‘There he is. Get him.’
It was Patrick’s rough voice. A figure jumped out of the front truck, followed by a group of thugs with weapons.
Jim sprinted in the opposite direction, leaping over cooking fires, pushing people out of his way. He glanced over his shoulder at his pursuers. At one point, he thought he’d lost them and stopped to get his breath back. His heart pounded and his legs shook from the adrenaline. But then he heard a shout, and was running again.
The sound of spinning blades cut the air. Three large choppers descended over the camp. Probably more reinforcements for Harry’s private army here. The wind from the choppers sent tents and pots flying. The IDPs screamed and scampered around, trying to grab onto their belongings.
Jim kept running until he emerged on what seemed to be a path going through the camp. He looked left and right, trying to decide which way to go. Vehicle lights appeared from both sides. The shouting behind him was closer. He turned. The lights of powerful torches bobbed around as his pursuers gained ground.
A voice came through on a megaphone from one of the approaching vehicles. ‘Stop right there. You’re cornered.’
Blocked behind and to either side, Jim peered ahead towards his only escape route.
‘Put your hands in the air,’ the voice said.
Behind him, Patrick burst through the row of tents just metres away and pointed his gun at him. ‘Freeze!’
Jim dived across the path, hitting the ground hard. He rolled to his feet and rushed ahead. Bullets shot past him. He stopped. Ahead of him was a three-metre high fence stretching out for hundreds of metres in both directions. If he tried to climb it, they would shoot him. He spun round. Dozens of militiamen were piling out of the vehicles and heading towards him from all sides. Patrick led them, shining his flashlight straight into Jim’s eyes, forcing him to shield his face against the glare.
‘Hands in the air, Jim. The chase is up,’ Patrick said.
Jim dropped his rifle. He raised his arms, narrowing his eyes against the light. Patrick and two militiamen came up and frisked him. They forced him to the ground, pushing his face into the dirt so hard that Jim gasped for breath.
‘Thought you’d escape so easily?’ Patrick jammed his knee into the small of Jim’s back. ‘Time to teach you a little lesson.’
A knife dug into Jim’s cheek. He grunted.
‘This is just a taster.’ Patrick hissed into his ear. ‘You’re going to die a slow death, my friend. Now for the other cheek.’ He twisted Jim’s head round.
But the next cut never came. There was the chug of machinegun fire. Patrick shuddered and went limp, collapsing onto Jim. Around him, people screamed and fell to the floor. Jim rolled over and grabbed the flashlight that had fallen from Patrick’s hand. He shone it at Patrick and recoiled in revulsion. Patrick’s head was a mass of blood and brains. The top of his skull had been ripped off by high velocity bullets.
There was more machinegun fire and an explosion. One of the technicals disappeared in a ball of fire. Some guards standing next to it screamed and collapsed to their knees, their clothes burning, turning them into human torches.
IDPs ran in all directions, shrieking and shouting. Mothers dragged their children behind them. Men attacked the militiamen and beat them to the ground with sticks.
Jim crawled away from the battle scene. He hid next to a hut. His face hurt where Patrick had cut him. Every breath caused a sharp pain in his ribcage.
A riot erupted across the camp. Groups of IDPs piled onto the militia, who tried to beat them away.
But where had the heavy machinegun fire come from? And what had caused the vehicle to blow up?
Jim had to make the most of the confusion. He struggled to his feet and gathered his bearings. He was sure he was still close to the plane. He stumbled through groups of IDPs cowering in groups next to their huts. The fighting receded.
He came to the large tent.
There was a small cry. He went behind the tent and shone his flashlight. Maxine was crouching, trembling, her clothes ripped and her face streaked with tears and dirt. She flinched when Jim approached.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘It’s only me.’
He shone the light onto his face to help her recognise him. He knelt down and wrapped his arm round her.
‘What happened to you?’ she cried, her hand going out to touch his cheek.
Jim winced. ‘Don’t touch please. It kinda hurts. What about you?’
‘They found us, and the IDP. They shot Abdullah.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes. And my sister.’ Maxine’s eyes went cold. ‘Harry murdered her, in Cambridge. He told me.’
