The Will Slater Series Books 1-3

by Matt Rogers

  Abu spent a long time contemplating what Slater had said. He drummed his fingers incessantly against his thigh.

  Then he spoke.

  ‘How many people did you kill in the highlands?’ he said.

  ‘Three.’

  ‘What did you used to do?’

  ‘Black operations. For my country.’

  ‘You were good at them?’

  ‘I’m sitting here in front of you, aren’t I?’

  ‘How long was your career?’

  ‘Close to ten years.’

  ‘Non-stop?’

  ‘Barely got a chance to catch my breath.’

  ‘How close have you come to dying?’

  ‘The closest it’s possible to get.’

  ‘How’d you survive?’

  ‘I don’t have an answer for that. I just do my thing.’

  Abu sighed. ‘Okay. Let’s go.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘I don’t know who or what you are, Will. I haven’t met anyone like you. I guess that makes me trust you.’

  Slater shrugged. ‘It’s your call.’

  ‘Do you really think there’s something sinister going on?’

  Slater thought back to the sight of the red desert wolf, succumbing to a world of symptoms the likes of which he didn’t imagine were possible. He thought of the sheer devastation a weapon like that could cause.

  ‘Never been more sure,’ he said.

  ‘Then I will do what it takes to help you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I am scared. You seem determined to sort this out. I have more faith in you than anyone else in Qasam. If I can provide any assistance, I feel like that’s my duty.’

  Slater nodded, re-applied his foot to the pedal, and coasted back onto the endless highway.

  ‘Thank you, Abu,’ he said. ‘But don’t touch the fucking wheel again.’

  The man nodded silently and settled back into his seat.

  22

  By the time they crossed a significant portion of the Hadhramaut Valley, Slater had devised a barebones plan to breach the heavily-fortified perimeter of the Brigadier-General’s mansion.

  Abu shifted back and forth in the passenger seat, clearly uncomfortable. Slater didn’t blame him. The man had been taken from his relatively uneventful life as a computer technician and thrust into a world he knew nothing about, always under the threat of attack from any number of parties that wanted Slater out of the picture.

  Sometimes, Slater had to remind himself that his life wasn’t ordinary.

  Sometimes, the madness blurred together and he lost sight of what ordinary looked like.

  ‘You really think there’s a chance this could be something huge?’ Slater said as they approached the town of Seiyun from afar.

  ‘Times are unpredictable,’ Abu said. ‘Yemen is a melting pot right now. I would not say anything is out of the question. You are dealing with desperate men here.’

  ‘Men who are likely to work together, though?’

  ‘Sayyid is intelligent. Al-Mansur is intelligent. I wouldn’t put it past them to exploit the jihadists for a common cause.’

  ‘Is that a risk?’

  ‘It is now. Times are changing. The war is tearing us apart, which means young men who can’t find work and need to eat turn to more desperate measures. Our population is growing too fast to sustain anything. Half the country is unemployed. I’ve been incredibly lucky — my services are in demand almost everywhere. Probably because everyone turns to khat to calm their nerves while Yemen tears itself apart all around them. It keeps the plantations pumping out the stuff.’

  ‘You think it leaves room for something like a bioweapon?’

  Abu shrugged. ‘Here would be the place to create one. Where everyone’s so busy focusing on staying alive that they don’t pay attention to what’s being crafted next door.’

  ‘Here we are,’ Slater muttered, staring at the grand mansion resting in the middle of a bare rocky plain. Further ahead, the city of Seiyun rested in the shadow of a gargantuan mountain range.

  The property was surrounded on all sides by towering brick walls, topped with barbed wire and patrolled by perimeter guards who appeared as nothing but specks from this distance. Slater scrutinised the compound as they approached, running through what he intended to do over and over again in his mind.

  ‘This could get me killed,’ Abu said. ‘This could get my wife and child killed.’

  ‘You have to decide whether that risk outweighs what might happen if we do nothing.’

  Abu paused. ‘You certainly have a way with words, my friend.’

  ‘What do you say?’

  ‘What can I say? I already had a hunch before you stumbled across the wolf. I can’t let this go. These are my people.’

  ‘You think Qasam is the target?’

  ‘I can’t see why it would be. There’s nothing going on there.’

  ‘There’s no other concentration of civilians anywhere near those mountains,’ Slater said, deep in thought.

  ‘What if the mountain was just a testing ground?’

  Slater stared at the upper levels of the foreboding mansion. Everything else was blocked off by the perimeter wall. ‘We’ll find out.’

  He turned onto the twisting gravel path that led up to a set of giant steel gates set into the front of the property. Clusters of dead undergrowth dotted the surrounding plains at random. The sheer isolation of the compound resonated with Slater.

  ‘Why does he live here?’ he said.

  Abu shrugged. ‘Beats me.’

  ‘You remember what to say?’

  The man nodded. ‘It’ll work. Trust me.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘If there’s one thing that never goes out of fashion in this country,’ Abu said, ‘it’s corruption.’

