why. It had been kicked in.
We slipped into the corridor and followed the carpet as far as the wooden stairway. I started to sweat as I climbed. A sign on the landing told us 2-17 was to the left.
This floor, too, had been systematically raided. Splintered doors hung from their hinges. More redundant wires sprouted from desktops. The small, two-desk office of Kareng Development Corp was in shit state.
Our torchlight bounced around in the darkness. Paper, folders and files were scattered everywhere. I pulled off my day sack. ‘Fuck it. Too much to sort. Let’s torch the lot.’
BB took stag on the door. He’d keep an eye out along the corridor.
Mong set to, piling the furniture into good burning stacks. The paperwork was my responsibility. As team leader, I had to make sure it was destroyed. And we’d only get the rest of our money if we had the proof.
I didn’t bother looking for material specific to the deal with the separatists. It would be quicker and easier to incinerate the lot. Fuck the building: it was either insured or would be rebuilt by foreign aid. No one was in here, and the blaze couldn’t spread to other buildings or fuck anybody up. It was an island in a sea of tarmac.
As Mong threw together a pyramid of desks and chairs, I set up the handheld IR-capable videocam on a chair by the door and set it to record.
16
There are three elements in the combustion triangle if you want to make sure your arson is productive. The fuel was the furniture and paperwork. The oxygen movement wasn’t perfect — the windows here were sealed units so the air-con could do its stuff — but with the internal doors open it should be fine. The fire needed to spark up as quickly as possible; we’d help it do so by stacking the chairs and desks at the optimum angle. The optimum angle was thirty degrees — which is why the perfect place to start a house fire is under the stairs.
Mong was building his second pyramid when BB slapped the wall. It was our signal to freeze.
I killed my torchlight and held my breath, mouth open to cut down internal body noise. I listened. Not a sound.
I breathed out, breathed in, kept my mouth open, and strained to pick up even the slightest vibration. Still nothing. I waited another thirty seconds. If someone had spotted us, surely they would have done something by now.
Mong was behind me. I turned and moved my mouth to his ear. ‘Hear anything?’
He shook his head.
Then we both did. Movement inside the building, down near the plywood sheeting. Then a shout.
Military? Maybe they had more than loudspeakers and searchlights on those APCs. Maybe they had night viewing aids and had been watching us all along.
Another shout.
It didn’t sound military. It sounded agitated. A night-watchman? What was the point? There was nothing left to watch over. Homeless? That made sense. But I’d seen no bedding or cardboard on the floor, no sign at all of inhabitants.
I could hear the shuffle of feet. Murmurs. Getting louder. Coming up the stairs.
I went and joined BB. He pulled his head back inside. ‘No lights. Can’t be military. They wouldn’t come in blind.’
Shouts echoed in the stairwell. I made out at least three or four different voices. Egging each other on. Vigilantes, maybe, who thought we were looters. Or just local lads who wanted to know who the fuck we were.
Mong moved alongside us.
The voices were getting closer.
I gripped their arms. ‘We carry on — then fight our way out of here if we have to. They might just get bored and fuck off. We have to destroy the papers. We’ll worry about that lot afterwards. OK?’
I ran back and grabbed an armful of files and thrust them under the nearest desk pyramid. Mong did the same.
The shouts were getting louder and feistier. The newcomers hadn’t got bored. They were getting more confident because we weren’t doing anything. Something landed further down the corridor with a metallic clatter.
BB came back into the room. ‘Five or six of them, I reckon.’
Mong stopped what he was doing. ‘Fuck ’em, Nick. Me and BB’ll go and clear them out. They’ll do a runner. You crack on here.’
‘No. This first. We go out there mob-handed as soon as this lot sparks up.’
They started chanting now, like football hooligans. The noise came from the top of the stairs.
I carried on hurling fistfuls of paper into the stacks. Sweat poured down my face. ‘Let’s get this done. Worry about that lot later.’
I looked up and caught Mong in my Maglite beam. He screwed his eyes shut and gave me a smile. ‘No, mate. Let us two go down there and grip a couple big-time. The rest will run — they always do, don’t they? You finish this off, and we’ll clear the exit. What happens if we get pinned down when all this shit kicks off?’
My light moved onto BB. He wasn’t happy, but Mong was chomping at the bit. ‘Nick — we need to secure the way out.’
Mong was set in his ways. The halo he’d had on at the fishing boat had slipped; it was just the horns showing now.
I grabbed another pile of paper. ‘You’re right, mate. Go!’
BB had to shout to be heard over the chaos outside. ‘Nick, what the fuck are you playing at?’
Mong tightened the straps of his day sack. He wasn’t going to wait for me to answer.
He turned and prodded BB out of the door. They dis appeared to my left as Mong roared at the gang outside. The noise was deafening.
17
I pulled the two-litre bottle of unleaded from my day sack and poured it over the two mounds, then lit the first match and threw it.
There was a loud whoosh and flames rushed up the woodwork. The sudden heat seared my face. I listened to the commotion outside. Chairs were being thrown; wood was connecting with bone.
I chucked a second match and turned towards the door. Both pyramids were well ablaze. I shoved the camera into the day sack and threw it on my back. I ran out to join the violence at the top of the stairs. Torchlight jerked and juddered as Mong and BB got aboard whoever was trying to stop us getting out of there.
There were other angry shouts, but from behind me this time. A chair slammed across my back and took me down. I struggled to my feet and ran towards the melee of jeans, T-shirts and sweat-soaked tattoos. The acrid stench of burning foam scoured my nostrils. I heard a series of loud cracks as the flames took hold of the veneer on the furniture.
A lad behind me screamed and shouted. Something hit me on the head. I didn’t give a fuck. These lads weren’t going to stop the fire. And soon they were going to have to leg it.
I headed for the torchlight ahead of me. The three of us needed to fuck off before the smoke overwhelmed us. I took more hits.
‘Mong! BB!’
Mong turned and roared at me: ‘Get a fucking move on!’
His shout became a scream and his headlight dropped. Smoke billowed down the corridor, hugging the ceiling. Shadows bounced along the walls as the flames grew. The locals hollered at each other. These lads were fucking off.
