Shadow Kill: A Strikeback Novel

by Chris Ryan

  As Porter brushed past one of these guys he abruptly stopped and spun around, muttering under his breath. Porter turned to face the safari guy and his mates. Like he was assessing a threat. The guy he’d bumped into had thick nostrils, a small black goatee, and a curious scar that ran from his upper lip to his left nostril. Like the scar following corrective surgery on a cleft lip. For a moment the guy just stood there, glowering at Porter. As if he was debating whether to throw a punch. Porter stood his ground. The foreigner worked his lips into a slight smile, revealing a set of stained teeth. Then he turned and muttered something else to his mates. They laughed as they carried on down the stairs. Porter watched them leave.

  ‘The fuck was his problem?’ said Bald.

  ‘Fuck knows. Come on. Let’s go.’

  He hurried up the stairs alongside Bald and Tannon. They turned right at the second-floor landing and the two operators followed Tannon down a drab and sparsely furnished corridor with soft ceiling lights and cream-coloured walls. Everything was understated and beige. It looked like any other corridor in any other five-star hotel in the world, thought Porter.

  Except there’s an army of madmen outside desperate to hack us to pieces.

  At the end of the corridor they hung a left and continued on for twenty-five metres until they drew to a halt outside the door to room 201. Porter felt a twinge of nervous excitement in his guts. This is it, he told himself. My old CO is behind that door.

  We’ve finally tracked the bastard down.

  Tannon slid between Bald and Porter and produced a shiny black key card from her jacket pocket with the name of the hotel printed on it. ‘Spare key to the room.’ She grinned. ‘Courtesy of the manager.’

  Bald looked impressed, and a little jealous. ‘This bloke must be a good mate of yours.’

  ‘Not really. But he’s a man. Which means he’ll do anything for a glimpse of my tits.’

  Bald grinned at her. ‘Do you need anything doing?’

  She ignored him and inserted the card into the slot below the door handle. The tiny light next to the card reader flashed green. Then Tannon tried the handle. The door wouldn’t open. She tried again. Same thing.

  ‘It’s locked,’ she said.

  ‘Here.’ Bald stepped forward. ‘Let me try.’

  ‘Because you’re a man, and you know best?’

  Bald shook his head. ‘Because I pick locks for a living.’

  Tannon handed him the key card. Bald approached the door and repeated the process. Card into the reader, out again, green light, handle. The door still refused to budge.

  ‘No good,’ he said, turning to Porter. ‘Bastard must have jammed it shut.’

  Soames is bricking it, Porter thought. The guy’s expecting trouble.

  He stepped between Bald and Tannon and banged his fist on the door three times. ‘Open up!’ he boomed. ‘Ronald, this is John Porter speaking. I’m here with John Bald. We’re two friendlies. We know you’re in there. Now open the fucking door!’

  A beat passed. Nothing. Then Porter heard a bunch of muffled noises coming from the other side of the door. Voices arguing. More than one. Soames must be in there with his mate, Porter realised. They seemed close, Tannon had said. He wondered again about this mystery friend of Soames’s.

  Then the handle lowered and the door cracked open. Porter looked up. A tall, lean figure stood in the hallway, dressed in a sand-coloured shirt and a pair of combat trousers, wearing a surprised look on his face.

  Porter froze.

  The man in the hallway wasn’t Ronald Soames.

  It was a face he hadn’t seen for six years.

  ELEVEN

  0823 hours.

  Nobody moved for what felt like a while. Porter stood rooted to the spot, staring at the guy in front of him. The guy in the doorway had black, dull eyes like a couple of drill holes, thinning brown hair, and a long broken nose. His expression hovered somewhere between blank and cold. He looked like the kind of guy who could butcher a family, then sit down afterwards to enjoy a glass of fine Merlot.

  Porter recognised him instantly. Bob Tully, the bastard of the Regiment.

  He thought, Tully must be the friend Tannon was talking about. The one she saw hanging out with Soames in the lobby.

  Then he thought, What business has Tully got with Soames?

