in question. Apparently he had been a bit of a gangster in his local area, just a local hood in real-terms, but still a powerful one, nonetheless. Then, and once the revolution had begun in earnest, he had used his influence to gain a position of power within the local, rebel army. Mainly because, as Raouf told us bitterly, the man had been able to roundup several dozen of his heavily-armed cohorts, which had suited the rebels just fine because the more guns they could get hold of in those days, the more chance they had of gaining momentum for the big push.
‘Now he is big-trouble,’ Raouf said. ‘Now he sees it as his right to take whatever he wants – he forgets that these are modern times and the old ways are no use anymore. Libya must be shared, it is not only for those who have guns and men – it is for everyone!’
By the sounds of things, we might be a bit out-gunned; the last thing I wanted was for us to end-up in a position that sank us into an even deeper pile of shit than the one in which we were already struggling to keep our heads above. I leaned forward to talk to the man who had suddenly exposed himself as being a bit little more than just a driver.
‘Raouf, are we safe going in there on our own, without weapons?’
‘Don’t worry about guns, Mr Jake,’ Raouf said, with an evil smile. ‘I can get as many guns as you like – many, many guns! But we don’t need them today, today we just talk. We only talk today, and tomorrow, if they don’t give us what we want, then we bring some guns!’ He grinned again, looking up into the rear-view mirror at me.
‘Tomorrow… what, you don’t think that we’ll get them today?’ I asked. I wasn’t happy about that piece of information, not at all.
‘Shit! You’re kidding aren’t you?’ Rory said, turning to look at me, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.
‘Jake, Rory – this is Libya, not London,’ Raouf said, quietly. ‘First we talk; first we see what they want. The man back there…’ he nodded his head rearwards, to where the café lay, ‘…he said something about a film, I don’t know what he meant, but, first we must talk to them, Okay?’
I blew out a stream of frustrated breath, ‘Yeah, Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s get there and talk, let’s see what the hell it is they want!’ Grabbing my satellite phone, I called London to give them an update.
Rory did the same, only he called Jim, asking him to brief the crew back in the villa on the latest events. We took some more coordinates and tried to memorise some of the taller buildings and landscapes around us – in all honesty, I wasn’t that fussed about it because Raouf knew his way around better than anyone. He took us all over the place without ever seeming to get delayed by traffic. I think that Rory and I went through the motions of taking coordinates and things, simply to keep us occupied.
Raouf’s phone rang, listening intently to the voice on the other end, he nodded once, saying: ‘Aiwa!’ and then hung-up.
Seconds later we were squealing onto the forecourt of a deserted garage. There were three other vehicles there, with a large group of men standing by the cars’ open doors. We stopped next to them, tyres screeching as we slid to a halt.
Raouf leapt out and started having a heated discussion with two of the men who had been waiting for us. I saw his face darken as he turned and beckoned us to join them. Something was wrong, I just knew it was. The terrible sinking sensation in my guts knew it too. Joining the men, Rory and I were quickly introduced, forgoing any handshakes and cheek-rubbing for the sake of urgency.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked, looking at Raouf questioningly.
‘These men are from my family,’ he said. ‘We also have some more people where the crew is, and they…’
I cut him off, saying: ‘So you know where they are – what are we waiting for? Come on, let’s…’ I turned to go and get back into the car. Raouf’s cold words stopped me.
‘Jake, there’s been trouble – some shooting has taken place inside the house, I think that we may have to take guns, maybe we are too late to talk!’
‘What, how much shooting has there been?’ I asked.
The piece of lead in my guts now decided to go into free-fall.
‘Lots…’ Raoul said. ‘Come, let us take the weapons and then we go to the house – come, quickly!’ Turning away, he followed one of his relations to where the boot of a car was in the open position.
In a scene reminiscent of some Chicago gangster-movie, we were then simply handed an array of weapons from the boot of a car. I ended
up with a short-barrelled Kalashnikov; it had a folding butt and came with two, thirty-round magazines, which were taped together. It was an ideal weapon for close-quarters. Rory was given the same, his AK coming with a standard, longer barrel. We both gave the weapons a quick check, it was doubtful these blokes had guns that didn’t work. Mine was certainly well-cared for, nice and oily without any rust, but we still checked, though. Old habits die hard.
