Dead Centre (38 page)

‘Listen, mate, good luck to your clan. We’ve got to go. But you know what? We are friends. We really are friends.’

His face creased into a huge grin. ‘Yes, of course, Mr Nick,’ he shouted in my ear as the prop revved big-time. ‘Of course, I know it. America, we meet at my father’s house.’

‘Give me your cell. I’ll get your number off it.’

He threw it up to me, then pointed down the runway. ‘Mr Nick, they’re escaping.’

The Skyvan left the tarmac and lifted over the sea.

‘No, they’re not, mate.
No, they’re fucking not
.’

21

I SHOUTED TO Joe as I closed the shutter, ‘Get airborne! Get up there – follow that fucking thing!’

The Cessna rumbled towards the runway. I climbed over the two front seats to retrieve my headset. I stared out into the darkness. ‘You faster?’

He was at full stretch, pressing buttons, doing pilot shit as he checked left and right of the aircraft. ‘Easy. That Skyvan is a fucking shed, man. But they’ve cut the lights. They know we’re coming. Where would they go?’

‘It’s got to be south. Kenya. Or maybe further. Anything north would be a nightmare. There’s the Arab Spring, civil war, and Yemen hates everyone. Why head into that shit? Don’t worry about it, Joe. Just get up there, start heading south, and I’ll try and find out.’

I checked his watch. We had about half an hour till first light. I looked at him. ‘We’ll find the fuckers, don’t worry.’

We hit the beginning of the strip and the prop screamed up through the revs. I pulled the loadie’s extension lead out of the door pocket and plugged it in.

Headset on, I moved back into the hold. Frank’s lads were working furiously to get drips into her. That meant they’d already plugged any leaks.

Genghis pulled the plasma expander from the trauma kit, a clear plastic half-litre container shaped like a washing-up-liquid bottle. He tore it out of its plastic wrapper and threw that on the ground. He bit off the little cap that kept the neck of the bottle sterile. Fuck hygiene – infections could be sorted out in hospital. He knew what he was doing. Let’s keep her alive so she can get to one.

Mr Lover Man also had his IV set out of its protective plastic coating. He chewed off the cap to the spearhead connector and jabbed it into the self-sealing neck of the bottle. He took out the plug, undid the screw clamp, and watched as the fluid ran through the line. He wasn’t concerned about air bubbles in the line; a small amount didn’t matter – certainly not in these circumstances. I willed him on.
Let’s just get the fluid in
.

He hung the loop in his mouth to keep the bottle high so its life-saving contents could run freely.

Mr Lover Man shrugged off his body armour. Genghis rolled the soft Kevlar into a pillow and tucked it under her head. I looked down. He’d plastered field dressings to her stomach, beneath her bloodstained T-shirt.

I leant down towards her as Stefan’s two godfathers carried on working on her. I made sure she’d be able to see me before I tried to get her to open her eyes. Her face was screwed up in pain. I stroked her forehead, moving the hair out of the way with one hand and pushing one of the cans off my ear with my other. I had to raise my voice above the prop and engine noise.

‘Tracy? Tracy?’

Nothing. I leant in closer, my mouth to her ear. ‘Tracy?’

Her eyes opened as the aircraft lunged forward and started to thunder down the tarmac. She studied my face. A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth and turned almost immediately into a grimace.

‘Nick, I’m so sorry … I’ve made so many … mistakes … Stefan, my baby …’ Her bottom lip trembled. Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Her sobs gave her even more pain.

Genghis applied more pressure on her stomach to keep the fluids inside her. She strained against the agony.

‘Tracy, it’s OK. I’m going to get Stefan back. But I need your help …’

She was trying to listen through the tears and the pain and the din and the vibration of the aircraft as we gathered speed along the runway.

She gave a small nod. Her eyes closed. She tried to breathe through her snot-filled nose.

‘Do you know where they’re going? Do you know what country they’re going to?’

Her head turned to one side. She coughed, trying to clear her throat. Her nose was blocked. Her face contorted.

The Cessna lifted off the runway. The engine pitch changed. Mr Lover Man held Tracy steady as the medical gear slid down towards the rear of the aircraft. He grabbed a bottle of water as it rolled past and opened it with his teeth. He tried to see if she could take some through her cracked and blistered lips.

‘Tracy, do you know where they’re taking Stefan?’

