Dead Centre (35 page)

Fuck it. Things had moved on too far to hide the fact there was a lot of cash flying about, and managing Erasto’s expectations had gone completely out of the window. But solving one problem will always present you with another.

‘Mr Nick – there’ll be no problems from me. Trust me.’

‘You’ve got family in the US, right? You’ve got to be careful, mate, because my man can get to them. But all he wants is his family back. He gets what he wants, and you get what you want, and everybody’s happy. Yeah?’

Awaale nodded. ‘I understand, Mr Nick. But you don’t need to tell me these things. You’re my friend.’

‘You’re my friend as well, mate. But let’s not fuck up now that we’re so close to the finish, OK?’

Awaale smiled and leant back. The wind ruffled his hair. I still only trusted him as far as I could throw him. It wasn’t as if we were old schoolmates. We slowed. We were almost at the terminal.

Awaale leant back towards me, hand up at the side of his mouth like we were co-conspirators. ‘Mr Nick, my money … I will need it to pay for loyalty from my crew when I take over the clan.’

‘One thing at a time, mate. Let’s get in the air before you go and conquer Mogadishu.’

He smiled, and thought for a bit. ‘I’ll give it some time. I’ll let Erasto kill those two guys, of course. I’ll give him that satisfaction.’

13

Wednesday, 23 March

04.55 hrs

THE SECOND TECHNICAL faced the Cargomaster head on, its 12.7 aimed at the airframe. We pulled up alongside it. The third one drove across from the Skyvan. Bob Marley sang louder and louder the closer it rolled. Its headlights cast shadows around the Cargomaster; with no windows in the hold area, all I could see was Joe sitting in the left seat. I tried to signal that everything was OK. His head turned behind the Perspex. I couldn’t be sure he’d noticed.

The Bob Marley fan jumped out of the driver’s seat with a wad of US dollars. He passed it through the cigarette smoke billowing from the rear window of the other double cab.

‘Come, Mr Nick, come. We’ll go and talk with Erasto.’

We followed the same route as the dollars. Erasto was settled in the centre of the bench seat, his arms up along the rear.

Awaale waffled away and Erasto nodded slowly. But he wasn’t happy. He pointed his cigarette at the Cessna and gobbed off.

Awaale turned back to me. ‘Erasto says that the men in the plane, they will not let him count the money. They say they will burn it if we attack or try to come aboard. The money was in— Wait a minute, please, Mr Nick.’ He asked the boss to clarify something before turning back to me. ‘They told him the money was in “De-Arab” bags?’

‘Deniable bags, mate. They’ll torch everything in them. It’s to stop cash and valuable documents being stolen.’

Awaale looked offended. ‘Erasto wants you to talk to them. Tell them that the money must be counted before he’ll let anyone else come ashore. As soon as he has the money, Mr Nick, no problems – in they come.’

For all I knew, Erasto might have set out with other ideas. As he drove to the airport, he might have been thinking of ways to have his cake and eat it.

I nodded, turned, and headed for the Cessna as Bob sang about being a buffalo soldier. The guy draped around the 12.7 in the back of Erasto’s wagon joined in with the chorus.

Joe leant over and opened the cockpit door. He had his AK on his lap.

I climbed up. In the dim lights, I saw Mr Lover Man – on his mobile – and Genghis in the hold. They were dressed for war in green fatigues and Kevlar body armour. Mr Lover Man had a black set, Genghis a green one. They’d inserted both front and back plates. They clutched M4 assault rifles with telescopic butts, firing handles on the stocks, and the shorter eleven-inch barrel for close-quarter work. No eastern shit for Frank’s lads, only state-of-the-art USA. Most telling of all, the magazine pouches on their armour sets were well worn. They’d done this shit before. They looked like they’d been born into it.

At their feet were two black nylon holdalls. Thick steel wires protruded from them, with ring-pulls at the end. Mr Lover Man and his mate had also come prepared. There were six-packs of two-litre water bottles; a Bergen-sized medical kit; big plastic zip bags holding spare saline drips and field dressings. Other bags held mountains of chapattis and bananas. There was milk in plastic one-litre containers.

Joe was his normal politically correct self. ‘Fucking flip-flops, man. I told you, don’t fucking trust them. They would have had the money – and us – if it wasn’t for these two in the back. They were going to take the fuckers on. All you people are mad, man. You’re fucking mad.’

