Bonfire (26 page)

The fourth and final man was now the danger. Out of his comfortable seat with the beat of his heart racing, fear pulsing, intense and all-consuming, racking his body and shocking his mind he turned and ran. Perhaps he was the youngest of the four or the least aggressive, but whatever the reason, if he managed to get away and raise the alarm he would succeed in ending any chance we had of saving Magda. We had to stop him.

‘Mick—,’ I said, but Mick was already moving, running in pursuit and holding out his pistol with its suppressor to the fore. ‘He mustn’t get away.’

Standing next to me Muntasser bent down, pulled the unconscious man over and then secured his wrists with throwaway restraints. ‘And his ankles,’ I said. ‘We don’t want him running off.’ The grunt told me Muntasser did not share my concern, but he fitted the restraints anyway.

Hurrying over to the Landcruiser gave me a clear sight of the running man. He was following the track. Mick was cutting the distance, but not by much. The man was out of range for a pistol shot. He was attempting to reach the buildings and from the speed of his running had every chance of succeeding. Muntasser appeared at my side and silently watched the chase.

‘He’s going to get away and raise the alarm,’ I said. Muntasser’s eyes stayed on the escaping man.

‘No, he will not,’ he said.

The running man fell as if he had tripped, but he did not bring up his hands as he went down and he did not get up again.

‘I said he would not,’ Muntasser said and looked at me. ‘Aksil never misses.’ The shot by the Berber was impressive.

‘Cakes, Aksil, all secure, get here as quick as you can,’ I said through the CDL. ‘Mick, move the body away from the track and then get the clothes.’ I checked my wristwatch. The minutes were passing.

Muntasser and I went back to the bound man and his two dead co-workers. He was coming round and groaning like a walrus with a toothache. Muntasser kicked his feet and said something in Arabic.

‘We’ve got work to do,’ I said. ‘Help me get their clothes off.’

Cakes and Aksil arrived back. ‘Put these on,’ I said and threw them the black outfits.’

After I had dragged the two bodies and hid them inside the Landcruiser with the mostly managerial help of Muntasser, Cakes and Aksil had changed clothes. Mick appeared already wearing his second-hand black costume. The disguises were not perfect, but they were better than no disguise at all.

‘Cakes, climb up to the top of the ridge and watch out for the technical,’ I said. He stopped beside our captive.

‘Don’t you want my help?’ he asked.

‘You don’t speak Arabic,’ I said. He thought for a moment and then continued on his way. I had a professional available to carry out the interrogation.

To get the walrus’ attention Muntasser kicked him. The man looked up and I saw hatred and fear in his eyes. Muntasser asked him a question, but the man only stared. This time, Muntasser kicked him much harder. The man grunted as the toe of Muntasser’s boot sank deeply into his belly. Again, Muntasser spoke. Again, the man remained mute. Again, Muntasser kicked him. The next time Muntasser spoke the man answered. They conversed briefly and then Muntasser turned to me.

‘This is Abu,’ he said. ‘Abu is a mid-ranking member of Al Bousefi’s group.’

‘Ask him how many guards there are inside the main building,’ I said. Muntasser spoke and Abu answered.

‘He says the number is more than seventy.’

‘That number seems too many,’ I said. ‘Is he lying?’

Muntasser combined questioning with both threatened and actual kicks. Abu writhed in the dirt with his eyes closed. The injury to his head and the pain from Muntasser’s boot was challenging his ability to remain lucid. He spoke, but it was not eloquent.

‘He says the smaller building gives accommodation to the men and that is why there is so many. There is a big gathering today in the main building. He says it is for the marriage of Al Bousefi.’

‘Marriage,’ I echoed unable to hide my surprise.

‘Yes, that is what he says.’

‘Ask him the location of Magda inside the main building,’ I said. Muntasser questioned, but Abu struggled to listen. The Al Bousefi guard was close to losing consciousness again. He mumbled something.

Cakes’ voice came through the CDL. ‘I have eyes on the technical. It’s headed our way, less than a mile out.’

Muntasser pulled his Beretta, aimed without pause using a straight arm and then fired. Through the suppressor, the bullet sounded choked like a cough from a man with a heavy cold. It entered through the forehead above the right eye and exited behind the left ear removing a greater than the fair amount of brain for its 9mm size. Abu’s head jerked unnaturally and then struck the dirt beside its own grisly spatter.

‘Mick, help me move the body,’ I said. ‘Muntasser, move the Range Rover. Aksil, take a position on the south ridge. Follow them in, Cakes, with comms. Mick and I will come from behind the Landcruiser. Everyone, watch the crossfire. Keep it quick and quiet.’

Abu’s dead body was heavy, but we carried it at pace and dumped it in the Landcruiser on top of the other two. Warm blood and matter from the fresh head wound got onto my clothes. If we had had more time, I would then have changed into Abu’s outfit.

Muntasser had disappeared in the Range Rover behind the rock and the bend in the track. ‘I will stay here until it is over,’ he said through the CDL. Aksil, too, had disappeared.

‘The technical is driving around the ridge and entering from the north,’ Cakes said speaking fast and clear. ‘Muntasser, they are going to see you.’

‘Does he have time to move?’

‘Negative. They will have visual in seconds.’

‘Muntasser, if they stop keep them talking. We will come to you. Otherwise, stay where you are until it’s over,’ I said.

‘The technical is slowing down,’ Cakes said.

‘Yes, they are stopping,’ Muntasser confirmed.

