by Chris Ryan
‘We’ll have to take him with us on the first chopper out of here. He’s a priority case.’ He looked to Tully. ‘Get us some water. We need to stop his vitals from drying out.’
Tully headed off in search of a discarded water bottle. Porter stood up and noticed Bald frowning at something over at the southern wall. He looked in the same direction. Saw nothing. Turned back to his mucker.
‘What is it?’
‘Nilis and the other Belgians,’ Bald replied. ‘They’re not here.’
Porter glanced around the rooftop again, scratching the back of his head. Bald’s right. He couldn’t see the other three Belgians. Just the guy with half his face missing to the north and the guy with his guts hanging out to the south. Porter did a quick recce of the area, noting that the Belgians had taken their SLRs with them. As if they’d simply upped sticks and left as soon as the battle was over.
‘Where the fuck did they go?’ Porter wondered aloud.
‘They must have pissed off downstairs,’ Bald suggested. ‘Maybe they’re helping to put out some of those fires that were breaking out.’
Porter shook his head. ‘We don’t have time to worry about them. Let’s get Soames. We’ve got to put him on that first heli.’
‘Fine by me, mate. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this shite country to last me a lifetime.’
‘What about this fella?’ Tully asked, pointing to the Belgian with his guts hanging out. The guy was conscious but totally out of it.
‘Watch over him until the helis get here,’ Porter ordered. ‘Keep pouring water over his vitals. We’ll put him on the first chopper with us.’
Porter crossed the rooftop with Bald and ducked into the cool shade of the stairwell, leaving Tully behind to watch over the rag-order Belgian. The blasting noise and fury of the Black Hawks circling overhead faded to a dull hum as the two Blades made their way down the steps. The adrenaline of the firefight had started to wear off. Porter willed on his tired muscles.
Just a little further. We’re almost there now.
Keep going.
They descended the stairs at a brisk pace. The landings were brimming with smoke from where the RPG rockets had scored direct hits. Dense curtains of it choked the upper floor landings. Some of the guests were poking their heads out of the rooms, but the vast majority were still hiding inside, praying to gods they didn’t believe in, waiting for someone to knock on the door and tell them everything was okay. That they could go back to their nice, cosy lives.
Porter ran into Tannon and Crowder on the way down. They were busy coordinating the small army of volunteers, dispatching them to various floors with fire extinguishers and first aid kits, and blankets for anyone suffering trauma. News of the rebels’ defeat had quickly spread among the staff and volunteers. Tannon looked visibly relieved, but Crowder appeared dejected. Porter didn’t blame the guy. We might have knocked back the rebels, he thought, but this guy’s business has been trashed. It would take months before the hotel could open its doors again. If ever.
Porter rapidly outlined the evacuation plan to them both and told Crowder to make sure everyone stayed inside their rooms until the marines were ready to begin transferring people to the choppers. Then he ran on downstairs with Bald.
The smoke thinned out at the second floor landing. Porter hit the bottom stair and almost tripped over a couple of Nigerian soldiers. They were slouched across the landing, their knees pulled tight to their chests. They stared up at the two passing operators with their dull, bovine expressions. Porter breezed past them and pushed down the corridor at a fast pace, Bald hard on his heels. He saw the storeroom door ten metres up ahead. Hurried towards it. Then he froze.
The door wasn’t locked.
Porter stepped closer. A splintered crack ran down the middle of the door, and the lock had been busted open. Porter paused in front of the storeroom door and listened carefully. He heard no sound coming from inside. He pushed the door open. It groaned back on its hinges, revealing the dark interior. He saw the lightbulb flickering overhead, the dusty shelves at the far end. Desk to the right, the sink to his left.
Then the realisation hit him, like a knife twisting inside his guts.
Soames wasn’t there.
The room was empty.
TWENTY
1356 hours.
Porter stood in the doorway for several beats, staring at the empty space where Soames should have been. Thinking, Soames has given us the slip. Bald caught up with him. He glanced inside the storeroom. Frowned.
‘What the fuck happened? Where’s Soames?’
