by D C Macey
Sam frequently looked along the gaps between the fallen stones. In one direction, he could see out to sea where the RIB would come from, and looking in the other direction, he could see the silt beach where he was to be collected. That was not a suitable spot to wait out the afternoon, far too open; he was happier with his current position and would make the five-minute walk across the little silt beach to the pickup point at the due time. Even so, an instinctive uneasiness, born of military training, refused to leave him. Maybe it was just the eerie silence. There had been no sign of any other presence, no one had offered any threat, but any unknown party was a risk, and something was keeping him on high alert.
14
Friday, January 17th - p.m.
Davy put down the telephone handset and turned to the others.
‘Well?’ said Helen as Julie looked on anxiously.
He broke into a smile, which told them the answer.
‘It’s going to be alright. DI Brogan says the two men have gone. They slipped away this morning, a while after their solicitor had been to see them. Apparently, there was some sort of commotion in the corridor outside their ward, which distracted the policeman guarding them. By the time he’d sorted it out and got back, the two had skipped. Brogan didn’t get a chance to speak with them, so there is no complaint for Julie to face.’
Tears appeared in Julie’s eyes as the emotional turmoil finally found release. She leant into Davy’s good shoulder. Helen and Grace both closed on Julie to offer congratulations and support.
‘DI Brogan did say to tell you to get the trench properly fenced off, just in case.’
Helen nodded absently. The private security contractors were taking over today, they would certainly have that covered already. More worryingly, if the intruders had slipped away, unwanted by the law, where had they gone, and where would they show up next?
• • •
In mid-afternoon, a patrol boat had sailed westward along the coast heading in the direction of Misrata. Later, as the sun nudged closer to the western horizon, a black dot appeared to the north. It grew bit by bit into an oil tanker. Oil tanks empty and riding high in the water, it had come slowly in, making for the Khoms oil terminal, just a couple of miles along the coast. Otherwise, the sea had been as quiet as the land.
The sun had set with no sign of Captain Blue and his fishing boat. Sam had not worried. From his position on the promontory, just a few feet above sea level, he doubted he would be able to see for much more than eight or ten miles at best. From what Captain Blue had indicated, his vessel could cover that distance in less than half an hour. The captain was probably hanging off the coast until dark to avoid any prying eyes. Yes, shore radars at the tanker terminal and at the Khoms and Misrata pilot stations would pick him up far offshore, but a fishing vessel going about its business would be of no concern to anyone. Sam guessed the patrol ship he’d seen earlier in the day would be another of Captain Blue’s friends.
The darkness that followed on the heels of sunset was modified a little by a shining crescent moon. About twenty minutes before pickup time he felt a sense of satisfaction as a vessel’s lights appeared in the north. It came on quickly. As it neared the shore, it began a slow turn. Sam was just about to head to the rendezvous when he paused, there was something different about the RIB being swung out from the fishing boat’s side.
He pulled out his binoculars and studied it as it hung above the water. Blue was launching his larger RIB. Sam could think of no obvious reason why, unless Blue was landing more contraband or planning to pick up something, some people, to smuggle north. Sam was not happy and hurried across the beach to the ancient eastern quayside from where he could watch the RIB’s approach.
Having chosen a spot where he was screened from the beach by a thicket of bushes, Sam had barely settled down when the RIB swung round the little promontory and ran towards the beach. The coxswain eased back the engine at the last moment and spun the helm, slowing the RIB and turning it sideways to the beach, where it bobbed gently in the waves a few yards offshore. The crewman at the front of the RIB stood and peered into the darkness ashore.
Sam checked his watch; it was exactly an hour after sunset. With a deep breath, he hitched his rucksack up and stepped out from behind the bushes. He was spotted and the crewman shouted, pointing in Sam’s direction. At once, the coxswain got the RIB moving forwards, nudging its prow against the beach just ahead of Sam’s approach. The crewman jumped out at the water’s edge and hurried onto the beach, he carried one end of the RIB’s bow line, pulling taught to hold the RIB on the beach. He waved towards Sam.
