Tears in Tripoli: A Jake Collins Novel (Jake Collins Novels Book 1)

by Paul A. Rice

  We weren’t even stopped at all on the Tunisian side, Mus was there and after a few solemn handshakes, we were quickly on our way to the hotel. It was a two-hour drive and Raouf and I mostly sat in silence. I suddenly felt absolutely shattered. It was always like this for me, as soon as I leave the operational area, my mind just seems to unwind. I suppose that subconsciously I’m wound-up like a watch-spring when I’m in-country. I don’t feel that way when I’m there but as soon as I’m out I feel like I could sleep for a week. Zooming along in the warmth of that tepid, Tunisian morning, I was soon nodding off. Jerking awake every time we hit a bump or Raouf applied the brakes a bit sharply. I couldn’t wait to get this over, as soon as we’d gone through the rigmarole of handing over the bodies to the authorities, then I was definitely going to hit my pillow for an hour or two.

  As it turned out, the procedure wasn’t as bad I as I had imagined it would be – pulling onto the parking-lot of some governmental building, or another, we were met by two men in suits. One of them was English, I can’t recall his name, or even his job, for that matter, and the other was a Tunisian. The men told us that there was no need to go inside, unless we really felt the need to. We declined, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. Gracie did most of the talking, going over the paperwork and showing the men the bodies that lay in the rear of my pickup. In a few moments they summoned a black hearse-type vehicle. The bodies of our fallen were simply loaded into the back and that was it – job done.

  We shook hands with the men, they offered their condolences and the English guy reminded us that we may be required to attend the inquest, as and when it occurred. That was it, my big goodbye to the crew we’d lost, and especially to Andi. A dry handshake in the car-park of a place I can’t remember, given by people I didn’t know. They, the unknown men, simply walked back into their offices without another word. That was it; we turned away, climbed back into our vehicles, and closed the doors.

  ‘See-you, Andi,’ I thought, staring out of the side window as we pulled away. ‘I’ll see you around sometime, girl, in some other place.’

  It was shit, I looked away from the last place I had seen her, even if it was only her cloth-wrapped body, it had still been Andi. I felt like I was abandoning her, leaving her all alone in the back of that van.

  I was leaving her. That was the truth of it, and it hurt.

  We drove to the hotel in silence, Raouf guessing that I wasn’t too overjoyed. Mus checked us all in, reminding everyone as to the timings of their individual early-calls the next day, and giving them all copies of their e-tickets for their departing flights. I suggested that we all meet at the bar in a couple of hours, to which they agreed. At least we would be able to raise a glass together before everyone went their separate ways in the morning. Promising to meet up later, we wandered off to go and find our respective rooms.

  As soon as I made it into my room, I stripped-off and headed for the shower, staying under the searing needles of water for at least fifteen minutes. The realisation of the last few days’ events were starting to creep into my mind, I kept thinking of Andi, those blue eyes opening in front of my face, golden flecks swimming in their deep, crystal-blue, pools. Then they would fade, blinking out like the moon behind a cloud.

  I thought about Gino, what should I do, I couldn’t just let him get away with it, could I? Then whole damned thing started to gang-up on me – I couldn’t hear myself think for the sound of voices and ideas echoing around the inside of my head.

  ‘Do this, Jake…’ or, ‘…maybe you should do that?’ Many times I thought of just one thing: ‘Why don’t I just go around to Gino’s room and knock his block off?’ Then, of course, there was the big one…

  ‘Andi – are you going to her funeral, Jake? She would like that…’

  I groaned and shook the whole lot of them out of my head. Turning the shower off, I stepped across to the mirror to have a shave. I looked at myself, deliberately taking my time for once, making sure that I stared right into my own eyes. I was looking for something, a sign, anything that would tell me what to do. There was nothing, just a pair of hazel-green eyes and a weather-beaten face, nose slightly too big, eyebrows slightly too scarred.

  None of them gave me any answers.

