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

by Paul A. Rice

  Well, it seems like today was yet another day when Jake Collins just couldn’t seem to get it right. Yet again I was to discover that I had been way off the mark with those thoughts.

  As I was in the process of leaning forwards, to splash some cold water onto my face and across my head, I caught the sound of a key, rattling in the lock. I jerked upright, eyes scanning the bathroom for a weapon. There was nothing, not even a toilet brush, and that wouldn’t have been as ridiculous as it sounds, taking a good poke to the eye, or throat, with a bog-brush would probably have ruined many a man’s day.

  I stepped back behind the open door, watching as a young boy came into the room. He was carrying a tray upon which sat, by the looks of things, a pot of tea and everything that went with it – milk sugar etcetera. Whoever had prepared it must have been fully aware of how the English took their tea… The boy placed the tray down next to the bottles of water on the bedside table, noticing that one bottle was empty… and that I wasn’t on the bed, of course… he turned to look around the room. I watched him through the crack in the door, insanely hoping that he would just bugger-off. I contemplated on grabbing the boy and bursting into the house with him wriggling under my arm…

  ‘One false move and I’ll snap the kid’s neck like a fucking twig!’ Yeah, I could live with that. I was probably a dead-man anyway, so what was there to lose?

  I tensed, in readiness to carry out my final, desperate plan.

  ‘You can come out whenever you are free, sir,’ the boy said, from the other side of the door. ‘My father asked me to tell you that there is some food available, but you should have your chai first – it’s good for your head…’ Then he giggled, the little git, he actually giggled.

  ‘Right,’ I blustered. ‘I’ll be right out and… err… thanks for the chai.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Mr Collins. Drink your chai or it will go cold.’

  I stood, in dumfounded silence, listening as the outer door closed behind the boy. Gathering my senses, I turned to the sink and gave myself a good splashing with icy-cold water. Towelling my head, I went back to the bed and sat down to do as I had been ordered.

  The chai was very good; someone had added a spoonful of honey and the concoction hit the spot perfectly. There were also two white pills on the tray, guessing they were headache-relief tablets, I downed them with the tea.

  In a few minutes I did, actually, begin to feel better.

  That kid, he was a clever little so-and-so. It turned out that the boy – Wahid – was just a clever as his dad. Yeah, that pistol-whipping, gun-wielding bastard, Raouf, he was a smart as they come.

  He was also the kid’s father, and he’d saved my life.

  ‘I’m so terribly sorry, Jake!’ he said, as I walked into the sitting room. By saying sitting room, I mean, sitting-on-the-floor room – as is the custom in these parts. Raouf hurried over to me with a worried look upon his face. ‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘I have been so worried, you were unconscious for such a long time – I had the doctor here for more than hour! He said that you had a very thick skull…’

  ‘He did, huh? Yeah, well, he’s most-likely correct there,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a belter of a headache, but it’s going now. What the hell did you hit me with?’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry – it was my old Webley revolver, it’s a very solid weapon, they don’t make them like that anymore, you know?’ he said, raising his shirt to expose the butt of said revolver sticking out of his waistband.

  ‘No shit!’ I said. ‘I think that you may need to take a little course in restraint, or perhaps get a softer gun, my friend. You damn-near caved my head-in!’

  Raouf laughed, saying: ‘Come, come and sit down, please!’

  I joined him on the floor, propping myself up on a pile of the plentiful cushions. Wahid fetched more tea and we sat and drank for a while. After several cups, I stretched out my legs and looked at Raouf.

  ‘I thought that you had turned me over, betrayed me,’ I said, looking at him and shaking my head. I still wasn’t absolutely sure.

  ‘Never,’ he said. ‘I will give my life for you, I trust you. Even when your friends stopped me in the desert, when I was so scared that I nearly drove away, I had to make sure I kept my faith in you – you saved my brother! I trust you, Jake. You should try and do the same with me…’

  I sat and stared at him for a while. There was nothing in his eyes to disprove the things he’d just said. ‘Yeah, perhaps I should just stop being so suspicious,’ I thought. Then the pain in my head flared, just to remind me about trusting people.