Sam was uneasy. He had to board the RIB, to stay ashore would have condemned him to certain capture by one Libyan faction or another. Yet, there was no obvious reason for Blue switching the RIBs. No reason not to either. Hanging off a few paces along the beach, Sam glanced about, peering away into the darkness. There was no sign of the armed guards coming for more contraband nor of anyone bringing more passengers for the outward trip.
The crewman on the beach called towards Sam, beckoning him on. In frustration, the man turned and shouted something at the coxswain, and Sam saw a look of anxiety flash across his face. It was a trap.
Sam turned to move off the beach into the backing scrub, but the crewman, realising what was happening, shouted an alarm and ran towards Sam. Launching a desperate rugby tackle, he took Sam at the knees, receiving a heavy boot in the face while bringing Sam down to the sand with him. Sam kicked out again, driving his heel hard into the crewman’s stomach. The gasp and curse told Sam the blow had done its work. He bent his knee, drawing his boot up and pushed down hard. The contact with the crewman’s face caused a cry of pain and put the man out of action. Sam scrambled to his feet then stopped dead before raising his hands in surrender.
He was looking directly at the barrel of a weapon - an assault rifle’s muzzle thrust forwards, only inches from his chest. The muzzle of a second weapon, a pistol, was pressed against his temple. Beyond the gunmen, he could see the RIB. The coxswain using the engine to keep the bow against the sand while his crewmate remained out of action. The reason behind the use of the big RIB was clear now. It had carried four extra men, all concealed low as it came in to the beach. Two of them were on the beach pointing weapons at Sam. Two more had risen from below the line of the gunwale and were also moving forwards. One man limping, the other assisting him.
Sam recognised the smaller of the two approaching men. Cassiter. He cursed his luck, cursed Captain Blue and his treachery. Now Sam understood the real reason he had been so constrained on the journey here. Captain Blue had other passengers on his vessel - it had been a trap all along.
As Cassiter approached, the crewman Sam had injured climbed to his feet. The man snarled and pulled his seaman’s knife from its sheath. He glared at Sam then took a step towards him, drawing back his knife hand ready to strike.
‘Stop!’ Cassiter commanded.
The crewman glanced towards Cassiter than turned back towards Sam, swinging his arm to strike the blow. The blade never reached Sam’s chest. The report of a pistol sounded and the man stopped. An expression of surprise on his face, his legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees. A second shot, at closer range, punched through the man’s back and into his heart. He fell forwards with a little sigh. Cassiter prodded the body with his stick then turned his attention to Sam.
‘Mr Cameron, we meet again, and this time there are some things we need to talk about, without any unwanted interruptions.’
‘I can’t say it’s a pleasure,’ said Sam. He rolled his eyes to the side. ‘This is a bit of overkill though. Don’t you think one gun’s enough?’
‘Cameron, I’m not stupid. You have a reputation, and I’ve seen you in action. I think two guns pointing at you are just enough. Now tell me what you found.’
‘Found? Where?’
‘Don’t be cute with me, Cameron. I haven’t followed you halfway around the world to this God forsaken corner for fun.
What did you find?’
‘Nothing, I’m here as a tourist.’
‘We know you are here to find a code. I enjoyed my time in Malta, though your African priest friend didn’t. He did tell me everything before he died though. Where have you put it?’ Cassiter waved his pistol towards Sam. ‘Get his rucksack; let’s see what’s inside.’ His third man hustled behind Sam and pulled the rucksack straps free of his shoulders. Returning to Cassiter’s side, he pulled open the bag for his boss to check.
‘We know you have the boxes. That Ethiopian priest couldn’t stop talking once I’d got him started. We know you need to open the boxes, know the key is somehow hidden here at Leptis Magna. Why not make it easy on yourself and just tell me? You know how persuasive I can be.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Come, come, Mr Cameron. One chance only, tell me what I need to know,’ said Cassiter while rifling through the rucksack. He stopped and turned his attention back to Sam. ‘There’s nothing in here. Where is it?’
