The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) (25 page)

Petros stopped at a junction and list
ened to the rattle of palm fronds. Where was Akeem, he wondered. His anxiety grew with every step he took and found nothing. Then he made out footprints in the dust. With little choice, he followed them. He discovered Akeem with his eyes closed and blood-soaked clothes. Had he been booby-trapped? Were the others waiting? His eyes scanned for tell-tale wires. A sense of fear stuck in his throat. A mistake now could be lethal. Petros backed away and circled the vicinity and checked every possible hiding place. Satisfied, he returned to Akeem, his pulse was there but faint. He slid into a dark recess, pointed his weapon into the air, fired two shots.

The sound of
footsteps forced him further back into the passage. He cocked his AK and prepared to fire. Bear’s large frame came into view and Petros relaxed. “Akeem’s bleeding out.”

Amadou and ZZ arrived moments later.

ZZ gasped, his eyes wide when he noticed Akeem soaked in blood.

“ZZ,” said Petros, “g
o to the car and bring me the first-aid kit.”

He
turned and dashed away.

“
The car’s on the edge of the village,” said Amadou.

“You know Akeem’s
not going to make it,” said Bear. “In a fully-equipped hospital he might stand a chance. His shoulder is smashed and the bullet found the main artery before exiting his lung.”

“He’s
alive and I had to keep ZZ occupied. He has a soft spot for Akeem.”

“Mr Petros,” shouted ZZ
, as he handed over the kit. “Is my friend going to die?”

Petros grabbed him by the shoulders. “I don’t know. Bear, Ama
dou, take ZZ and find those men.” He swore as he cut the clothing from Akeem’s shoulder. There was nothing he could do but stem the flow of blood. With respect for the man, he did what could be done. When finished he placed him in the recovery position and sat with his back to the wall.

“You stupid bugge
r, why couldn’t you have waited?”

Bear ambled
back along the street. “How is he?”

“
Not good. Did you find his victims?”

“Found
three. Two with no heads and one with no brain. Can’t leave them for the wildlife. Suggest we put them in the burial chamber. What are we going to do with Akeem?”

“
If we shift him he’ll die and if we don’t he’ll last a little longer.”

“Then we sit and wait,” said Bear.

“Amadou,” said Petros as he pointed. “In that direction, there’s a plane and a pilot. Take the five Gaddafi soldiers, give them food and water and tell the pilot to fly them back to the village. We will return with the car.”

“What if people ask questions?”

“If we leave them here they’re dead. Tell them to fabricate a story before they leave. Anti-Gaddafi feelings are running a tad high.”

“Don’t leave without me,
” said Amadou.

“We’ll wait,” said Bear.

ZZ sat alongside Akeem. “I will say prayers until he leaves us.”

“Bear and I have things to do.
Fire a shot if there’s trouble. Bear, let’s get those bodies to the burial chamber.”

***

Amadou told the five men he would guide them to a waiting plane. Even in their condition fear showed in their eyes.

             
The fittest stood. “If we stay in Libya we will be murdered. This plane, can it take us to Niger?”

             
Amadou rubbed his chin. ”The answer to the question is no but perhaps he could fly and land near the border. Once he lands you’re on your own. But we’ll ask.”

             
Several minutes later five men leant against a crumbling wall. The soldiers helped each other as they negotiated the rubble-strewn streets through the village. Every few minutes they stopped and rested.

             
“I’ll go ahead,” said Amadou. “Follow my trail.”

             
“You’re going to leave us,” whispered one.

“If that was my intention you’d still be in the tomb. I’m not
sure where the plane landed. I can save you time and effort.”

The men were silent, lost in thought, t
heir gait slow as they staggered and followed the trail in the sand.

Amadou approached the
plane from the rear. The pilot startled by his arrival jumped.

“Your passengers are making their own way to the coast and have told me to tell you to take these men as far
as the Niger border.”

“They owe me and
as it’s dusk I’m not taking these men anywhere.”