The gunfire was closer. Jim lifted Maxine to her feet and pulled her behind him, towards the tent’s exit.
‘We’ll talk later,’ he said. ‘First, we need to get out of here.’
They lifted the tent’s exit flap.
And came face to face with Harry.
Chapter 55
Maslah IDP Camp, Somalia
30 September 2003
Harry pointed his gun at Jim’s head and pushed them back into the tent.
‘Going somewhere?’ he said.
‘Mr Geriff,’ Jim said.
Harry halted. ‘What did you call me?’
‘Adam Geriff. I know all about you.’
‘Do you now?’
‘I know all about your drug smuggling in Afghanistan. About your face surgery. About your dodgy dealings at Universal Action.’
‘How did you find that out, Jimmy boy?’
Jim could feel Maxine gripping his arm. He didn’t know whether she was angry or scared. Probably both. He had to buy more time, keep Harry speaking, wait for an opening.
‘Remember a woman called Carrie in Afghanistan?’
‘The cute little war journalist? The one who died in that tragic accident?’
‘She was my wife.’
‘Was she now?’ Harry laughed. ‘Oh dear. She sure did plead before she fell down that cliff.’
Jim pushed Maxine away.
Harry looked at her for a split second, but that was long enough for Jim to act. He lashed out with his left hand and knocked the gun out of Harry’s grip. In the same motion, he stepped forward and smashed his elbow into Harry’s jaw. There was a sharp crack. Harry grunted.
Jim brought his right hand round Harry’s neck and yanked down, crashing Harry’s face into his knee. There was another crack as Harry’s nose splintered and broke. Jim followed this with a second knee strike.
But Harry twisted out of Jim’s grip and spun to the side, heading for the gun in the dirt. As he did so, Maxine tripped him. He fell and rolled. Jim dived for the gun. His fingers wrapped round the handle. He jumped to his feet.
‘Jim!’
It was Maxine warning him. Too late. Jim felt a large blow on his back. He crumpled to his knees, steadying himself with his hands on the ground. His head was spinning. Small white points of light danced in front of his eyes. A sharp pain shot up his back to the base of his neck.
Maxine cried out. Jim let himself fall flat on his face. Something swept past where his head would have been. He twisted round. Harry was holding a large plank of wood, getting ready to attack again. Harry lifted it above his head and swung it towards Jim, who rolled sideways, narrowly missing having his head split in two.
Harry cursed. Then his eyes caught onto something. Jim glanced in the same direction. The gun was lying there, on the ground, a few metres away, just out of reach. He must have dropped it when Harry whacked him in the back. Harry stepped forward, picked up the weapon and was turning it towards Jim when Maxine hurled herself at him, sending him sprawling. The gun landed at her feet.
She it picked up and fired two shots.
Harry screamed and clutched his legs, writhing on the floor. Jim staggered to his feet. He bent over Harry and pushed him face down. He searched him and found handcuffs in his pocket. He knelt on Harry’s back, pulled Harry’s hands behi
nd him and handcuffed them. Maxine handed him a flashlight, which he shone onto Harry. His legs were a bloodied mess.
‘Shot him in the kneecaps,’ Maxine said.
‘You saved my life.’
‘I guess that makes up for last time.’ She pointed the gun at Harry. ‘Why don’t we just kill him?’
Before Jim could answer, the tent flap burst open and four white mercenaries marched in, assault rifles aimed straight at them. Jim raised his hands. Maxine dropped the gun and did the same. Two mercenaries picked up Harry’s now unconscious body, dragging it by the arms out of the tent. The other two mercenaries kept their weapons pointed at Jim and Maxine. They left as quickly as they’d arrived, leaving Jim and Maxine staring at each other in shock.
