Recoil (5 page)

Both sets of eyes were just inches above the wagon’s flatbed, looking even more like pleading Labradors than the last time I’d seen them. Margaret’s brimmed with tears. She pulled some photographs from her waistcoat and shoved them towards me. I found myself looking at two proud parents displaying an overwrapped baby to the camera. ‘My first granddaughter. I haven’t even seen her. We will get out of here, won’t we?’

How the fuck did I know? ‘Yes, of course. The fleet are on their way and they’ll get us out. Not a problem.’

She took the pictures back, giving the group a loving look before they went into her pocket. Annabel was busy nodding at them both. ‘These men have it all under control. We’re getting out. Soon.’

Margaret grabbed my arm. ‘Thank you. Thank all of you.’

The Queen put an arm round her and led her back to the house.

‘How come the three of you got mixed up with the convoy?’

Annabel did her best to give me a smile. ‘It makes the president feel important, keeps him happy. Alice and Helen enjoy the trips – it’s a nice break from routine.’

‘You do a lot of these?’

‘Every month.’

‘What’s it in aid of? What’s in the boxes?’

She smiled again. ‘Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Let’s just say it’s important for us to help the president.’

A crackly ‘Hello? Hello?’ leaked from the sat comms. The accent certainly wasn’t American.

I picked up the handset. ‘Hello, this is Nick. Who are you?’

‘The high commissioner. Where’s Miles?’

I turned to Annabel. ‘Go get Gary.’

She jumped from the wagon. Whoever was on the roof gun let off a long burst, which seemed to provoke a big commotion in the house. It sounded like the soldiers were agitated, and the general’s rants were right off the Richter scale. Annabel shouted above them for Gary.

‘The boss is coming.’ I spoke into the handset. ‘Wait out.’ I liked ordering high commissioners about.

The next thing I heard was Frankenstein getting bollocked by the general as they came out into the courtyard together. The Zaïrean’s sweat-soaked face glinted in the moonlight.

Frankenstein took the phone from me and shoved a finger into his spare ear. ‘It’s Gary. What the fuck’s happening?’

He listened for several seconds, his jaw clenched with frustration, then piled on the sarcasm. ‘Yes, he may be, in your fucking head. But out here I do front-of-house and he polishes things up in the kitchen. So what the fuck’s happening?’

He listened some more, then finally cut away, almost throwing the handset back at me. ‘For fuck’s sake! The fleet’s not close enough yet for the helis, and there are no fast jets because there’s no fucking political clearance. But our wonderful high commissioner is doing all he can, bless him.’

Annabel opened her mouth to stick up for her boss, then wisely had second thoughts as Gary stormed back into the building.

9

He’d been gone no more than five minutes when I heard the rattle of small-arms fire and the distant sound of two RPGs cracking off. Seconds later they smashed into the side of the house.

The pressure waves hurled me to the ground. My ears were still ringing as I staggered to my feet in a cloud of sand and mortar dust.

It was impossible to tell where they’d hit.

There was silence for the next two or three seconds while everyone came to their senses, then Davy screamed, ‘Man down! Man down!’ from above us.

I grabbed a torch and a bag of field dressings from the footwell of the wagon and ran back into the house. The dust was just settling. I flicked the beam round the room. The royal sisters, and what looked like four of the soldiers, lay motionless on the floor, their shattered limbs at crazy angles. The walls were splattered with blood. Margaret had a neat hole in her chest where the shaped charge from one of the grenades had punched its way through her, on its way to fucking up everyone else.

I barged through the confusion and screams. I was sweating big-time as I climbed the spiral staircase on to the roof.

Gary was lying on his back, his blood-drenched face pale and shiny in the moonlight. He wasn’t moving and his eyes were wide open. I leaned over him, knowing immediately that there was nothing I could do. He was totalled. A round had hit him in the throat and smashed its way out through his neck, taking the vertebrae and his spinal column with it. He must have dropped like liquid.

I caught a glimpse of Standish: he wasn’t trying too hard to conceal his delight at being the only one left alive.

‘What the fuck?’ Davy shoved him backwards. ‘You think that’s funny, yeah?’

Standish lost his smirk and his eyes blazed. ‘What do you think you’re doing? I’m in command here.’

Davy was about to give him the good news with his fist and size nines when Sam jumped between them. ‘Stop! Save it for that lot out there.’

A loud metallic scrape announced the opening of the main gates. The general screamed at the backs of his remaining soldiers as they legged it into the darkness.

I grabbed my AK and got into a fire position, aiming at the shadows as they melted into the darkness. If these guys were changing sides, they needed to be stopped now. I readied myself to shoot, but my blood-soaked hands slipped on the stock. ‘We dropping them?’

Standish sparked up from behind. His time had come. ‘Yes, do it. Take them.’

I might have been the new boy, but I knew who was now the real boss around here. ‘Sam?’

By now everybody had their weapon ready to go, and everybody waited.

Standish wasn’t impressed. I’d just been crossed off his Christmas-card list. ‘I’m giving an order. I want bodies out there. Get some rounds down!’

‘No – leave ’em.’ Sam took control. ‘We won’t get them all now, anyway. Hold fire.’

The last of the bodies disappeared into the darkness, heading towards the wagon lights that were scattered around the building, just out of our range, and the fires that flickered near them.

As Standish stomped off towards the stairs, a couple of shots cracked off here and there but they weren’t aimed at us or the mutineers. The rebels out there had probably chewed so much ghat, they were shooting each other to see if it hurt or not.

10

01:28 hours

Most of us were on the roof, staring at the vehicle lights and fires out there in the darkness. It was only a question of time before they attacked again.

Standish was down on the Renault, talking to the High Commission and the Third Fleet, and anyone else who’d listen, by the sound of it. Annabel stuck to him like glue.