It looked as if Erasto had had other plans, and these two lads had fucked them up.

Mr Lover Man came forward to study the technicals through the Perspex. He waffled in Russian on his mobile.

Joe eyed me. ‘You look shite, man. Where are your shoes? Did the flip-flops fucking steal them as well? Where’s the other three? We were told you’d got them. Where are they? I want to get out of here, man. It’s a fucking nightmare.’

‘They’re on their way, mate.’ I got eye-to-eye with Mr Lover Man in the dimmed cockpit lights. ‘Tell Frank they want to count the cash before they let Tracy, Stefan and Justin come ashore. Tell him it’s under control. Once you’ve done that, get off the mobile – we’ve got work to do.’

I glanced back into the hold. ‘You speak English?’ Genghis shook his head and slowly stretched out his legs. This lad was so laid back he literally was almost horizontal.

Mr Lover Man closed down and gave me a nod. ‘We’re ready. I don’t trust that old man.’

‘Nor do I, mate. I’m going to bring one of them over. We get him to count the cash, then we hold tight until everyone is delivered. They hold us tight, we hold the money tight. Those bags in the back, they really have deniable devices installed?’

Mr Lover Man waffled to Genghis. He unzipped the bags to reveal the shrink-wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills. Two black plastic containers, about twenty centimetres square, sat on top of them. Thick steel wire protruded from the corner of each. There were two in each bag, in case one didn’t kick off.

Frank probably used them all the time to make sure no fucker got hold of any information he didn’t want to share. After all, knowledge is power. If the ring-pull was triggered, the incendiary devices were detonated. The agent was magnesium. It burnt with unbelievable intensity. The problem, especially with two of them in each bag, was that they’d keep on burning – and take out the plane as well.

Mr Lover Man was certainly in no mood for compromise. Even if he was, his deep growl wouldn’t make it sound that way. He was as cold and clear as his boss.

‘If they try to fuck with us, we will burn the cash.’

14

JOE WASN’T IMPRESSED. ‘Fuck, man – I just want to get my aircraft out of here, with everybody on board.’

Mr Lover Man had gone back to join Genghis. Joe turned and pointed to the two of them. ‘Man, we’ve got things in our fucking toolbox, man, apart from you fucking hammers. We all need to keep our heads together, man.’

Joe didn’t realize that these two had got their heads together. If they had to fight, they didn’t give a fuck how it turned out.

Joe turned back into the cockpit. ‘For fuck’s sake, man. Get that flip-flop on board and get him counting, let’s get on with it.’

‘Yep, in a minute, mate. Everybody listen in – here’s the plan. The guy comes on board and he counts the cash. Make sure that he sees the deniable packs. He goes back to the old guy and gives him the OK. If it then goes wrong, and they go for the cash, we come out fighting. We go for his wagon and take it to the end of the runway. There’s a boat there. We head out and we look for the other skiffs. We crack on until daylight, and we keep on looking. That’s all we can do.’

I waited while Mr Lover Man translated for Genghis, then I opened the door. ‘You got that, Joe?’ I stuck a leg out. ‘Bet you’re glad I didn’t take your AK now, eh?’

‘Yeah, but what about my fucking aircraft, man?’

‘It’s going to burn to the ground if those bags kick off. So you’d better hope there are no fuck-ups.’

He nodded, but wasn’t too convinced.

I now had both feet on the concrete. ‘Awaale!’ I beckoned him over. ‘Come here, mate. Get counting.’

He nodded. Anybody would be willing to get their hands on that amount of money, even if it was only to count it.

‘Go on, mate, get inside.’

I opened the door and followed him in. He headed left into the hold. I got back into the right-hand seat and closed the door.

The bags were opened and Awaale started counting.

I motioned to Genghis for some water and food.

It’s surprising how small a million dollars looks in hundred-dollar bills. It normally comes in shrink-wrapped bundles, about twenty centimetres high. Six of them are a million, and weigh about ten kilos.

The first two litres of liquid didn’t even touch the sides. I crammed bread and bananas into my mouth as fast as I could, then started hiccuping so badly I had to wash it all down with another bottle.

Awaale thought he was going to get some too, but Mr Lover Man just gave him a big growl. ‘No eating. Just counting.’

Awaale had done this before. He picked up the bundles and made sure they were the same height. He sliced through the shrink-wrap with his thumbnail to expose the notes along each wad, making sure no one had substituted ones for hundred-dollar bills.