She fought to unblock her nose. She tried a drink. It wasn’t working. It made her cough even more.

‘Kenya … They’re going to Kenya … They’re going to … take him to Georgia … Nick … My baby … A hostage again … Nick, what have I done? My baby …’

I stroked her brow some more as Mr Lover Man held her head straight on the body armour. She couldn’t control it herself any more. My fingers found the mike, to make sure Joe got the message. ‘It’s Kenya, mate.’

He came straight back into my headphones. ‘I fucking knew it, man.’

I stroked her forehead again. As the aircraft levelled off, a hand came up and grabbed my wrist.

Her grip was pathetically weak. Her lips trembled. Tears fell. She tried to focus on me. ‘I’m so sorry, Nick … I always mess … everything up … Why do I always make such a mess of everything?’

She fought the agony. Body fluid leaked out faster than the IV set could get it in.

‘No, you don’t. You and Mong – you didn’t mess that up, did you? You made him so happy, Tracy. He always talked about you. He told everyone how much he loved you.’

She gave a weak smile and tried to clear her throat again, but the pain was too much.

Mr Lover Man checked the drips and dressings. He and Genghis mumbled between themselves.

‘I always get it wrong … The only good things … I have … are Mong … and Stefan …’ She started to break down at the thought of what might be happening to him.

‘It’s OK.’ I unclasped her hand from my wrist and held it in mine. I rocked with the motion of the aircraft. ‘We’re going to get him back. He’s not that far away. We’ll be able to see the plane as soon as it’s light. I won’t let you down, Tracy. I promised Mong I’d always look after you. And Stefan’s part of you. So he’s part of that promise, isn’t he?’

She gave a couple of half-nods before coughing and snotting up. Her hand squeezed mine hard.

‘Nick … I want you to understand. I felt so …
alone
in Frank’s world. He’s a good man … but his work, his family … We could never be together … Not truly … together … Me and Stefan … would always … be kept in a box … I had … to get away …’

She chugged up a mouthful of blood. I shushed her as she fought for air. ‘I don’t need to know. Just rest. Let the guys sort you out. Let’s get Stefan back.’

‘No, Nick … please … I want you to know … BB knew what I was feeling …’

‘The kidnap plan was his, wasn’t it?’

She just about managed a nod. ‘I knew there was no … happily ever after … for us … But once he’d set it up … he had me … exactly where he wanted me … I got cold feet …’

‘But he threatened to betray you to Frank.’

‘Frank … would have taken Stefan … would have kicked me out.’

‘BB arranged the hijack?’

‘He wanted money … He knew the clan … from the old days … He said … Frank would hand over the money … then be told we were all dead …’

I didn’t tell her that BB had always known Frank’s cash, if there was any, would be a bonus. The serious money was coming from Georgia.

She worked hard on a smile.

‘Me and Stefan … We didn’t want Frank’s … money … We were going … to India …’

Her face muscles suddenly relaxed, and I no longer felt the tension in her hand. From the faraway look in her eyes, part of her was already there.

‘On the beach … Maybe … a small restaurant … Just be happy …’

A coughing fit took her away from her dream. I caught Genghis’s eye. For a moment I thought he was going to crack as well. Then the mask of inscrutability was back in place.

‘Frank … he has … so many … enemies …’

BB had taken full advantage of that. His plan must have seemed pretty close to perfect. But he’d fucked up. He hadn’t written al-Shabab into the equation. He hadn’t reckoned with people who didn’t give a shit about the money and the shagging and the shiny red sports cars.

I gripped her hand and stroked her cheek. I tried to wipe away the tears, but they were falling too fast.

‘Tracy, it’s OK. You’re safe now. Just let these lads sort you out.’

I moved the mike out of the way and bent to kiss her gently on the forehead. ‘I’ve got to go now. I’ve got to get Stefan back. It’ll all be OK. He’ll be with you before you know it.’

She struggled to bring my hand to her lips. ‘I know he will … I trust you … Nick … I … always have …’

I smiled at her.

‘You … and Mong … the only men … I ever … trusted …’

She tried to give a smile back.

I let go of her hand and placed it in Genghis’s palm. He gave it the gentlest of squeezes.

22

FIRST LIGHT WAS peeking over the horizon to our left as India’s bright blue sky and sun prepared to visit Africa again.

