He moved up the street, scanning in every direction as he went. The sleeping guard still hadn’t moved.
Once out of sight of the prison hut, he focused his attention ahead, looking for Lotto’s quarters. It dawned on him that he hadn’t heard the girl scream for a while. He could think of several explanations for that, most of them not good, for him or for her.
In his case, he needed her help. She knew where the Al-Shabaab camp was located, or at least she said she did. And that was where Hopper was most likely being held. Rescuing him had become the most important priority. The information Stratton had discovered about the missiles hidden in the hijacked vessels was vital to be sure. But it was going to have to wait.
Stratton might have reminded anyone else in the same position of their duty to get the information back as soon as humanly possible regardless of the danger to other members of the mission. It was for the greater good. And in his younger days he might have done so. But his experiences over the years had reshaped him. He had lost too many friends. Hopper was more important to him than whatever the ground-to-air missiles were destined for. There were other chances to put a stop to that. Hopper had only one chance and that was Stratton.
He walked slowly up the side of the deserted street in complete darkness. The wind had picked up. Sounds came to him from every direction: a door banged, plastic sheeting flapped, a distant generator hummed. He paused at the corner to a broader street across his front. Two houses down, one of them had lights on inside. Stratton crept up the street to get a closer look at the front. He crossed over and stood at the corner of the front wall. He listened but he could hear nothing. He carefully looked into the front window, but he could see no one, just a torn old sofa, a table and chairs. He skirted the front of the house and waited, looking down the street. Movement on the porch of a large house back across the road caught his eye.
He studied the shadows on the porch. A figure sat near the front door. He walked down a narrow alley, around the back of a house and along another gap between houses, then back to the broad street where he was diagonally opposite the big place. A small flame flared on the porch and lit a cigarette. It moved to light two more before extinguishing. The ends of the tobacco roll-ups glowed bright as the men inhaled deeply.
He had an obvious problem. The house could well be Lotto’s and he needed to confirm it. To do that he needed to get a look inside. That required neutralising the watchmen. Which might cause a disturbance and increase the risks. The burning question now, how important was the girl? Could he find the terrorist camp without her? What if she was already dead? On the face of it the risk calculation wasn’t adding up.
He leaned back against the wall of the house and looked to the skies for inspiration. How could he find Hopper on his own? It was starting to look impossible. His mind began to drift to his exit strategy. The Dutchman’s boat. Hopper kept coming to mind. He painfully pushed it aside.
The house’s front door opened. Light streamed on to the street. The watchmen got to their feet. A figure stepped into the doorway. A large man wearing a towel around his waist. Stratton couldn’t say for sure but it looked like the pirate leader. The man said something and one of the others stepped behind him into the house. A few seconds later he came out again, helping a small figure who was staggering. It looked like the girl.
The big man went back into the house and shut the door. The main light inside went out and then a lamp glowed in the window. One of the watchmen said something and the two others laughed. They helped the girl down the steps of the porch on to the street.
They took her around the end of the porch and into a broad alley illuminated by the light from a window. They let the girl go and she dropped to her knees. The three men talked in muffled voices. There was the occasional chuckle. It appeared that they were contemplating having some fun themselves.
One of them knelt down beside the girl.
Stratton took another quick review of the risk calculation. She was alive. Hopper could be found. There were three goons but they were occupied. It was dark. ‘Bollocks,’ he muttered to himself and gritted his teeth.
Stratton pulled the Kalashnikov into his shoulder, brought the end of the barrel up and strode across the street.
The two Somalis standing over the girl saw him at the same time. He pointed the barrel of the AK at them. They straightened and raised their hands, stepping back, their mouths gaping open. The one on his knees remained where he was, unaware of the intrusion. As Stratton walked, he reversed the rifle in his hands and swung it like a baseball bat at the kneeling Somali’s head. He struck him hard on the temple. He landed on top of the girl and she collapsed under his weight.
Stratton swung the weapon back up on aim.
‘Down,’ he said softly but firmly, gesturing with a hand at the same time.
The two guards dropped to their knees, their hands still held high.
Stratton stepped around and behind them and pushed them forward to lie on their bellies. They kept their hands stretched out. Stratton stood between their prone bodies, decided what to do with them. There was only really one solution. He raised the carbine and brought the butt down heavily on to the neck of the first guard. There was a crack. Before the other guard could react, Stratton smashed the butt down on to the critical vertebrae of his neck and separated those too. He shuddered like the first one as the life left him.
Stratton rolled the third guard off the girl, who remained lying still. She appeared to be unconscious. Then a sound startled him and he moved to the side of the house, pressing his back against the concrete block wall beside the window. He was an arm’s length from the porch. The front door had opened. It had to be Lotto.
Stratton heard a couple of footsteps move on the wooden boards of the porch. They stopped. Silence followed. Stratton held the gun close, ready to use it, either as a club or as it was designed to be used. The pirate chief’s three guards lay at his feet.
But Lotto didn’t venture to the end of the porch, he looked out on to the street. He struck a match, his grim, toughened features illuminated briefly. He lit a fat cigar that he held in his bright white teeth and blew the smoke into the air.
Stratton waited. It dawned on him that killing the pirate was not such a bad idea. It might throw the rest of the gang into disarray. But then again in operational terms it would be better if their ground-to-air missile programme remained functional until the entire network could be brought down. A change in hierarchy might make everything less predictable. Stratton would take the man down only if he had to.
He heard the front door close and sounds from inside. The clink of a bottle like Lotto was pouring himself a drink. Stratton went to the corner of the building, dropped to a knee and looked between the rails on to the porch. He couldn’t see any movement on the dark street. It was time to get out of there.
He turned his attention to the girl and rested his gun against the wall of the building. It was hard to tell in the poor light whether the marks on her skin were injuries or dirt. He felt her throat. Her heart was racing.
He quickly pulled off the unconscious guard’s trousers and shirt. This was not the time and place to dress her. He stood the girl up, bent down and let her fall forward over his shoulder. He stood. She was light, something he was thankful for. He grabbed the rifle off the wall and made his way uphill between the houses and away from the pirate leader’s house. The wind was strengthening. He got to the top of the town without seeing anyone. The houses stretched out to his left and right, straight ahead nothing but a black, arid wilderness.
He walked into the wasteland with the naked unconscious girl over his shoulder.
9
Stratton headed deep into the darkness, doing his best to go south. It was difficult to gauge by the stars because of the cloud cover. He had gone about a kilometre from the town when he came to a gravel road running across his front. It looked well used. He decided to follow it east. The higher ground had been in that direction as they’d approached from the sea. And he could see a few trees. Which increased the chances of finding water. He walked down the centre of the dusty road.
The girl was drifting in and out of consciousness. He had maintained a brisk pace, which couldn’t have been comfortable for her. But they needed to put as much distance as possible between them and the town. Lotto would no doubt be fuming when he found out, with Stratton as well as with his guards. To escape yet again was a slap in the face. He would not be impressed with the final body count the pirates had suffered that night either.
The track they were on appeared to head parallel with the coastline. It was a tactical risk using it because it increased the chances of meeting someone. But this was an occasion when he was willing to take the chance in favour of the ease of movement. He came to the brow of an incline and paused to catch his breath and take in the