  ‘Bob,’ Bald said. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

  Tully smiled. His thin lips curved dangerously at the corners. ‘I was about to ask you two fellas the same question.’ He spoke in a thick, grating Brummie accent.

  Tannon glanced from Tully to Porter and back again. ‘You know each other?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Tully. ‘That’s right, sweetheart. We served together at Hereford. Isn’t that right, fellas?’

  Porter said nothing. Their time in the SAS had overlapped for four years in the early Nineties. But he knew enough about Bob Tully to be wary. He had a reputation as the most dangerous man ever to set foot inside Hereford. The guy was so loose he was practically unhinged. He was also a professional bridge-burner. Six years ago he’d left the SAS in disgrace, jumping before he was pushed. Since then, Porter had heard the rumours on the Hereford grapevine. The ones that said Tully was into some dark stuff. The last Porter had heard, Tully had been working for several dodgy PMCs in South Africa, spending the months between jobs indulging in his two favourite hobbies. Drinking and shagging hookers.

  ‘A long time ago now,’ Porter replied eventually.

  ‘Six years,’ Tully said. ‘Not that long ago. Tell you what, though – best decision I ever made, leaving the Regiment. I’m making a killing these days on the Circuit.’ He grinned, then gave Porter the once-over. ‘Fuck me sideways. You’ve aged a bit, mate. You look like shit.’

  Porter felt a rising tension in his chest. He forced himself to bite back on his anger. ‘We’re looking for Ronald Soames. He’s registered as checking into this room. Have you seen him?’

  Tully frowned. ‘Our old CO? What do you want with him?’

  ‘We’re with the Firm,’ Bald explained. ‘We’ve got orders to escort Soames back to London immediately.’

  ‘Sorry fellas.’ Tully shook his head. ‘Can’t help you. He’s not here.’

  Porter studied the guy’s expression. Looking for the slightest telltale hint that Tully was hiding something. But his face gave nothing away. Either Tully really didn’t know, or he was the world’s greatest liar.

  He saw the sceptical look on Porter’s face and said, ‘Come in and have a look for yourselves if you don’t believe me.’

  He ushered Bald and Porter inside. They followed Tully down the dimly lit hallway and into the main living space. The furnishings were stylish but dated. Like a Hilton that hadn’t been refurbished since the seventies. A dark-skinned woman in a tube-top and latex mini-skirt sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, glancing warily at the three figures standing next to Tully. On the far wall a glass door led out to a balcony overlooking the front of the hotel. There was a bathroom to the left and another door to the right, with a lock on it that Porter figured led through to an adjoining room. In the distance he could hear the cracks of weapon discharges, the faint screams of terrified civvies and the jeers of rebels. But there was no sign of Soames.

  He looked back to Tully. ‘What are you doing in his room, Bob?’

  ‘Soames is my boss,’ Tully replied.

  ‘You’re working for Soames?’ Bald said in surprise.

  Tully nodded. ‘For the past six months, aye. Got myself a job guarding the diamond mine over in Kono. It’s good hours, and the pay is top whack. And there are loads of perks too,’ he added, winking at the woman by the bed. ‘You can do anything you want in these parts. Anything at all.’

  Porter said, ‘If you’re being paid to look after the mine, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Boss’s orders. The work force at the mine’s thinned out, what with them rebels stirring things up. We’ve been called back to Freetown until things settle down. Tho
ught I’d take the opportunity to let off a bit of steam with Claudette. We were stuck in here when the rebels moved into the city.’

  Tully beckoned over the black woman. She hesitated at first, then stood up from the bed and nervously approached. As she drew closer Porter noticed she had a cut to her upper lip. Her jaws were swollen and she had painful-looking bruises on her neck. She shivered as Tully wrapped an arm around her waist.

  ‘You should check out the local hookers,’ he said to Bald, grinning. ‘The women here are cheap as fuck. You can get a blowjob around these parts for the price of a Big Mac. They even let you slap them around for a few extra quid. You’d love it.’

  He laughed and gave the prostitute a peck on her swollen cheek. Bald stared back at him, the expression on his face hovering somewhere between jealousy and disgust.

  ‘What’s the deal with Soames?’ Tully asked. ‘Is he in some sort of trouble?’

