Abramov snorted. Mercy was something he held in short supply. He crouched, his arms resting on his knees as he surveyed the man’s injuries with a practiced eye.
The burns to his skin were extensive, the thin man-made fibre of his trousers having melted into his legs whilst the tattered remains of his cotton shirt clung to his shoulders. One side of his head was unrecognisable, his ear shrivelled into his skull. His breath rasped from his exposed chest while his hands clawed at the air, his eyes wide and frightened.
Abramov’s lips thinned.
He pulled his gun from his belt loop and held it up in front of the man’s face. ‘Is this what you want?’
The man nodded, desperation in his eyes.
Abramov leaned forward, baring his teeth, and pushed the barrel of the gun into the man’s leg.
The militant arched his back and screamed, a primal cry of pain and anguish that reverberated off the stone walls that remained.
Abramov eased the pressure but kept the gun within sight of the man’s eyes.
‘What happened?’
The man panted, trying to force air into his smoke-damaged lungs. ‘Jamil brought a man and a woman here,’ he gasped. ‘The man destroyed the fort. Salim is dead. Everyone is dead.’
‘Where are the man and woman? Are they dead, too?’
‘The man stole a vehicle. That’s all I know.’ The man’s eyes pleaded with Abramov. ‘Please. That’s all I know.’
Abramov sighed, then straightened and dusted off his jeans before he stared out across the landscape. ‘Shit.’
He raised his gun, aimed it at the militant, and pulled the trigger, a single blast that shattered the man’s skull in an instant.
One of Abramov’s men standing nearby raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t take you for being so sympathetic to another man’s suffering.’
Abramov shot him a withering stare. ‘I didn’t do it to put him out of his misery,’ he said. ‘I did it so he wouldn’t give the information to anyone else trying to follow us.’ He turned to the man next to him. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘No. We found the location where the fire began – looks like an explosion started it, then the fire took hold and reached the arms cache. There’s nothing left.’
‘Shit.’ Abramov spun on his heel and ran a hand over his cropped hair.
The fact that Salim had been stupid enough to keep all the weapons and ammunition together was bad enough, but for him to then store it in the same building he was using as accommodation for his men astounded the Russian.
He stared at the smudged haze on the horizon, knowing the smoke from the fire would have been seen for miles and that his time there was running out.
‘We’re leaving,’ he shouted to his men, and waved his hand towards the vehicles.
‘What now?’ asked the man next to him.
‘We find the girl,’ said Abramov.
‘Why? Shouldn’t we put as much distance between ourselves and this place as possible? What use will it do trying to find her now?’
‘Because the bitch is the only one that can get me my money,’ snapped Abramov. ‘And if you want to get paid, you’re going to have to find her.’
He stomped across the sand, kicked a smoking remnant of timber to one side, then threw back his head and roared at the sky above.
His men stood silently, their bodies alert, watching him.
His shoulders heaving as he tried to get his anger under control, he pointed to the waiting vehicles.
‘Find them,’ he snarled. ‘Hunt them down. Kill the man. Leave the woman for me.’
CHAPTER 35
An hour after leaving the Polisario soldiers to hunt down the Russian military enterpriser and his men, Dan cut the engine of the vehicle and ran his hand over his eyes.
They’d reached the UN compound at Mahbes without further incident, and it was all Dan could do to explain their presence to the young soldiers at the gatehouse before wanting to collapse from exhaustion.
An urgent meeting had been organised with the commanding officer, and now Dan led Anna through the rabbit warren of passages that intersected the building, their footsteps echoing off the bare concrete walls as they followed their guide.
The vehicle they’d taken from Salim’s men remained parked at the gatehouse, and Dan had no doubt that it would be appropriated by one of the locals who worked at the UN camp.
When they’d arrived, the two guards who manned the barrier had eyed them warily, suspicious of the two dirty figures who leaned out the windows – until they’d heard the Western accents.
