by Chris Ryan
He heard the occupant of the building before he saw him. His snores resonated around the shabby, cramped single room. There was an old stove at one end, a cluttered desk with a blinking laptop, the outline of what looked like a large mobile phone, and a low bunk along the far wall, where the snoring was coming from. Danny stepped quietly up to it. A man lay there, fully dressed and foul-smelling. He was very thin, and even in the dark Danny could make out his plainly East African features. Somali. Possibly Ethiopian.
He bent down and put one hand over the man’s mouth.
His eyes shot open. Danny pressed his Sig against the man’s forehead. ‘You speak English?’ he whispered.
The man nodded.
‘Sit up very slowly.’
He removed his hand from the man’s mouth and allowed him to sit up.
‘You the pilot?’
Another nod.
‘Sober?’
A shrug.
‘Where’s the nearest hospital.’
‘Three hundred miles. Very bad road.’
Danny swore. He didn’t think Spud had it in him to make that kind of journey.
‘Can you get me and my friend to an international airport? No questions asked?’ Because they were more likely to get medical help near a major airport.
‘You have passports?’
‘I’d rather not show them.’
The man’s lips curled into a distasteful smile. ‘For no questions asked, it will cost you,’ he said.
Danny nodded, then stood up, pulling the man up with him. ‘What’s your name?’
The man gave him a steady look. ‘Brian,’ he said. Clearly a lie. ‘I can take you to Addis Ababa. I know people there.’
Danny gave it a moment’s thought. From Ethiopia, he would be able to get a flight to Paris. But Addis Ababa was a major hub. Chances were, their immigration systems would be up-to-date. Danny didn’t think their passports would be tagged, not if the security services had them down as KIA. But the fewer up-to-date airports they presented their ID at, the better.
‘Where else?’ he demanded.
‘Eritrea,’ Brian said. ‘Massawa Airport.’
Eritrea. Danny gave himself another moment to think. He knew there were rumours that the Eritreans were supplying Al-Shabaab with arms. Under the circumstances, it felt like a high-risk destination. But relations with the East African state and the West were strained. That meant the chances of them sharing immigration information were small.
‘And do you “know” people at Massawa?’ Danny breathed.
‘Of course.’
‘Can we get medical help there?’
‘For a price. Who are you?’
Danny thought for another moment. ‘Do they have flights to Europe?’
Brian shrugged again. ‘Frankfurt, maybe.’
Germany. From there, he could hop a flight to southern Ireland. Sneak over the border and take a ferry to the mainland. Complicated, but it would avoid having to show his ID at a UK border. Because if anyone was still looking for him and Spud, that would be where security was tightest.
Hardly risk-free. The moment he presented himself at any international border he’d be looking over his shoulder. But there was unfinished business back home. He’d have to take some risks.
He led the man outside. The kid was still flat-out on the desert floor. Danny raised one arm in the direction of the Land Rover, which immediately started trundling towards them. He turned to face the pilot. ‘How much?’
‘Who did you kill?’ Brian avoided the question.
‘What do you mean?’
‘People come to me, usually it’s because they killed someone. So, who did you kill?’
‘You, if you don’t answer the question. How much to Eritrea?’
‘A thousand.’
‘That’s too much. I don’t have it.’
Brian thought for a moment. Then he pointed at Danny’s rifle. ‘You have other weapons?’ he asked.
‘Maybe.’
‘Show me.’
Ordinarily, Danny would have stonewalled a request like that. But he and Spud only had $3,100 between them, and their weapons were fast becoming useless. Spud was past using them, and Danny would almost certainly have to ditch them before they got on to a commercial airline. He held up his Sig, then pointed out the fragmentation grenades, flashbangs and ammo in his ops waistcoat.
‘Okay,’ Brian said. ‘And how much cash?’
‘No cash,’ Danny said, thinking on his feet. ‘Weapons only.’
Brian shook his head, a sickly smile on his face.
‘Fine,’ Danny said. He put his Sig to Brian’s head. ‘I can fly a plane. I’ll just kill you and take your aircraft.’
