The Kill Zone (34 page)

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Authors: Chris Ryan

BOOK: The Kill Zone
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‘Mr Khan!’ Siobhan shouted. She was no more than five metres away from him now.
Khan looked round, alarmed, just as two of the men on the technical raised their rifles. When he saw it was Siobhan, a brief look of irritation crossed Khan’s face, but he soon mastered it and raised his hand at the guards, who lowered their guns.
‘Miss Hoskins . . .’
‘Mr Khan, you said I could have an interview.’
‘Now is not a good time, Miss Hoskins.’
She was right by the technical now. ‘Perhaps I could come with you.’ She gave him a dizzy smile.
Khan’s face darkened.
‘A photo, then.’ She pulled her digital camera from her pocket. Khan immediately held up his hand to prevent her taking his picture. Siobhan shoved the camera into his fist. ‘Then
you
take one of
me
. The papers will love it . . . very atmospheric . . .’ She widened her eyes. ‘All these guns!’
She had her back to the technical, leaning up against it with one hand behind her. It took only a second for her to attach the tiny magnetic device to the chassis of the vehicle. A good job too, because Khan was angry now. He threw the camera to the floor. ‘Get away,’ he whispered, a dangerous look in his eyes.
Siobhan feigned surprise. She staggered away from the technical as Khan hopped up. The guards grinned as the vehicle moved away, leaving Siobhan alone at the gates.
She waited until it was out of sight, then sprinted back to the Land Rover. Jack had the GPS unit in front him.
‘You got them?’ Siobhan asked.
Jack pointed at a green blip on the unit. ‘Yeah, I got them.’ He handed the device back to Siobhan and turned the ignition.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
Jack drove with one hand on the steering wheel, one hand on the rifle. As they followed the signal through the maze-like grid of Mogadishu he raised the gun whenever he saw a group of more than three or four people or, less frequently, another vehicle. If anyone saw it, so much the better. Hopefully it meant they wouldn’t fuck with him. Small fires lined the streets like pilot lights, ready to ignite the whole city if anyone switched on the gas. Jack felt sweat pouring down his grimy face, his whole body tense with watchfulness, his trigger finger taut.
‘They’re heading west,’ Siobhan said.
Her voice was businesslike.
Only when they’d hit the outskirts of the city did Jack lower the rifle and concentrate more on the road. They passed several other technicals heading into Mogadishu, the open pick-ups crammed full of armed people and all the machine guns manned. Different factions, different clans, all congregating in the capital, drawn to it like wasps to poisonous honey. Put that kind of weaponry into the hands of lawless people – you didn’t need to be a genius to work out what was going to happen.
The outskirts of the capital ebbed away. They found themselves on a single-track road, dark, potholed and bumpy.
‘We’re about five hundred metres behind them,’ Siobhan said.
Jack nodded, then switched off the headlamps of the Land Rover in order to remain hidden if they got too close to the technical. Everything was plunged into darkness, and it took a good minute for his night vision to settle itself. Even then it was difficult to see the road ahead. Jack slowed down to avoid coming off the road: this wasn’t somewhere he wanted to be waiting for a recovery vehicle.
Silence. Just the sound of the engine and the tyres crunching over the stony earth.
Suddenly, he caught sight of a flash of red up ahead. It disappeared momentarily, then came into view again. Rear lights.
‘I’ve got a visual,’ he said.
Siobhan peered over his shoulder. He could feel her hot breath against his neck. ‘I got it,’ she whispered.
‘I’m going to hang back.’
Another five minutes of tense, careful travelling – during which the red lights disappeared once more a couple of hundred metres ahead. ‘They’ve stopped,’ Siobhan said. Jack slowed down, then directed the truck off the road on to a patch of dry mud at the side of a parched field. He hit the brakes. Sound travelled easily in these open plains, so he wanted to get the engine switched off as quickly as possible.
‘We’ll approach on foot,’ he told Siobhan before handing her the keys to the Land Rover. ‘Anything happens to me, get the hell back and drive.’ He handed her Markus’s map with the location of the airfield circled in pencil. ‘The plane’s waiting there until midnight. Guy called Markus. Tell him I said to get you out. Understood?’
‘Midnight, Markus,’ Siobhan repeated.
‘When we get out of the vehicle we need to walk on opposite sides of the road, about fifteen metres apart. If we get too close, we’re an easy target once we’re seen. They’ll take us out with one hit. You hear gunfire, voices,
anything
, hit the ground. Doesn’t matter if it’s a false alarm. You got your weapon ready?’
Siobhan held up the Makarov.
‘Good. Don’t be afraid to fire it, but don’t unless you have to.’
‘I’m competent with a weapon, Jack.’
‘I know you are. Just don’t waste ammo. Those fuckers up there will be armed to the teeth. If it comes to it, it’s up to us to fight smarter. OK?’
‘Sure.’
‘Then let’s move.’
They walked in silence. The ground was baked hard and stony; the only vegetation was low brush starved of water, side by side with the occasional hunk of jagged, rusted metal. Out here, away from the city, the sky overhead was breathtaking: no moon, but a riot of milky stars, a heavenly canopy over this hellish land. Jack held his rifle in his right hand and had the canvas ammo bag slung over his shoulder. There was no noise other than the crunch of their feet along the road. It was as if even the animals had deserted this benighted place. Every twenty paces or so, he looked over his shoulder to check on Siobhan. She was always there, Makarov in hand, face set with concentration. It occurred to Jack that they worked well together, and there, under the African night sky, Jack felt an unexpected stab of regret. It was Siobhan’s fault, not his, that they were no longer an item. He’d swept over his feelings with a brush of anger and resentment, but if it had truly been up to him . . .
He put those thoughts from his head. This was hardly the time or place.