Dan had drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, checking his mirrors while he explained his and Anna’s predicament.
A phone call had been made, an order issued, and the barrier was finally raised to let the vehicle through before dropping back into place, the guards waving them on.
Anna had breathed a sigh of relief.
Dan noticed how utterly weary she looked and resolved to end her ordeal as soon as he could.
The UN soldier who had met them at the main building that served as the headquarters for the region stopped at the end of the passageway and knocked on a door.
A muffled order reached Dan’s ears before the door was opened and the soldier announced their arrival, stepping to one side and beckoning to them.
‘The major will see you now.’
Dan thanked him and let Anna pass before following her into the room.
The door closed behind him, and as his eyes adjusted to the bright light pooling through the window to his left, he made out a plain room furnished with two filing cabinets, a desk, and a moth-worn chair, next to which a tall man in UN uniform stood and offered his hand.
‘Dan Taylor, Anna Collins? I understand you have had quite an ordeal,’ he said as they made their introductions. ‘Please, sit.’ He gestured to two plastic chairs opposite his and lowered his large frame back into his seat, an audible creak escaping from the furniture as he settled his weight onto it.
The UN officer had the same exhausted look as many of Dan’s colleagues had had after spending several months at a time in a war zone. His eyes were bloodshot at the corners, and he fidgeted in his seat, unable to relax, his hands shuffling papers across the desk as if he needed to remain busy.
Despite there being no outward conflict in the northern reaches of Western Sahara, no doubt the effort of keeping the peace between the Sahrawis and the occupying Moroccan forces, not to mention the daily threat of militant attacks, was beginning to wear the major down.
Dan understood the man’s predicament, but his own priorities won over any need to exchange pleasantries and extend his sympathy, and he was relieved when the officer got straight to the point.
‘How can I help?’
Dan leaned forward. ‘First of all, I’d like to use your phone.’
‘Certainly. May I ask why? You told my adjutant it was urgent, but nothing more. What’s going on?’
Dan sighed. ‘All I can say at this point is that I need to make a call to my people back at the office,’ he said, keeping up the appearance of being employed by Anna’s company. ‘We’re a day late phoning in, they have no idea if we’re okay, and I’m sure if we don’t act fast, they’ll be making all sorts of calls to embassies in Laâyoune.’
He sat back, waiting for the major’s reaction.
The skin under the man’s left eye twitched, and he rubbed his chin. ‘That would be unfortunate,’ he said eventually. His eyes ran over the state of Dan and Anna. ‘I expect you need somewhere to stay this evening as well?’
‘That would be great, thanks.’
The major nodded. ‘There is a guesthouse across the street from the guardhouse. It’s where the diplomats stay, journalists and the like, too. I’m sure you’ll find it adequate.’ He picked up the phone on his desk. ‘I’ll ask the adjutant to arrange payment.’ His mouth quirked. ‘I’m presuming your money was stolen?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
Dan leaned back in his chair and caught Anna’s gaze while the army officer spoke into the phone.
‘We’ll get a phone call through to David,’ he murmured. ‘And make sure someone can meet us at the border tomorrow, okay?’
‘Yes.’
The major finished his call and stood. ‘You can use this phone,’ he explained, and pushed it across the table. ‘I’ll be outside when you’re finished.’
‘Thanks.’
Dan waited until the door closed behind him, then dialled Mel’s number from memory.
The line crackled but connected within two rings, and Dan breathed a sigh of relief.
‘It’s us. We made it to Mahbes.’
Mel whooped at the end of the line, and Dan held the receiver away from his ear.
‘Dan?’ David’s voice came on the line. ‘Are you okay?’
‘A little roughed up, but yeah, we’re good.’ Dan raised an eyebrow at Anna, and she nodded. ‘Can you get someone to meet us at the border tomorrow?’
‘Sure can. We have someone on standby waiting for our call. He’ll be there by oh nine hundred hours and will wait for you.’