Mr Lover Man and Genghis looked on with contempt.

I mumbled, through a mouthful of bread, ‘The extra, have you got it?’

Mr Lover Man gobbed off to Genghis. He fished a bundle out of his map pocket and made to throw it to me.

‘No, no. Not me.’ I pointed at Awaale. ‘It’s for him.’

The cash was lobbed over with the same contempt. It hit Awaale hard on the shoulder. He didn’t care. It went into his waistband. He sucked in his skinny stomach so it wouldn’t show, and pulled his minging shirt over the top of the package. He swivelled to face me. ‘Thank you, Mr Nick.’

Another thank-you. I wished they’d stop.

It wasn’t long before he was satisfied on both counts: Erasto’s money, and his and his dad’s. He was still on his knees. ‘Everything’s good.’

‘OK, go and tell Erasto. Tell him the deniable packs really exist. Then what happens?’

‘It’s easy. Erasto will tell me to call the boats in. You will be reunited.’ He turned to the other two and gave them a smile. They looked as unimpressed as Joe.

‘You sure you can trust this fucking flip-flop? Listen, man, there’s a lot of cash there. These two action men in the back kick off, we’re all in deep shit.’

I kept my eyes on Awaale. He’d turned back to me, still on his knees.

‘Awaale, as soon as we have everybody here inside the aircraft and we are taxiing to the runway, these two will hand over the cash. It gets thrown out the door to you, OK?’

He nodded. ‘No problem, Mr Nick.’

‘But remember, if anything goes wrong, these two lads will be gunning for you and Erasto. They won’t give a fuck, mate, and I won’t be able to stop them. Remember what I said, about a war? There’ll be many more than these two coming if there’s a fuck-up.’

Awaale got onto his feet. He had to stoop so his head didn’t bang on the aircraft ceiling. ‘Mr Nick, no problem. But remember, Erasto wants the other two white guys.’

‘Yeah, but only after I’ve finished with them.’

Mr Lover Man waffled to Genghis, and that was one part of the deal they both liked.

Genghis opened the cargo hold’s shutter door and Awaale was almost thrown out onto the pan. He checked his shirt to make sure his money was safely in place.

I stayed where I was. Mr Lover Man and Genghis kept themselves to the sides of the airframe so they remained in cover. They mumbled away in Russian, weapons in the shoulder, standing by to see what Erasto was going to do now there really was three million just metres away; three million that would go up in smoke if he tried to take it. I hoped he was thinking the best thing to do was just make the deal.

I heard M4 safety catches coming off. It was followed by one click of Joe’s safety lever, to auto.

Mobiles rang outside. Bob Marley gave it large about guiltiness. The two in the back mumbled quietly again.

‘Remember, lads – you get the fire down. I’ll go for the vehicle.’

Awaale walked to the double cab of Erasto’s technical as I got back into the right seat.

The music changed suddenly from reggae to Arabic wailing. I could see Awaale leaning through the window, waffling away. Eventually he nodded and came back towards me. He wasn’t looking happy. He had his hands up in an exaggerated shrug.

‘Wait … wait. Not until they kick off first.’

I opened the cockpit door until there was just enough of a gap for him to talk through.

‘Mr Nick, we have a problem. Erasto says it isn’t enough.’

I leant down. ‘What? What the fuck are you on about? That was the deal, Awaale. You know that was the deal.’

The two lads in the back bristled as Mr Lover Man translated.

The growl was almost a roar. ‘We go now, we go
now
!’

Awaale shook his head wildly. ‘Wait, wait!’ He knew what was coming. ‘Everything is good, it’s the tax – it’s the airport tax. Erasto says you must pay the tax.’

Joe almost blew the windows out with his reply. ‘For fuck’s sake, man, you want another three hundred fucking dollars?’

Awaale looked at him as if it was the most reasonable request in the world. ‘Yes. You must pay your taxes.’

As Mr Lover Man translated, I couldn’t do anything but laugh. Awaale joined in, and then they all did.

15

THE LAUGHTER STOPPED as Joe passed the envelope and Awaale stood there and counted its contents.

‘Are you going to call the skiffs in now, mate, or what?’

Awaale turned back and waved the envelope towards the technicals. The headlights on Erasto’s flashed. Awaale got on his mobile. The exchange was short and sharp. ‘It’s OK, of course, Mr Nick. The boats are coming now. You see, everything is good.’ He flicked his fingers.