We had a quick discussion about what the plan was – there wasn’t one. Basically, we were going to get there, get out of the cars, meet Raouf’s mates who were already in situ, see what they had to say, and then take it from there. No hostage negotiators, no police or anti-terrorist units, no – it was just us and some guns. Moments later and we did just that, roaring off in a small convoy and into the heart of Gadaffi’s badlands.
Rory looked over his shoulder and grinned. ‘Well, this is interesting, isn’t it?’ he said, with a shake of his head. I heard him sliding his safety-catch off, the metallic click sounded as loud as a coffin-nail being driven into oak.
‘Yeah, and it could go really, fucking pear-shaped, too!’ I replied, carrying out the same action with my own safety-catch.
I tried to ring London, but all I got was an automated French voice. I hit the call-end button, cursing mentally as I slid the sat-phone back into my pack. It was a conspiracy; it had to be because we couldn’t get the local phones to work either. I looked at the signal-strength indicator and saw that it was blank, only a little SOS icon on display where the service-provider’s name usually was. Rory’s phones only gave the same result.
I knew this was bad, we were going way beyond our remit and the whole lot could rapidly get even worse. But what should we do – hang around until the authorities arrived? What authorities? Anyone who use to be in charge around here, had long-since run for the hills – right at this moment in time, Tripoli was a lawless, ungoverned, stick of dynamite, dipped in a barrel of shit, with the fuse lit. I for one really hoped the whole damned lot didn’t explode right in our faces…
Unfortunately for us, things did get worse, much worse. If I’d have known how bad it was going to be, then I would have chosen the barrel of shit, any day. We were soon to discover that the time for talking was, and had been for a while, definitely over.
It would soon be time for the guns to do some talking, and guns only ever hold a one-way conversation. What I didn’t know, at that precise moment, was that all of this, the whole, bloody mess, was totally down to Gino and his selfish, cowardly actions. However, I was soon to find out exactly what he’d done, and what the outcome of those actions had been. The only trouble being was by then it would be too late, far too late.
In complete silence, and in utter ignorance of the truth we were about to unveil, our little convoy of would-be rescuers raced through the streets of Tripoli.
13
Unlucky For Some
We motored on towards our destination, navigating our way around most of the checkpoints, and talking our way through the ones we couldn’t bypass, I didn’t know who Raouf and his mates were, but they were definitely ‘somebody’, and by that, I mean somebody important. All it took was a few quiet words, spoken through a half-open window, and the rebel guards would wave us through without so much as looking into the car, in fact – most of them looked away, as if they didn’t want to see who was passing through.
I didn’t care just then, all I cared about was finding the crew.
Just as Raouf turned to tell me that we were nearly there, my mobile rang. I pulled it out my pocket and looked at the flashing screen – it was big Jim.
‘Yeah, what’s up?’ I asked.
‘You’re not gonna believe this…’ he said, the anger clearly audible in his tone.
‘Listen mate, we’re just about to get into a fucking shooting match, so make it quick, will you?’ I said, giving Rory a nod in recognition of the five fingers he was holding up in warning of our impending arrival.
Hearing the roar of our engine, and the background noise of squealing tyres, Jim quickly gave me the news, and it wasn’t good.
He said, ‘Gino’s back here – he’s just walked in and he’s got blood on his jacket and a black-eye! He won’t tell me what the score is, but something’s up; he’s as white as a sheet!’
‘Where is he? Get him on the phone!’
‘He’s locked in his room, mate – I’ve tried banging on the door but he’s gone to ground – should I kick it in?’
Knowing that would be a waste of time, especially since I was out of time – I could see the two cars in front of us turning into a side alley and slowing down – I told Jim not to bother.
‘Just make sure that you watch him like a hawk, put him under house-arrest or something, he is not to leave until we sort this out,’ I said. ‘Knock his lights out if he tries to fuck-off again… listen, we’re just pulling-up outside where the crew are supposed to be, I don’t know how this is gonna turn out, Jim, but we’re in an area just the other side of mister G’s compound, and we’re gunned-up, so…’
‘Christ, Jake!’ the big Scotsman said. ‘I’ll tell London what’s happening – you guys just watch your fuckin’ backs, don’t be getting yourselves killed for nothing. Okay?’