  ‘What happened, why did you hit me?’ I asked, softly.

  ‘They stopped us, the men in the car. They were some of Gadaffi’s personal guards, not the female ones, they are just for show,’ he said, with a sneer. ‘They had been to see if the route was clear, the road we came from…’

  I nodded, beckoning him to continue.

  ‘I recognised the car, the American one. It was very lucky for us because they know me; I have met them many times!’

  ‘And…?’

  ‘And… if they had seen you and me together, as friends, then we would both be lying dead in desert tonight!’

  ‘So, you hit me – that bit I can remember,’ I said, gingerly touching the lump on the back of head.

  ‘Yes, I had to act quickly; you struck your forehead and collapsed into the foot well.’

  ‘How did you get us out of it – assuming that we are out?’ I said, looking over my shoulder.

  Raouf laughed, saying: ‘Yes, we are safe here – no-one knows we are here, don’t be concerned.’

  I snorted, his casual statement making my day.

  Concerned – me? I was only in the middle of nowhere, with a madman sitting opposite and a fucking great lump, standing out like an egg on the back of my head. The row of fully-loaded Kalashnikovs, sitting in a rack by the door, well… that was quite normal, surely. Why on God’s-Earth would I be concerned? I looked at him and grinned, although, the term ‘insane leer’ would have been a more accurate description of the face I pulled.

  Raouf, seeing the look, added a grin of his own.

  ‘You think that I am crazy, don’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, you’re crazy for sure, crazy but smart!’ I replied, seriously.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I have to be crazy otherwise I would not succeed, and I must succeed – my family are depending on me!’

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘They stopped me and we talked, they were scared when they saw it was me, they know that I have connections…’

  ‘What did they say when they saw me? They must have seen…’

  Cutting me off, Raouf said, ‘Yes, of course they did, and they were very suspicious. I told them that I had captured you; I said that you were a spy… they wanted to kill you there and then! I said that you knew things, lots of things, and that I was going to take you to Gadaffi’s house in Sirte.’

  ‘What did they say to that?’

  ‘They were scared, they had already failed to find a way through for Gadaffi to escape and they would have to face the music for such a failure. I played on that, telling them that you were British and that your friends, the SAS, were coming behind us, coming to help you!’

  ‘What did Gadaffi’s lot do, when you told them that the bad guys were just down the road?’

  ‘They believed me!’ he said, incredulously. ‘They were already scared because they had seen aircraft and dust in the same direction, that’s why they had turned back. They thought the soldiers were coming for them, and so they ran, like the rats they are, they ran!’

  ‘That was lucky, wasn’t it?’

  He nodded, saying: ‘Yes, indeed it was, but sometimes you need a little luck, don’t you, Jake?’

  I agreed wholeheartedly. ‘Yeah, a little luck and a whole lot of craziness, they’ll get you through most things!’ I said, with a dry grin.

  Raouf nodded, and then shouted something in Arabic towar
ds an open door. Moments later we were treated to a meal of spicy lamb cutlets, fresh vegetables and heaps of homemade bread. We ate like men having their last meal, both of us knowing that we’d been very fortunate to even be here. After we had finished, whilst sitting and sipping on some mint tea, I asked him what we should do now, where the money was, and how we should proceed.

  ‘Oh, that’s already been taken care of,’ he said, pointing over my shoulder. ‘After the incident with those men, we decided the risk was too great to go any further – the money is here, my brothers have brought it us. Come and see…’

  I rose to my feet and followed Raouf over towards the corner of the room – behind a table, wrapped in a blanket, was the money-body. Pulling the blanket away, I looked down and stared at the ‘corpse’. It was certainly very realistic and the sight fetched the memories of Andi and the others straight back to the front of my aching head. I turned away to go and pour some more tea.

  ‘So,’ he said, joining me back on the cushions. ‘Tomorrow we shall leave early at… say, five o’clock, I think that would be good, yes?’