‘Where is what?’
‘This is becoming tiresome now, Cameron. Just answer my questions.’
Sam remained tight-lipped.
Cassiter struck Sam on the side of the face with his walking stick. ‘Search him,’ he said.
Sam was jostled, patted and prodded. Then his phone was pulled from his pocket and the camera wrenched from its neck lanyard.
‘Ah, what’s this?’ said Cassiter. ‘Your phone. No doubt, you’ll have that female minister of yours on speed dial. Shall I call her for you?’ Cassiter moved closer and looked intently at Sam. Then he shook his head and put the phone away in his own pocket. ‘No, I don’t think so. I’d rather give her the news of your passing face-to-face.’ He laughed and gripped Sam by the throat - squeezed. ‘She’d like to hear the news from me, don’t you think?’
He loosed Sam’s throat and inspected the camera. ‘Why would you want a fancy camera with you? Your phone includes a good quality camera. Perhaps you were photographing something special. Something that demanded best quality tools? An archaeological artefact?’ Cassiter lifted his head to meet Sam’s eye. ‘A key perhaps?’ Cassiter tabbed through the camera’s stored photos.
‘What are these pictures? What do they mean?’
‘Just a tourist’s holiday snaps.’
‘Don’t take me for a fool, Cameron. Just tell me while you still have breath. You’re going to die tonight, no matter what. I promise, if you help me, I’ll leave your American girlfriend alone.’
Beyond the wadi, in the western part of the city, Sam spotted torchlights flickering. The sound of Cassiter’s gunshots must have finally dragged the site guards back into play.
‘I can tell you nothing now. Those pictures are meaningless to me, I’ve nothing to tell until I analyse them. Your only hope is to let me live, so I can solve the problem. And if we’re going, we need to go now. Look over there; your shots have alerted the local guards, they’re combing the site.’ He nodded to the west.
Cassiter slipped Sam’s camera into his pocket as he looked towards the flashlights then back at Sam.
‘Agreed, it’s time to go, but not for you. I’m quite sure we have experts who will be able to decipher the clues now you’ve found them for us, thank you. You are officially retired. Much as I’d like the pleasure of killing you, I can think of nothing more exquisite than your lady friend’s angst and suffering while you are in the hands of one of the local extremist groups, which will, of course, be inevitable. Once they’ve done with you, I’ll visit her. You can just imagine what’s going to happen then.’
Sam glared defiantly at Cassiter as the man behind him slung his weapon and applied wrist ties. He slapped the side of Sam’s head, banging it against the other captor’s pistol muzzle. The two men laughed and repeated the action. A little trickle of blood ran down from Sam’s temple as his ankles were tied together.
‘What’s this all for?’ said Sam. ‘What can be worth so much killing?’
Cassiter leant in close to Sam’s face. ‘Power. Something you wouldn’t understand. It’s all about power.’
‘People don’t need to die for it.’
‘Power, true power, comes from fear. Fear grows through death. Death and suffering brings perfect obedience. Now, enough chat; you need a few moments to prepare yourself for a meeting with the site guards. They will certainly have to hand you over to the local militia. And believe me, the militia will fall over themselves to sell you to the extremists. You’ll be worth a lot of money. You’ve got a very difficult ending ahead of you, Cameron. Best enjoy these quiet moments while you can.’
Cassiter waved his pistol muzzle, and Sam was forced to his knees.
The coxswain’s voice from the RIB urged them to hurry. Sam could hear the voices of the site guards more distinctly now. He chanced a glance and saw the torch lights were closer, spread in an open line along the west bank of the wadi, searching methodically. These guards were trained to deter site looters, probably had a standard search pattern to follow; now they were applying it to a different end. The lights disappeared as the guards dropped into the wadi. They would emerge on the eastern half of the site in moments.
Cassiter struck Sam a blow on the head with the butt of his pistol, leaving him swaying on his knees. A guard kicked him in the back, sending him flat onto the sand.
