Murder Team (5 page)

The Israeli smiled at the militant carrying the bag. ‘Put it in the back of the vehicle,’ he said. ‘Now.’

With a scowl, the militant slung the bag on to the rear passenger seat.

‘Pleasure doing business, gentleman,’ the Israeli announced. ‘The Brit’s all yours. Try to fire on me as I leave, I’ll come back and kill him for you. I think you’ll find he’s a lot less valuable when he’s dead. You might want to bear that in mind when you’re torturing the poor guy.’

Two militants came and pulled Spud away from the vehicle, while the Israeli got behind the wheel. The engine turned over and the wheels screeched as he slammed the vehicle into reverse, turned sharply and headed at speed back toward the brow of the hill.

The boss picked himself up from the ground. His face was sweating and his eyes smoked with anger and humiliation. Spud instinctively knew he was going to get the brunt of it. The boss shouted another instruction. Spud’s two guards dragged him past the fire pit and toward the buildings.

As he drew closer, Spud could see they were approaching a circular building, ten to fifteen metres in diameter, with conical roofs made of branches and rush matting. He was dragged through a rickety green wooden door. There was a fire smoking inside, exactly in the middle. A simple hole in the apex of the conical roof acted as an effective chimney, and the fire itself gave enough light that Spud could see across the hut. The floor was dry earth, but the hut itself was empty. Spud’s eyes immediately picked out two metal rings hanging from the far wall at a height of about two metres.

‘In,’ one of his guards instructed. ‘
Get in!
’

He pushed Spud toward the fire. Spud stumbled and fell to his knees as a shock of agony ran from his chest through his whole body. Seconds later he was being pulled to his feet again, then dragged across the hut to the far wall where the metal rings were.

He knew what was coming, so the jangling sound of metal chains was no surprise. And he knew there was no point resisting. He didn’t have the strength to fight these two, and what energy he had he needed to conserve for the trials to come. One of the guards clipped heavy manacles – from which the chains were hanging – round his wrists. Spud lost his breath from the pain as the militants each raised one of his manacled hands above his head, then padlocked the free end of the chains to the metal rings in the wall, before locking the manacles themselves with a small key on a loop of string.

Spud took deep, calming breaths. Looking across the fireplace, he saw a third figure standing in the doorway. The glow from the fireplace lit up the face of the militant boss in the black and white bandana. He stared balefully at his captive, the whites of his eyes an unpleasant yellow colour, his brow creased and heavy. In one hand he was holding the dog on the lead that Spud had seen tied up by the fire outside. It was straining badly, a horrible choking sound coming from its throat. In his other hand, the militant had a bag.

The two guards fell back as their boss approached, the dog still pulling madly on its leash. Bandana man led it to a third metal ring that Spud now saw was fixed lower down on the wall, about three metres along from where he was chained. He fixed the free end of the lead to this ring, then kicked the dog in the guts. It whimpered, but only for a second, before it started straining on the leash again, pulling in Spud’s direction, half choking, half snarling at him.

The boss clicked his fingers. One of the two guards jumped forward and handed him the key that he’d used to lock Spud’s manacles. The boss put the loop of string over his head, then walked up to Spud. Face to face. Just inches apart. He stank of weeks-old body odour. But there was another smell too. Something deep and rank and old that made Spud want to gag. He assumed it came from whatever was in the boss’s bag, but he didn’t know what it could be.

‘What is your name?’ the boss said. His voice was very deep, and he spoke slowly.

Spud gave him an expressionless stare. ‘Jimmy Dale,’ he whispered. Like every Regiment man, he had a false persona committed to memory for just such an eventuality.

‘What is your job?’

‘Aid worker.’

The boss nodded. ‘I have morphine nearby,’ he said. ‘I can keep you drugged and happy till the end, if you tell me the truth. Most hostages prefer it that way.’ He sneered nastily. ‘But you are lying. And if you lie to me, you will be sorry.
What is your name?
’

‘Jimmy Dale,’ Spud breathed.