Brian’s smile dropped. ‘Wait,’ he said quickly. ‘Okay, no cash, just the weapons.’
‘You don’t lay a finger on them while we’re still here,’ Danny said. ‘I leave them in your hut. They’re yours when you get back.’
Brian nodded reluctantly as the Land Rover pulled up alongside them. He peered into the back passenger window and stared at Spud for a few seconds. ‘Is he going to live?’ he asked.
Danny gave him a cold stare, but didn’t answer. ‘Take him to the plane,’ he told Yasser.
Two minutes later, Danny, Yasser and Brian were carefully lifting Spud out of the back seat of the Land Rover and into the Cessna. There were two seats at the rear of the cockpit. Danny laid Spud across them. His mate groaned sharply as Danny positioned him at a 45-degree angle, and his shallow breathing was now more of a hoarse rattle. He checked the cannula. It was still sticking out from Spud’s rib cage, but the skin around it had turned several shades of red and yellow. It didn’t look good. Danny knew that infection could set in at any moment. It would spread through Spud’s weakened body in hours. He needed major surgery. He needed antibiotics. He needed everything Danny couldn’t supply him with.
Once Spud was secured, Danny jumped back down off the Cessna where the others were waiting for him. He unloaded his gear from the Land Rover, then removed his NV goggles and handed them over to Yasser. Yasser looked immensely pleased as he gathered up his new toys in his arms. Less so when Danny pulled out his handgun and grabbed the Bedouin kid by a clump of his hair. He turned to Yasser. ‘I’ve seen where you live,’ he said. ‘If you tell anybody about us, I’ll come back.’ He put the gun to the kid’s head. ‘Understood?’
The kid looked like he was about to scream. Yasser nodded his head violently, and his eyes spun like marbles in a glass.
‘Get out of here,’ Danny said.
They didn’t need telling twice. Father and son scrambled back into the Land Rover and seconds later they screeched off.
‘How long till we take off?’ Danny asked Brian.
‘I need a half hour,’ Brian said, ‘to check the plane.’
Danny gathered up their gear. ‘The rounds from one of these rifles will puncture your fuel tank,’ he said. ‘You try to leave without me, that’s what’ll happen. I’m going to wait for you in the building. Call me when you’re ready.’
Brian gave one of his laconic shrugs, then turned to his aircraft. Danny jogged towards, and entered, the hut. It still stank, even without Brian in it. He looked around in the darkness, his eyes resting on the cluttered desk. He knew what he was looking for.
The laptop looked old and bulky, but it was the handset next to it that attracted Danny’s attention. It was three or four times the size of an ordinary mobile, with a chunky black aerial and – he could only just make this out – the word ‘Iridium’ in white lettering on the front. A sat phone.
He paused for a moment. He had a chance now to call Hereford. Get a casevac set up. Spud might stand a chance then. But he knew that wasn’t really an option. Whoever had tried to kill them back at the training camp had gone to a lot of trouble. If they popped up on the grid now, they’d be dead men. It wasn’t an option.
It took twenty seconds for the sat phone to power up. Its pale green screen glowed in the d
arkness as Danny punched in the code for the UK, followed by a number he knew well.
A pause. Then a ringtone.
Ten seconds passed.
Twenty.
A voice. Male. Groggy. Suspicious.
‘Yeah?’
‘Kyle, it’s me.’
Silence.
‘What the f . . .’
‘Shut up and listen to me carefully. There’s a couple of grand hidden in my flat. Some of it’s in dollars, but if you do what I say, it’s yours. I’ll tell you where it is now. And when I get back, I’ll sort out your problem with the Poles. That’s a promise.’
Danny could hear him lighting up a cigarette at the other end of the phone.
‘Back from where?’ his brother asked.
‘Away. I can’t talk for long. It’s Clara.’
‘Yeah, the posh bitch. What about her?’
He sounded shifty. Danny didn’t know why.
‘I think she’s in danger. I want you to go to her. Take her somewhere safe till I get in touch again. Use the money if you have to. Find a B and B in Wales or somewhere.’
