By now everybody had their weapon ready to go, and everybody waited.
Standish wasn’t impressed. I’d just been crossed off his Christmas-card list. ‘I’m giving an order. I want bodies out there. Get some rounds down!’
‘No – leave ’em.’ Sam took control. ‘We won’t get them all now, anyway. Hold fire.’
The last of the bodies disappeared into the darkness, heading towards the wagon lights that were scattered around the building, just out of our range, and the fires that flickered near them.
As Standish stomped off towards the stairs, a couple of shots cracked off here and there but they weren’t aimed at us or the mutineers. The rebels out there had probably chewed so much ghat, they were shooting each other to see if it hurt or not.
10
01:28 hours
Most of us were on the roof, staring at the vehicle lights and fires out there in the darkness. It was only a question of time before they attacked again.
Standish was down on the Renault, talking to the High Commission and the Third Fleet, and anyone else who’d listen, by the sound of it. Annabel stuck to him like glue.
As far as we knew – or could gather from what Standish was saying – the Americans were still steaming towards the Zaire coast. There was still no clearance for fighter jets, and still no word on the helis. I got the feeling that a little backtracking was the order of the day.
This job had been going on once a month and the cargo hadn’t been a problem as long as nobody knew about it. Even after the attack, everything was OK because we were going to nip this little bit of drama in the bud. But now that fast jets and heli support were being requested, things had gone a little quiet.
Sam was taking the silence in his stride. ‘So what’s new?’
The general wasn’t so patient. He yelled into the darkness from time to time and, judging by his body language, if he ever got his hands on the guys who’d run away tonight, he’d rip their hearts out with his bare hands.
Davy was on stag next to Gary, who was still lying where he’d dropped. His face was covered with a sheet of blood-soaked gingham.
Sam had been staring at the dark pool that had leaked from under his head, and still glistened in the moonlight. He finally tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Come with me.’
We crossed the roof and headed down the spiral staircase.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Don’t you want to know why Gary’s history?’
It was pitch black. The further we went down the stairs, the stronger the smell from the bodies. It wasn’t the usual butcher’s-shop smell. It was too hot and sticky for that. It reminded me of dog food.
The small wooden crates in the middle of the hall were split but still intact. ‘Grab one, Nick. I’ll get the door.’
I did as I was told and carried it out into the moonlight. The box was about half the weight of the link I’d been carrying earlier – surprisingly heavy for its size.
A small zinc plate on the side read: London Good Delivery.
I didn’t know what to make of that. It wasn’t in London yet, and there certainly wasn’t anything good about this delivery. But Sam knew. ‘It’s gold. London Good Delivery bars are the world trading standard. That’s what those guys out there are here for.’ He picked up one of the brick-sized bars. ‘Twenty-seven pounds each, these boys weigh. That’s a big wad we got here, in anybody’s language.’
‘I don’t give a shit. Gary and the others in the house died for this?’
Sam saw the expression on my face. ‘Let’s go ask her, shall we?’
I followed him over to the Renault. Sam held the gold bar almost under Annabel’s nose. ‘All this, just so Uncle Mo ships a few more million to Switzerland? Politically sensitive? I must tell that to the mother of Gary’s kids. And what about your two friends? Do they have husbands? Brothers? Sisters? I’m sure it’ll be a comfort.’
‘Sam, I—’
‘Giving aid with one hand and taking back with the other, that’s all this is.’ He gave her the sort of look he’d given me when I’d used ‘fuck’ and ‘New Testament’ in the same sentence. ‘How do you people sleep at night?’
She didn’t reply. Tears were rolling down her face. She was young; this job was just a little rung on a big career ladder. What was she supposed to do? Refuse on moral grounds or something?
Standish had been silent up to now, but he’d obviously heard enough. Good: she needed defending. ‘Shut up and stop crying. I can’t stand whinging women. And you, Sergeant –’ he glared at Sam ‘– just get on with your job. Do you think this didn’t come right from the top? It’s important.’
Sam clenched his jaw. ‘Important for you, maybe, but not for me. I’m a soldier.’
For a moment, it looked like Sam was going to deck him, but he never got the chance. Davy was screaming from the roof: ‘Stand to!’
11
Sam and I ran towards the house as Davy got everyone sparked up. ‘Here we go, stand to, stand to!’
Sam paused to shout back at Standish. ‘Get the comms inside and keep out of my way!’
We raced up the stairs and on to the roof. I could see four sets of headlamps coming our way, then five, six, maybe more.
I took control of my gun and rested it on the parapet, jerking back instinctively on the cocking handle to check that the working parts were still to the rear and made ready. As the steel parts of the cocking slide rubbed against each other I heard the rasp of sand. I pushed in the safety bar that ran through the pistol grip from right to left before punching down on the top cover to make sure.
The clunks and clicks of two RPGs being loaded came from just behind me, but the guys held their fire. To get in a decent shot, the vehicles needed to be within spitting distance at night. The launchers only had iron sights.
Yet more sets of lights appeared and peeled off to the right. The fuckers were going to try to surround us. Still we waited for Sam’s order.
The headlights closed to 300 metres and I could hear faint shouts and hoots. The boys must have been having a good old night on the ghat.
Sam ducked and weaved like a boxer as he tried to get a better view, then a finger poked at my shoulder. ‘Take the lead vehicle.’
I shifted position until my foresight rested on the closest set of lights. He designated other vehicles until everyone had a target. When mine was about two hundred away, he said, ‘Stand by, stand by, fire!’
The noise of eight weapons opening simultaneously was deafening. I was buffeted by shockwaves from the RPGs, then the hot back-blast washed over me. Gravel splattered me. My nose filled with the acrid smell of cordite and spent propellant. My eardrums zinged.
I put another double-tap into the lead vehicle as one of the grenades hit home about three back. Its headlights swerved and the dustcloud it threw up obscured the set I was aiming for.
Next thing I saw, my vehicle, too, was swerving. It went into a complete roll not more than twenty metres from the wall.
Bodies kept advancing, firing wildly, their screams and shouts getting louder by the minute.
The first vehicle made it to the wall and into dead ground. It had to be heading for the gate. Sam ran along the parapet. ‘Take the wagon! Take the wagon!’
I made a grab for the carry handle but missed. My fingers closed around the red-hot gun metal and nearly
