by Matt Rogers
Over the remainder of their flight time, Lars filled him in with more details as to the nature of the strange incident that had occurred in Somalian territory.
Bryson Reed had single-handedly made himself public enemy number one. His operational objective — at all times, without fail — had been to remain in AMISOM territory, providing the muscle for the peacekeepers as they set about trying to lend assistance in any way, shape or form to the troubling civil war that had plunged the country into anarchy.
He, and the United States government, had no jurisdiction or blessing to venture out into the war-torn city. Lars told King it was a blessing that a handful of troops were allowed into Somalia in the first place. They weren’t supposed to be there, all things considered.
And neither was King.
It explained the unidentifiable cargo plane and the silent way he’d been funnelled into Mogadishu, arriving without any fanfare or notice of any kind. King preferred it this way in any case — if no-one knew who he was or what he was doing there, he had the element of surprise to his advantage.
The more details Lars provided, the more determined King became to get to the bottom of what had unfolded.
As far as he could tell, Reed had landed himself in hot water.
Three days ago, after a shootout at the Port of Mogadishu in the middle of the night, three al-Shabaab militants had showed up to confront Reed at the peacekeepers’ compound.
They had clearly been paid handsomely by shadowy figures at the port to deal with the nosy American and take him out of the equation for good. Reed had been en route to his usual guard shack at the very edge of AMISOM territory when the trio had ambushed him along the side of the road. They’d each received a bullet to the head for their troubles and Reed had voluntarily retreated back to the peacekeeper HQ to quarantine himself until the attention died down.
He was still there today.
As the wheels on the underside of the cargo plane descended with a hollow groan, King fought back a temporary wave of nausea and turned to Lars.
‘So — what is this?’ he said. ‘A recruitment mission, or a rescue mission?’
‘We’re not rescuing him from anything,’ Lars said. ‘He’s a big boy. If he thought he was in danger, he could fly straight out of Mogadishu without a hitch.’
‘So you still want him there?’
‘I want to know more about what he disrupted,’ Lars said. ‘If it warranted that kind of reaction from the dock workers, I think Reed stumbled onto something big. Three bodies isn’t that big of a deal in an active war zone, but the fact that an American did it only amplifies the tension. Apparently there were witnesses. Rumours are spreading that there’s a madman protecting AMISOM peacekeepers. I don’t want the African Union threatened by our man’s actions.’
‘Got it.’
‘And…’ Lars said, recognising that touchdown was imminent. The entire plane rattled and jolted as it touched down on an uneven runway, turning King’s stomach upside-down in the process. ‘Here we are.’
‘Never been to Somalia,’ King said.
‘Nor have I.’
‘I don’t think this counts if you’re staying on the plane.’
‘I’ll accept that.’
‘Are you ever getting on the ground with me?’
Lars took his time to respond, electing to simply sit in silence and stare at the opposite wall of the fuselage. ‘Not anymore, kid.’
‘This used to be your thing?’
‘Just for a brief stint. Didn’t work out so well.’
‘What happened?’
‘Not now. Hate to admit it, but we don’t know each other well enough yet. That’s a story for another time.’
King nodded. ‘Understood.’
The plane trundled to a halt a few minutes later — King spent the time sitting rigid, unable to stop the stress from building up in his chest. It was as if a giant weight were pressing down on his oesophagus, restricting his breathing to the point where it came in sharp, rattling gasps. He masked it from Lars, but he always experienced the same sensations before a live operation.
King knew as well as anyone that an elite operative without a shred of fear was either a liar or mentally unsound. The closeness to death couldn’t be rivalled — a sensation that supercharged his pulse and honed him into whatever lay in front of him like a hungry predator. It had served him well in Mexico, and he hoped it would serve him well here. The icy demeanour of operational preparation settled over him as Lars continued.
‘Your contact has been told to meet us at the airfield,’ he said. ‘She’ll be taking you to the inner sanctum where Reed’s holed up. From there, you do your thing.’
‘She?’
Lars gave a wry smile. ‘Don’t get any ideas.’
‘I didn’t say a thing.’
‘I understand you’re a bit of a womaniser,’ Lars said. ‘Don’t think I’m oblivious to what you did with that DARPA technician back in Wyoming. We all knew.’
‘I wasn’t hiding it. It was just a brief fling.’
‘Well, between that and what I interrupted in Washington, I see you’ve got an insatiable appetite.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘That shit won’t cut it out here. Her name’s Bethany Morris. She’s a Force Recon Marine — one of the four stationed out here to watch over this particular chunk of land.’
‘You’re talking like she’s your daughter. What do you care what happens? For all you know that lady you interrupted me with is my girlfriend.’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’
‘What’s your deal?’
‘Be as much of a playboy as you want on home soil. Anything like that out here will get you distracted and killed.’
‘You seem rather adamant.’
‘I’ve only had you under my wing for a month,’ Lars said. ‘I’m trying to be stern with you.’
‘It’s not working.’
‘I’m not very good at this,’ he admitted.