‘We’re on our way.’ Mick and I began to run. ‘Aksil, do you have a shot?’

‘No, I will move.’

‘The passenger has gotten out,’ Cakes said. ‘The driver and the gunner are staying put. Muntasser has gotten out. He’s waiting for the man to approach him.’

Pulling my suppressor-attached Glock and hugging the rock wall I moved at speed on soft footsteps to the angle and as far as cover would take me. Mick was right behind.

‘They’re standing beside the Range Rover talking,’ Cakes said. ‘The other two haven’t moved.’

I stole a glance. The distance was greater than I had hoped and without any further cover, the open space made an unseen approach impossible. Swopping places with Mick allowed him to see.

‘Aksil, do you have a shot?’ I said quietly through the CDL. We only had seconds to act before the situation altered.

‘This is all I can do,’ Aksil said. ‘I cannot move further.’

‘Do you have a shot?’

‘Yes, one shot, the man sitting, the gunner.’

Pushing against Mick I glanced again. ‘Cakes, can you take the driver?’

‘Negative. The distance is too great and I don’t have a clear line of sight.’

‘Can you move closer?’

‘Not without the gunner seeing me.’

The driver was our problem and the risk that he would escape.

‘Muntasser,’ I said softly through the CDL, ‘you will have to kill the driver before he can drive off. You need to move away from the man you are talking to into a position that gives you a clear shot.’ I glanced again. Muntasser maintained the conversation while casually ambling around the man towards the technical and its open passenger door. This movement caused the man to unconsciously turn and follow him. Showing us his back was a welcome addition. ‘Aksil will shoot the gunner, Mick and I will take the standing man, and Muntasser, you have the driver. Aksil, are you ready?’

‘Yes, I am ready.’

‘All right, we go on the count of three,’ I said. ‘One… two… three.’

Mick and I burst out together into the open and rushed towards the technical with our pistols held ready. The gunner jolted abnormally, fell to one side and then slumped down as if his seat had become made of ice. He was not going to get up again. Muntasser attempted a cowboy-style
quick draw
, but the Beretta’s suppressor caught on his unbuttoned tunic and ruined the
Sundance Kid
impersonation. The driver was young and alert. He immediately realised the danger, and the loud clatter from the revved diesel engine broke the quietness like a drum kit during band practice. Darting over to get a better angle, I raised the Glock in both hands to eye level and targeted the standing man. In his panicky attempt to aim his rifle at Muntasser he, too, had become a failed
quick draw
competitor. Aiming between the man’s shoulder blades, I fired. Mick sprinted directly towards the front of the technical. He saw the man fall and knew my accuracy was good. The converted Toyota Hilux lurched forward with all four tyres spitting dirt in a rushed attempt to convert power into traction on the soft ground. Pointing the Beretta into the moving cab Muntasser fired once. The Hilux lurched again and this time, the tyres stuck with venomous alacrity. Mick had planted his feet. Straight-armed his pistol aimed through the windscreen at the driver. The acute angle provided an almost front-on shot. The Toyota leapt forward at speed and the engine growled like a whipped hyena. Muntasser must have missed. Mick fired twice. The windscreen frosted and two bullet holes appeared black like hawthorn drupes in the snow. Still accelerating the Toyota veered without warning. Mick was close. He was too close. The unexpected change in direction came without notice. It was rapid and unstoppable. The realisation lasted only a fraction of one second. The hit sounded dull like the thud from a deer strike. It lifted Mick off his feet and for a moment, he sailed like a kite. Time seemed to slow as I watched helplessly. With nothing to stop the Toyota, it ploughed on. Mick was lost. The vehicle’s high ground clearance and protruding metal bull bar caught him and pulled his inert body down and under with a gut-wrenching inevitability. The suspension bounced closing the space between the heavy tyre and the wheel arch and sounding like a passing carriage on a train track. I ran to my friend. Continuing onward in a straight line the Toyota only stopped when it crashed head-on into the jutting rock face. Twisted and unmoving Mick’s body pressed heavily on the ground and blood ran across his face. In my arms, his body felt broken and lifeless.

A muffled pistol shot drew my attention. Muntasser was ensuring the
kills
. He walked over to where I sat on the ground holding Mick. ‘The driver was dead already,’ he said. ‘He had two bullet holes in his head.’ He looked closely at Mick. ‘Your friend was a good shot with a pistol.’ He paused. ‘I am sorry.’

Cakes was the first to arrive back. Aksil was only seconds behind. Cakes stood over me and stared down at Mick’s ashen, bloodstained face. Aksil held a respectful distance.

‘This was your fault,’ Cakes said directing his anger at Muntasser. ‘You were supposed to shoot the driver.’ Despite Cakes’ antagonism, Muntasser imposingly maintained his composure.

‘You are upset at what has happened,’ Muntasser said. ‘I am sorry.’ Cakes advanced on the man he felt was responsible. He wanted Muntasser to pay. The police chief did not require great detective skills to identify Cakes’ intention. Aksil moved to intercept the advance, but Muntasser waved him back.

‘I did shoot the driver,’ Muntasser said. ‘I hit him in the shoulder. Mick hit him twice in the head. Look at the driver’s body and you will see.’ Cakes wavered. ‘This is not my fault.’

‘Go and look at the body,’ I said. Cakes walked past Muntasser and went to the crashed Toyota.

After looking, Cakes walked back in silence.

‘What did you see?’ I asked. My inquiry went unanswered. Not that it mattered. Mick was dead.