‘Not if I can help it we won’t, wait…’ I said, reaching forwards to read the palm of Rory’s hand – he had written our coordinates on it in biro. I squinted at his palm, quickly reeled the numbers of to Jim, told him to make sure that London got them, and then hung up.
Turning to the front, I was in time to see that the street ahead was blocked by two, black, Land Cruisers. They were parked nose-to-tail and nothing was getting through. Looking past them, I saw that the same thing had been done about fifty metres further down the street.
‘Shit!’ I said, lifting my weapon into a more usable position.
‘Don’t worry, my friend,’ Raouf said. ‘They are my family!’
Thank fuck for that!’ Rory exclaimed. ‘Just how bloody big is your family, Raouf?’
‘Very big,’ he said, with a wide grin. ‘Much too big for these stupid people – today they will find out!’
We piled out of the car and ran over to where our driver’s ever-growing family stood, crouched behind the cars and in side streets. All of them were looking towards the gates of a shabby-looking villa that lay between the makeshift, vehicular barricade. The gates were wide open and a dead guy lay on the driveway, his blood had run down the concrete and onto the street.
Rory and I followed Raouf, ducking into an empty garage to listen whilst he talked to a very large gentleman in a suit and tie, which wouldn’t have been quite so bizarre, if only the guy hadn’t have been toting an assault rifle.
The big man looked at me and smiled, leaning across to shake my hand. ‘Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Mr Collins,’ he said, as calm as you like. I was totally bemused. How he knew my name, was beyond me.
After saying hello, and just as I was just about to ask him what the score was, the building of interest suddenly filled with the sound of gunfire. Three bursts of automatic-fire came crashing from within, echoing around the empty street. We all flinched, ducking deeper into our pieces of cover in reaction to the sound. I heard someone screaming and then sound of another burst of fire boomed across the courtyard.
Raouf yelled something in Arabic to his men, one of them yelled back and I saw a couple of the guys manoeuvring towards the house. I also heard a voice, screaming back at us from a window upstairs. Then someone in the house opened-up with an automatic weapon, sending bullets and slivers of concrete whining all over the place. It was about that time when the whole thing went completely nuts. People started firing from everywhere – it was totally crazy, and was also the last thing I had wanted to happen.
‘Fuck, here we go!’ Rory said, raising his head to peer through the bushes. ‘They’re in the garden already – shall we join them, old-boy?’
‘Yeah, but first let’s just see what they do about getting insi
de, eh?’ I replied, not wanting to go rushing-in without have at least some idea as to what the hell was happening.
Rory nodded, and so we sat and waited whilst the lunatics went crazy on the lawn just a few feet away from us. In the space of a few seconds, Raouf’s ‘army’ had stormed the place. There was just no messing about with these guys. Rory and I watched in dismayed amazement, they were incredibly brave, Raouf’s men, of that there was no doubt, but I had really wanted to see if we could negotiate with the occupants of the house before we went storming in.
Well, it was obviously way too late for that now.
‘Come on, then – let’s get in there!’ I said, rising to my feet.
‘I’m too old for this shit!’ Rory commented, sprinting for cover behind the low brick wall in front of the house.
We entered the house on the tail of Raouf’s men, breathing in cordite smoke and the smell of blood, fear and adrenaline. There were three dead men on the floor of the kitchen, crimson rivers of their blood, flowing across green floor-tiles and smeared across the white facia of kitchen cupboards. The shooting stopped and all we could hear was the sound of running feet, clumping up the stairs and rushing across the floors overhead. Muffled voices reached down to us from above. There was a further two bursts of fire followed by another scream, then silence. Rory and I stood and listened for a few moments, mouths open and ears straining.
Our patience was rewarded.
Rory hissed and pointed downwards with his left hand, mouthing the word ‘Cellar’. I followed his gaze, eyes focussing upon a small door that lay half-concealed behind a large, wooden table. I put my finger up to my lips, demanding silence. We heard a shuffling noise coming from somewhere down below. Rory nodded in the direction, and together we walked softly over to the door, me leading with Rory covering my back. We might not have done this type of thing for a few years, but you never forget the basics and I was glad that it was Rory who was with me. He knew his stuff.
I knelt down and placed an ear on the surface of the door, listening intently whilst Rory stood off to one side, rifle aimed just above my head, finger on the trigger. I heard movement, it sounded like footsteps. There were also some low voices.
