Blood Ties

by A. J. Quinnell

Cady said, “An old Sten and a Walther PI revolver.”

  Murphy sighed. “That ain’t exactly massive fire power.” He glanced at his watch and turned to Howard. “This is gonna be behind the back teeth, right?”

  “Right!” Howard echoed.

  “OK. It’s just before noon, so we have a bit of time.” He picked up the phone, jabbed at a button and after a moment said, “Ray, bring the Okello file up here and relevant maps an’ charts.” He hung up and, with another glance and a wink at Howard, said:

  “Matter of fact we did have a plan to knock off the ‘Field Marshal’. He’s turnin’ that island into a commie hotbed. Goddam Cubans an’ Chinese pouring in.” He grimaced. “Anyway that plan was also vetoed, but all the groundwork was done an’ it’ll be a help-but I still think you’re nuts.” His voice became brisk. “Still, we’ll try and give you a one per cent chance. I’m gonna fix you up with some Sten guns mark 6s.” He grinned. “The British left them with the Tanganyika army an’ some of them rapidly appeared on the black market. Point is, they’re very effectively silenced, an’ if you have to leave ‘em behind, suspicion will fall on the Tanganyika army. Later I’ll take you somewhere I know ‘an you can practise with ‘em. I’ll also get you some grenades from the same source. I tell you, the guys around here don’t like big bangs. Last year when the army mutinied Nyerere called in the Brits to help. They sent one helicopter over the main barracks an’ lobbed out a few thunder flashes. Within minutes five thousand mutineers had dropped their weapons and headed for the bush – end of mutiny. The grenades’ll be useful on the way out.”

  There was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal a man in his late twenties wearing a button-down shirt and look of expectation.

  Murphy introduced him merely as ‘Ray’ and five minutes later they were pouring over maps and photographs. Murphy put a finger on a large-scale map of Zanzibar at its south-west coastline.

  “Right here there’s a big Moorish-style villa. Used to belong to a relative of the Sultan. Okello took it over. It’s pretty isolated an’ that’s rare on Zanzibar, which has a dense population. Okello only visits it twice a month. He drives the thirty odd miles from Zanzibar city on Wednesday evenings, stays the night an’ drives back in the mornin’. We figured he had a woman there. He’s regular as clockwork. It’s guarded twenty-four hours by about a dozen so-called militia men, but our information is that the guard detail is pretty sloppy.”

  He glanced at Kirsty. “Now he’s not gonna keep your son in a prison where because of his colour he’d stand out. No. He’s gonna keep him tucked away real quiet – maybe others too, if he’s found any.”

  Kirsty nodded, deep in thought. “It makes sense. And he could take a pint of blood every two weeks without Garret suffering ill effects.”

  Cady was studying the map. He said, “It doesn’t look so difficult. It’s right on the coast. We bring Manasa in to half a mile then go in the rest of the way in the dinghy.”

  Murphy shook his head sadly. “No can do buddy. There’s a problem — an’ that’s why my plan called for a minimum of eight men.” He pulled a chart across and pointed. “That villa stands on top of sheer cliffs — ‘bout two hundred feet high. At the bottom there’s jagged rocks out to about fifty feet. Those cliffs run ‘bout a mile each side of the villa. Sure, skilled commandos might do it but I wouldn’t let my guys try it — an’ you wouldn’t have a hope.”

  Cady’s face fell. “So what was your plan?”

  Murphy pointed again. “See here, a mile an’ a half north of the village of Jembiani. There’s a small beach. I was gonna land there.” His finger traced across the map. “It’s about two miles to the villa. You have to skirt an army post here. Gettin’ to the villa shouldn’t be a problem – but gettin’ back to the boat is another story — a horror story. Soon as the shootin’ starts that barracks is gonna spout out militiamen. There’s another one ‘bout two miles north of the villa. They’ll be swarmin’ all around in minutes.”

  “So how were you goin’ to get out?”

  Murphy’s finger moved inland. “I was gonna create a diversion here in the clove plantation. Whole series of bombs timed to go off at intervals — in a line goin’ inland. Also a few rockets an’ the like. Then I was gonna have three guys covering our retreat between the barracks an’ the shore; one more at the beach an’ four in the assault force.” He looked up at Cady. “See what your problem is? Even countin’ the two women, you’re four men short.”