Amadou’s face was stern as he faced the pilot. This conversation is
ended. Get out or I’ll shoot you where you sit.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Want to prove me a liar?”

The man scrabbled out of the cockpit as the five Gaddafi men stumbled
into view.

“You have a choice,” said Amadou. “
Stay here or I fly you to Niger. I have to tell you it’s a few years since I piloted a plane.”

The men looked
at each other. Their spokesman pointed. “What’s wrong with the pilot?”

“He
says he will not fly at night.”

“Why?
”

“Because I enjoy living and l
anding in the back of beyond at night can be fatal,” shouted the pilot. “If you’re crazy take the plane. I’d rather walk back to the village in the blazing sun. At least I’d stand a chance.”

“He is right,” said one of the men. “What is another night? Tomorrow you will take us?”

“Do I have a choice?” said the pilot.

“No,” he pointed at Amadou. “
This man will take us and I will shoot you.”

The pilot grimaced. “Tomorrow at
first light I’m out of here. Be ready.”

Amadou raised his eyes to the sky, it remained a clear night and a half moon lit the barren landscape. He could smell the sweat of the men who stood near him. “Time to rest boys.”

In no fit state to argue, they trudged back to their hole in the ground.

***

“That’s number three tucked up for eternity,” said Petros as they rolled the corpse of John Soames into an empty alcove.

“
At least they rest in peace. Pound to a pinch of shit they’d have left us for the vultures.”

“Vultures in the Sahara.”

“It’s Africa, there must be vultures.”

Petros stared at Bear. “You’re
having a laugh.”

“So what? Where’s the codeine?  My head hurts. It’s time I gave playing Peter Pan a miss and settled.”

“You may have a point. We’d better go and see if Akeem is still with us.”

Chapter
Nineteen

Petros and Bear strolled through the village, the cool evening breeze wafted between the abandoned houses.

             
“ZZ is fond of Akeem,” said Petros.

             
“Odd combination, a boy and a killer for hire.”

             
“It’s a funny old world.”

             
They turned the corner. Akeem lay on his back.

             
ZZ sat by Akeem’s head. “My friend, I’m not sure if you are a believer but praise to Allah who has saved you from the fire.” As he looked at Petros and Bear, he brushed away a tear. “I must cover him and wash his body.”

             
For a moment Petros was silent, his eyes closed. “ZZ you may wash him but we have little water. Don’t waste any.”

             
“I will respect his body as a martyr as he gave his life to save us. There is no need to wash. As one who died in battle, his clothing must not be removed. We have no sheets to cover him in a shroud so I will use two sleeping bags. I am sure Allah will not be offended. Will you help me dig the grave?”

             
Bear turned to Petros. “Come on, you and I have a job to do. ZZ stay with Akeem.”

             
ZZ lifted Akeem’s right hand and held it to his chest.

             
The two men retrieved the shovels from the Toyota.

             
“Where do you reckon?” said Petros.

             
Bear pointed. “In between those two palms and in the shade, he’d be at home there.”

             
Within twenty minutes of digging, they struck solid rock.

             
“This is as far as we go,” said Bear.

             
“What are we going to tell Charles Haskell?”

             
“I’ll tell him my version of the truth. Akeem died with a knife in one hand and an AK in the other.”

             
“Yeah, Charles might accept that. Let’s bury the man and after we can eat and sleep.”

             
Together they lifted and with reverence carried Akeem’s corpse and placed him in the shallow grave. ZZ followed in silence, his head bowed.

             
“Shouldn’t we say something?” said Bear.

             
“Allah knows what we have done. Akeem died on the battlefield and may be buried without the salaat,” said ZZ. “We ask Allah to give us the strength and support to remember him.”

             
ZZ stood back as Petros and Bear filled the grave with stones before finishing with sand and soil.

             
Soaked in sweat, the three of them returned to the tomb.