Joe was far out to sea. I could just about see the coastline on our right as I moved my head level with his.

He locked eyes. ‘How is she?’

‘Not good, mate.’

He nodded slowly, letting whatever that meant to him sink in. He pulled on his sun-gigs. ‘It’s best looking for these fuckers with the sun behind us. Like a fucking dogfight, man.’

‘That’s exactly what it’s going to be.’

I was sure I could see a slight twinkle in his eye behind the shades.

He kept on scanning the area. I joined in, looking for a little dot in hundreds of miles of empty sky.

‘Just one thing, Nick. What happens if my aircraft gets damaged? What the fuck would you do about that, man?’

I turned to face him. There was a big smile on his leathery face. ‘You going to pay me, man? These fucking things cost over a million dollars. Can you believe that shit? I got a fucking big loan on it, man.’

I smiled right back. ‘You won’t have any worries on that score.’

He got back to the business of flying and monitoring the sky ahead of us.

‘Where are the fuel tanks on those Skyvans?’

Both hands came off the controls again as he started to explain with his hands as well as his mouth. It was like I’d opened the encyclopedia at ‘S’.

‘On that fucking thing? Two Garrett turboprop engines, each driving a three-blade, variable-pitch propeller. Fuel in four tanks, in pairs on top of the fuselage between the wing roots. Each pair consisting of one 182-litre tank and one 484-litre mother. Total fuel capacity, 1332 litres. That’s a lot of fucking fuel, man.’

‘What’s its range?’

‘With maximum payload, about eleven hundred klicks. But there’s no maximum in
that
shed, man.’

‘Their tanks won’t be full unless they refuelled at Mog …’

‘No, man, but we didn’t either, and they might have extra tanks …’ He brought his hands down to make sure I was following all this closely,‘… in the spaces between the fuselage frames on each side, beneath the main tanks. There’s provision for another four hundred litres. But fuck it, man …’ He put his arms up as if he was firing a rifle. ‘You drill that area and you’re going to hit tanks. That’s all you need to know, man.’

I picked up the AK and tapped the mag. ‘You got tracer in this?’

‘No, but you’d better check.’

I grabbed the magazine with my right hand. I pushed the release catch forward with my thumb and released it from its housing. The selector lever, a long spring-loaded arm, was in the upper safe position. I pushed it down to the fully automatic position before pulling back on the cocking handle to check no rounds were in the chamber. I released the handle, fired off the action by pressing the trigger, and replaced the selector lever back to safe.

Tracer are built with a hollow base filled with a pyrotechnic flare material, often phosphorus. In US and NATO standard ammunition, this is usually a mixture of strontium compounds and magnesium that yields a bright red light. Russian and Chinese tracer generates red or green light, using barium salts. Whatever the colour, the point was that it burnt intensely.

I pushed the first round out and used it to start flicking the rest out by the base as the spring forced them forward. I aimed them at the right-hand seat.

I couldn’t remember the flash point or the initiation temperature of Jet A1 fuel but I wasn’t taking any chances and neither was Joe. He kept looking at the rounds as they fell onto the right-hand seat. I didn’t want a big fuck-off firework display. I wanted holes. And the AK 7.62 short would make much bigger ones than Genghis’s M4 5.56.

I got to the last round. They’d all been bog-standard plain ball.

Joe sparked up. He was suddenly in full-fight mode. Very calm. Very precise. No profanity. ‘Got him. Half right of the nose. Maybe a klick ahead. Two hundred metres below us. He’s following the coastline.’

I hit Joe on the shoulder. ‘Well, let’s go get the boy, then.’

‘Fucking right, man.’ There was no smile this time.

I started to move to the rear. Joe came back on my cans. ‘You sure this Mr Big Shot will pay for my aircraft if it gets broken? Tell him, if he doesn’t, I’ll reload that fucking mag and come looking for him.’

My cans filled with his laughter as the prop pitch changed, the aircraft banked to the right and we started to descend.

23

I KICKED ALL the shit further back to clear a space and opened the shutter. A gale rushed in. It was like standing at a station with an express train thundering past. I tried sticking my head out. My face got buffeted like I was in freefall. I couldn’t see through my streaming eyes.

I pulled my head back in. All the wrappers from the field dressings and all other bits of crap were caught in a whirlwind around me.