  For a long time Cady studied the chart. There was a long reef marked about two miles off the coast with several wide channels.

  “What’s the prevailing wind?” he asked.

  “South-east this time of the year.”

  Suddenly Cady grinned. Kirsty and Ramesh were watching him closely.

  Kirsty asked, “You’ve got a plan Cady?”

  He nodded and pointed to a gap in the reef. “We bring Manasa in through here just north of Jembiani. Then we move up inside the reef until we’re opposite the beach. We close the shore to about half a mile. Ramesh and I land in the dinghy. You an’ Lani take Manasa back out and head north. When Ramesh an’ I get close to the villa we signal you with a light. You come in under sail an’ anchor Manasa just off the rocks. Ramesh an’ I assault the villa and get Garret out.”

  “An’ then?” Murphy interjected.

  Cady straightened up. “An’ then we go from the cliff top to Manasa.”

  They were all looking at him as though he was mad. In unison Murphy and Ray asked, “How?!”

  Cady grinned widely and said, “A Geronimo line!”

  “What in hell’s that?” Murphy asked.

  “It’s what a derrick man uses to get his ass off a rig if it blows in. He’s got seconds before the flames fry him. As he takes off it’s kinda customary to yell ‘Geronimo!’ “

  “How’s it work? How do you attach it to the boat?”

  “No problem,” Cady said, still grinning. “I’ll need some very strong, lightweight rope and the use of a good workshop for a couple of hours. Can do?”

  “Sure.” Murphy was looking down at the chart. “Listen Cady. You get from those cliffs down to a boat, an’ any time after you need a job – you come see me, you hear?” He shook his head in awe and growled, “Goddam Geronimo line!”

  Chapter 26

  They went to their bunks for three hours. It was at Murphy’s insistence. They had returned to Manasa at five o’clock, and Ramesh and Cady were almost as exhausted as Kirsty.

  Before leaving the Embassy they had worked out a meticulous timetable. They had decided to make the assault at 4.00 a.m., when it was hoped that even the guards on duty would be asleep.

  Working back from that time they calculated to leave Dar es Salaam at 9.00 p.m., and allow four hours to reach the coast off Jembiani. They would take an hour to prepare the boat and then land Ramesh and Cady on the beach.

  From the Embassy Murphy had driven them to the outskirts of the city and introduced them to an Indian called Pandit. He was the owner of a small fleet of buses, and had a dirty but well equipped workshop. For the next hour Murphy and Ramesh helped Cady to weld several lengths of steel into four T-bars. They would only need three, but he wanted to take one along as a spare. At the vertical end of the ‘T’ he welded on a curved bracket which held a small rimmed metal wheel. Behind the bracket he screwed in a device that looked a bit like hinged handle-bars. He had covered the metal with black masking tape and then turned the *T’ upside down and explained the principle; “They’re makeshift but they’re gonna work. It’s a bit like the T-bars they use to pull skiers up the slope —only the other way round.” He spun the wheel. “This goes on top of the rope. The bracket holds the rope in.” He put the cross piece between his legs and under his thighs and gripped the hinged handle-bars.

  “Then you push off. The rope has a certain amount of slack an’ for the first thirty or forty feet you go straight down it’s a bit hairy. Then as the slack’s taken up you shoot out. That’s whe
n you start usin’ the brake.” He brought the hinged handle-bars closer together. “The join closes in on the rope an’ slows you down. You keep applyin’ pressure till you hit the water. I guess ‘bout twenty feet from the boat. Ideally we oughta practice but there ain’t time. I just hope Ray gets good strong rope.”

  Murphy had sent Ray on a shopping trip. He was to pick up the rope, two hundred-yard lengths of thin, strong twine, two solid rubber balls about four inches in diameter, two gallons of black paint, some long lengths of black cloth and black clothing in various sizes.

  They loaded the T-bars into the boot of Murphy’s car and drove ten miles out of the city on the coast road towards Lindi. Murphy watched the right side of the road carefully, then he spotted it, and turned on to an overgrown track. The car bumped and slid for another mile up a slight hill. They topped it and were looking into a scrub-covered valley. Just under the rim of the hill, Ray was standing next to an old Dodge.