***

Voices came from the tomb as Petros and Bear entered. In the dim light, five soldiers stood arguing.

             
“I thought you lot had gone,” said Bear. “Come to think of it I never saw or heard the plane take off. What’s the score?”

             
“The pilot will not try a landing at night. Says he’ll take them at dawn,” said Amadou.

             
“Time for the last supper,” said Bear. “ZZ, gather every bit of food we have and put it in the pot. If anyone complains, I’ll have their share.”

             
“Pot mess,” said Petros, “manna to a hungry man.”

             
“Half a dozen tins of beef stew are in the rear of the Toyota and biscuits. Bung it in, ZZ,” said Amadou.

             
ZZ smiled and disappeared up the ladder and gathered the assortment of food from the vehicle before gathering fresh palm fronds and constructing a trap.

Low in the west, t
he sun’s rays filtered through the fronds as he sat still. When dusk arrived kangaroo rats came out of their burrows and hopped towards the palms hunting for seeds. ZZ remained silent and watched as one, two, three and then four entered his trap and ate the bait of seeds. In one movement, he closed the entrance and smashed it against a nearby wall. With his blade, he beheaded, gutted, and skinned each animal. Carrying his trophies he returned to the tomb and tossed them into the brew. He added the tinned stew, biscuits and water, before bringing it to the boil. With the primus on a low setting the pot’s contents simmered until ZZ nodded. “It is ready.”

With utensils from the Toyota, ZZ gave a portion to each in turn.

“Where’s yours?” said Bear.

“I eat from pot.”

His meal finished, Bear found
trouble when focusing. He needed sleep. “I’m going to sleep. Tomorrow, with luck, we return to civilisation.”

Petros nodded.
“Good plan.” He glanced at the five Gaddafi soldiers who said little and stayed together. Not my problem, he mused.

Later, disturbed by
a noise, he opened his eyes, the dark of the tomb total. A shudder ran through his body. “Have we a problem?”

The beam of a torch blinded him
. “My men and I are returning to the plane. We can take off as the sun rises.”

“Makes sense,” said Petros.
“Will you be safe in Niger?”

“Safer than remaining in Libya
where the murder squads will be searching for us. Others have left and settled. We will meet them and decide our future, if we have one. Thank you for the food.”

“You’re welcome.”
Who were these men, forced to run from their own country? He cast his mind back to the days he served as an army officer. You did the job to the best of your ability whatever side your master. His thoughts started to spin. Confused, he rolled over and returned to an uneasy sleep.

***

The
Cessna pilot woke as the light of a new day crossed the horizon. Half asleep, he jumped out of the cockpit, stretched and massaged cramped muscles. A few boiled sweets and a swig of water his breakfast.

             
“They have an hour and then I leave,” he said to himself as he wandered around the plane completing his pre-flight checks, flaps, wheels, and other external components. Next, he removed any medium sized rocks from his basic runway and tossed them to one side. As he completed his final inspection, the five Gaddafi soldiers arrived.

             
“No weapons,” said the pilot. “With six of us I carry no baggage.”

In silence
each man dropped his AK to the ground.

“It’ll be cramped
. Get in and keep quiet.” He waited until the men sorted themselves out before climbing into the pilot’s seat and fastening his seat straps. He busied himself with starting the engines and checking the instruments. “Ready,” he shouted.

At full throttle, the Cessna raced across the hard sand, lifted and climbed to
one thousand metres.

  “I’m going to fly over Al Wigh and from there find a suitable landing place near the border. You might have a distance to walk but then where we land is my choice.”

“The closer the better,” said a soldier.

“Just relax and I’ll do my best.” The Cessna turned south and levelled at two thousand metres. “He turned and smiled. The soldiers were sleeping.

Now and then the plane lifted and fell as it flew under a cloudless sky. He switched to auto
-pilot and relaxed. The time dragged as they travelled across endless desert.

“Wake up,” said the pilot. “We are over Al Wigh.
Start looking for a nice flat spot for our landing.”