Chapter 56
Maslah IDP Camp, Somalia
30 September 2003
Abdi’s bad leg was in agony. He’d injured it again when the two mercenaries pushed him towards the plane, handcuffed, tripping him over as he tried to climb in. They were sitting next to him now, a pair of thugs with muscles bulging under their black vests, which had the same symbol depicting two rifles and a shield that Abdi had noticed on the white men who had been part of the attack on his camp. Despite the dim light inside the aircraft, the mercenaries put on their wraparound sunglasses. The one who kept on shouting at the other one—he must have been the leader of the two—had a black bandana wrapped around his head and a short beard. Mercenaries, militiamen, soldiers… they were all bandits in Abdi’s view.
He leant his head back and closed his eyes. He had no idea where they were taking him, but he knew they thought he was important. Otherwise, he’d be dead by now. He twisted in his seat. Othman was right behind him, next to an unconscious white man whose legs were covered in blood. Othman gave Abdi a sinister smile and tapped the mercenary with the beard on the shoulder.
Beard turned round and chatted to Othman. Every so often, they glanced at the unconscious man. They shook hands. Othman drew a large wodge of dollar bills from his pocket and handed them to Beard, who meticulously counted them. He handed some to his partner, who nodded.
Beard passed a hunting knife and a ring of keys to Othman. Both mercenaries got up and moved forward to the passenger seats right behind the pilot, who started the engine. They put on headphones and didn’t look back.
Abdi’s heart was racing. Rivers of sweat poured down his face and neck despite the cool air inside. He was on his own, in the back of a plane, handcuffed, with one of the most vicious, bloodthirsty and vengeful warlords in Somalia’s history, who now had a knife.
Abdi looked round slowly. Othman had unlocked his own handcuffs and drawn the knife from its scabbard. He was gazing at the unconscious white man with narrow eyes, oblivious to everything else around him. Othman lifted the knife and plunged it to the hilt into the white man’s chest. The white man shuddered, opened his eyes wide, and thrashed around, clutching at the knife’s handle. Othman placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and tugged the knife out, then brought it down, again and again in the man’s chest and face. Blood spurted everywhere, covering the white man’s clothes, the seats, Othman’s hands and arms, and dripping onto the floor.
Still Othman kept going.
Abdi took a deep breath.
He’d only have one chance.
And that was now.
He spun round, ignoring the pain in his leg. He raised his handcuffed hands above his head. Othman didn’t notice him, too focused on tearing apart the corpse in front of him. Abdi wrapped his wrists round Othman’s neck, with the chain of the handcuffs acting as a garrotte. He tugged. Othman was yanked backwards, leaving the knife implanted in the white man’s disfigured face. Othman’s hands went to his neck. He tried to free himself from Abdi’s stranglehold. But Abdi kept on tightening. Othman spluttered and gasped.
Othman’s hands reached over his head in an attempt at grabbing Abdi. His nails clawed into Abdi’s cheeks. Abdi leaned backwards and kept tightening. Othman’s legs jerked everywhere, kicking the seats and the corpse.
Abdi tightened one more time. He felt the chain of the handcuffs dig deep into Othman’s neck.
Othman went limp.
Abdi held on for a few moments more, then let go. He lifted his handcuffed hands over Othman’s head and let the body slump across the seat as the plane lifted off. He fumbled around in Othman’s pocket and found the ring of keys. One of them fitted his handcuffs. He undid them and looked up.
The two mercenaries had turned round in their seats. They were staring at him, their jaws hanging, their eyes wide.
Chapter 57
Nairobi, Kenya
30 September 2003
‘Name is Nicolas Relat, Secretary General of Interpol,’ said the short man in the beige suit and the heavy French accent as soon as the door to the plane opened. ‘And these are my colleagues from the Kenyan bureau.’ He gestured to four Kenyans in blue uniforms and caps who were standing behind him on the tarmac.
‘What do you want?’ Jim said, helping Maxine down and eyeing Nicolas suspiciously.
‘I want to know what happened.’
Jim glanced at Maxine, who was steadying herself against the plane. Her face looked pale even in the dim light.
‘It’s a long story,’ Jim said.
Nicolas put his hand on Jim’s shoulder. He had a gentle face and a friendly smile. Not exactly the stereotype of an international police chief.
‘That’s okay,’ Nicolas said. ‘We’ve got time. Come this way.’