  They pulled up at a snail’s pace to the gate. Slater made sure not to make any sudden movements. There was good reason for the compound’s guards to be wary — namely, they had never seen either he or Abu before in their lives.

  He forced down a pit of nervousness, shoving it away for the time being. He had to employ full concentration for what came next. If it went wrong, they would be caught in no man’s land.

  He gulped back apprehension and watched as a pair of soldiers loitering by the gate strode slowly up to the stalling Toyota, weapons clutched firmly in their hands.

  More Kalashnikovs.

  Slater grew queasy at the knowledge that he had his own firearms resting in plain view on the back seat. Abu had assured him that it didn’t matter — everyone was armed out here — but he couldn’t shake the thought that al-Mansur’s guards would take it as a sign of hostility.

  Abu wound down the grimy passenger window and stuck his head out into the stifling desert air, greeting the approaching guards with a warm smile.

  One man skirted to each side of the vehicle. The barrel of an AK-47 tapped three times against Slater’s window, and he rolled it down without protest.

  The guy stared at Slater with wide eyes, sneering through yellow teeth.

  As per usual, a ball of khat rested inside one of his cheeks.

  Abu fell into hushed conversation with the guard on the passenger side, gesticulating with both hands to get his point across. Slater had no idea what the two were saying, but the conversation quickly entered mutually agreeable territory. After less than a minute of quiet back-and-forth, the guard on the passenger side of the vehicle ushered them through without a second thought.

  ‘Told you,’ Abu whispered in English as Slater took his foot off the brake and they slunk through into the compound.

  23

  It had been a simple enough procedure.

  Abu had informed him en route to the Brigadier-General’s mansion that, in Yemen, one thing held more weight than any other form of persuasion — bribery.

  Slater had suggested offering al-Mansur’s perimeter guards a wad of cash in exchange for a meeting with the General, but Abu had quickly shaken his he
ad.

  ‘No. I will approach with knowledge of something I know he has his fingers in.’

  Abu had the credentials to prove that he was a technician for the khat plantations, which inherently meant that he held close connections to many of the men who ran and operated the farms. Apparently, khat was a lucrative industry — Abu told Slater that three-quarters of the Yemeni population actively consumed the plant.

  Obviously, al-Mansur and other wealthy political figures were able to skim profits off the top of each plantation through what effectively amounted to extortion.

  It was impossible for all the Brigadier-General’s security to stay up to date on the man’s dealings — in fact, most of the details surrounding corruption were obviously kept private.

  It meant that when Abu quietly informed the guards that he was carrying a bag of dirty profits from the khat plantations across the Hadhramaut Valley, they had been at no discretion to stop him in his tracks.

  They knew how much importance al-Mansur placed on maintaining a steady cash flow.

  When Abu produced the documents and identification proving his position, they waved him through without a word of protest.

  As Slater entered the compound, he sized up what he could see, paying close attention to the level of security.

  There was little manpower within the walls themselves.

  It seemed that even a man of al-Mansur’s power had his restrictions. He could station five or six men around the outskirts of his property, but riddling the grounds themselves with a similar number of guards must not have fit his budget. Slater counted two men in the security detail within the compound — one patrolled the sweeping balcony running the length of the mansion’s top floor, and the other waited patiently in the courtyard to welcome visitors.

  ‘What will happen when the truth comes out?’ Slater muttered.

  ‘They do not know me,’ Abu said. ‘They do not know where my family live. I will have time to go collect them. As long as you hold up your end of the bargain.’

  ‘You bet,’ Slater said.

  He felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders — one slip-up on his part, and it wouldn’t be just his own life on the chopping block. If he wasn’t there to protect Abu, the man would be detained and his family would be tracked down to pay for his treachery.

  The very thought quickened Slater’s pulse.

  He slowed the Toyota to a crawl, and the guard out the front of the mansion approached. With both windows rolled up, he wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation within the cabin.

  It was their last chance to talk freely.

  A bolt of nervous energy ran through Slater. ‘What if they recognise the car?’

  Abu cocked his head. ‘Whose car is this, again?’

  ‘The al-Qaeda guy I killed in Qasam. The gun-for-hire.’

  Abu smiled wryly and shook his head. ‘All these guards are here to protect al-Mansur from AQAP. You can be sure that he has never seen this vehicle before. Besides, how many Toyota Land Cruisers have you seen during your time in Yemen?’

  Slater nodded his understanding. ‘Does the government have an official contract or something? They’re literally the only car I’ve seen.’

  Abu shook his head. ‘No-one pays much attention to the government anymore.’

  The guard pulled up to the driver’s door and tapped on it once, more courteous than the two men manning the gate.

  Maybe it had been relayed to the guards within the complex that the guests had come bearing cash.

  Money created all kinds of conveniences.

  The notion of it would get them in the front door, at least.

  That was all Slater needed.

  He felt the acute presence of the language barrier as he stepped out of the driver’s seat and the guard barked a question in his direction, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Slater cocked his head, as if deep in thought, and turned to Abu. The man was on the way around the hood of the vehicle.