As far as we knew – or could gather from what Standish was saying – the Americans were still steaming towards the Zaïre coast. There was still no clearance for fighter jets, and still no word on the helis. I got the feeling that a little backtracking was the order of the day.

This job had been going on once a month and the cargo hadn’t been a problem as long as nobody knew about it. Even after the attack, everything was OK because we were going to nip this little bit of drama in the bud. But now that fast jets and heli support were being requested, things had gone a little quiet.

Sam was taking the silence in his stride. ‘So what’s new?’

The general wasn’t so patient. He yelled into the darkness from time to time and, judging by his body language, if he ever got his hands on the guys who’d run away tonight, he’d rip their hearts out with his bare hands.

Davy was on stag next to Gary, who was still lying where he’d dropped. His face was covered with a sheet of blood-soaked gingham.

Sam had been staring at the dark pool that had leaked from under his head, and still glistened in the moonlight. He finally tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Come with me.’

We crossed the roof and headed down the spiral staircase.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t you want to know why Gary’s history?’

It was pitch black. The further we went down the stairs, the stronger the smell from the bodies. It wasn’t the usual butcher’s-shop smell. It was too hot and sticky for that. It reminded me of dog food.

The small wooden crates in the middle of the hall were split but still intact. ‘Grab one, Nick. I’ll get the door.’

I did as I was told and carried it out into the moonlight. The box was about half the weight of the link I’d been carrying earlier – surprisingly heavy for its size.

A small zinc plate on the side read: London Good Delivery.

I didn’t know what to make of that. It wasn’t in London yet, and there certainly wasn’t anything good about this delivery. But Sam knew. ‘It’s gold. London Good Delivery bars are the world trading standard. That’s what those guys out there are here for.’ He picked up one of the brick-sized bars. ‘Twenty-seven pounds each, these boys weigh. That’s a big wad we got here, in anybody’s language.’

‘I don’t give a shit. Gary and the others in the house died for this?’

Sam saw the expression on my face. ‘Let’s go ask her, shall we?’

I followed him over to the Renault. Sam held the gold bar almost under Annabel’s nose. ‘All this, just so Uncle Mo ships a few more million to Switzerland? Politically sensitive? I must tell that to the mother of Gary’s kids. And what about your two friends? Do they have husbands? Brothers? Sisters? I’m sure it’ll be a comfort.’

‘Sam, I—’

‘Giving aid with one hand and taking back with the other, that’s all this is.’ He gave her the sort of look he’d given me when I’d used ‘fuck’ and ‘New Testament’ in the same sentence. ‘How do you people sleep at night?’

She didn’t reply. Tears were rolling down her face. She was young; this job was just a little rung on a big career ladder. What was she supposed to do? Refuse on moral grounds or something?

Standish had been silent up to now, but he’d obviously heard enough. Good: she needed defending. ‘Shut up and stop crying. I can’t stand whinging women. And you, Sergeant –’ he glared at Sam ‘– just get on with your job. Do you think this didn’t come right from the top? It’s important.’

Sam clenched his jaw. ‘Important for you, maybe, but not for me. I’m a soldier.’

For a moment, it looked like Sam was going to deck him, but he never got the chance. Davy was screaming from the roof: ‘Stand to!’

11

Sam and I ran towards the house as Davy got everyone sparked up. ‘Here we go, stand to, stand to!’

Sam paused to shout back at Standish. ‘Get the comms inside and keep out of my way!’

We raced up the stairs and on to the roof. I could see four sets of headlamps coming our way, then five, six, maybe more.

I took control of my gun and rested it on the parapet, jerking back instinctively on the cocking handle to check that the working parts were still to the rear and made ready. As the steel parts of the cocking slide rubbed against each other I heard the rasp of sand. I pushed in the safety bar that ran through the pistol grip from right to left before punching down on the top cover to make sure.

The clunks and clicks of two RPGs being loaded came from just behind me, but the guys held their fire. To get in a decent shot, the vehicles needed to be within spitting distance at night. The launchers only had iron sights.

Yet more sets of lights appeared and peeled off to the right. The fuckers were going to try to surround us. Still we waited for Sam’s order.

The headlights closed to 300 metres and I could hear faint shouts and hoots. The boys must have been having a good old night on the ghat.

Sam ducked and weaved like a boxer as he tried to get a better view, then a finger poked at my shoulder. ‘Take the lead vehicle.’

I shifted position until my foresight rested on the closest set of lights. He designated other vehicles until everyone had a target. When mine was about two hundred away, he said, ‘Stand by, stand by, fire!’

The noise of eight weapons opening simultaneously was deafening. I was buffeted by shockwaves from the RPGs, then the hot back-blast washed over me. Gravel splattered me. My nose filled with the acrid smell of cordite and spent propellant. My eardrums zinged.

I put another double-tap into the lead vehicle as one of the grenades hit home about three back. Its headlights swerved and the dustcloud it threw up obscured the set I was aiming for.

Next thing I saw, my vehicle, too, was swerving. It went into a complete roll not more than twenty metres from the wall.

Bodies kept advancing, firing wildly, their screams and shouts getting louder by the minute.

The first vehicle made it to the wall and into dead ground. It had to be heading for the gate. Sam ran along the parapet. ‘Take the wagon! Take the wagon!’

I made a grab for the carry handle but missed. My fingers closed around the red-hot gun metal and nearly stuck to it. My hand sprang open and the gun dropped. I made sure I got the handle this time.

Sam’s rounds stitched holes in the light sheet steel of the gates. ‘Right of the gate,’ he screamed. ‘Get some rounds through the wall!’

I stood with the weapon in my shoulder, hands on the pistol grip and butt with the barrel on the parapet to allow me elevation down. I could smell my own burned flesh as I squeezed off a long burst.