‘Good.’ Dan calculated the distance in his head. ‘It’ll probably take us three hours to get there.’
‘Can you get to a computer to get the information to us?’
‘Negative,’ said Dan ‘We were captured by tribesmen working for the Russians. They took Anna’s hard drive—’
‘Dammit.’
‘Wait. Anna says Benji encrypted the information he uploaded to a cloud drive. She has the codes and can download the information as soon as we get back.’
A long silence greeted his words, and Dan frowned, and then stared at the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘I’m here,’ said David. ‘Listen, Dan? If Anna is the only one who has those codes, you have to get her out of there alive. Do you understand?’
Dan turned so Anna couldn’t read his expression. ‘I know,’ he said, keeping his voice even. ‘I’m fully aware of that.’
‘Watch your back, Taylor. And get to that rendezvous.’
‘Copy that.’
Dan replaced the receiver in the cradle and exhaled. His eyes found the clock on the wall next to the window.
Ten hours remained until it would be light enough to drive.
He rubbed his hands over his face, then stretched his arms over his head.
‘What now?’ asked Anna.
He smiled. ‘I think it’s time we checked out the guesthouse,’ he said. ‘Do you think they serve cold beer?’
As they crossed the room, the door opened, and the major stepped over the threshold.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ said Dan. ‘We thought we might go and check into the guesthouse, if that’s all right with you?’
‘Of course. We’ve made arrangements for you to stay the night. Perhaps we could have another chat in the morning, when you’ve had time to rest.’
‘Sure,’ said Dan.
‘It would be good to obtain any information you can about the people who held you captive,’ said the major as he led the way back through the building towards the heavily armoured front doors. ‘Not to mention how you came to be stranded so far away from the major highways. The more we can pass onto the Polisario, the more we can ensure peace is retained in this region.’
‘I understand.’
The major held the door open for them and held out his hand. ‘Then I will see you at oh nine hundred hours tomorrow,’ he said. A trace of a smile crossed his lips. ‘You’ll get plenty of rest between now and then.’
‘Thanks.’
Dan and Anna made their farewells, then walked through the compound towards the gatehouse.
‘We’ll leave the vehicle here,’ said Dan as they passed it. ‘It’s probably safer.’
‘You didn’t tell him the truth. Why?’
‘We know the policeman was corrupt,’ said Dan. ‘Why not everyone else?’
‘Oh.’
‘Come on,’ he said, and took her arm to guide her across the street to the front door of the guesthouse. ‘It’s beer o’clock.’
CHAPTER 36
Dan kept his hand on the small of Anna’s back as they crossed the threshold to the hotel’s bar. They had checked in and decided to have a drink first, grab something to eat, and then freshen up.
Dan’s gaze flickered over the room as he passed, noting the lack of security. Evidently no dignitaries or other VIPs were attending the small town.
As drinking holes went, the bar was basic, and as Dan cast his eyes around the space, he realised the room had once been the living area of the original house, converted to its current use as the need arose.
The current clientele resembled a motley crew of easily identifiable aid workers, various government officials, and hangers-on. Dan glared at every single one of them as he guided Anna past the tables, their interest in the young American woman all too apparent.
He steered her towards the bar at the end, resisted the urge to take a running dive at the beer fridge covered in a thin layer of condensation, and instead waited until the lone bar man approached them.
The man’s features were tired, resolved to his fate in a small community that bore the brunt of armed conflict, and he raised his eyes to Dan’s reluctantly.
Dan glanced at Anna, who nodded.
‘Two beers please,’ he said. ‘From the back of the fridge. The coldest ones you’ve got.’
The man’s shoulders sagged as if he’d been given his last rites before he busied himself with fetching the bottles, muttering under his breath.
Dan turned, leaned an elbow against the bar, and murmured into Anna’s ear. ‘Friendly place.’