Porter said nothing. He looked back at the door. Something wasn’t right with this picture, but he couldn’t place it.
‘He must have booted his way out while we were on the rooftop,’ Bald added.
‘No.’ Porter waved a hand at the lock. The metal had been twisted out of shape and the surrounding wooden surface was blackened and shredded. ‘Soames didn’t kick it open. It’s been blasted open from the outside. You can see the burn marks. Someone helped him escape.’
Bald’s from deepened. ‘Who would have done that?’
Porter shrugged. He looked hard at Bald for a moment. The guy had been ambivalent about the op from the beginning, and Porter wondered where his loyalties lay. Above everything else, Bald respected money. Money, and power. And Soames had plenty of both. Enough to tempt Bald into sabotaging the op? Porter didn’t know. But they’d both been fighting for their lives on the rooftop for the past seven hours. He found it hard to believe Bald would have had time to sneak away and bust Soames free without anyone noticing.
Then he remembered Bald had gone downstairs to fill the tyres. He’d been gone for several minutes. Long enough to make a detour and break Soames free? Perhaps. A question burned in Porter’s mind.
Did Bald do a deal with Soames behind my back?
He parked the thought at the back of his mind as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Porter turned and saw one of the Nigerian soldiers walking over from the landing. The guy watched Porter with a tight, anxious expression. He had a thin, hollow-cheeked face with a pencil moustache faintly visible above his huge lips. The soldier scratched an elbow and tipped his head at the storeroom door.
‘You are looking for the man in that room?’
Porter nodded. ‘That’s right. Did you see anything?’
‘Maybe,’ the Nigerian said. ‘Then again, maybe I did not.’
He folded his arms across his chest and waited. For Porter to dig his hand into his pocket and fish out a few dollar bills, presumably. Nigerians, thought Porter. Always on the take, even in the middle of a bloody firefight. He stepped closer to the Nigerian and grabbed him by the jacket.
‘I’m not fucking around. You’d better tell me what you saw.’
The Nigerian saw the look of rage on Porter’s face and relented. ‘Three men,’ he said. ‘I saw three men!’
The soldier held up three fingers as if to emphasise the point. Porter let go of the Nigerian and glared at him. The knife in his guts twisted a little more. ‘Who?’
‘I didn’t get a good look at them,’ the Nigerian protested. ‘I saw them coming down the stairs, that’s all. They smashed open the door and took the man inside with them. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of angry voices. The man didn’t sound like he wanted to go with the others.’
‘But he left with them anyway?’
‘The men had guns. He couldn’t refuse.’
‘Did you see where they took him?’
‘Downstairs. To the car park. That’s all I know.’
He spread his hands, palms facing up. Like a poker player revealing a crap hand.
‘When was this?’ Bald demanded.
‘Ten minutes ago, maybe,’ the soldier replied.
Bald looked accusingly at the Nigerian. ‘And you just stood there and fucking watched?’
The Nigerian folded his arms defensively across his chest. ‘It’s none of my business what
these people do. I didn’t want to get involved.’
Bald’s face twisted with anger. He snorted in contempt. ‘Course you didn’t, pal. Just like you and your fucking mates didn’t want to get involved with fighting the rebels back there.’
The soldier scratched his elbow again and said nothing. Porter said, ‘The blokes who grabbed Soames. Did you notice anything about them?’
‘I told you, I didn’t get a good look at their faces.’
‘What about their clothes? Anything about them? Were they black, white?’
‘White men,’ the Nigerian said. ‘In safari clothes. They look like those families that go on safari in the jungle, you know?’
The knife moved again inside Porter’s guts, gouging his vitals and twisting his stomach muscles. Shit, he thought.
‘The Belgians.’
That’s why they went missing from the rooftop.
They’re the ones who took Soames.
Bald said, ‘Why the fuck would the Belgians have an interest in kidnapping Soames?’
‘No idea, Jock. But there’s only one way to find out.’
The wounded Belgian. The guy with his guts hanging out.
We need to find out what he knows.
