Retribution (38 page)

‘You raped her,' Harry muttered softly, his words dropping dully into the cold air of the fuselage, loaded with contempt. ‘A child. You stuffed a beret in her mouth and raped her. Then you carried her outside and tossed her over the perimeter fence like a bag of dirty laundry.'

Kleeman's eyes flared in defiance. He gasped and clutched his side as a sharp pain coursed through him, and tried to struggle upright, away from Harry's accusing words.

‘You're mad, Tate.' Kleeman's smooth veneer had gone, replaced by the ferocity of a snarling animal at bay. ‘You fucking
moron
. You don't know what you're saying – I'll have you put away for this!' As he moved again, the fuselage shuddered and tilted with a sickening lurch, emitting a loud groan of tortured metal as it shifted against the trees holding it up.

‘You OK?' It was Rik in the open doorway. Behind him was the other member of the CP team. Rik's gaze rested coolly on the injured Kleeman, but he was talking to Harry with steady urgency. ‘The paramedic's coming down and I sent the crew guy back for an anchor line. Harry, this thing's either going to blow or go south. You need to get out. Now.'

Harry felt the fuselage shudder. Rik was right; there was no time to wait – for the paramedic or the anchor line. He could also feel the heat as fire began working its way along from the tail section, and smoke began boiling up into the tree canopy above their heads. If the flames didn't take them, they'd all end up at the bottom of the gully a long way below.

Ignoring Kleeman, he grabbed the injured crewman by his harness and dragged him as carefully as he could to the lip of the doorway.

‘Take him. Get him out of here.'

Rik and the CP team member reached down and lifted the wounded man clear of the fuselage and began dragging him up the slope.

‘Hey!' Kleeman protested. ‘What are you doing? What about me?'

‘I'll get you out,' said Harry coldly, ‘once you tell me what happened at the compound.'

‘What?
Are you insane?
' Kleeman's mouth showed a trace of pink froth, and his eyes flashed wildly at the thought of being left a moment longer in the wreckage. He snatched his hand away from the skin of the cabin, where it was growing hot, and tears sprang in his eyes. Then there was another jerk of movement beneath them. He nodded wildly, his expression desperate. ‘OK . . .
OK
– I'll tell you. Get me out of here first!'

Harry shook his head. He was beginning to feel dizzy from the acrid smoke swirling around in the cabin. ‘We've got time. Go ahead.'

Kleeman looked as if he couldn't believe what was happening to him. But he clearly saw the resolve in Harry's face, and finally buckled.

‘
All right
. . . it was me! Is that what you want to hear? I found her . . . she was in the canteen.' His voice dropped to a wheedling tone. ‘I went to get a drink, that's all. I couldn't sleep. She was probably there to steal food. What one of your men called a camp rat. She was
nothing
!'

‘A victim, actually,' said Harry. ‘She was a victim.' He felt a huge sense of anticlimax at hearing the final confirmation from Kleeman's own lips, and fought to resist the urge to stamp on the man's face, to thrust the contemptible words back down his throat. ‘We were supposed to be protecting kids like her, remember?'

‘For Chrissakes, why should
you
care?' Kleeman gave a shrill scream as something cracked like a gunshot and sparks began joining the smoke pouring into the cabin. His face was blood red and he began to sob in fury and desperation, like a child denied a treat. He stared up at Harry, his eyes no longer possessing any sign of sanity, and little vestige of anything human. ‘You've killed people, haven't you, so why the moral fucking judgement?'

Harry heard a shout from up the slope. He glanced back. Rik and the CP man were clear with the injured crewman, and waving frantically at him to get out. Whatever they saw from up there must have been bad.

Then Kleeman grabbed his ankle. The envoy was struggling to get out, clutching desperately at Harry's clothing and trying to push him to one side, babbling incoherently. For just a second, Harry was tempted to respond and pull him clear, to take him back to face justice for what he'd done. Then he realized that there would be nothing adequate to deal with this man. Whatever the fallout against the UN was going to be, it would be dealt with, no matter how brutal. But individuals like Kleeman always knew too many people, carried too much influence. A word here, a touch of political pressure there; they had built their lives on contacts and used them whenever trouble threatened. And if Kleeman left this place, it wouldn't be to stand trial, of that Harry was certain.

Ballatyne was going to be pissed off, he figured. No happy endings. But that was too bad. He'd get over it.

As he swung his feet out of the cabin, he felt a sickening lurch as the helicopter dropped further, and heard the tearing sound of the trees giving way underneath.

‘Harry – she's going!' Rik shouted.

‘Wait!' Kleeman cried. ‘Tate, you can't leave me. Come back here!
You can't do this!
'

Harry didn't answer. He slipped over the rim of the doorway. When he looked back, Kleeman was staring at him like a man looking up from the bottom of his own grave.

He turned and made his way up the slope to where Rik was waiting.

As he reached the top, the flames billowed around the side of the fuselage and began licking through the open door. Then the broken machine finally slipped out of the clutches of the trees and plunged into the gorge below, a long metallic-human squeal following it all the way down.