Benji nodded and glanced over his shoulder, back in the direction of where they’d travelled from the new phosphate mine that was being built. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Anna. ‘You saw the same data as me. We’re in trouble.’
Benji cursed, a low hiss escaping between his teeth. ‘Okay. Let’s pack.’
They shouldered their bags in unison and hurried towards the temporary structures that comprised the mining camp set up for the construction phase of the new development.
The announcement of the discovery of a new phosphate deposit had brought workers from far and wide, desperate to earn good money from the mine. Although touted as a way to encourage the local Sahrawi people into employment and improve their prospects, in truth it was mostly ex-pat Moroccan workers who filled many of the roles on offer, eager to send more money home over the border.
The workers were housed in the main part of the mining camp, a sprawling metropolis of square cabins that resembled shipping containers stacked three high, towering over their occupants as they traipsed to and from work at sunrise and sunset.
Foreign nationals – the Westerners from the mining company and their guests – were housed in more luxurious accommodation at the front of the main camp.
Anna led the way through the small patchy garden that had been planted by some of the workers near the entrance to the reception building, her mind working in overdrive as she tried to contain her fear.
Running would only draw attention, and they couldn’t risk that – not yet.
Before they reached the coolness of the reception block, they turned right and passed through an archway.
Beyond, yellow grass and scrubby trees framed a collection of twelve bungalows; concrete and tin roof structures that offered running water and air conditioning, perfect for the use of the client’s management and guests such as Anna and Benji who were working at the mine on short-term stays.
‘Wait,’ said Benji, grabbing Anna’s arm. ‘Before we split up.’
‘What?’ She frowned as he rummaged in the side of his laptop case.
He held out a USB stick. ‘Take this. It’s everything we found out. You know the important stuff, the codes and everything, but this is the documentary evidence.’
Anna’s hand shook as she took the USB from him. ‘Why am I taking this? You’ve got all the evidence on your laptop, right?’
‘Back-up. I didn’t have time to copy this to your laptop at site. Download it the minute you get back to your room,’ he said. He swallowed. ‘In case you’re right and anything happens, and we get split up.’
‘Did you email this back to our head office?’
‘The connection was dreadful. I think some of it got through.’ His face fell. ‘But given what we know, I can’t guarantee the email will reach them without being intercepted. I used the encryption key I told you about, but—’
Anna nodded. Neither of them was prepared to voice their fears. ‘See you in a bit.’ She tucked the USB into her jeans pocket and jogged towards the bungalow at the far end.
With a bar just off the reception area, and the tendency for the ex-pat workers to get rowdy after a day’s work, she’d intentionally chosen accommodation as far away from the main building as possible.
The trees above provided some relief from the day’s heat, and as she climbed the steps up to the wooden porch and wiggled her key into the door lock, she breathed a sigh of relief as the coolness from the air conditioning enveloped her.
She locked the door behind her, shot the bolt across, and dropped her backpack on the bed.
She pulled her laptop from her backpack, logged on, and plugged in the USB stick.
While the files uploaded, she eyed the bathroom longingly but realised there was no time for the luxury of a shower. She shrugged the high-visibility orange shirt off her shoulders, replaced it with a plain black t-shirt, and tied a sweatshirt round her waist. Next, she packed the remainder of her clothes, not worrying about folding anything, and threw shampoo and bottles of sunscreen into her suitcase.
It didn’t take long – she and Benji were only meant to be in the country for three weeks to conclude an audit they’d started from the relative luxury of their Rotterdam offices.
Her eyes fell to the laptop screen. The download complete, she closed down the computer and put it back in her bag, then took the USB stick, placed it on the floor, and crushed it under her heel.
She collected the fragments, then hurried to the bathroom, wrapped them in toilet paper, and flushed them.
Anna thought back to the phone call she’d had with her father two hours ago. When Benji had knocked on her temporary office door and showed her the data on his laptop screen, panic had set in as she realised they’d uncovered much more than a simple hacking theft.
She’d risen from her desk and slammed the door shut, before she and Benji had had a heated conversation about what to do next. She knew that whoever had set the plan in motion had likely installed an alarm on the system that would warn of any unwanted attention, and given the level of intricacy involved, would also be able to pinpoint their exact location.
After ten minutes, Benji had agreed to her plan.
The phone lines in Western Sahara were notoriously bad, and when they couldn’t get through to their office, Anna had managed to phone her father in Arizona, the relief bringing tears to her eyes when she heard his voice.
He’d agreed with her assumptions and told them to pack and leave as soon as possible. Anna’s father had connections – he’d do everything he could to have someone meet them at the airport and see them to safety.
All they had to do was get to the airport at Laâyoune.
Since then, Anna had tried to phone him with updates, but her calls had gone straight to voicemail.
Anna returned to the bedroom, finished packing her suitcase, and zipped the lid shut. She smoothed out the creases in the fresh bed linen and checked the room.
None of her belongings remained in sight.
She checked her watch again. Five more minutes until she was due to meet Benji.