The guard stooped. ‘Get ready to suffer, English.’
‘I’m Scottish.’ Groggy, he could only provide the conditioned response.
‘No. You’re dead. Right now, you’re the living dead, believe me.’ The guard swung his shoulder allowing his assault rifle to slew down and bang into Sam’s temple. ‘Dead. They’re going to fry you, man. And I mean fry.’
‘Okay, let’s go now,’ said Cassiter, turning to step towards the RIB. Involuntarily, the anxious coxswain revved the engine. The sound reached out across the evening and was echoed by the shouts of the site guards who now knew where to focus their attention.
Cassiter’s stick and feet tangled in the bow line abandoned by the dead crewman, and as he stooped to pull the bow line clear, a spurt of controlled gunfire burst out of the shadowed undergrowth close behind the beach. Three rounds cut through the guard who loomed over Sam; he gasped and dropped dead. The second guard dropped, a neat bullet hole drilled through his forehead. The third ran for the RIB while simultaneously attempting to unsling his assault rifle to return fire. A round in the leg sent him sprawling into Cassiter, knocking his boss into the water. Cassiter wrapped the bow line tight around his wrists and gripped hard.
‘Go! Go!’ Cassiter ordered the coxswain who had, in any event, decided it was time to leave. The RIB was already moving away from the beach, picking up speed with every moment and dragging Cassiter out into deeper water. There, in the wet darkness, the coxswain paused to pull Cassiter back on board.
On the beach, the wounded guard looked out to sea, calling on the RIB to wait. He took a step into the waves, and his leg gave out, dropping him into the water.
From out of the darkness, a darker shadow hurried onto the beach, stooped and lifted Sam.
Sam offered no resistance. Semi-conscious, he thought he saw a man in a dark robe loom over him. He didn’t really care, couldn’t care, as he lapsed into unconsciousness.
The shadow swung Sam onto his shoulder and retreated from the beach, melting back into the black of the undergrowth.
The wounded man at the water’s edge had seen none of the abduction. Once he had dragged his eyes from the receding RIB, he had focused on the shouts and moving torchlights of the approaching site guards. He dropped onto the sand, overcoming the pain in his leg to let off two rounds at the nearest torch beam. It dropped and the cry confirmed a hit. He turned his attention to the second torch, fired and again made a kill.
The torches went out. The wounded man’s muzzle flashes had confirmed his position on the beach. Knowing that, he tried to move his position, crawling along the water’s edg
e, but it bought him no time. A thunderous torrent of unidentified fire poured from the beachside bushes into which Sam had been carried. Hit once, twice, he raised himself in an involuntary reaction to the pain and his body was immediately riddled with more shots.
A few moments later, the site guards hurried onto the beach. They raised their guns and fired forlorn and frustrated shots after the retreating RIB then turned their attention to the bodies on the beach.
15
Saturday, January 18th
Sam regained consciousness in a dark space. It took a few moments for him to assess his situation. He was alive, his hands were still tied behind his back, his ankles bound, and he was in the rear of a moving vehicle. The itching on his face told him he was covered by some rough material or rags. Was he being hidden? From whom? He stayed quiet, waited; it was all he could do.
The motion of the vehicle suddenly changed. It was going over much rougher terrain, and Sam braced his legs to steady himself and prevent his head from rocking against the metalled sides. He didn’t know how long the bumping lasted, five minutes, perhaps fifteen. At one point, he must have lost consciousness again. When he next stirred, there was silence, and the motion had stopped.
Suddenly, he heard a hatch pop up, and the sacking cover was pulled away. He blinked in the early morning sunlight as thick arms reached in and pulled him out. Semi-conscious, he could only groan a protest as he was hoisted on to the man’s shoulders, and they set off at a run. While the fog in his mind began to clear, Sam realised there were three other men, all armed, all running with him. Their flowing, black robes and head coverings had been perfect cover at night. Now, in the light of day, they were more conspicuous.
