No Remorse (24 page)

As he neared the jetty, two men ran out of the control building towards where the rubbish was drifting. Had they seen a heat image on infrared? Inhaling a deep breath Mac dived, kicking away from the jetsam, and swam underwater until his lungs felt ready to explode. He surfaced under the jetty, gasping for breath.

The guards checked the rubbish as it washed ashore, finding nothing. Mac could make out their disappointment, although he couldn’t understand the words. They tramped back up the beach and disappeared into the control center.

Mac swam under cover of the jetty. Reaching waist-deep water, he removed the snorkel and mask and rested. He took the radio from the waterproof bag. “In position. Over.”

“Me too. Give me a moment to do this without killing myself.” Tally sounded nervous. “Over.”

“Take your time.”

About a minute later, he heard a whoosh and saw a crimson star flare explode a thousand feet up, half a mile out to sea. A perfect shot. The parachute flare would take forty seconds to reach the water and would distract any infrared they had working.

He waited.

Twenty seconds later one of the guards ran out and stared at the descending flare. Moments later the other guard joined him. They began to argue, gesturing at the boat on the beach and at the flare.

Mac sprinted the short distance to the building nearest the jetty. Peering around the corner, he saw the first guard scurrying down the beach where, ignoring the protests of his partner, he threw the anchor into the boat and started dragging it into the water. The other man reluctantly waded in to help. With both guards facing the other way, Mac took a breath and ran to the side of the control building, hugging the wall until he was able to sneak through the open door.

Footsteps. The second guard appeared through the doorway. Mac slammed the butt of his knife against the side of his head and caught him as he fell. He glanced outside. The first guard was motoring out to sea in the boat. He bound the unconscious man with cable ties and pulled him out of sight. He scanned the rooms and found a selection of weapons. He grabbed a pistol and checked that it was loaded, then returned his knife to its sheath.

He photographed everything. There was a monitor for each of the security cameras: three covering the ridgeline and the area inside the crater bay where the Yubani Resort was located, two covering the fence, one covering the jetty. A recorder was located under each monitor. After deleting the memory file of each recorder, he switched them off. In a key cupboard beside the control panel he found keys for the other buildings, the two gates, and some vehicles. He grabbed a flashlight dangling from a hook.

The motorboat was out of sight. He ran to the building beside the jetty and tried several keys until he found one that unlocked it. Inside he found two bug-eyed submersible vehicles with robotic arms and an Plexiglas bubble. They would seat two passengers. Along the wall were dozens of wet suits hanging on racks and shelves stacked with flippers, goggles and scuba tanks. An overhead crane had its hook dangling at the bottom of an opening that ended in a tunnel filled with seawater about twenty-four feet down. The tunnel would allow them to launch the submersibles, regardless of the tide. Why would they want that capability? he wondered. On the hook was a bamboo trap with several good-sized crabs feeding off the remains of a goat’s head. That must have been what the guard had been checking earlier. He switched off the light and cracked open the door.

The motorboat had returned.

“Idriss!” the guard from the boat shouted, as he threw the anchor out and jumped onto the sand, then began tramping up toward the control building.

Mac rapped his pistol several times against an empty scuba tank to get the guard’s attention, edging the door open a little more. The man took the bait. He turned and marched down the beach and pulled open the door.

Mac rammed a scuba tank into his face and the guard fell back onto the sand, lay still. After cable-tying the guard, Mac raced towards the far end of the compound to check the other two buildings. One was a storage shed for equipment and food, and the other housed two generators. He switched off the first generator, plunging the compound into darkness. After a few seconds the second generator kicked in, and he switched that off. Finding the key that fitted one of the quad bikes, he rode to the accommodation area and entered the first cabin.

His nostrils picked up a vaguely familiar smell. Like he’d noticed in some of the empty caves they’d searched in Afghanistan. The odors of human habitation. Holding the pistol in one hand, he moved the beam of the flashlight slowly around. There were ten double bunk beds with metal frames and bare mattresses. Bile rose in his throat as the flashlight reflected off the metal handcuffs dangling at the head of each bed. He felt several of the mattresses. There was no noticeable dust, which suggested that people might have slept there not too long ago. But there was nobody here now.