  “Got it all?” Murphy asked, as he climbed out.

  “Sure.” Ray moved to the back of the Dodge. He opened the spacious boot and they crowded round and Murphy checked off the items. Then he tapped a metal box.

  “Grenades,” he said. “A dozen British fragmentation 36s. Pity you can’t practise with a couple but the noise might attract attention. I’ll show you how to use them later.” He grinned. “The principle’s pretty damn basic.”

  Next to the box was a long, thick, cloth bundle. Murphy unwrapped it, revealing the black barrels of three Sten guns. They had dull brown wooden butts and brass butt plates, and pistol grips. A canvas guard was strapped around the silencer and Murphy explained that without it the silencer could become hot enough to burn a hand. He showed them how to strip the guns down and reassemble them. Then he unwrapped another bundle and took out a dozen magazines.

  “It’s the same rate of fire as the mark 2,” he said. “So keep the bursts real short.”

  For the next half hour they practised. First single shots, until they got the feel of the guns, and then bursts. The silencers were remarkably effective, the sounds being akin to stuttering, asthmatic coughs.

  Murphy was pleased. As he expected, Cady was a natural, quickly getting used to the awkward pull of the gun and easily bracketing the small bushes he aimed at. Ramesh took a little longer, but soon he too was sending the leaves flying.

  It was Kirsty who really astonished Murphy. He had expected her to be alarmed by the kick of the gun, but at her first burst she tucked the butt tight into her shoulder and, with an expression of intense concentration, squeezed the trigger, quickly compensated for the kick, and cut a swathe through a clump of bushes.

  Later, back at the car, Murphy said to her, “Lady, I wouldn’t like to be at the other end of a fire-fight with you.”

  She smiled wanly and said, “I just wish I was going with them and not waiting passively on the boat.”

  Quickly Ramesh said, “You know it’s impossible Kirsty. We need at least two people to handle Manasa.”

  “I know,” she said grimly and hefted the gun in her hand. “I’d just like to have this in my hands and come face to face with the bastards who have my son.”

  “Anyway,” Murphy said consolingly, “Okello’s not likely to be around. It’s a Friday an’ he visits on Wednesdays.”

  He turned to Ramesh. “OK. Now I take you back to the boat an’ I want you all to get some sleep – I know that’s gonna be difficult because you’re all wound up but you get outta your clothes and into your bunks. It’s kinda psychological and even if you don’t sleep you’ll feel rested. Meanwhile me an’ Ray will pick up some more stuff: webbing for the grenades and spare mags, waterproof masked torches an’ some small transceivers so you can communicate from the boat to the shore.” He paused. “Meanwhile I’m tryin’ to locate a guy who could be of real help.”

  “Who is he?” Ramesh asked.

  Murphy shook his head. “If I don’t find him it doesn’t matter. We’ll be at the boat around eight. Don’t bother clearing with Customs. We’ll grease a few palms an’ no one will bother you.”

  Surprisingly Kirsty did sleep, for a full two hours. It was a shallow sleep and she dreamed a lot-swirling images of faces and birds and the sea-and a vivid green band across the sky.

  But she was rested when she woke to the sound of people moving on the deck above her. Ramesh’s bunk was empty. Sleepily she pulled on some clothes and went through into the saloon. Lani was in the galley making sandwiches and coffee. She smiled at Kirsty.

  “So you slept?”

  “Yes. Don’t ask me how!”

  “We all did. How do you feel?”

  “OK. What’s happening?”

  “Those Americans arrived, and they brought someone with them.”

  “Who?”

  Lani’s smile widened. “Go and see.”

  Kirsty found the deck crowded. There was Ramesh and Cady, Murphy, Ray and Howard and another man. The only illumination came from the distant lights of the city and at first she couldn’t quite make him out, but she moved closer and found herself looking at a small, wizened African. His hair was like grey cotton wool. He was only wearing dirty, much-patched khaki shorts and his thin, spindly legs poked through them like ebony sticks.

  Murphy saw her and said, “Ah! Kirsty. Come and meet Salim. He’s going with you.”

  “He is?” Mystified Kirsty approached him and held out her hand. With a gap-toothed grin he took it.