Her mouth twitched. ‘They serve beer, and it’s the only hotel in town. We can’t afford to be fussy.’
‘True.’
‘You’re English?’
Dan turned to his left at the voice to find a man in his thirties on a bar stool, his hands wrapped around a half-full beer bottle and a few days’ growth on his face. Dan rubbed his own jaw and figured Mahbes could do with a decent barber shop. It’d probably do a roaring trade.
‘Yes,’ he said.
The man leaned over and offered his hand. ‘Lucas Crawford. Associated Press.’
‘Canadian accent?’
The man beamed. ‘That’s right.’
Dan introduced Anna and then paid for their beers before turning his attention to the reporter. ‘You’re a long way from home.’
The man arched an eyebrow and raised his beer. ‘Don’t I know it,’ he said, before taking a long swig. He put the bottle back on the bar. ‘What about you two? What’s your story?’
Dan shot Anna a warning glance before he answered. ‘We were working for a charity,’ he said, and shrugged. ‘Roster finished and they don’t need us any longer, so we figured we’d head home.’
Crawford narrowed his eyes at Anna. ‘You’re American?’
‘Yeah,’ said Anna, and stuck her hands through her belt loops. ‘Thought I’d look for some excitement in my life before settling down.’
The reporter laughed raucously. ‘You came to the right place for that,’ he said, then shook his head. ‘Jesus.’
Dan frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’
Crawford leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘Rotten as all hell,’ he said in a stage whisper.
‘In what way?’
Crawford jerked his head towards a table at the back of the small room. ‘Let’s move. Less ears.’
He threw a glare at the barman who had sidled closer to them before leading the way towards the table he’d indicated.
Dan made sure he sat with his back to the wall and pulled out a chair for Anna to his left.
Crawford slouched in a chair to Dan’s right and rubbed his thumb across the condensation on his beer bottle before taking a swig.
‘How much do you know about Mahbes?’ he said.
Dan shrugged. ‘Nothi
ng really. We were just told to get to the UN airfield so we could get a ride across the border. Why?’
‘It’s at a crossroads,’ Crawford explained. ‘You’ve got the Algerian border in that direction,’ he said, pointing behind Anna. ‘The Polisario are supposed to be policing this side of the Moroccan berm that splits the country in two, except they’re dealing with corruption in half their ranks, and then you’ve got factions of Al Qaeda stirring things up in the middle.’
‘And then,’ the reporter added, ‘a group of six Russians turn up twenty-four hours ago, refuse to stay in the hotel here, and disappear into the desert.’
He paused and raised his eyebrow at Dan. ‘You didn’t see anyone else on your way here?’
Dan nudged Anna under the table to keep her quiet, shook his head, and picked up his beer.
‘No,’ he said, and took a long swallow. He put the drink down and frowned. ‘What’s the angle with Al Qaeda?’
The journalist snorted. ‘Their usual trick,’ he said. ‘Infiltrating the refugee camps, stirring up the teenagers and young men – those kids have known nothing except poverty and dispossession. Yes, they’re Sahrawi, but they’ve never been here. They’ve grown up in Algerian camps. Al Qaeda would love to stir them up enough to cause a war in Western Sahara to kick out Western-supported Morocco. It’d add to the unrest we’ve already been seeing in west Africa.’
‘Where do the Russians fit into all this?’ asked Anna.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Crawford, and leant back in his seat. ‘Although I’m trying to follow an angle that they’re supplying weapons to someone in the region here.’ He shrugged. ‘I just can’t find out who yet – or why.’
He stood and pointed at Dan and Anna’s drinks. ‘Another?’
‘No, we’re good,’ said Dan. ‘Thanks.’
Dan waited until the journalist was out of earshot and then turned to Anna.
‘Interesting. We know the money stolen from the project ended up in Russia,’ he said. ‘And we figure that’s being used to start an uprising using a mercenary force to influence locals.’
Behind the Wire (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 15