Another pause.
‘Don’t be so fucking stupid,’ Kyle said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, don’t be so fucking stupid. Like that blonde bitch is going to waltz away with me just because I say she should. Fuck’s sake.’ Kyle’s voice grew fainter. He sounded like he was hanging up.
‘Wait,’ Danny hissed. ‘Kyle, wait!’
Silence.
‘What?’
‘Tell her this,’ Danny breathed. ‘Tell her, I’ll stop remembering the things I want to forget. She’ll understand.’
More silence. And then, a cynical laugh. ‘Pass me the fucking puke bag.’
Danny mastered the anger that was rising in him. Even from a distance of thousands of miles, Kyle could wind him up. ‘Listen to me, Kyle,’ he breathed. ‘Do this and your problems are sorted. But if you don’t, trust me, you’ll wish the Poles had got to you first.’
The laughter died away. Danny could picture his brother’s hard, avaricious features.
‘Where’s the money?’ he said.
‘The wardrobe in my bedroom. Under the floor.’
‘Key?’
‘You’ll have to break in. It doesn’t matter. And Kyle, at some point in the next twenty-four hours, someone might tell you I’m dead. Don’t tell them I’m not.’
Kyle fell quiet again. When he did speak, he sounded somehow more subdued. ‘You in trouble?’ he said.
More than you can possibly imagine, Danny thought. But he said: ‘Keep her safe, Kyle. I fucking mean it.’ And then he hung up.
Danny threw the sat phone back on to the table, then ran out to check on the plane. He could still see Brian walking around it, so he hurried back to the table and turned his attention to the old laptop. It took a full two minutes to power up. Danny pulled Abu Ra’id’s data stick from his pocket then plugged it in. A yellow folder appeared on the desktop, simply named ‘Folder 1’.
Double click.
The folder opened, to present a single Quicktime file.
Double click.
Abu Ra’id’s face. Calm. Unflustered. A plain backdrop. Danny recalled the last, horrific video the cleric had been involved with and for a moment wondered if this might be something similar. But moments after he clicked the ‘play’ button, he realised that this wasn’t a message for the world.
It was more personal than that.
The sound quality of the video was poor. A hissing in the background, and Abu Ra’id’s voice was muffled. But they could still understand him.
‘If you are watching this,’ the ghost of Abu Ra’id intoned, ‘then my life is in danger. Perhaps I am already dead.’ A pause. Abu Ra’id stared hard into the camera. ‘Do not weep for me. I go to a place where my rewards will be great. You will join me, when the time is right.’ The cleric cleared his throat, then continued. ‘If they have come for me, they will come for you. With this message I give you a weapon with which to fight them.’
Outside, Danny heard the sound of the Cessna’s propellor firing up. He increased the volume on the laptop.
‘The governments of the West are riddled with treachery and dishonour. You know that this is true. I have taught you how they will be your friend one moment, your enemy the next. How they will destroy you with their bombs, and then shake your hand. The Taliban were once their friends. Then they were their mortal enemy. Soon they will be their friends again.’ Abu Ra’id’s lip curled, as if this inconstancy made him feel nauseous. ‘There is someone in the security services,’ he continued. He shook his head, almost apologetically. ‘I do not know their identity. They have been clever enough to keep it a secret. But for the past six months I have been in contact with this person. Everything I have done, I have done with their full knowledge. They have their reasons for wanting the streets of London to be filled with terror.’
There was a moment of juddering on the film. Abu Ra’id disappeared for a few seconds, leaving Danny to stare at the background. Then he suddenly appeared again, and continued talking almost immediately.
‘We correspond by draft e-mails left on a Gmail account. They are instantly discarded the moment they are read. Only my contact and I have the address and the password, but you will find them in the name of God.’ A piercing stare. ‘You need only send an e-mail stating what you know. My contact will be terrified of this becoming known. They will see to it that you are not harmed.’ He continued to stare straight at the screen. ‘You must not tell them anything about me. And if this weapon does not work, you know what to do.’ A fierce glint entered his eyes. ‘You know what to do.’