  Giving up on my quest, I went back to the job-in-hand, running the razor around the outside of my face and the toothbrush around the inside. I gathered my dirty clothes and dumped them into the hotel’s laundry bag, filling out the form and hanging the bag on the outside of the door.

  I repacked my gear, rang London to give them an update, telling them that I was going to stay in Djerba for a few days… ‘Just to take some down-time,’ I said, lying like a cheap, Chinese watch. They were cool with that, telling me to get in touch as soon as I’d sorted my life out. I wondered if I would, at that moment I just felt hollow.

  I was going to read my email, but somehow I just couldn’t be bothered. No, if anybody wanted me in a hurry, they’d just have to call me, and I didn’t plan on answering too many calls.

  I lay on the bed, staring at the fan as it rotated above my head, watching the blades as they circled endlessly. They were like my thoughts, round-and-round they went. I fell asleep, and I dreamed. It was the same dream as usual, the one I’ve had for years, the one I can remember when I wake up…

  ---

  I’m standing on the landing of marble staircase, there are stairs below me and there’s another flight around the corner, going up. I’m frozen, unable to move as I see the shadows coming through the door below me. I watch them as they move towards me, staring through the rungs of an ornate, metal bannister. They are coming for me and I should turn and run, but I can’t move. Frozen, I stand and watch as they gather at the bottom of the stairs, I can’t see who they are, but they are there, darkened shapes looking up at me.

  Then, at last, I turn to run – faltering as their bullets begin to hit me. There is no noise, just a shocking, almost numb feeling going through my chest, my hands feel bloated, I feel trapped. I can feel their bullets flying through me, but there is no pain.

  I look down at my chest in surprise. My own thoughts are the only sound in the dream. ‘I’ve been hit–I’ve been hit bad…’ There is no other sound, no pain. Only a dreadful sense of finality, the strange numbness becomes a rush and then I’m falling, falling, falling…

  ---

  I jerked awake, my gasp as loud as it always was. I lay there with memories of the dream running through my brain. ‘Fuck!’ I cursed and rolled into a sitting position. The dream had been as clear as ever, so clear that the events may as well have happened in real-life. Sitting on the bed, I decided that now would be the time I went and saw Gino. Why not? There would be no further sleep for me, not yet. I’d be visiting the bar before I made another attempt to get my head down. I got dressed, slipped on a pair of thick-soled, jungle boots that were nearly as old as my jacket, grabbed my phones and wallet and headed for the door. After visiting the hotel’s reception desk to find out what room he was in, I got back in the elevator and made my way to the floor where Gino’s room was. I knocked on his door and waited, listening to the sound of him shuffling about on the other side.

  ‘Who is it?’ he asked, voice muffled.

  ‘Gino, it’s just me, Jake – there’s been a change of flights tomorrow, I’ve got your new e-ticket, mate.’

  I heard the chain sliding out of its guide and the door opened.

  ‘Change of flight, what change…’

  I pushed him into the room, following him through and slamming the door behind me with my foot.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he said, angrily.

  ‘Sit down,’ I said. ‘Sit down or you’re going to fall down!’

  Taking one look at my face, Gino made his choice and hurriedly sat on the edge of his bed, looking up at me with the blood flushing in his cheeks. He had his ponytail down, strands of long, unkempt hair swept over his shoulders and hung down the side of his face
.

  He looked a mess.

  I took a look around his room, he had wired-up all sorts of electronic wizardry and there were two monitors set up on either side of a keypad. There was also another gizmo, green lights blinking across its face. The machine had a pile of tapes sitting on the top of it. Just as I was about to turn away, I noticed that one of the monitors was playing back some images. It was a film from the compound, the throng of people, fires and armed men, left me in no doubt. Whatever Gino was doing, it definitely involved the time he’d been in Gadaffi’s fortress. It was there in front of me, in Technicolor.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, nodding at his screen.

  ‘Nothing to do with you,’ he snarled, getting to his feet.

