Dead Centre

‘BB, listen in! That’s my backup. We’re RVing with them down at the harbour. They’ve got boats. Make sure they take you down the road, right of the court-house. You’ve got to stay on the road.’

Rounds zinged in all directions as chaotic and drugged-up shouts and screams echoed around the square. Tracer bounced off the ground and whizzed into the sky. A machine-gun opened up somewhere the other side of the obelisk. More shouts and screams; then a couple of lines of a rap song and taunts from the crew aimed at the court-house. Above it all I heard, ‘Mr Nick! Mr Nick!’

Awaale and his crew charged up the alley between the court-house and the compound like the Seventh Cavalry. Muzzle flashes flickered at the windows of another building maybe 150 metres away. BB loosed off a couple of short bursts in return.

‘Over here, mate! On me! On me! Awaale!’

The rounds were hurtling in from everywhere and everyone. Tracer zapped into and out of the court-house and from the buildings surrounding the square. We lay in the dust. I kept Tracy covered. Partly to protect her, partly because she kept trying to get up and run.

Awaale arrived alongside us with half a dozen of his crew. Their teeth glistened with khat juice. They were totally off their tits. They squatted and bounced, fired a couple of bursts, squatted and bounced, fired a couple more, not really caring who they hit.

Awaale gobbed off into his radio, probably creating even more chaos.

I put my mouth to Tracy’s ear. ‘It’s OK. I’ll get him.’ I kept my voice level. ‘You go with BB. These lads will look after you, OK? I’ll get him, I promise.’

She twisted her head. I could see the fear in her red, tear-filled eyes.

BB cut in: ‘Yep, no problem. I’ll take care of her. I’ll keep her with me.’

She didn’t want to leave her son. ‘Nick — no!’

‘Stefan will be OK. I’m going to go and get him. Awaale!’

The fucker was only about three metres away but he still wasn’t answering me. He was too busy shouting at everyone else on his radio.

‘Awaale!’

Screams and howls came from the crews both sides of the court-house as they revved up. An RPG kicked off to our right and flew straight down the middle of the square. It shaved the obelisk and slammed into a building fifty metres further on. There was a bright orange flash and lumps of concrete flew into the air.

‘Awaale!’

‘Yes, Mr Nick!’

‘Let’s take them down to the harbour. Remember, only on the road, dead centre. Let’s go!’

I grabbed BB. ‘Take her now, with these lads. I’ll get Stefan and we’ll RV at the boats. Awaale!’

The fucker had evaporated again.

Two technicals came screaming towards us from the direction we’d taken this morning. The guns’ heavy reports reverberated above the rest of the shit around us. Tracer zoomed over our heads. Some hit the obelisk.

‘Awaale!’

‘Yes, OK, I am here, Mr Nick!’

He stepped out of the gloom. He was soaked with sweat. His hands glinted with jewellery. Any passing Black Hawk wouldn’t have stood a chance while he was in this mood.

‘Get some fire down on those fucking technicals!’

‘It’s no problem, Mr Nick. It’s my crew. They landed in the wrong place so they took the AS technicals. This is very good, Mr Nick. This is a great victory.’

‘No, it fucking ain’t great! You’ve got to control them, mate.’

On cue, their tracer kicked into the compound building. Some of it scudded into the shallow graves the girls had finally pulled themselves out of. If they hadn’t, they would have been history.

‘You got fucking rounds going all over the place. Control them! Get the fucking technicals here, get this lot on board, and let’s get them down to the boats. I’m going to go and get the boy. He’s in the madrasah.’

Awaale waffled into his radio. His crew ran about laughing manically, firing, shouting.

I got up. ‘BB, take Tracy. Now. Get her on the technicals as soon as they come over.’

Tracy struggled to her knees. ‘No, Nick — no …’

‘Tracy, it’s OK. Stefan will be just fine.’ I pointed to Awaale. ‘You’re going to get the other two white lads out of there as well, remember. Erasto wants to kill them.’

‘No problems, Mr Nick. We’ll take care of them.’

The technicals came bouncing across the square, all guns blazing. If they’d heard Awaale tell them to stop firing, they weren’t taking any notice. As they bounced, tracer arced over the court-house. It was probably landing in the sea or zapping our own boats. Some of it scudded off the dirt and ricocheted into random buildings.

I pushed Tracy down once more. ‘Awaale!’

He was busy shouting orders. An RPG kicked off from fuck knew where.

We couldn’t move.

7

As the wagons came closer I caught sight of the gunner’s star-shaped, white-framed sun-gigs. The sun had gone down hours ago, but that didn’t bother him. And the driver, for fuck’s sake, was on his mobile. He looked like he was larging it with a blow-by-blow account for the benefit of the girls back home.

BB was out of ammunition. I threw him my day sack with the spare mags. I turned and shouted to one of the crew. I wanted the pistol he had tucked into the back of his jeans. He lay in the dust by the gate, firing at the completely strike-marked court-house. He gave me a big, khat-stained grin. ‘Fifty dollar!’

‘Fuck off! Give me the weapon!’

He shrugged and shouted to his mate the other side of the gate. They both laughed. Another RPG kicked off, this time from AS. It was way off. It almost went into orbit.

The kid with the pistol finally relented. He didn’t even check safety before he threw it. As it sailed through the air I could see it was a Makarov, and so old there was no parkerization anywhere near it. I caught it and pulled back the top slide. A brass case was already in the chamber. I pressed the mag-release catch. It dropped into my hand. The mag was full.

BB was now crouched over Tracy to protect her. He held her head down, trying to calm her.

Awaale and four of his crew peeled off and ran towards the compound building. They were going for Ant and Dec. Awaale was in the middle of the gang, still shouting into his radio as if he was controlling this shit. The technicals banged out 12.7 at every muzzle flash within reach. It didn’t seem to matter who was on the receiving end.

I got up and started running for the madrasah, head down, fast as I could. I reached the massive wooden doors. They were open. I stopped, looked and listened. Nothing. I walked into the hallway. Yellow low-current strip-lights hung from the ceilings. The plaster was pitted. What had probably once been colonial Italy’s pride and joy was now close to a ruin. Dark wooden doors led off it, left and right.

The sound of firing was muffled. The whoops of excitement and fear were mumbles. I ventured into the high-ceilinged building. If this place was a school, there was nothing to suggest it. There were no children’s drawings pinned to the walls; nothing to show children used the place at all.

The door of the first room I came to was open. Looking down the corridor, I could see a lot of the others were closed. This one was full of low desks. They were just inches from the floor, their tops at a reading angle. Each desk had a little cushion.

I crossed the corridor to the room opposite. The hinges were on the right. I put my ear to the wood but couldn’t hear anybody on the other side. I eased it open. The weak light from the strips was enough to show me the