  ‘Yeah, suits me,’ I said.

  He smiled, saying: ‘Then we shall just drive to the border with our body, and after that we shall be free!’

  ‘Yes, let’s do that,’ I said. I’m tired of all this messing about, and my head is killing me…’

  That was the end of it, no more talking, no more questions or concerns. We rose to our feet, me thanking Raouf for his hospitality and the headache. He just smiled, shrugging in apology. Having said goodnight to him and little Wahid, I turned and went back to my room.

  Yes, tomorrow was going to be a breeze – we were simply going to get up, put the body in the truck and drive like hell. What could be simpler than that? What could possibly go wrong?

  19

  Good Deed – Big Risk

  01 September 2011

  We left on time, Raouf and I having a quick cup of chai before setting off in the cold morning air, the dawn light making the surrounding village seem somewhat more picturesque than it would be later in the harsh light of midday. I had a GPS lock on my location, but as to the name of the place, I had no idea. All I knew was that the town of Gharyan lay somewhere to the north of me; Raouf had pointed in the general direction, saying that it was about fifty kilometres away.

  I could have been anywhere and, to be honest, I didn’t care. I just wanted to get going, and as soon as I possibly could.

  The money was in the back of the pickup, the perfectly wrapped, corpse-shaped, parcel covered in blankets and lying alongside my suitcase, a crate of water and several, full cans of diesel. I kept my daysack on the floor between my feet as usual. The only difference being was that today I‘d placed two AKs on the seat behind us, loosely covering them with yet another of the ever-present blankets. After yesterday’s scare, I decided that by having the guns in the cab with us, as opposed to in the back, like we’d done yesterday, at least gave us an option. I didn’t think that we’d get lucky twice and if it we had to shoot our way out of a situation, then that’s exactly what I intended to do.

  We made good progress and it looked like Raouf’s predication of a maximum of three days’ travel was going to be easily achievable.

  ‘How far is it to the border?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, about four hundred kilometres,’ he replied.

  ‘What, how did we cover that much distance?’

  He smiled. ‘When you were sleeping I drove very fast, Jake!’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘Thank God I was ‘asleep’ for that bit, then!’

  Raouf grinned, going on to tell me that we would be taking a detour on the way back, saying that he knew of way through the desert and that once we’d climbed over the mountains, we would be taking his alternative route.

  ‘There are people looking for me, looking for our money,’ he said. ‘My family has been receiving a lot of attention by some very unwelcome people, so it is best to keep away from the main roads.’

  I nodded, saying: ‘Yeah, good idea. What about your father?’

  ‘He is at home now,’ Raouf said, with a grimace. ‘He had nothing to tell them, but they beat him anyway – he is lucky to be alive!’

  ‘And the rest of your family, how about them, are they Okay?’

  ‘Yes, we have taken steps to protect ourselves, we have connections and it is still early for the revolution, things will progress and then we shall see, for now I must just concentrate on getting our money out – I have several other families’ money with me,’ he said, nodding towards the rear of the pickup.

  I didn’t know exactly how much cash was in that parcel, but it must have been a lot because we had struggled to lift it into the rear, the weight easily being that of a very big, fully-grown man, albeit a dead one. The parcel must have been absolutely rammed with cash.

  We pushed on, driving in silence, both wrapped in our own thoughts. I hadn’t really dwelled upon the idea of being the owner of so much cash – it was a lot, more than I could have imagined, but in some way I didn’t expect to see it, not really. Who just gives you nearly a million pounds? It was an unreal idea and I purposely made sure I kept my feet on the ground about the whole concept, I’d think about the realities when I saw the numbers in my account.

  We drove for several hours, stopping only to relieve ourselves and to stick some diesel in the tank from our supply of jerry-cans. Soon afterward, we crossed the mountains once again, leaving the main highway and turning off onto Raouf’s diversionary route. The road wasn’t too bad and we made decent time, passing several hillside villages along the way.