  ‘Gino, I’m telling you – sit-the-fuck-down!’ I said, pushing him in the chest. He looked at me in shock; I don’t think he expected such force from so gentle a shove. He almost decided to come at me, just for a second, and then thought better of it. I saw it in his eyes, but I’m quite a big guy and I’m definitely ugly, especially when I’m mad, and at that precise moment, I was extremely mad.

  Gino sat back down, murmuring: ‘Asshole…’

  ‘Yeah, that’s me, pal. I’m the arsehole of the year – now, where were we?’ I walked over, standing and staring down at his face.

  After about five minutes spent in making sure that he knew I wasn’t going to leave until I’d found out what he was doing with the film, and what the hell had happened in Tripoli, Gino finally coughed-up the information I wanted to hear.

  It was a tale barely worth repeating. Gino ran a website, one where you had to pay to see the images he’d uploaded, images that normally involved dead people, or, people who were about to ‘get dead…’ That’s what the link said: ‘People getting dead!’

  Using his technical knowhow, Gino would take all the images he’d shot… the really bad ones, pictures that would never make it onto the Prime Time slot… then he would doctor them so that it couldn’t be determined how they had been obtained, and then he’d charge his world-wide audience for the privilege of watching them. There were hundreds of hours of film up there and Gino must have been making a tidy-sum. Seeing the situation for exactly what it was, I decided to forego any further questions regarding what had happened on that terrible day. I already knew what had happened.

  I turned to look at him once more.

  ‘So, this is why you wouldn’t hand the film over, this is it?’ I asked.

  I was incensed, and really did struggle to stop myself from smashing the monitor over his stupid, greasy head. Yes, as Raouf had rightly said, the crew were probably doomed anyway, but at least Gino could have tried to save them. Maybe if he had negotiated with them – told us what he’d done, for a start – then perhaps we may have been able to get there and resolve the situation.

  ‘It’s just my business…’ he said, weakly.

  I grabbed him by the hair, yanking his face upwards so that he had to look into my eyes. ‘You, you’re nothing but a selfish-fucker,’ I said, spitting with fury. ‘You could have helped us but you didn’t, you just ran away with your precious little film!’

  Dragging him over to the computers by his hair, I swept my arm across the desk, sending the whole lot crashing to the floor, bits of plastic and broken glass flew all over the place.

  ‘No, please!’ he cried.

  I tightened my grip on Gino’s greasy hair, feeling strands of it coming out at the roots. He yelped like a puppy, the sound of his whining just pissing me off even more. I tightened my grip, twisting my hands until he shrieked in pain.

  ‘You, motherfucker, I should beat you to a pulp right here, you selfish prick!’ I snarled, shoving him onto the bed as hard as I could.

  He cowered against the pillow as I stood glaring at him, flicking strands of dirty hair off my fingers. In truth, I really wanted to do as I had threatened, but there didn’t seem much point, he was a tosser, end of story.

  Instead, I walked over to tapes that were scattered across the floor and systematically ground them into pieces with my boot heel. I even went as far as forcibly ejecting the one that had been playing, ripping it out of the whirring player and then smashing it, and the player, to pieces. Gino sat in silence and watched me, tears of pain and frustration running down his sorry face.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’m telling you now, you’d best pull the plug on that website, don’t even think about starting a new one because I’ll be looking, and if I find out that you’re doing it again, then I’ll let your bosses know, right?’

  He nodded, wiping a shaking hand across his nose.

  ‘And then,’ I said, menacingly. ‘After I’ve told them, I’ll come and find you, but this time I won’t be fucking around…’

  Not waiting to see whether he agreed or not, I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room, booting the screen of a monitor, which lay on the floor, as I went past. I was shaking in anger and frustration, not being entirely happy with my bullying actions, but also knowing that it was the least I could have done on behalf of the people who had been killed as a result of such selfishness.