They’d hired a small sedan when they’d landed at the occupied country’s only international airport three weeks ago, and it had remained in the mining camp’s parking lot since their arrival. A sickness filled her with dread as she realised the engine might not start; she knew how temperamental vehicles could be in harsh climates and cursed her own oversight at not checking the oil and coolant levels on a regular basis.
A loud shout interrupted her thoughts, and she edged to the window, peering through the net curtains.
She stifled a scream.
A group of men were standing at the entrance to the grove that shaded the bungalows, assault rifles cradled in their hands, their camouflage fatigues leaving no doubt as to the reason for their presence. As one, they aimed at a crowd of workers who were running wide-eyed from the main camp and attempting to run between the buildings to escape the armed men.
The panicked screams and shouts of the construction workers grew louder as gunfire pierced the air, the people at the back of the crowd falling to the dirt as they were cut down behind their stumbling co-workers.
Anna’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the window frame and shrank back into the shadows of the room, unable to tear her eyes away from the carnage.
As the men with the weapons grew closer, they stopped firing, and the crowd tore through the shrubs that separated the grove from the car park beyond the main entrance, disappearing from sight, the shock in their voices still audible.
Anna cursed under her breath.
The militia had worked faster than she’d given them credit for. No doubt the alarm had been raised when she and Benji had first discovered the security breach, which meant that their fears were founded and that they had been under surveillance.
She tugged the curtains closed and switched off the air conditioning, then pushed her suitcase under the bed and pulled the counterpane down
until it concealed the luggage. Next, she pulled out her mobile phone, turned it onto silent and disabled the vibration option, then punched in the speed dial to her father’s Arizona ranch.
She noticed the spinning ceiling fan, and killed the switch next to her shoulder while a distant dialling tone reached her ears.
She swore as it went to voicemail, and ended the call.
She almost dropped the phone as two loud gunshots reverberated through the complex.
‘No,’ she murmured.
She edged back towards the window, and knelt before tweaking the lower edge of the curtain to one side. She covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself from crying out as Benji’s struggling form was dragged from his room by two men and dumped on the small wooden covered deck that surrounded the bungalow.
He was bleeding from a wound in his leg, screaming in agony and terror before one of the men aimed a gun at his face and pulled the trigger.
Anna whimpered, dropped the curtain back into place, and scurried across the room. As she passed her daypack on the floor next to the bed, she grabbed it, swinging it over her shoulder, and then headed for the bathroom.
She crouched on the tiled floor and hit the speed dial for her father once more. It rang three times, and her mind filled with images of the satellite phone that sat in a cradle in her father’s office when he wasn’t patrolling the ranch, overseeing the business of a busy operation.
She forced back tears as the ring tone died, replaced with a single, lonesome beep, and hung up.
Shouts from outside reached her ears, and she realised she was rapidly running out of time.
Anna tucked the phone into the side pocket of her backpack and turned her attention to the small window above the sink.
She wrapped her fingers around the metal latch and pulled.
It didn’t move.
She swore under her breath, positioned herself so she was wedged against the vanity unit with her feet planted each side of the sink, and tried again, pushing her legs against the unit while she pulled with as much strength as she could muster.
She gasped as the latch gave a little under her touch, re-positioned herself, and pulled, gritting her teeth.
The latch shifted in its mounting, a small amount of dried paint spilling over the sink as the metal fastening gave way.
Anna’s attention moved to the frame, a wooden surface thickly caked in layers of paint. She placed her palms against it, and shoved.
It held firm.
She froze at a shout from below the bathroom window, and held her breath.
An order was barked, further away, and then footsteps retreated from the bungalow.
Did they hear me?
She counted to ten and then exhaled and turned her attention back to the task at hand, desperation seizing her as she realised her life depended on being able to hide – and fast.
The voices outside convinced her that any attempt to escape would be futile. She’d be located and killed, just like Benji, within seconds.
She bit back tears at the thought of the terror he must have felt as the armed men had burst into his room and tried to focus her anger and fear at the window frame under her touch.
‘Come on,’ she hissed under her breath, and pushed once more.
She forced herself to block out the terrifying sounds emanating from beyond her bungalow and instead used the heel of her hand to punch the window, inching it away from years of encrusted mould.
Terrified, she swore under her breath, and then shoved with both hands.
The window frame gave way so fast that she almost fell backwards onto the bathroom tiles. For a few precious seconds, she stood with her hands either side of the sink, breathing hard.
Another shout from outside, followed by a single gunshot, galvanised her into action.
They were searching the bungalows, one by one, killing anyone who stood in their way.
A moan escaped her lips, and her father’s voice echoed in her head.
If you’re ever caught up in a terrorist attack, don’t try to run unless it’s safe. Hide. Keep your head down. Stay quiet.
Anna swept her backpack up off the floor and tossed it onto the vanity unit before scrambling up.
She edged the window open wider and grimaced as the hinges placed along the top length of the wooden frame squeaked.
Her heartbeat thumping in her ears, she strained to hear any movement beyond the back of the bungalow.