“Al Wigh is over one hundred kilometres from the
Niger border,” said the soldier behind the pilot.

“It is but to
land I need a flat piece of ground but I’ll get you as close as I can.”

The calmness in his voice reassured them.

“
Niger straight...” Both engines stuttered and died. Apart from the rush of the wind over the wings, silence.

             
The pilot checked the fuel tanks while pushing the control forward. “This might be a good time to land.” He stared through the windscreen. The terrain ahead did not look promising.

             
One of the men pointed to a flat stretch beyond a sea of dunes.

             
The pilot nodded. “As we don’t have a choice. Here we go.”

             
With the fuel and electrical services shut off the glide continued. The plane cleared the dunes, its wheels scoring shallow furrows in their peaks. The pilot commenced a standard approach. The wing wheels touched and the nose wheel ploughed deep into soft sand. In its own sand storm the fuselage turned, somersaulted, twisted and came to rest.  

             
In the semi-dark, the pilot unfastened his seat belt and dropped from his seat. Wreckage surrounded him. He stopped and thought. The plane’s on its head. He groped for the left door handle and pushed, it did not budge. The right window displayed a glimmer of light. With a groan he shoved, it shifted, sand cascaded into the cabin. Undeterred he dragged his body through the gap, pushed the suffocating sand away and pulled himself into the hot desert air.

             
Exhausted he crawled under a wing and into the shade, closed his eyes and relaxed. The thought of his passengers jarred him into action. With both hands, he scooped the sand away from the door until it opened wide. He peered into the aft end of the cockpit. The five soldiers hung from their seats. Blood dripped and congealed in a pool under them. It took effort and a long time to disentangle each man from the wreckage. Single-handed he dragged four battered and groggy soldiers out. On examining the fifth he shrugged and joined the others.

             
As the sun approached the horizon, he removed a case containing emergency rations from the rear compartment and opened it. The water container was intact. Next, he searched for his charts.

             
The four surviving soldiers sat and nursed their wounds. Apart from multiple bruises and concussion, two suffered a broken arm, one a twisted ankle and the forth nothing of significance.

             
The pilot stood and pointed. “Niger is that way.” He turned. “Help is forty kilometres in that direction. I intend to return to Al Wigh. I can make it in one day. What you choose to do is your own decision. There’s a first aid kit behind the rear seats. I’ll come back.” A shot sounded and the pilot swayed, dropped to his knees and tumbled, his face in the sand.

             
The soldier shoved the pistol into his belt before turning to the others. “Together we walk towards Niger. If we die so be it.” He picked up the emergency ration case. “We rest until the sun has set.”

             
Each man attended to his own wounds as best they could, applying antiseptic cream to lacerations, and manufacturing slings for broken arms.

***

Petros nudged the others awake with the toe of his shoe. “Shake a leg. Might as well get going.”

             
“You’re a pain in the arse,” said Bear.

             
“I know,” said Petros. “I’ll drive the Toyota to the pump room and we can fill the tank. At least we’ll have more than enough fuel to get back.”

             
Petros clambered up the makeshift ladder and breathed the fresh cool air of the new day. Relieved the soldiers had gone, he strolled to the vehicle, jumped into the driver’s seat, inserted and turned the ignition key. Nothing happened. With both fists, he thumped the steering wheel while shouting “Shit, shit, shit.”

             
In a foul mood he returned to the tomb and descended the ladder. “The Toyota won’t start.”

             
“It’ll be a loose connection. The way ZZ drove was not perfect,” said Bear.

             
“Mr Bear, the engine was okay when I stopped.”

             
“Whatever,” said Petros, “grab your gear and let’s have a look. I’m many things but a mechanic, never.”

             
The three men and ZZ climbed into the sunlit day. A few minutes later, Amadou opened the bonnet.

             
“We’re not driving anywhere in this. Somebody destroyed the wiring between the battery and the starter motor.”