  He would be there in seconds.

  The guard fired the same question off again.

  Slater chuckled, shook his head, and waited patiently for Abu to arrive. Inwardly, his heart pounded in his chest. He knew that if it became obvious that he couldn’t speak Arabic, the suspicion would heighten significantly.

  They might be blocked from entering the mansion.

  Abu pulled to a stop between them and smiled warmly at the guard, responding with a long string of Arabic. His tone was reassuring and his mannerisms calm. Instantly the guard relaxed, nodded, and gestured for them to make their way up to the marble porch running along the front of the building.

  Slater nodded back, eyeing the sidearm holster attached to the belt of the man’s uniform. Inside rested another Jericho 941, a weapon clearly popular in these parts. The most notable factor was the leather strap designed to loop over the back of the gun, securing it in the holster.

  The guard had left the strap undone.

  Likely to be able to respond to any sudden confrontation in the blink of an eye.

  Luckily for Slater, he didn’t know how fast his adversary was.

  Slater kept that in mind as he stepped up onto the terrace, feeling the smooth marble under his shoes. A towering set of double doors rested half a foot back into the face of the mansion, made of oak. They had been recently polished.

  The guard muttered something.

  Alongside Slater, Abu whispered, ‘He’s asking you to knock.’

  ‘You’re the one with the money,’ Slater muttered back.

  ‘Good point.’

  Abu stepped forward and rapped twice on the enormous doors, then folded his arms behind his back to wait patiently for a response. It created a line of people trailing away from the door — first Abu, then Slater, then the guard.

  The door opened.

  Abdel al-Mansur stood in the vast lobby, shrouded by the relative darkness of the mansion’s interior. It seemed that the man opted to keep minimal natural light from filtering into the building, maybe to seal the heat out.

  Al-Mansur was relatively young for his position — Slater guessed he was in his early thirties. He had thick black hair slicked back with greasy product, and a sharply defined face with prominent cheekbones and a strong jawline. The man wore a plain long-sleeved shirt and a traditional futa, with matching flip-flops. He stood a few inches taller than Slater, somewhere close to six-foot-three.

  Same height as Jason King, Slater thought.

  For a beat, he wondered where his old comrade was now.

  Probably not infiltrating a government compound in war-torn Yemen.

  Lucky bastard.

  Al-Mansur smiled and stepped aside to let Abu through to the compound. He must have been informed by a phone call from one of the perimeter guards, explaining the reason for Abu’s sudden arrival.

  Slater instantly noticed the man’s burning desire for money. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d witnessed the mannerisms of a man enraptured by financial gain. He had encountered hundreds of the scum over the course of his career.

  The type of people who would do anything for a quick buck.

  The idea of an extra package of compensation must have excited al-Mansur, for he barely looked at the arriving party before welcoming them into his home.

  Abu passed through the grand entranceway, and Slater followed suit.

  He waited for the guard to follow them inside and the door to close behind them before he wrapped two burly arms around Abu’s mid-section, locked his fingers together behind the man’s back, and hurled the computer technician like a rag doll into al-Mansur.

  24

  Abu and al-Mansur sprawled to the marble floor of the lobby in a wild tangle of limbs. Both were unarmed, and little threat. Together they slapped against the ground loud enough to startle the guard behind Slater into a moment of hesitation.

  Slater whipped around and snatched at the Jericho in the guy’s holster, prodding with two fingers like pincers. He succeeded on the first
attempt, and yanked the weapon free from the guard’s grasp.

  But the man was fast.

  Before Slater could slot his finger into the trigger guard and reverse his grip on the sizeable pistol, the guard charged into range, dropping his shoulder low in an attempt to tackle Slater around the mid-section.

  There was no stopping the manoeuvre.

  The guy was too close.

  Slater had to accept that he would be taken off his feet, and adapt accordingly.

  The guard effectively speared Slater in the stomach, driving a shoulder up into his torso like a defensive end taking a quarterback off his feet.

  However, it left an untrained opponent open for all kinds of choke holds.

  Slater locked in a guillotine choke with his free hand, looping an arm around the guy’s neck as he tackled Slater to the floor. When the two sprawled onto the ground awkwardly, Slater kept his vice-like grip around the man’s throat, applying a mountain of pressure with his forearm.

  The guillotine choke was one of the more painful submissions in jiu-jitsu. By trapping the guard’s head underneath his armpit, face pointed at the floor, Slater was able to apply downward pressure on the back of the man’s skull, forcing his head into a horrifyingly uncomfortable position.

  The man bucked and squirmed and writhed, and his face turned the colour of a beetroot.

  Slater kept the choke tight.

  If he wanted to, he could have shot the man through the top of his head with his free hand — but he felt like he’d killed enough people for one day. This man wasn’t objectively guilty of anything — not just yet.

  Until Slater knew more, he opted for temporary rather than permanent incapacitation.

  The guy’s limbs went limp in less than twenty seconds, as the blood flow to his brain was shut off by Slater’s meaty forearm. Slater dropped him to the marble floor face-first, where he lay still.