  ‘We can’t say,’ Porter said. ‘You know how it is. All we can tell you is, we’ve got to locate him and get him on a plane as soon as possible. If you know where to find him, you need to tell us.’

  ‘Like I said, fellas: I don’t know.’

  Just then Porter heard the clack of a latch unlocking. The door to the right swung open and a figure stepped in from the adjoining room. Tully looked towards the man. So did everyone else in the room. The man smiled menacingly at Porter.

  ‘Hello, John,’ Ronald Soames said.

  Porter stared at his old CO for a long beat. Soames had hardly aged since the last time Porter had seen him. His hair was a little greyer and thinner. His jowls looked a little softer. But the guy still had the same broad-shouldered physique. The same cold look in his eyes. He looked like a public school rugby coach, Porter thought. Or a City banker in early retirement. He was dressed in a dark short-sleeved shirt, a pair of beige trousers and spit-polished Timberland boots. The Blancpain watch clamped around his wrist was probably worth more than Porter and Bald earned in a year.

  ‘This is something of a surprise, I must admit,’ Soames said, in voice so smooth you could have played snooker on it. ‘You were the last person I expected to run into here.’

  Soames forced a smile and tried to relax into himself. But his eyes betrayed him. They were darting left and right, as if searching for another escape route from the room. He looked nervous, thought Porter. Edgy. As if he was wearing a shirt that was too tight around the collar.

  Tully took a step forward, putting himself between Porter and Soames. Like a bodyguard protecting his client from an angry mob. Soames waved a hand at him. ‘It’s all right, Bob. I can handle this.’

  Tully gave a grudging nod and kept his eyes locked on Porter and Bald, ready to leap into action if either of them tried to make a move. Soames turned to Porter and straightened his back, dropping the smile.

  ‘Five sent you here, did they?’ Soames chuckled. ‘I’m surprised they’ve given you a job, given your track record. They must be getting desperate over at Whitehall these days.’

  Porter clenched his jaws. ‘We’re here to protect you. We’ve got orders to escort you out of the country immediately.’

  Soames smiled again and shook his head. ‘That’s very thoughtful of my friends at Thames House. But you can tell them I don’t need protecting. I’m safe enough here.’

  ‘We’re not asking you nicely,’ Porter said between gritted teeth. ‘You’re coming with us, no ifs or buts.’

  Soames ignored him and turned his attention to Bald. His eyes narrowed to pinpricks. ‘Jock Bald, isn’t it? Not had the pleasure of meeting you before. I’ve heard lots about you, of course. You’re the one who caused that diplomatic incident in Belfast a few years back, aren’t you?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Bald. ‘That’s me.’

  Soames nodded his head sagely. Everyone at Hereford knew the story of how Bald had crossed the Irish border, tracked down a kidnapped MI5 agent and killed several high-ranking members of the IRA’s notorious Nutting Squad. His bravery had almost caused a major incident between the British and Irish governments, but earned him the instant respect of the other lads in the Regiment. Even Porter had been impressed when he’d first heard about it.

  ‘That took balls, that,’ Soames said. ‘Big balls. Now it appears you’ve been relegated to nursemaiding duties. Such a waste of talent.’

  Bald said nothing. Porter glared at Soames. ‘Why were you hiding in that other room?’

  ‘I thought you might be someone else.’

  ‘The Russians?’

  Soames tilted his head at Porter. ‘So you know about that.’

  ‘We know about Viktor Agron too. We found his body at your gaff. Had to clean up your fucking mess.’

  ‘Yes,’ Soames replied, wringing his hands. ‘A pity I had to kill him. Viktor’s friends arrived just as I was preparing to leave. Then the rebels entered the city and I had to find somewhere to lie low while I waited for the rebellion to burn itself out. So I found Tully at his, ah, lady friend’s place, and came here.’

  ‘But the hotel computer had you listed as staying in this room,’ Porter countered. ‘Not the one next door.’

  Soames nodded. ‘I thought it better if Tully stayed in the room under my name and I stayed in the adjoining room under the name of a local businessman, an acquaintance of mine. I didn’t want to take any chances.’