  My GPS told me that we were heading west, which was the right direction. Scanning the horizon, I noticed some rising dust clouds, lifting into the air about ten kilometres away. I dragged out my binos and scanned the area, not gaining a much better view due to the haze and high-ground sitting between my position and the origin of the dust. It was definitely there, though, and by looking at the path of our meandering track, I knew that there was a fair chance that we may be heading there ourselves. As we headed further west, I could see that we were, indeed, going straight into that exact area.

  Cresting a steep hill, I asked Raouf to stop and let me out.

  ‘Let’s see what the situation is,’ I said. ‘I don’t think we should just go barrelling-in down there, do you?’

  ‘No, let’s see what we can,’ he said, stepping out to join me.

  The dust-raising commotion now lay about two kilometres away, even though my binos were only mini ones, they were expensive and they were effective. I could quite easily see what was happening on the floor of the wadi ahead of us.

  It was Malc’s men.

  A vehicle was racing towards our track, in the distance behind it I could also see a pall of smoke rising into the still air above the wadi. Looking towards the side of the track, I saw a load of Malc’s guys, gathered around someone, or something, on the floor.

  Raouf couldn’t see what I was looking at, but upon noticing my expression of concern, he said, ‘Is this a problem for us, Jake? I will go into the desert and drive around them if it is… we can go that way.’ He pointed north into the desert over to our right.

  ‘Yes, there definitely looks to be a problem,’ I said, still holding the binos up to my eyes ‘But it doesn’t look like one that’s bad news for us. That dust is from my friend’s vehicles, something has a happened – it looks like they may have a casualty.’ I pointed out the smoke.

  Raouf shaded his eyes with a hand and gazed into the distance.

  ‘What would you like to do, go down and help them, or should we just go around?’ he asked.

  ‘I have to go and help them,’ I said. ‘There is no question of that…’

  ‘Fine, if that is what you want to do,’ he said, ‘let us go then, and quickly!’

  I nodded my thanks to him; we slid back into our seats and drove off to see what the hell was happening down below. It took about fifteen minutes to reach thei
r location and, as we approached, I decided to jump onto the roof, standing there in full view of the men who were gathered by the track. I had seen them deploying into fire positions as soon as they noticed the dust rising from under our wheels. The last thing I wanted was for them to start shooting the crap out of us. Getting nearer, I started waving my arms, eventually I saw two of the men in front of us, rise to their feet and move across to stand by the side of the track. One of them, I guessed it was Malc, raised his arm and waved back – they had seen me.

  I waited, sitting on the roof and bouncing along the track until we reached the group of men. As soon as we came to a halt, I slid down the windscreen and jumped off the bonnet.

  Running over to me, Malc skidded to a halt, saying: ‘JC, you’re a fucking Angel! Am I glad to see you, or what? Can you do us a favour, mate?’ He was sweating like mad and there was blood on his leg.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘what’s up?’

  ‘One of the trucks has hit a mine! I’ve got one man down, John-boy, he’s fucked-up, but he’ll make it, if we get him to the chopper. The other wagon is taking him to the RV, down there…’ He motioned with his arm in the direction of the Tunisian border, to the west.

  ‘What do you need us to do, mate?’ I asked, looking across to where they were loading the casualty into their vehicle.

  ‘The other patrol is miles away and I’ve got some seriously compromising kit in the damaged vehicle – if anyone ever gets hold of it, then we’re fucked!’

  ‘Shit, why didn’t you just torch it?’ I asked.

  ‘I couldn’t, it’s brand-new,’ Malc said, frustration all over his face. ‘The only working one we have, it’s too valuable… we’ve got a three guys back there watching the wreck. I need to get them and the kit out, there were a lot of fucking bad guys around and we’ve already had a contact with them. Now they’ve seen the smoke they’ll be coming back to have a closer look. The flyboys are watching over us but they won’t stay for long because they’re low on fuel, as normal. We had to get John-boy back to safety and stabilise him, this track is the best route out of here, it would take us days to cross that other shit over there,’ he said, nodding his in the direction of the hills that lay in the distance behind.