Latan dumped the canvas bag at his feet. Vogler crouched and examined the items inside, then looked up sharply. ‘What about the cameras?’
‘We saw no cameras,’ said Latan. ‘They must have sunk with the ship.’
Vogler regarded him unblinkingly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘We saw no cameras,’ Latan repeated. Vogler didn’t appear convinced, but after a moment he zipped up the bag and handed over the briefcase.
‘Then our business is concluded,’ he said, lifting the bag and turning for the helicopter. He paused, looking back. ‘I hope I have no reason to see you again, Mr Latan. If there is anything you wish to say, now is the time.’
Latan had already opened the case and was flicking through the banknotes inside, but Vogler’s words wiped the avaricious smile from his face. ‘No, nothing,’ he managed to say.
‘Good.’ Vogler and the two soldiers climbed back aboard the chopper, which brought its rotors to full power and took off in a whirlwind of leaves, disappearing over the dark jungle.
Chase kept his eyes fixed on Latan. Some of the other men eagerly tried to grab their shares out of the case, but Latan snapped it shut. Disappointed, they headed back to the large shack, while their leader returned to the smaller building from which he had come. Chase waited until everyone was back inside, then rejoined Bejo.
‘Okay, I’m going to have words with Latan. You keep hiding here until I come back. Unless everything goes pear-shaped - then you run like buggery!’
‘Pear-shaped?’ Bejo asked, puzzled.
‘You’ll know. Don’t take any chances - just run. Okay, see you soon.’ Leaving Bejo hiding amongst the barrels, he crept across the camp to Latan’s hut.
‘Got you, you bugger,’ he muttered as he looked under a half-closed shutter to see Latan’s hard features in the dimly lit room beyond. The pirate leader had claimed the best - or least worst - shack for his own private use, and done the same regarding its other occupant. He sat shirtless on a bed, an attractive young woman in a tight red minidress stroking his back as she whispered in his ear. Soft music was playing from an iPod connected to a small pair of speakers.
Chase also saw the briefcase - and an AK propped up in a corner. It was within reach of the bed, but if Latan was preoccupied with the woman . . .
He went to the door and peered through a crack. The woman unzipped her dress and shrugged it off her shoulders, Latan’s hands groping her bare breasts. It was a good job he’d made Bejo stay behind; the clunk of his jaw dropping would have alerted the entire village.
The pirate was still within an arm’s length of the Kalashnikov. Chase frowned.
The pair finally changed position, the woman lying prone on the bed with the now-naked Latan on top of her. She let out a little grunt of discomfort as he thrust into her.
Chase opened the door, and advanced carefully across the wooden floor with the knife in one hand. The couple faced away from him, the AK just out of Latan’s reach. All Chase had to do was get to the gun before the pirate realised he was there—
The floor creaked beneath his foot.
Latan was preoccupied, but the woman turned her head - and squealed at the sight of the knife.
Training kicking in, Latan lunged for the rifle.
If he fired even a single shot, the other pirates would be alerted—
Too far away to make a grab for the gun, Chase grabbed something else instead.
Latan gasped like a choking cat as Chase’s free hand clamped round his genitals. The pirate’s twitching fingers stopped just short of the AK-47. Chase pulled. The fingers hurriedly withdrew.
‘This isn’t my usual sort of thing, by the way,’ said Chase. ‘Just so you know.’ He nodded at the woman, who was pinned beneath Latan and watching fearfully. ‘Sorry to interrupt, love. Don’t mind me.’
‘I fucking kill you!’ the pirate rasped.
‘Takes a lot of balls for someone in your position to make threats,’ Chase told him amiably, ‘but you don’t have ’em.’ He tightened his grip, and Latan gave a strangled groan. ‘So this guy who hired you, Vogler - who is he and where do I find him?’
‘Fuck you -
‘You won’t have anything to fuck
‘Never met him before tonight!’ Latan moaned. ‘He talked to me through a middleman in Singapore last night.’ He glanced at the briefcase. ‘Hired us to get the computer and the tile with writing on it, then sink ship.’
‘
‘Don’t know, he didn’t say!’
Chase frowned. Latan was probably telling the truth. ‘What about this . . . this Covenant of Genesis?’ he asked instead. ‘What is it?’
He felt Latan tense. ‘I - I can’t tell you!’
‘Oh, you can,’ Chase said. ‘Get up.’ The woman turned over, arms clutched protectively over her chest, as the pirate leader crawled backwards off her. Chase did a double take as he saw there was more to Latan’s companion than met the eye. ‘Whoa,’ he said, amused. ‘You’re no lady - you’re a man, baby, a man!’ He withdrew the knife so the pirate could sit up. ‘So you’re into ladyboys, eh? And I thought pirates preferred Roger the cabin boy—’
The ‘woman’ suddenly sprang to life, whipping up both feet flat against Latan’s chest and shoving him backwards with surprising force. Latan slammed into Chase, whose grip on the pirate’s jewels was jolted loose as he staggered back. With a roar, the naked man whirled to face his attacker.
Chase brought up the knife to defend himself - but instantly changed his plans as he saw the transsexual reach for the gun. Her hand closed round it—
The knife thunked deeply into the battered old weapon’s wooden grip, transfixing the ladyboy’s hand. She screamed - and her finger clenched convulsively on the trigger. The AK-47 blasted a spray of bullets into the ceiling. Shouts rose outside as the other pirates heard the gunfire.
Chase punched Latan in the face, knocking him down, and ran.
7
Chase sprinted through the little settlement. He passed the rusting fuel drums - Bejo was gone. The kid had done the right thing and got the hell out; now it was his turn.
Yelling from the large shack. He snatched up the handle of a broken oar and smacked it into the face of the first pirate to emerge, ducking round the shack’s side as more pirates jumped over the fallen man and came after him. He saw the sea ahead, the jetty extending out into the darkness. Maybe rigging the RIB hadn’t been such a good idea - he could have used it to escape—
A man ran out on to the walkway in front of him. He saw Chase and raised his gun.
Chase hurled himself through an open window into the neighbouring hut: the pirates’ makeshift kitchen. He landed on a table, which collapsed in a shower of rice and clanging metal bowls. He jumped up, finding himself beside the sizzling wok as the pirate appeared at the window and brought his AK to bear.
Chase snatched up the wok and whipped it round, its contents sluicing out. Boiling fat splashed across the walls - and the pirate’s face. The man screamed as his skin instantly blistered.
A door across the room crashed open. Still holding the wok, Chase spun to see two more men rush in. Neither had a gun - but one saw the meat cleaver on a bench near the hanging goat and ran to pick it up.
The other man, a thick-necked, heavily tattooed thug in a string vest, charged at Chase, knotted hands outstretched—
Chase let him close in - then slammed the wok against the side of his head. The sturdy metal bowl rang like a gong, but that was nothing compared to the sizzling hiss as the hot metal burned the pirate’s cheek like a branding iron. He collapsed, overcome by pain.
The second man approached more warily, the cleaver in his hand. Chase heard shouting outside. It wouldn’t take the others long to realise where he was . . . and surround him.
A frying pan against Kalashnikovs. Not good. He had to get out into the open.