  ‘Fuck-it,’ I thought. ‘Fuck him and fuck this whole situation! I’m going to the bar…’

  And, yes, that was precisely what I did do. Heading straight there from Gino’s room and sinking two cold ones in the blink of any eye. It was a crappy night, and that was fine, because it had been a crappy trip. The crew turned out at the bar, strangely, Gino didn’t put in an appearance, but it was a painful experience anyway. Rory, Jim and I tried to get some form of rapport going, but we crashed-and-burned. Gracie said a few words in an attempt at reminding us of how this walk-of-life had its hazards and that the others had died a valiant death, seeking out the truth…

  It was all bollocks; they were murdered by a bunch of maniacs, that’s the bottom-dollar. I didn’t say as much, just raising my glass in a silent salute along with the rest of them. Half-an-hour later, and after we had all said our goodbyes, the lot of them had cleared off to bed. We three security guys remained right where we were, there was a plentiful supply of bar snacks and we could see that the fridges were nice and full, so we stayed until we’d had our fill, which took quite some time.

  By the time I got to bed, any dark thoughts I’d been harbouring about Gino, were long-gone. My mind was made-up, I was going to go back and give Raouf a hand. I knew that it was big risk, but I was also happy with the fact that, perhaps, I could do something positive with my time. Sitting on plane on my way back to London didn’t really appeal to me. Too much time for thinking and too much time for drinking, it would have been a recipe for disaster. No, much better to get out there and have at it. I’d do some of the other stuff when and if I made it back in one-piece.

  I didn’t plan on dreaming that night – the beers usually take care of such things. However, not tonight they didn’t. I must have woken several times during the night, jerking upright in bed with a curse on my lips. At about three-am I finally made it into some semblance of sleep, but not until after the dream had one more shot at me – it was the same dream, only this time I saw Andi. She was standing on the stairs above me, whispering: ‘Hold me, Jake, just hold me…’ I couldn’t reach her, I tried and tried, but it was to no avail, I was frozen.

  Then bullets came and I started falling…

  17

  Burned and Turned

  A soft, tapping sound on my door awoke me. Levering myself out of bed, I went and peered groggily through the peephole. Jim and Rory were standing outside, leering up like weirdoes at the lens. With a sigh, I opened the door, turning away to walk over and flick the kettle on as they waltzed in.

  ‘Morning, fellas,’ I said, collapsing onto the end of my bed.

  ‘Yeah, we thought we’d come and wake you up, you know, just to say ta-ta…’ Rory said, laying out the makings for a brew.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ I said. ‘What are you – a pair of two-year-olds or something, need me to take you to the airport and as
k the nice lady to hold your hands until you’re all tucked-up in your seats, do you?’

  ‘You’re just whining ‘cos you can’t hack it anymore,’ Rory said, grinning like an idiot. ‘Come on then, you old git, let’s get a brew and then you can come down and make nicey-nice at breakfast with us!’

  Ninety minutes later and I was standing on the front steps of the hotel, waving goodbye to them as they chugged away in an ancient, yellow taxi. Neither of them had asked what I was doing and I hadn’t mentioned anything. Not that I would have told them anyway. Turning back into the hotel, I went and ordered a coffee in the foyer.

  Whilst waiting for my drink, I gave Raouf a call.

  He answered before the first ring had ended.

  ‘Good morning, Jake,’ he said. ‘How are things today?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘We’re on – when do you want to go?’

  ‘This morning, I need to see a few people first, but get your things ready because I will come straight there after the meeting.’

  ‘Right, see you soon, I’ll be ready.’

  I finished my coffee and went back to my room to pack.

  Returning to reception, I checked-out and sat waiting for Raouf. Within two hours, I was back in the pickup with Raouf at the wheel. We had a long journey ahead of us and a lot of things to discuss, or so I thought. As it happens, there wasn’t that much to talk about. It was really quite simple – we would drive down to the east, meet Faizal and get the money from him. Then we’d drive back, end of mission.

  ‘How do you propose to transfer the funds to my account?’ I asked. ‘I have an offshore account and they don’t accept any funny-business.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you will be paid by a registered company, with all the correct procedures being in place – everything will be legitimate.’ He replied. ‘Will your bank question such a large amount being transferred into your account?’