Porter barged aside the Nigerian and raced back down the corridor towards the landing. Bald sprinted ahead of him. By now several civilians had emerged from their rooms. They crowded the corridors on the upper floors, gossiping amongst themselves.
‘Get back in your rooms!’ Porter shouted at them.
‘What’s going on out there?’ a podgy French guy in a linen suit demanded. ‘Why can’t we leave?’
‘The evacuation hasn’t started yet. Everything’s under control. Someone will tell you when you’re going to be processed. Until then, shut your mouth and stay in your fucking room.’
The Frenchman reluctantly retreated to his room. The other guests swiftly followed. Porter and Bald pushed on up the stairs and accelerated up the bare concrete stairwell leading to the rooftop. Porter could feel his lungs burning, his veins simmering with rage. They hurried over to Tully. He was still kneeling beside the wounded Belgian, splashing water from a one-litre bottle over the man’s exposed bowels. He stood up and turned to face the Blades.
‘What’s going on?’ he said.
Porter ignored the question. He dropped down beside the Belgian and grabbed the guy by the throat, clenching his fingers around the man’s neck. The Belgian groaned, gasping for breath.
‘Where the fuck is Soames?’ Porter growled.
The Belgian coughed up blood and groaned again. Porter loosened his grip on the guy’s neck so he could talk. The Belgian looked up. His eyes were inked with fear. But there was something else there too thought Porter. Defiance.
‘Fuck you,’ the guy spat.
His accent had subtly changed. It sounded harsher now. Guttural, and coarse. Definitely Eastern European. Porter tightened his grip around the man’s neck again, compressing the cartilage and crushing his windpipe. Tears streamed down the man’s cheeks.
‘It’s only gonna get worse if you don’t talk,’ Porter said as he released his grip again. ‘We know your mates have lifted Soames. Tell us where they took him.’
‘Fuck off,’ the Belgian rasped, clenching his jaws in pain.
Porter leaned in closer. He tapped his G-Shock and lowered his voice to a sinister whisper.
‘That’s a nasty wound you’ve got there. You’ve got about an hour and a half until you bleed out. There’s a heli landing here in twenty minutes. Tell us what the fuck is going on, and we’ll put you on the first chopper out of here and get you to a hospital. Or you can keep your mouth shut, and we’ll dump you in the basement. It’ll be hours before anyone finds you. You’ll die in fucking agony. Your choice.’
The Belgian hesitated. His eyes flicked from Porter to Bald to Tully. Then back to Porter. The spark in his eyes faded. The defiance giving way to fear, and uncertainty. Porter ripped off the basic dressing on his stomach wound. The man howled.
‘Fucking tell me,’ Porter said.
‘I swear, I don’t know shit.’
‘Bollocks! He’s lying,’ Bald cut in.
Porter bunched his hands into fists. I didn’t survive a battle against hundreds of rebel fighters, only for this guy and his mates to screw the op. He snatched up one of the jerry cans of petrol lying next to the burnt-out rubber tyres. There was still some petrol left in the container. Enough for his purposes. He moved back over to the Belgian and began pouring the liquid over his exposed entrails. The man screamed as Porter emptied the dregs over his head. Then he tossed the can aside and knelt down next to the Belgian.
‘Last chance. Talk, or I’ll light your guts up.’
The Belgian broke down in tears. ‘I don’t know where they’ve gone,’ he sobbed. ‘It’s the fucking truth, I swear. The plan was to grab Soames and get out of here as soon as the rebels were defeated. We needed him alive. To find out where he was hiding the stuff.’
‘What stuff? Diamonds?’
‘I don’t know. They didn’t tell us. We were just following orders.’
‘Who sent you?’
The man’s eyes dimmed. Like the light fading on a couple of headlamps. Porter grabbed the Belgian by his bloodstained bush shirt and shook him violently. He reeked of petrol fumes.
‘I said, who fucking sent you?’
‘FSB,’ the man replied in a weak voice.
Porter felt the blood draining from his head to his toes.
Shit.
FSB.
Russian Federal Security Services.