The boss stared at him silently for ten seconds. ‘Okay, Jimmy Dale,’ he said ‘Let’s see if you still want to lie in half an hour’s time.’ He held up the bag. ‘You want to know what’s in here?’ he asked.

Spud couldn’t stop himself from gagging now the bag was closer to his nose, but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up.

‘It’s food,’ said the boss. He inclined his head toward the straining dog. ‘Animal food.’

He put one hand into the bag and slowly withdrew an object.

For a moment, Spud couldn’t work out what it was. It was pale grey in colour, with random patches of white and black. Along the top was a band of dark brown, with something white and splintered sticking up from the top.

It was a human foot.

‘From a prisoner,’ the militant said. He turned and threw the foot within reach of the dog. The animal fell upon it ravenously, expertly tearing of scraps of rotten flesh and consuming like it hadn’t eaten in days.

Spud averted his gaze and stared straight ahead at the fire, trying to ignore the awful sound of dog’s devouring its supper.

‘I will be back in half an hour,’ said the boss. ‘You should think carefully about lying to me again.’

He turned his back on Spud, and left with his men.

6

Triggs made the call from behind the wheel. The light from the keypad of his sat phone glowed in the darkness of the car. It rang five times, then clicked silent.

‘If he’s on a job, he won’t pick up,’ Triggs protested.

‘Try him again.’

‘I’m telling you, boy, it’s a waste of time.’ But he dialled once more. This time, after seven rings, a voice answered.

‘
Yeah?
’

‘It’s me,’ Triggs said.

‘
Not a good time
,’ said the voice at the other end. He spoke with the slight American accent common to many Israelis. Slightly tense. ‘
I’m kind of in the middle of something.
We’ll catch up in a day or so, okay?
’

‘Wait!’ Triggs said, glancing sideways at Danny. ‘Mate, I’ve got a job.’

A pause.

‘
I’m on a job already.
’

‘Not like this one. There’s some gang-bangers in Massawa, need a few people taking care of. I need an extra pair of hands. Fifteen large in it for you, but we need to get moving tonight.’

Good, Danny thought. Triggs sounded bloody convincing.

Another pause.

‘
You’ll have to come to me.
’

‘I can do that.’

‘
Grid reference 15, 38, 40 north, 39, 20, 21 east,
’ said the Israeli’s voice.

Triggs plugged the reference into his sat nav. Ten seconds later the screen showed a direct route across a plain background. No towns or topographical features. This was a trek across open desert. A panel at the bottom left of the screen read: ‘Journey time: 1hr 47mins.’

‘I’ll be there in two hours, max,’ Triggs said.

The line crackled.

‘
I’m not in the mood for any funny business, Triggs. Make me nervous, I’m going to start squeezing triggers.
’

The line went dead.

‘He’s suspicious,’ Danny said.

Triggs sniffed as he turned the engine over. ‘Of course he’s suspicious,’ he said. ‘That’s the only reason he’s agreed to the RV.’ He yanked the steering wheel down and sped into a full turning circle.

‘What do you mean?’ Danny said.

Triggs gave him another of those sidelong glances. ‘I keep
him
close, he keeps
me
close. That’s what enemies do. But he’s greedy too. Gilad Friedman isn’t going to risk turning down 15k. He wants to sound me out.’ He gave Danny a sidelong glance. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn, boy. A hell of a lot to learn.’

Danny let that pass. Triggs accelerated across the desert, leaving the ramshackle building with the two dead doctors in the darkness behind them.

They travelled, at first, in silence. Triggs kept his eyes on what just about passed for a road. Danny stared through the windows into the surrounding desert. The stony ground, lit up by the vehicle’s headlamps, zoomed past like a piece of black and white film. In the middle distance he saw nothing except the night. Further than that, toward the horizon, he saw the occasional set of moving lights.

‘Who’s that?’ he asked Triggs when he first saw them.

Triggs shrugged. ‘Probably Rashaida,’ he said.

‘Who?’