He took photographs with his flash, and checked the rest of the cabins. Three of them were kitchens. Cupboards contained some packaged food, but the refrigerators were empty. Four cabins had been set up as dining rooms. In another cabin was a pile of toys, fashion trinkets, and clothes. If he’d had any doubts that the compound had been a prison for kidnapped children, he had none now.

It seemed like he was so close. And yet he’d failed. He felt gutted. Emotionally drained. Leaning over, he put his hands on his knees, heaving deep breaths as he considered his next move.
What in God’s name have they done with you, Sophia?

Back on the quad bike, he drove slowly along the eastern cliff-face, checking for any signs of a tunnel that might lead into the cave he’d discovered at the waterfall. Nothing.

He stopped by the water’s edge and pressed the talk button on the radio. “I’m done here. There are no captives. I’ll meet you in five. Over.”

“Okay.”

After seeing it, he was doubly determined to destroy this place. But not tonight, because they still needed to penetrate the resort. He was hoping the two guards wouldn’t blab about the break-in. His experience in Afghanistan was that local tribesmen would try to avoid loss of face wherever they could. If Ziad was as vicious as he assumed, these guys would dread their punishment. So he needed to minimize damage to property and people. He drove back to where he’d left the unconscious guards. He cut off the cable tie binding their ankles. They would eventually be able to release themselves when they awoke.

He found Tally sitting on a rock beside the track. She grinned. “I hope we’re taking this ride all the way back to camp.”

“Most of it.”

“I’m sorry, Mac.”

“Yeah, me too. There were toys and clothes there. But I couldn’t find anything of Sophia’s. And I couldn’t find any tunnel entrance.”

“The guards?”

“In no condition to chase us. I’m hoping they’ll be scared enough of Ziad to keep quiet about the raid.”

“So what now?”

“I’ll have to figure out a way to disable the cameras on the ridgeline so we can get close enough to the resort. There were submersibles there. Maybe there’s an underwater tunnel. I wonder if we could rent a boat and some scuba gear?”

He changed into dry clothes, swapped the memory card so the innocent one was in his camera, and disposed of the pistol and the crap bags. He helped her onto the back of the quad bike. Resting the packs on the fuel tank, he drove to within a mile of camp, then ditched the machine in thick bush where it would be unlikely to be found for some time.

He carried both packs while Tally hobbled the last mile with her makeshift crutch. A red sky warned of imminent dawn as they neared their camp. A sea eagle circled overhead. He put the packs down and took some photos, while she continued, limping into camp.

Tally screamed.

Mac grabbed the knife from its sheath and circled the camp. If Tally was in trouble, it wouldn’t help if he was ambushed too. He could see through the bushes that she was surrounded by six unkempt young soldiers with assault rifles. They were laughing, circling her like a pack of hyenas that had separated a young gazelle from the herd. Tally was glancing around, trying to fend them off, clearly terrified. With good reason. If their discipline was anything like their uniforms, these men were particularly dangerous. Were they aware of his raid on the maintenance compound? Fingers rested on triggers, eyes darted around. They were expecting someone else. They’d shoot him if he sneezed, he figured. Their only chance was bluff. Sheathing his knife, he stood up very slowly, hands in the air.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Hello.
Salaam alaykum.
”

“Stay where you be!” a voice boomed from behind the trees in heavily accented English. The soldiers continued to jostle Tally in the center of their circle. Two of the men strode over to him, gesturing him forward with their weapons.

“Mac!” Her eyes locked with his, desperate for help.

“Leave her!” Mac yelled, trying to project some authority. In response, one of the soldiers stepped forward and rammed the muzzle of a gun into his gut. He doubled over, grunting at the pain shooting across his diaphragm.

The soldiers laughed.

A dark-skinned officer with a high peaked cap and flashy gold epaulets stepped from the trees and strolled imperiously towards him. The officer held a black cigarette arrogantly between his second and third fingers and a distinctive scent of cloves smoldered into Mac’s nostrils. The man puffed out his pudgy cheeks and studied Mac with eyes full of suspicion. From experience, Mac knew that officers full of self-importance were the most dangerous kind.