Screams and shouting, closely followed by more gunfire, echoed across the main camp, but she saw no one emerge from behind the building.
Anna’s head jerked up at the sound of a loud crash against the front door of the bungalow, and she leapt up and pushed open the bathroom window, her dusty handprints visible up the wall.
She dived for the small opening and began to wiggle her way through, head first.
She cursed under her breath as her hip scraped the edges of the frame, and then forced herself back, trying to wiggle her way through the narrow gap. She twisted her shoulders until she could slide the top half of her body through, and then tried to twist around.
Her belt caught on the frame, the woodwork digging into her flesh.
She bit her lip, knowing that if she cried out, the armed men would find her within seconds.
She gritted her teeth and pushed again, but she couldn’t get through the gap.
Defeated, she wiggled backwards until her knees met the surface of the vanity unit, and then lowered herself to the floor. She rummaged in the side pocket of her backpack and pulled out her mobile phone, leaned against the sink, and pressed the speed dial for her father’s number once more.
At last, she got a signal, and then her father’s voicemail message reached her ears. She took a deep breath.
‘Dad? Tell Mom I’m sorry. I love you.’
CHAPTER 3
Nasir Abbas hurried after the tall Englishman, his robe hitched up so he could move his feet with ease and keep pace with the man’s long strides.
He muttered under his breath, a steady stream of Arabic that cursed Dan and his good luck. He’d been warned the man was a highly trained operative, but he’d seen nothing in the past two weeks he’d been observing him that suggested anything other than a typical Englishman on holiday.
The man drank beer, hung out with his neighbours in the harbour, and without fail walked to the same café and convenience store every day.
He’d lost track of the Englishman in France several months ago, the man’s boat disappearing from its moorings under cover of darkness, and it had taken several weeks of hard work and extortionate bribes to relocate him.
How he’d escaped the explosion on the boat was unprecedented.
Abbas clenched his fist as he paused several paces behind the man at a busy intersection and feigned interest in a display of kitchenware at one of the shop fronts lining the street.
He glanced over his shoulder, in time to see Dan jog across the road.
He cursed, waved away the shopkeeper that approached, mumbled something about running late, and dashed after his quarry.
He slowed as he crossed the street, taking his time, aware of the need to keep the drivers of the passing vehicles happy so they didn’t sound their horns at him and draw unwanted attention.
Abbas reached the other side and stayed in the shadows, his eyes never leaving Dan’s back as he turned right and into a busy marketplace.
He was easy to track, being much taller than any of the locals and most of the tourists that flocked around the stalls. It was just as well – the narrow pedestrianised street was packed with people bartering over fruit and vegetables, or browsing through the souvenirs that covered blankets and rugs laid out on the floor.
The town’s streets criss-crossed each other in a style reminiscent of European urban planning, yet it was still possible to become disorientated within the labyrinth of buildings.
When he’d first arrived, Abbas had relied on the wider thoroughfares to get his bearings;
if he found himself lost, he simply walked until he reached one of the wider, busier streets, then set off once more.
His planning had paid off; now, he walked the streets as confidently as a local.
He jumped at a loud call to his left as an elderly merchant pulling a handcart laden with fruit bellowed at pedestrians to let him through the throng, before a goat scampered past, a young boy yelling at it as he pushed past Abbas and disappeared from view.
Up ahead, the Englishman had stopped at one of the stalls as if to get his bearings and then darted off towards the left.
Abbas hurried to catch up, in time to see the man disappear up a narrow side street.
He hung back, seeing that the road was too narrow, with doorways opening right into the thoroughfare, and nowhere to hide if the man turned – Abbas would be too exposed.
Instead, he waited impatiently while Dan strolled unhurriedly along the street as if relishing the shade while he could. At the end of the street, a flight of stairs led up to the next street where traffic flashed past, and here he turned right.
Abbas ran as fast as he could, his sandals kicking up dust as he manoeuvred his significant bulk along the street and towards the steps. Halfway up, his heart pounding, his breathing ragged, he wondered at the irony if he should drop dead from a heart attack whilst in pursuit.
He reached the top of the steps and staggered to a halt, searching the crowded path for the Englishman. His breath escaped his lips in loud pants, and he glared at a woman who stared at him as she passed.
She quickly lowered her eyes, readjusted her headscarf around her face, and hurried away.
Abbas swallowed. If he’d lost the Englishman now, there would be little mercy from his superiors.
He almost cried out with relief as he spotted the tall man halfway down the street, his pace unwavering despite the steep climb up the steps.
Abbas pushed people out of the way as he strived to catch up, then slowed his pace once more when he was satisfied he had enough space between him and his target.
It had taken several weeks to track him down, with Abbas’s superiors almost admitting defeat once the man had left England. However, they’d managed to find him, almost by accident, and Abbas had received a phone call early one evening that had galvanised him into action. He’d never doubted the hatred that his superior held for Dan Taylor, and his loyalty meant he would do everything possible to secure justice for the man he looked up to.
Behind the Wire (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 2