‘You’re Russian?’ he growled.
The man nodded weakly.
‘Where have your mates gone?’ Porter said, shaking the Russian. ‘Fucking tell me!’
The man winced. ‘I don’t know.’
Porter snatched up the kitchen knife lying next to the burnt-out tyres. The knife tip gleamed wickedly. He pressed the tip against the Russian’s exposed intestines, drawing an inhuman scream.
‘Tell me, or I’ll cut your fucking insides out.’
He pressed the knife harder. The tip pierced the man’s vitals.
‘Shit!’ the Russian gasped. ‘Fuck, no!’
‘Talk.’
The man whimpered and said, ‘Our bosses at the FSB, they sent us here to locate Soames. They said he was important to our president. We found out he’d checked in at this hotel, so we came here to look for him. Then the rebels attacked. We had to help you. Stop the enemy.’
‘What about the others? Where have they gone?’
The Russian coughed up blood. ‘They left with Soames as soon as the attack was over. The plan was to make him talk. Find out where he’s hiding everything. Then they were going to rob him.’
He grimaced in pain. Looked up at Porter with pleading eyes.
‘That’s all I fucking know. You have to believe me.’
The Russian closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the pain. Porter tossed aside the knife. He stood up and turned towards Bald and Tully. Overhead the Black Hawks continued to circle in slow, lazy arcs.
‘Fucking great,’ Bald said. ‘The Russians have lifted Soames and we’ve got no idea where to look. Now what are we supposed to do?’
Then Tully said, ‘I think I know where they’ve gone.’
Porter said, ‘Where?’
Tully stared at the dying Russian as he replied: ‘The diamond mine.’
‘Kono?’ Bald frowned. ‘Why the fuck would Soames have taken the Russians there?’
‘Soames knew the Russians were on to him,’ said Tully. ‘He told me a couple of weeks ago over a few beers. He got drunk and told me the Russians were sniffing around, asking questions.’
‘What sort of questions?’ Porter said.
‘About the stuff he’s keeping safe at the mine.’
Porter shot a glance at Bald. Swung his gaze back to Tully.
‘What stuff, Bob?’
Tully hesitated to reply. His eyes darted back
and forth between the two operators. As if he was studying their reactions and debating whether to trust them. Then he took the plunge.
‘Soames has got something safe there. Something everyone else has been after. Including these Russians.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Porter said.
‘Stolen diamonds,’ said Tully.
‘That’s what Soames has got stashed at the mine? A few diamonds he’s nicked from under his employers’ nose?’
‘Not just a few.’ Tully shook his head. ‘We’re talking about a huge stash, fellas. Tens of millions of pounds’ worth of diamonds, Soames reckoned. Some of them are the size of fag packets. There’s enough in the stash to buy a private island and fill it with high-class escorts.’
Bald puffed out his cheeks and whistled. ‘Jesus. I’m in the wrong business.’
Porter said, ‘Why would Soames hide diamonds in his own mining field?’
Tully tapped the side of his head. ‘Think about it, mate. Safest place in the country. Round-the-clock security, and it’s the last place anyone would think to look.’
Bald stroked his jaw. ‘Makes sense. Hiding the loot in plain sight. No fucker would think to look there for a stash of stolen bling. It’s the perfect hiding place.’
Porter detected a note of admiration in Bald’s voice. Not for the first time, he wondered whose side Bald was really on.
‘Why would the Russian security services give a toss about some stolen diamonds?’ he asked.
Tully shrugged. ‘Spoils of war. The Russians have got orders to seize the mine and use it to bankroll their operations in Sierra Leone. Nilis and his mates probably heard about the stash and decided to steal it for themselves.’
‘But they didn’t know about the stash. Not until they got their hands on Soames.’
Tully rolled his eyes. ‘Fella, everyone knows that President Fofana is on the take. There have been rumours doing the rounds for months that Soames has got Fofana in his pocket. The Russians would have heard about the rumours through their mates in the RUF. It wouldn’t take a fucking genius to work out that Soames was using the diamonds to bribe the president.’