Jim didn’t move. ‘I want you to confirm you’ve cancelled the Orange Notice against me.’
‘It was a mistake. I’m sorry. Edward was blackmailing one of our senior staff. All that’s sorted. Come on. Let’s speak inside over a coffee.’
He led them towards a single storey stone building next to a hangar full of parked planes. A familiar figure walked towards them.
‘Fabienne,’ Maxine said, running towards her with open arms. They hugged each other like long lost friends. That made a change from last time they’d been together, Jim thought.
‘Fabienne’s been a great asset,’ Nicolas said, hands on hips and looking approvingly at Fabienne. ‘She’s been feeding us valuable information from the field. It’s been risky for her, very risky. We did everything we could to prevent Harry from finding out about her.’
Fabienne came over and hugged Jim. ‘I’m so glad you made it,’ she said.
Jim couldn’t answer. His thoughts went back to Andrew’s killing in the IDP camp. Andrew and Fabienne had seemed close.
Nicolas turned to Jim as they kept walking, leaving the Kenyan police behind them. ‘So, what happened in Maslah camp?’
‘We went in to stop Harry and find this escaped IDP who’d witnessed the massacres. Next thing we knew, there was a pitched battle going on between MainShield and Othman. A bloodbath.’
‘MainShield thought Harry was double-crossing them,’ Nicolas said. ‘He hadn’t paid up. Harry went off to Maslah to meet Othman. So MainShield went looking for Harry, and ended up in an argument with Othman’s bunch. Hence the battle.’
‘How do you know?’
‘From a source at UA.’
‘What’s the plan now?’ Jim said. ‘I expect you’re dismantling UA.’
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that.’ Nicolas pushed the door to enter the building. They sat around a wooden table. An elderly Kenyan woman served them coffee in large mugs. ‘Universal Action isn’t being dismantled as such.’
‘After all the damage they’ve done?’
‘It’s not all of UA that’s at fault. A lot of what it does is still very good.’
‘So what are you going to do? Put in place a new CEO and let them keep on as before?’
‘UA’s going to have an interim CEO and be absorbed into the UN, probably by UNDP.’
Jim nodded. The United Nations Development Programme did seem like the logical part of the UN structure to manage Universal Action.
Nicolas knitt
ed his eyebrows. ‘The real problem is that UA’s financially bust. Edward bled it dry. Private jets, limousines, a massive fundraising concert that’s now been cancelled. Then there are all the donations that disappeared into a maze of Swiss bank accounts.’
‘Just like a typical Third World dictator,’ Jim said. ‘How did they get away with it for so long?’
‘The problem was that we couldn’t find any dirt on Edward or Harry. That is, until we found out who Harry really was.’
‘Who told you?’ Jim asked.
‘Our source at UA.’
‘Let me guess: Jenny, Edward’s PA.’
‘She first sent us some intel a couple of days ago. She had access to all of Edward’s files and emails. And she had excellent contacts at MainShield. We weren’t sure if we could trust her at first, but soon realised it all made sense.’
‘So what did she tell you about Harry?’
‘That he and Adam Geriff were the same person. We didn’t know that, even though we had a Red Notice out for Geriff’s prosecution last year. He’d been running a heroin ring from Helmand Province, a huge poppy producing region. He’d fallen out with a heroin warlord. Your wife must have found out about it, which is why she hitched a ride.’
Jim gripped the handle of the mug so hard his knuckles went white. ‘She should have told me. I’d have helped her. We could have worked on the story together.’
‘Adam Geriff—or should I say Harry—outsmarted the warlord. He’d deliberately leaked the news of his mission so that there’d be an ambush. He called in an airstrike that blew the warlord and his men sky high. But the top brass found out. So he escaped, changed his identity, and joined Universal Action.’
Jim took a deep breath. Images of Carrie crowded into his mind. He pushed them away. ‘How did she die?’
‘Harry pushed her off the cliff. One of his soldiers, the medic, saw him do it.’
‘So there was a witness after all.’ Jim felt tears welling in his eyes. ‘And you knew about Geriff killing Carrie. Why did nobody tell me this?’
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