  The sly bastard, Porter thought. The guy persuaded Bob Tully to take his room so that he’d get the heads-up if anyone came looking for him.

  ‘So that’s why you’re really here?’ Soames eyed the two operators carefully. ‘To arrest me?’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Tully protested. ‘Not without a fucking warrant.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Bald said. ‘No one’s pushing an agenda. You’re in a difficult situation and we’ve been sent to get you out of it. There’s nothing else going on here.’

  Bald’s tone struck Porter as surprisingly calm and even. Like he had a certain degree of respect for Soames. Like he didn’t want to piss the guy off.

  ‘You’re wasting your breath,’ Soames responded curtly. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  Porter took a step closer to his old CO. Tully moved forward too. Like pieces being moved on a chessboard.

  ‘We’re not giving you a choice,’ Porter said. ‘You’re coming with us. Now pack your fucking bags. We don’t have much time.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I can’t leave. Not now. My business interests are in Sierra Leone. I’m one of President Fofana’s closest advisers, not to mention one of his main backers. He’ll need me once he returns from exile. It’s vital that I remain here.’

  Porter gestured to the balcony. Gunfire popped and cracked in the distance. ‘You can’t stay put. In case you hadn’t noticed, the entire country’s about to go to shit. We’ve got to get out here while we still have a chance.’

  Soames flashed a patronising smile. ‘You thick bastard, Porter. I’ve been here long enough to know how this works. This isn’t the first time the rebels have tried to overthrow the government, and if I’m being perfectly frank it won’t be the last. But they never succeed. In a few days our boys and the Yanks will kick the rebels out and Fofana will fly back from Guinea. The truth is there’s simply too much at stake for HMG to allow President Fofana’s regime to fail.’

  ‘You mean the diamond mine at Kono?’

  Soames shifted on his feet and nodded. ‘Our fortunes here are intimately tied in with those of President Fofana. If his regime is toppled, then our interests will be under threat. I’m far better off staying put and waiting for this whole thing to blow over.’

  He folded his arms across his broad chest and stared defiantly at the two Blades. After a moment Porter said, ‘You’ve got five minutes to pack your bags. Then we’re leaving. We’ll be getting the next flight out of Lungi airport. We’ve got your ticket ready, it’s all sorted.’

  Soames looked at Porter as if he was mad. ‘You want to drive to the airport? With hundreds of armed
rebels roaming the streets? You can’t be serious. It’s a suicide mission.’

  ‘Our hands are tied,’ Bald said. ‘We’re just the messengers. If you’ve got a beef, it’s with that mob over at Thames House, not us.’

  Porter raised an eyebrow, taken aback by Bald’s friendly tone. I know what’s going on here, he thought. Bald is trying to stay on good terms with Soames, in case the guy offers him a contract down the line. Not for the first time since they had worked together, Porter wondered whether he could really trust Bald. He looked back at Soames.

  ‘Get a move on. We’re wasting time.’ He nodded at Tully. ‘You might want to think about getting the fuck out of here too, Bob.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Soames growled. ‘Listen. I’ve been in this country long enough. I know how things work here. And I’m telling you, this hotel is the safest place for us all.’ He waved a hand at the window. ‘There are fifty ECOMOG troops guarding this hotel. Another hundred Nigerians are stationed at the Aberdeen Road Bridge leading in and out of the city centre. They’ll keep us safe until our American friends have sent the rebels packing.’

  Tully nodded in agreement. ‘Ronald’s right. It’s madness out there. Last we heard, some of the soldiers have started to join in with the looting. Them rebels will have us surrounded the moment we set foot outside the hotel. We’re better off staying put.’

  Bald threw his arms up in the air in frustration. ‘How long do you think those chogies will hold out once it starts getting noisy? They’ll raise the white flag as soon as the rebels train their sights on this place.’

  ‘Our decision is final,’ Soames said. ‘We’re staying in Freetown.’

  Something snapped inside Porter. He rounded on the ex-CO, his teeth clenched in anger. ‘I’m not going to ask you again. You’re coming with us and getting on that plane, or you and me have got a fucking problem.’