As the plane’s rear ramp began to descend and the heat filtered into the fuselage in thick, rancid waves, King smirked and unbuckled the straps across his chest. He rose off the seat and clamped a firm hand down on Lars’ shoulder. ‘I’ll keep my hands to myself. Don’t worry.’
‘Good.’
‘You should get a lady yourself. Release some of that tension. Maybe she can crack through that veneer.’
‘Don’t push it.’
King laughed and snatched his duffel bag off the floor. ‘Is this where we say our goodbyes?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
King offered a hand and they shook, holding it for a moment longer than socially acceptable due to the nature of the industry they operated in.
Any handshake had the potential to be their last.
King nodded once to the man he’d rapidly become acquainted with over the last month, his face solemn and his mouth a hard line. He hated this part of the job. It was most of the reason why he’d kept to himself for so long — he didn’t want anyone growing attached to him in the highly likely event that he got himself killed in action.
Nothing about this scenario spelled certain disaster, though — not like Mexico.
King was effectively doing admin work, sorting out the aftermath of a multi-faceted conflict. Crossing the border into Tijuana a month ago had carried the gravity of unavoidable confrontation, but there was a chance he could carry out this operation without laying a single finger on an enemy.
Although somehow he doubted that’s how things would transpire.
He strode past Lars, down the pockmarked metal ramp, and dropped down onto the dusty tarmac. Mogadishu was stiflingly hot, and something in the air signified hostility. The aura of war and blood and filth swirled around everything.
King squinted against the sudden glare and turned to witness an open-topped military jeep roaring across the runway toward their plane.
9
To his surprise, the rear ramp of the cargo plane began
to ascend directly behind him — before the jeep had even reached him. He spun incredulously another one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, staring open-mouthed as the back of the plane sealed itself up again. Then the massive aircraft began to trundle away down the runway, heading for a cluster of ramshackle buildings at the edge of the vast airfield.
King found himself alone in the centre of the tarmac, a single beacon amidst a hot wasteland. He lifted a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the unrelenting sun and waited for the approaching jeep to pull to a halt beside him.
It did so in a literal cloud of burnt rubber, the driver stamping on the brakes like their life depended on slowing down as fast as humanly possible. Smoke wafted off the fat tyres, and when it cleared King found himself face-to-face with a twenty-something woman in a tight black tee and faded military khakis. Her face was a stern mask of hidden emotions and she clearly kept herself in unbelievable shape — a requirement in this line of work. King noted the veins rippling up her forearms as she clasped the wheel with gloved hands. She was tall — at least five foot ten. Her skin was a deep bronze from the African sun and her hair had been bleached a dark shade of blonde by the same conditions, where ordinarily it would have been a light brown.
All in all, King liked what he saw.
He tuned out the distracting thoughts and focused on the task at hand.
‘Where are they going?’ he said, gesturing to the plane without bothering to introduce himself.
The woman raised an eyebrow, as if he had asked the most ridiculous question in the world, and didn’t respond.
King stood frozen on the tarmac, the back of his neck already heating under the sun. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello,’ she said, her voice calm.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘I heard you. Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
King spun and pointed to the rear of the rapidly fading cargo plane. ‘Where’s it going? The plane.’
‘What plane?’
King understood what was happening. ‘Oh. Right. We’re keeping everything on the down low?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a hapless civilian I happened to stumble across,’ the woman said. ‘And we’ll keep it that way. Nobody’s told me who you are, but you’re allowed to do whatever you want.’
‘Bethany?’ King said.
The woman froze. ‘Beth. How’d you know?’
‘My handler told me.’
‘Who’s your handler?’
‘I don’t think I’m supposed to share that information.’
‘Whatever. Get in.’
King hurled the duffel bag into the rear of the vehicle and clambered into the passenger seat alongside Beth. Before he’d even begun to swing the door shut, she stamped on the accelerator, throwing him against the seat back as the jeep roared off the mark. He shot her a dark look and wrenched the seatbelt across his chest, securing it into place just in case.
She glanced across to meet his gaze. ‘I don’t think the seatbelt’s necessary.’
‘I’ll take my chances,’ King said.
‘Something against women drivers?’
‘Something against you.’
She smirked and veered radically off the runway, taking a dusty trail overgrown with weeds and roots. The jeep bounced and rattled as it battled the terrain. King reached out and seized the handhold on the inside of the passenger door, stabilising himself.
‘If you’re this worried about crashing,’ Beth said, ‘then I don’t know what you’re here to do.’
‘How do you know what I’m here to do? I could be a computer technician.’
She looked him up and down. ‘You’re not a computer technician.’
‘Just keep your eyes on the road,’ he said. ‘You might not be happy I’m here but that doesn’t mean you have to get us both killed.’
‘Do you know Reed?’ Beth said.
King kept his mouth shut.
‘Answer me,’ she said, her tone demanding.
‘What makes you think I’m here for Reed?’
‘Despite the danger of the region, there’s really not that much going on out here. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I was sent to pick up a mysterious government operative being smuggled into the country through a cargo route just a couple of days after one of our own shot up a trio of radical militants.’