  “I was just explaining,” Murphy said, and turned back to Ramesh, “Salim hates Okello and his bunch. His only son was working on an Arab plantation before the revolution. On the first night when they were killing all the Arabs his son tried to protect his employer, who apparently was a good man. Well, the mob killed him anyway and his family. Then they killed Salim’s son, his wife and five children. The youngest was only two.”

  Kirsty muttered, “God!” and looked at the old man, who obviously could not understand the words and was still displaying his gap-toothed smile.

  “Salim was fishing at the time,” Murphy went on, “and got away.”

  “Fishin’!” Cady exclaimed. “How old is he?”

  Murphy grinned. “He’s not sure. He thinks about seventy-five. But he’s fit an’ damned good on a boat – an’ what really matters, he knows the waters around Zanzibar like you’d know your own back yard. Bin fishing them since he could stand upright on a boat. Tells me he’s often caught lobsters right under that villa. He’ll guide Manasa through the channel and to the beach. Then he’ll take her up an’ tuck her in under the cliffs. He speaks some English but not much. You’ll have to talk slow an’ clearly an’ use simple words.”

  “Good!” Ramesh’s voice was overlaid with relief. “I did not say anything but I was truly worried about the navigation. It is a dark night.”

  “Right,” Murphy grunted. “Just leave it to Salim – I reckon he could get you in there blind-folded.”

  “It also means,” Kirsty said with satisfaction, “that I can make the assault with Ramesh and Cady.”

  They all tried to argue her out of it, but she was totally determined. It was her son and she was damned well going.

  “You praised mv shooting,” she said to Murphy.

  “Sure, but . . .”

  “And Cady made a spare T-bar so there’s no problem — I’m going!”

  Cady turned away, cursing himself for making the spare.

  “I’m going,” Kirsty repeated firmly. “So let’s forget it, and get on with other things.”

  Murphy shrugged and reached for a canvas bag at his feet. He took out three transceivers about the size of two packs of cigarettes.

  “These are the latest thing. They’re fixed on a wavelength no one else around here would ever use. You keep one on the boat an’ one with the assault force. I keep the other one. We’ll code name Manasa Ram One, the assault force Ram Two, and my party Ram Three. Together with Ray an’ Howard I’m gonna be on a fast cabin cruiser just outside the three-mile limit doi
n’ a little innocent night fishin’. You’re on your own, but once you get out through the channel we’ll be around to help. We’ll leave ‘bout an hour after you.”

  He pulled some small rubber-covered torches out of the bag. The glasses had been taped over, leaving small central spaces of varying diameters.

  “Use these to find your way around an’ signal the boat if the radios fail. Again, test them on the way over.” Finally he took out a pair of squat binoculars. “Light intensifying,” he said. “Not exactly daylight but they give a good image up to a couple of hundred yards.” He glanced at his watch. “Now let’s eat and we’ll send you on your way.”

  As they lined up to go down the companionway Howard said to Kirsty, “I told Harriet that I was doing a duty watch tonight. She doesn’t know what’s going on, for two reasons: first, she’d worry herself half to death; and second, she’d more than likely go over and give our venerable Ambassador a smack in the mouth!”

  Chapter 27

  They slipped the moorings just after eight and the Manasa motored quietly through the channel and into the open sea.

  Salim was at the wheel, peering into the darkness ahead. The forecast had been for a light south-easterly wind, and there was just a slight swell.

  As the lights of the city faded behind them the others got busy. First they changed into the black trousers and shirts that Ray had brought. Then they unrolled the mainsail and started slapping black paint on it and also on the dog house.

  There was a vacuum and Ramesh filled it. Although Cady had done much of the planning and had a forceful character, he was now subdued. Ramesh knew that it was not only fear. Now that the hour was approaching they all felt rising fear. He suspected that Cady was going through a mild crisis of confidence. It was his plan to use the Geronimo line. Of the three making the assault he was the youngest and the fittest and the most experienced in violence. Now, perhaps he was feeling the burden on his shoulders.

  The unwieldy sail was getting tangled around the mast and shrouds. Quietly but firmly Ramesh took command, issuing orders and getting them organised. Some of the paint had smeared the deck and Lani murmured, “Poor Manasa.”