‘Rashaida. Desert nomads, a bit like the Bedouin, but with a nasty edge. They trade in camels – make a lot of money out of them – but they shun modern technology.’

‘Except cars.’

‘Right. I never said they were consistent. Some of them have vehicles, and they often travel at night. If it’s not Rashaida, it’s Eritrean police or military, running them down.’

‘What for?’ Danny asked.

Another shrug. ‘We’ve got Yemen across the sea, Ethiopia to the south, Djibouti and Somalia to the south-east. Surely you don’t need me to tell you parts of those countries are full of jihadists and other militant groups. The Eritrean authorities refuse to crack down on them. They use this route to move weapons and personnel across Africa and up into Europe. I heard a rumour that some of the Charlie Hebdo killers came this way. Anyway, the Rashaida are devout Sunnis. Veils, child marriages, all that bollocks. They value their women because they know they can sell off daughters for marriage at a decent price. They also help terrorists – particularly the Somali ones – transport themselves and their weapons across Eritrea. They pretend to be doing it for ideological reasons, but that’s a load of horse shit if you ask me – I never met a Rashaida who wouldn’t sell his grandmother for a few nafka.’

‘I’m more worried about the military.’

‘You shouldn’t be. Soldiers and police, we can bribe. The Rashaida are more unpredictable. Trigger-happy.’

They fell again into an uncomfortable silence. Danny kept his eyes on the distant lights, whenever they appeared. He found himself wishing they had night-vision goggles. That way they could drive blind, without the headlamps. As it was, they were lit up, visible from miles around.

They’d been travelling for an hour when Triggs said: ‘When we get there, you’ll need to stay out of sight. Gilad’s a jumpy bastard. If he thinks I’ve got company, he might decide to do something about it.’

Danny didn’t like that idea. How did he know he could trust Triggs? He didn’t. These days, Danny Black didn’t trust anybody.

Triggs cleared his voice. ‘You know, I was in the Province, boy,’ he said. ‘Long time ago now. One time, we’d put in surveillance on a Provo target. He was holed up in a supposed safe house in Antrim, and our orders were to enter the house and apprehend him. I made the call to move in, but we hadn’t clocked a Provo shooter on a nearby rooftop. My oldest mate took a round and died at the scene.’ Triggs gave Danny a meaningful stare. ‘I know the score, boy. I came up through the ranks in Hereford and I know what it’s like to lose someone in the field.’ He turned again to get his eyes back on the road. ‘Remember, he’s no good to anybody dead. That’s what gives us a bit of time.’

A pause. Then Triggs gave a low hiss. Danny looked sharp-eyed through the windscreen. Headlamps facing them. Distance: about 200 metres.

‘Company,’ Triggs said.

‘Military?’ Danny asked tensely. ‘Or Rashaida?’

Whoever it was, they spotted Danny and Triggs. There was open ground all around. No place to run hide.

Triggs slowed the vehicle down to a halt.

‘Let’s find out, shall we?’

7

Danny’s fingers felt for his weapon. It was cocked and locked.

‘Go,’ he said.

The vehicle crawled forward. After twenty seconds, over a distance of 100 metres, Danny could make out figures. Three of them, standing directly in front of the headlamps. The backlighting distorted the shape of their bodies, but Danny could make out that they were each carrying assault rifles.

‘They outgun us,’ Triggs breathed. But he didn’t stop moving forward.

They came to a halt twenty metres from the other vehicle – an old truck of some sort. Danny saw another figure behind it: a woman in colourful clothes, the bottom part of her face and her nose covered by a veil, her eyes and wild woolly hair on show.

‘If they’ve brought a bird with them, that’s good,’ Triggs said. ‘It means they’re travelling, not looking for a fight.’

Danny wasn’t so sure. The three guys with rifles were walking toward the Land Cruiser, and they had a kind of swagger that Danny recognised. But they’d already made their first mistake, because they’d left their weapons hanging from their neck slings rather than holding them in the firing position, ready to go.