Dead Centre

bring the money to you, to ask the families to do this, I must know that they are safe.’

Erasto picked up his airport tax and got to his feet. He rattled off another set of instructions to Awaale. I wondered for a moment whether the Italiano question was just part of his performance. I wondered if he needed an interpreter at all. My iPhone vibrated in my jeans as he left the room.

14

Awaale motioned me over to the nearest PC. ‘Erasto says if you can find some more money then you can see them. But he wants the money here quickly. Then you can take them home, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. If you come up with more money, Erasto will help you. But come, I will now show you that your loved ones are OK.’

The screen was covered with dust. There was a grinding sound as he tapped the keys. I watched a video clip upload. ‘See, Mr Nick, we are looking after them.’

Tracy and BB sat on a patch of filthy concrete with Stefan between them. Tracy was wearing a red hijab. Only her face was exposed. It was clean and unmarked, but her holiday tan couldn’t hide the fact she was in shit state. Her eyes were red and sunken. She looked nervous and worried. She had her arm around Stefan. He clung to his mother. He was dressed in blue-striped shorts and a blue T-shirt, with nothing on his feet. They were black with grime. His legs were covered with insect bites.

It was BB I most wanted to see. He sat cross-legged and kept his eyes to the floor until a flip-flopped kick in the back encouraged him to look up. His message to the camera lens was extremely clear: ‘You cunts …’

This video wasn’t recent. He had less than a week’s stubble.

The sound of traffic and birdsong filled the background, as it had in the phone message. Their captors, in ski masks or shemaghs, filled the screen behind them. They all had weapons clutched across their chests, and belts of linked ammunition around their hips.

Awaale wagged a finger. ‘You see, Mr Nick? You find some more money for Erasto and your loved ones will be home before you know it.’

I turned to face him. ‘I’ll try, Awaale. I’m doing everything I can to help you. You know that. Your father knows that. You both know I risked my life for you and your friends this afternoon. But I must see Tracy and Stefan first. Really see them. Speak to them before any money changes hands. Can you make sure that Erasto understands that?’

He placed a hand lightly on my shoulder. ‘I know these things, Mr Nick. But this is business. Erasto’s business. You need to make calls, Mr Nick. I will take you to see your friends tomorrow. Now, you have a cell? You can use mine …’

‘No, I have one. Where am I staying? This could take a bit of time.’

Awaale’s brow furrowed. ‘Staying? You will stay here, Mr Nick. You cannot leave. It is dangerous. There is nowhere to go. You must stay here until you have got Erasto some more money.’

I knew this had more to do with keeping me until I came up with the cash than with my personal safety. And I knew the unspoken threat that I could be Erasto’s next fund-raising opportunity was hovering at the edge of our exchanges.

‘Can I charge up my iPhone from whatever the PCs are running off?’

‘Sure. Why not? Then please, make your calls.’ He pointed back at the settees. ‘Do not leave this area. I do not want to see you killed.’

As if on cue, there was a burst of machine-gun fire in the city and tracer disappeared into the night.

He headed out the way he had come, waving his hand. ‘You see, Mr Nick, we must keep you close.’

I’d suggest another thirty-one K. If Erasto didn’t go for that, I’d come back with a further nine. I wanted him to understand that it was time to take the money and run. Why keep them any longer if the next tranche was going to be even less, especially if they were starting to get ill? BB didn’t look too good. If they died before we shook hands there would be no deal. Maybe that was why Erasto was in such a hurry.

Back on the settee, I checked my iPhone. Jules had rung. He’d also left me a text.

Call me. It’s important.

It still freaked me out that even in a shithole like this I could talk to anyone, anywhere.

The phone buzzed twice. Jules didn’t hang around.

‘I think I’ve found them. All three of them. But it’s not good. The int says that al-Shabab have three whites: an adult female, a young male, who we think is her son, and an adult male. They were lifted from a yacht just over a week ago and sold on by the clan. It has to be them.’

I kept my voice down, my hand covering the phone. ‘I’m in the city. I’m with the clan now. They’re claiming they still have them.’

‘Jesus, Nick, why didn’t you call? Have you seen them?’

‘No. But they want money fast. I guess we now know why.’

‘I don’t think they’ve got them, Nick. Not any more, anyway. They must have sold them on. Or the clan had a debt to AS, and faced a zero option. Either way, unless you’ve seen them, it looks like AS are now in control.’

‘Do you know where?’

‘As of yesterday, Merca. South of the city. That’s all we know. AS control most of the south. If AS do have your three, you must get the boys you’re dealing with to start telling the truth. Like I said, when it’s not about money, it’s time to get out your worry beads.

‘They use hostages to control the locals. The message is, they’re white pigs who don’t adhere to Sharia law. This is the punishment they deserve. In other words, if you don’t shape up, this is what’ll happen to you.’

There was a peal of laughter in the next room. I asked Jules to keep in touch and hoisted my day sack onto my shoulders.

15

I wandered out into the darkness.

Awaale was by the empty plinth in the courtyard. He’d joined his crew around the fire. They were chewing khat and drinking from big litre bottles of Haywards 5000 as they relived the events of the day. That was one ship that would never be hijacked: the beer boat from India.

A few women had joined the group. They were young and attentive — to anyone who would give them a swig of lager and a mouthful of the flat bread that was piled up with lumps of veg on a nearby tray. Awaale tore himself off a piece, wrapped it round a tomato, and took a bite.

‘Ah, Mr Nick.’

‘I need to talk to you, mate. I’ve got some good news.’

I stopped about two metres from him. The others looked up and cheered. Their eyes were wide, dilated pupils shining in the firelight. I guessed they were busy telling a couple of the girls how they’d kicked Lucky Justice’s arse, the sort of stuff that made us all look good.

‘Excellent, excellent.’ Awaale jumped up, wiping his hands on his jeans. ‘Very excellent, Mr Nick.’

I started towards the technicals. ‘Let’s go somewhere quiet, mate. How about over there?’

We headed past the back of the technical we’d been in today. The captured AKs and the body of the lad who’d been zapped still lay on the flatbed. He looked like a rabbit that had been tossed aside on a night shoot. He couldn’t have been any older than fifteen.

I carried on waffling encouragingly as we went further into the shadows. ‘I got the OK to offer more money. But one thing I need, mate …’ I put a friendly arm round his shoulder — then grabbed him and spun him round in an arm-lock, tucking the back of his head into my shoulder. I squeezed my right arm tighter and slapped my left hand over his mouth.

His legs trailed behind him as I dragged him into cover. I could feel moisture on my hand as he tried to shout. His heels kicked up sand as he tried to keep control of his legs. I kept moving fast enough to stop that