He disappeared again. The video stopped.
Danny frowned. He realised that ever since they’d left the training camp, he’d been silently hoping that he’d been wrong. That it had all just been a dreadful mistake they’d been lucky enough to survive. But this message – for his wife, Danny assumed – was confirmation. The smoking gun. The faces of the Hammerstone quartet swam in Danny’s mind. Victoria, with her Muslim husband and the mysterious six-month gap in her CV. Chamberlain, with his right-wing sympathies and links to the royal family. Maddox, attached to the CIA whose motives and activities were a mystery to everyone but themselves.
And Buckingham. Treacherous, sleazy Buckingham, who would do anything to advance himself . . .
‘What you doing with my computer?’ Brian’s voice from the doorway. Aggressive.
Danny pulled the data stick away from the USB port and closed down the laptop. ‘You ready?’
Brian looked like he was spoiling for an argument, but a dangerous look from Danny subdued him. He nodded, then pointed at Danny and Spud’s weapons. ‘You leave them here?’
‘Go and wait by the plane. I’ll meet you there.’
Brian reluctantly left the hut. Danny removed his waistcoat and piled his weapons by the door. He kept his money, his and Spud’s passports, and his medical pack. At the last minute, though, he grabbed back his pistol. He’d have to ditch it before getting off the plane in Eritrea – there were no diplomatic bags now, and they couldn’t simply cross borders armed to the teeth. But he’d feel a little less naked for a little longer if he had at least one firearm. He walked out to the airfield. Brian was climbing into his plane, so Danny jogged towards it.
Danny didn’t trust their pilot even remotely. Nobody trustworthy would be running an operation like this. But right now, Brian was all he had.
20.00hrs GMT
It had been a quiet shift at the hospital. Good thing too. Clara was in no state to think clearly. But now that it was time to go home, she found that she didn’t want to. She spent longer than usual changing out of her hospital gear into her ordinary clothes, which were still damp from her sprint along the Edgware Road that morning. When her colleagues called goodnight to her as she left the wards, she barely heard them. And as she approached the exit to the hospital, she drew a deep breath to steady he
r nerves, before stepping out once more into the drizzle.
It was cold now, as well as wet. Her damp clothes seemed to draw any warmth from her bones. But her pulse was racing nonetheless. She had already decided that she was going to take a taxi home, but there didn’t seem to be any as she stood on the edge of the pavement. As the minutes passed, she just grew colder.
‘Thought you’d never turn up,’ said a voice immediately behind her.
She started and spun round. Shock turned to distaste as she recognised Kyle’s face.
‘What do you want?’ She turned again and made a show of craning out her neck to look for a cab. ‘I’m not giving you any more money. I know you wasted it.’
‘Don’t need your money, love,’ Kyle replied in a maddeningly insulting tone of voice. ‘Got a message for you, that’s all.’
‘Somehow I don’t think so.’
‘Stuck-up bitch, aren’t you?’
She ignored him. She caught sight of the orange ‘For Hire’ light of a black cab about 50 metres up the road and raised one hand to flag it down.
‘It’s from my brother.’
She blinked, then lowered her hand. ‘What?’
‘Gone deaf as well?’
‘Why can’t Danny give me his own messages.’
‘Because he’s a twat. Trust me, love, I’ve known him a lot longer than you.’
‘I’ve told you once not to . . .’
‘Do you want to know what he said, or not?’
She inhaled deeply to calm herself. ‘Go on,’ she said, her voice level.
‘You’re supposed to come with me. You’re in trouble.’
She blinked again. ‘What do you mean? What sort of trouble?’
‘What am I, Derren fucking Brown? I don’t know. He wants me to keep an eye on you, anyway.’
‘You keep an eye on me?’ Clara frowned. She looked directly at Kyle. ‘Have you been following me?’ she asked. ‘Loitering outside my house?’
Kyle gave her a disgusted look. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he said. ‘You think I haven’t got better things to do with my time?’