‘Is that all you know about what Reed did?’
‘Is that all I know?’ she said incredulously. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. He was basically sprinting around the complex telling everyone within earshot what he’d discovered at the port. I don’t know why he did it. It’s how all the trouble started in the first place. He’s an idiot.’
‘Is he prone to mistakes like that?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s our best man. Which is why all this is so surprising.’
‘Does he know that he messed up?’
‘He does now.’
‘What’s his reaction been like?’
‘Look,’ she said, lifting a hand off the driver’s seat in a stop-right-there gesture. ‘I don’t know you well enough to get personal. I don’t know who you are, or what kind of influence you have. I’ve been told to cooperate with you but I’m not about to go spilling everything I think about this situation. You could be a goddamn assassin for all I know. So sit there, shut up, and wait until we get to the base. Then you can question Reed all you want. I don’t want to be wrapped up in this bullshit.’
King shrugged. ‘Whatever suits you best.’
The jeep trundled through what had once been an industrial district, abandoned long ago and cast into ruins by the civil war. Weeds choked everything in sight, spilling over from the rundown airport they’d just exited. Realising that he hadn’t assessed where he’d landed, King craned his neck back to get a good look at the long, disused stretch of tarmac they were leaving behind.
The cargo plane that had deposited him unceremoniously in the middle of the runway had stalled at one end of the space, pausing near a low building. King assumed it was the terminal.
‘Civilian airport?’ he said, even though he recognised the ridiculousness of his own question.
Beth scoffed. ‘Besides crates of supplies and the odd shadowy military individual like yourself, I don’t think a visitor has passed through that building in a decade. The pilots and crewmen unload their gear, and then they’re gone. If it’s important cargo, we’ll be sent across to safeguard the transaction. Too much opportunity to gain some side profits by force out here.’
‘Sounds like fun work.’
‘There’s nothing fun about this place.’
‘I was joking.’
‘I know. But I want you prepared for the climate. I don’t know what office you came from stateside, but everyone out here is looking to kill you. I mean everyone. Once you step off AMISOM territory you paint a target on your back to anyone in the area.’
‘Don’t worry,’ King said, thinking of Mexico. ‘I’m used to that.’
‘I’m sure you are…’
‘You don’t seem to be a fan.’
‘I don’t know you. Why on earth would I be a fan?’
King shrugged, and said nothing. ‘You’re unusually hostile.’
‘This is an unusually hostile place,’ she said. ‘Get used to it.’
King’s gaze instinctively flickered over to a shadow on the edge of his peripheral vision. He felt the natural processes kicking in, his muscles tensing themselves like coiled springs. Beth’s incessant warnings, coupled with the hasty nature at which he had been thrust into this uncomfortable situation, had set him on edge. He darted his attention across a handful of demolished structures, some barely hanging onto themselves. There was rubble everywhere, and plenty of vantage points for enemy combatants to conceal themselves.
In the open-topped jeep, he shivered. They were seriously exposed.
‘Has this place been cleared?’
Beth shot a glance at him. ‘What do you mean?�
�
’What if we get our heads blown off on the way to base camp?’
‘They’re not fighting for this area,’ she said with a smirk, as if he had asked the dumbest question in human history. ‘It’s clear.’
‘How far are we?’ he said, suddenly nervous.
She looked at him. ‘I thought you were here to clean things up.’
‘I am.’
‘Well, you look like you’re shitting yourself. I can’t say it’s reassuring.’
‘I’m fine,’ he said.
‘You sure?’
‘Just drive.’
They made it through the thickest parts of the industrial district and onto open ground, which served to expose them even further. Despite King’s heightened state of awareness, he hadn’t seen a soul so far. Nothing changed as the scenery shifted to vast fields strewn with overgrown grass, debris and piles of rubble. He caught a glimpse of the coastline, facing the Indian Ocean, pale blue and sparkling underneath the Somalian sun. King marvelled at how the water could look like paradise in a region as war-torn and dangerous as this. Then the sea disappeared as Beth steered the jeep back into the destroyed city, passing through a residential neighbourhood that had seen better days.
‘This is the most dangerous stretch,’ she said. ‘Because it’s populated. Keep your eyes peeled.’
King already had his concentration directed at their surroundings, but saw nothing of alarm. They sped past a handful of civilians who were preoccupied with simply staying alive, and then they left the collapsing houses behind to mount a potholed trail that twisted and wound into an open expanse of land in a similar state of disrepair as everything King had already observed.
‘That’s it?’ he said, gesturing to the compound that had just become visible in the centre of the grassy fields.
Beth nodded. ‘We haven’t been there for long. The peacekeepers haven’t been allowed in these parts until the last year. We’re far enough away from Mogadishu’s centre to warrant establishing a base. It’s our job as Force Recon Marines to keep them secure while they go about their business.’
‘What does their business involve?’ King said.
Beth shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t have a clue. I’m focused on security, just like the rest of them are.’