The lights of the technical were switched off now, so judging its distance in the darkness was impossible. After about five minutes, however, his eyes started to make out something up ahead. Buildings – shacks, more like. Dilapidated. As they grew nearer, it became clear that they were on the edge of a village, or at least what had once been a village. Now it bore the scars of war, and Jack would have bet any money that it was unpopulated. Who could live among these scenes of almost post-nuclear destruction: craters in the earth, burned-out cars? As they regrouped behind a tumbledown wall Jack could see in a ditch behind them the gruesome figure of a corpse, its flesh now just a thin film over the bones, its limbs mangled and distorted. He didn’t point it out to Siobhan, who was crossing the road to join him.
She was breathing heavily. He put one hand on her shoulder. ‘You OK?’ he whispered.
Siobhan nodded, but her face told a different story.
‘Stay close to me,’ he breathed. They weren’t on open ground now. They could risk a little proximity. Jack advanced, with Siobhan a few steps behind him. As they moved forward, they used whatever they could for cover – rubble mounds, burned-out dwellings, old vehicles – which enabled them to advance in short, safe bursts. And as they advanced, they started to hear something: a low electrical hum that grew louder the more ground they covered.
Jack was peering out from behind a rusted old pickup with no tyres when he saw, fifteen metres away, a low building, just a single storey high and about twenty-five metres by twenty. What was startling, though, was not its size or its shape, but that it was intact. More than intact. It appeared to be fabricated from huge sheets of corrugated iron, and at the rough corners of the building little shards of light escaped into the darkness. The technical they’d been following was parked outside the front, just next to the large sliding door that was clearly the main entrance, and to one side of the wall there was a generator, gently vibrating, from which the humming sound came.
Jack and Siobhan looked at each other. ‘That doesn’t look like a brothel to me,’ he murmured.
Just then there was a clattering sound as the door slid open. Bright light shone out and then a figure appeared in the doorway.
For a moment Jack thought he was hallucinating. He squinted at the figure, barely fifteen metres away, his brow furrowed as he tried to persuade himself that his brain was playing tricks.
But it wasn’t. As the door slid shut and the figure lit a cigarette, Jack turned back to Siobhan. She could tell something was wrong. ‘What is it?’
Jack didn’t answer. He just clutched his rifle a little more firmly. ‘Wait there,’ he instructed. Siobhan opened her mouth to argue, but a single look silenced her.
He had the advantage of the darkness, and as he crept out from behind the old vehicle, his feet barely made a sound. He circled round, approaching the building from one side, out of sight of the front. And once he’d reached the corrugated iron, he pressed his back against it and manoeuvred up to the corner of the structure.
He was less than five metres away from her. Close enough to hear her exhale, to smell the menthol smoke that she blew into the African night air. A million questions in his head needed answering now.
He extended his rifle, holding it out in front of him with a perfectly straight arm. Then he swung round the corner, advancing quickly. In just a few seconds the barrel of the gun was pressed against her temple.
The figure tensed up and dropped the cigarette. Her eyes rolled sideways, but she didn’t dare move her head so she had no idea who was pressing the hard metal of an assault rifle against her head.
She started to shake. But that didn’t have any effect on Jack. He was too busy thinking about the last few times he’d seen her.
In the Helmand cave, just before the Black Hawk went down.
At Bastion.
At her flat when they’d spent the night together.
Walking up the steps towards Five’s offices at Thames House.
And now here. In the arid badlands of the world’s most dangerous country, accompanying a man who had links to a former IRA drug dealer. None of it made any sense to Jack. She’d have to explain it for herself.
‘Hello, Caroline,’ he said.
Jack just managed to get his hand over her mouth before she was able to cry for help.
19
Caroline Stenton struggled. The rifle pressed against her head barely restrained the professor. Her arms and legs flailed and he had to use all his strength to drag her away from the building.
Gunshot.
Jack threw himself to the ground, and Caroline with him. He pressed himself down into the earth at the sound of more rounds being fired, like fireworks popping, but he soon realised that the guns were inside the building and not directed outside. So he dragged Caroline to her feet again and ran with her to behind the rusted vehicle where Siobhan was waiting. He threw the professor to the ground, pressed one foot roughly on to her ribcage, and aimed the rifle directly at her head.
She had an arrogant expression. But it fell momentarily away when she saw the look of fury on Jack’s face.
‘You remember the cave?’ he hissed.
Caroline nodded.
‘You saw the bodies?’ He jerked his heel into her ribs again. ‘You know I’ll kill you and not even think about it?’
Caroline coughed in pain, but when she stopped there was a curious shining in her eyes. ‘If I die,’ she whispered, ‘I will be accepted into the arms of Allah.’
‘
What?
’ Jack hissed. And then, as certain things slotted into place: ‘You fucking bitch . . .’
‘Who is she?’ Siobhan demanded.
‘Someone with a lot of explaining to do.’ He knelt down, then roughly turned Caroline over on to her front and pressed her face in the dirt.
‘Who’s the baggage, Jack?’ she said in a mocking tone of voice. ‘Does she know about us?’
‘Nothing to know,’ Jack told her.
‘Oh, Jack. Say it isn’t so. You were so enthusiastic. You know, to keep my cover, I have to endure all sorts of hardships.’ Her head was still sideways on the ground, but she managed to glance up at Siobhan. ‘But some are harder than others—’
Jack had no desire to listen to this crap. He covered her mouth with one hand then grabbed her right wrist and yanked it up behind her back. She might not be scared of death, but pain . . .
Caroline’s body tensed up, but with Jack’s hand over her mouth she couldn’t scream. Not loudly.
‘You’re going to talk,’ he spat, ‘and I’m going to listen. If I don’t like what I hear, it’s not Allah’s arms you’ll need to worry about. It’s yours.’ He removed his hand.

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