Stratton scanned the road ahead, searching for options. He had to assume the Chinese agent would rather not risk harming the Saudi or he would have done so by now. Like Stratton, no doubt the man’s orders were to bring Sabarak in alive.
The other 4?4 had recovered and was closing on them. Stratton had limited options. He could try and pick them off while driving. Or he could have Ramlal stop and they could shoot it out. But the odds weren’t in his team’s favour and he wasn’t about to risk the lives of any of his men for some low-life Saudi git.
The Chinese agent had probably worked out the same scenarios and appeared content to give Stratton time to come to terms with them.
Stratton looked up along the highway that cut between a distant hillside. He looked at the village on the coast. He looked back at the Chinese Secret Service officer with the semi-automatic. Then at Ramlal. There was another option.
‘Right turn coming up,’ he said. ‘Brake hard so they miss it.’
‘Hajur, sab,’ Ramlal said.
The Gurkha saw the turn coming up and waited for the last possible moment. Ramlal slammed on the brakes and the Cruiser pitched and slid towards the bend, all four wheels smoking. Then he released the brakes and took the turn as the first 4?4 shot ahead and the one in rear swerved hard to avoid a collision.
The Cruiser bumped furiously over the edge of the tarmac and down on to a sandy track, and accelerated hard along it.
Stratton looked back and saw the pursuing vehicles manoeuv -ring to follow. He focused ahead. ‘When we get to the village, Hopper and I will jump out with our man,’ he said.
‘You want me to stop?’ Ramlal asked.
‘No. Keep your speed. Maybe slow a little as you pass the first houses,’ Stratton added, having second thoughts.
Stratton looked around at the Saudi who was wide-eyed with everything going on. He saw for the first time that the man was younger than him and somewhat athletic. ‘You want to be a British prisoner or a Chinese one?’ he said.
The Saudi didn’t ponder the question for long.
‘Keep them in pursuit of you for as long as you can,’ Stratton said to Ramlal. ‘If they start to shoot, pull over and show them your empty hands. Don’t fight back. I don’t think they’ll harm you when they discover we’re gone.’
‘We would rather make a run for it into the darkness,’ Ramlal said.
‘We’ll give you lots of time before that,’ Prabhu assured him.
Stratton realised the Gurkhas didn’t want to surrender to anyone, let alone a bunch of Chinese. Too great of an indignity. He regretted asking them. ‘Sorry. You’re right,’ he said. ‘Remember to toss the keys.’
Stratton opened his door slightly as the vehicle bumped heavily along the track. Hopper opened his directly behind Stratton and kept it open with his leg.
‘Past this first house!’ Stratton shouted.
Everyone braced. Hopper took a good hold of Sabarak while Prabhu grabbed him from the other side, giving him a look that stated unequivocally he was going out the door.
‘Stand by!’ Stratton shouted, looking back at their pursuers to gauge the distance. He was pleased to see the dust they were kicking up had obscured the 4?4s completely.
As Ramlal drove at speed past the first house on the edge of the village, Stratton shouted, ‘Go!’, and hurled himself out of the Cruiser.
He landed hard on his feet, which he kept together as if for a parachute landing, spun on to his back and shoulders and rolled several times in the dirt before coming to a dead stop against the wall of the neighbouring house.
The Saudi didn’t fair quite as well. Hopper jumped out holding on to him while Prabhu shoved him with all his strength. More by luck than design, Sabarak ended up directly under Hopper. Every bit of air was forced from the Saudi’s lungs as he hit the ground with the combined weight of Hopper and himself. When he finally came to rest, he remained where he was, unable to move. And had it been up to him, he would have stayed there. But Stratton and Hopper grabbed him under the arms and dragged him away from the track behind the house as the two 4?4s bounced past through the dirt.
Stratton watched the tail lights disappear.
‘What’s the plan from here?’ Hopper asked.
‘I’m working on it,’ Stratton said, scrutinising Sabarak. The guy was sitting up holding his chest and looking like he might go unconscious again.
‘On your feet,’ Stratton said. ‘I’ll make this simple for you. I only have to get you back alive. No one said anything about unbroken. If you make life difficult for us, Hopper here will break your legs. He likes doing things like that.’
Hopper gave Stratton a glance that appeared to question the claim. When Sabarak looked at him, he adopted an expression that wholeheartedly supported the threat.
‘Get up,’ said Stratton.
Sabarak got unsteadily to his feet.
‘Stay right behind me,’ Stratton ordered.
The three of them walked quietly between the houses. Hardly any had lights on but that didn’t mean they weren’t occupied. It was hard to tell. The locals were very poor. They used their minimal resources sparingly. That meant going to bed and getting up with the sun to avoid using all their fuel on lighting.
The men arrived at a high wall, part of the harbour’s perimeter, that kept them from the water. They went left and followed it to a large metal gate. The harbour entrance. It wasn’t locked and they made their way on to a broad concrete jetty. A man-made boulder mole went out to sea at a right angle to the jetty and after a couple of hundred metres turned a sharp corner and ran on a few more metres, where it ended to face the end of the opposite mole a hundred or so metres away. This was the sea entrance.
They paused to survey the scene. The walkway was dimly illuminated by a spread of lamps. Dozens of small craft were moored to the inside perimeter or to each other. Mostly fishing boats of varying sizes, from little row boats to thirty-foot sailing boats. There were a handful of powered metal tugs, all of which could have done with a lick of paint. A building set back from the jetty and surrounded by the perimeter wall advertised itself as a fishery in English as well as the local dialect. They could see no sign of life other than a couple of scavenging dogs.
‘Nice evening for a boat ride,’ Stratton said.
Hopper noted the gloomy skies.
‘All we do is follow the coastline to Salalah,’ Stratton said. ‘What can go wrong?’
Hopper rolled his eyes at the effort to tempt fate. ‘Would be nice if we could find something with a bit of speed.’
‘And comfort.’
Hopper moved to the edge of the jetty to look down on the boats. ‘What about that one?’ he said, pointing at a long skiff with twin outboards.
Stratton felt a twinge of guilt about taking any one of them. ‘These people struggle enough to make a living without us coming along and nicking their livelihood,’ he said.
‘Right. What are those over there, by the entrance?’ said Hopper. He jutted his chin towards the mole entrance and a couple of low-profile, sleek black semi-rigid inflatables.
Stratton’s interest in them was immediate. They didn’t look like fishing boats, more like some kind of security or military craft. And they looked fast. Hopper kept a hold of the Saudi and the three stepped along the concrete path at the base of the mole. They came to a building at the end, in the corner of the mole. The sign above the door said it was AUSTIN OIL TERMINAL SECURITY. The boats had twin 250 outboards bolted to the transoms.
‘We don’t feel guilty about borrowing one of these, do we?’ Hopper asked.
‘We don’t. Check out the fuel. We need around forty litres. I’ll look into starting this one up.’
‘Give me a hand, Sabarak,’ Hopper said, pulling the Saudi with him.
Stratton climbed down into the first boat and looked at the controls and battery housing. It appeared to be in good order.
By the time Hopper and Sabarak returned, both straining to carry a couple of large petrol containers each,