The officer saluted them and said: “My name be Colonel Ali Boroni of the National People’s Army of Andaran.”

“Good evening, Captain Boroni,” Mac replied, deliberately misstating his rank to unsettle the man. “You scared us. We thought you might be thieves.”

“
Colonel
Boroni. We not thieves. But there have been thieves in the area. Identification, please.”

“Could you ask your men to stop hassling my wife, please, Colonel?”

Boroni gestured at his men, who stopped prodding her but remained in a circle.

He held out his hand to shake. “I’m Lee Maclean and this is my wife, Tally. Our passports are in our tent.”

Boroni ignored his hand and gestured to one of his men, who retrieved the passports. “When did you arrive here?”

“This afternoon. We wanted to shoot the roller birds feeding at sunset.”

“You shoot our roller birds?” said Boroni in a tone that prompted his men to raise their weapons.

“No, no.” Mac held up the Canon. “Photos.”

Boroni held out his hand for the camera. “What other parts of our island have you been to?”

“We only arrived yesterday, Colonel. We’re heading towards Kavani, to see if there are any good beaches. I build hotels. We’re scouting for possible locations here. Tomorrow we will look at Sommala Beach.”

“You have
a beautiful country, Colonel.” The fear was obvious in Tally’s tremor. “We’re here on our honeymoon…”

Boroni ignored her. “
Yes!
Sommala Beach very good. Here be not so good. Around here, private property. No good for tourist.”

“Yes, we saw the signs. Perhaps we could speak with the owner about selling?”

“I be asking the questions, sir,” Boroni said, with an expression that Mac found impossible to interpret. “This land not for sale, already have a resort. The Yubani Resort. Also beaches very dangerous. Sharks, strong current. You wouldn’t like to watch your pretty wife drown, would you?”

The threat was unsubtle, but he ignored it and acted disappointed. “Thank you for the warning, Colonel. I thought Andaran would welcome new investment. Perhaps Mayotte might be more welcoming?”

A guttural sound exploded from his throat and Boroni spat on the ground. “Mayotte? Flat, boring. French! After Sommala, you go south to Monola Beach. Is beautiful there. Good for resort. Not here.”

“Thank you, Colonel. We flew over Monola yesterday, in fact. We’ll certainly have a closer look. Now, if there’s nothing else, we’re—”

“Ah, yes. Your pilot. Would be Olivier Maurin, perhaps?” Boroni grinned, as if Maurin was a good friend.

Into the jaws of death.
Mac hesitated.

“Uh, I can’t recall his name. That may have been it.”

Boroni frowned. Eyes blazing, he stepped forward and pulled out his pistol. “Empty your pack! And your pockets!”

Shit!
Did he say the wrong thing?
“Why? Have we done something wrong?”

Boroni turned towards Tally. “Both of you!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands out in a calming gesture.

They did as Boroni ordered.

“You be well equipped!” Boroni held up the radios. “Why you have these?”

“So we can speak to each other quietly when we’re separated watching wildlife. If we shouted they’d be frightened away.”

Boroni thrust the night vision goggles at him. “And what be these for?”

“Scorpion Owl,” Mac said. “And bats.”

“I have not heard of this
Scorpion Owl
.”

“There are only a few hundred of them in existence, here on the Kimba Peninsula. Nocturnal, of course. We use the night vision goggles to find them so we can photograph them.”

“You get photo of this Scorpion Owl?”

“Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.”

“No tomorrow!” Boroni shouted. “I be seeing what you spy on.” He checked several of the photographs on Mac’s camera, then glanced up at him, looking disappointed. “You take nice photographs. The bats. Very good. Eagle, very good.”

He checked their phones, but there were no emails or messages. Good thing they’d buried the computer and the satellite phone.

“Now, clothes.”

“Really, Colonel. That’s not necessary —”

“Off!” he yelled.

Boroni’s men were laughing and making such obviously crude remarks that Mac was glad they couldn’t understand.

“Hurry! I be a man of little patience!”

His men aimed their weapons.

“I refuse,” said Tally. “If you are proper Muslims, you wouldn’t put a woman through such a shameful ordeal.”