Fair Game (46 page)

‘They’ll let the money out on the basis of this?’ asked Muller. ‘It seems very vague.’

‘The officials at the airport are used to large amounts of cash leaving in hand luggage,’ said the banker. ‘Provided they have no reason to suspect that money-laundering is involved, they will not detain you. More often than not the money is allowed through without comment, but if they do stop you that letter will suffice. Most of the NGOs operating in Africa have to pay their people in cash so large amounts of money fly out every day.’

Muller put the envelope into his jacket pocket. The bank official continued to feed notes into the counter. ‘Any chance of a coffee while we wait?’ he asked.

Katie looked up anxiously as the door was pushed open. It was Roobie, holding a bottle of whisky and a large machete. He was grinning and there was a manic look in his eyes. ‘You’re going home,’ he said. ‘The ransom is being paid.’

Katie looked across at Joy, who was sitting next to her, wondering if she had misheard. Joy’s mouth was open wide in astonishment.

‘Who paid?’ asked Hoop. ‘Where did the money come from?’

Roobie laughed and waved his machete at Hoop. ‘Why do you care?’ he asked. ‘The money is coming. You will go home. And I will be rich.’ He laughed again. ‘Maybe one day you will see me in London. I will be English, same as you.’ He did a soft-shoe shuffle across the dusty concrete floor.

‘When can we go?’ asked Hoop.

‘When we have the money, you go home,’ said Roobie. He laughed again and waved the machete above his head. ‘I tell them I will cut off your heads and they beg me to spare you. “Please, do not cut off their heads,” they said. But I was merciful and now I am rich.’

Eric looked at Hoop. ‘Is it true?’ he asked. ‘Did somebody pay?’

Hoop shrugged. ‘Somebody must have,’ he said. ‘Maybe the owner came through.’ He looked up at Roobie. ‘If we’re going home, how about some food? You’ve won, right? The least you can do is to give us a decent meal before we go.’ He pointed at the bottle of whisky. ‘What about a drink for a start?’

Roobie looked at the bottle he was holding as if seeing it for the first time. ‘You want whisky?’ he said. He laughed again as he walked over to Hoop. ‘You want whisky?’ he repeated, then poured it over Hoop’s head. Hoop turned away but Roobie kept pouring until the bottle was empty, then he threw it hard against the wall and it shattered into a hundred shards.

Roobie spun around in a drunken pirouette and then waved his machete at Katie. ‘So, you will go home soon,’ he said. He pointed the knife at Joy and leered at her. ‘But first we will celebrate.’ He held out his left hand. ‘Where is my whisky?’ he said. He frowned when he saw the bits of glass on the floor. ‘I need whisky,’ he said. He ambled out of the hut, muttering to himself.

‘Is he serious?’ asked Joy. ‘Are we going home?’

‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ said Hoop, shaking whisky from his hair. ‘He might just be screwing with us.’

‘He wouldn’t joke about something like that,’ said Andrew.

‘He’s a sick bastard,’ said Katie.

The door crashed open and Roobie stood in the doorway holding a fresh bottle of whisky. He took a long drink and then walked into the hut and kicked the door shut behind him.

‘So, who wants to suck me?’ he said, waving his machete at Joy and Katie. ‘Did you decide? Or will I have to decide for you?’

He tapped Katie on the head with the machete. ‘Should I choose you?’ he said. He placed the blade on Joy’s head. She trembled and began to cry. ‘Or you?’ he said. Back to Katie’s head went the knife. ‘You?’ He tapped Joy with the blade. ‘Or you?’ He threw back his head and laughed, then took a swig from the bottle before wiping his mouth with the back of his arm and belching. ‘Which one of you wants to suck me? You can choose because I don’t care.’ He took another swig from the bottle. ‘But hurry, yeah.’

The two girls cried and hugged each other.

‘Why can’t you just leave us alone, you bastard!’ shouted Andrew.

Roobie swaggered across the floor to him. ‘You want to suck me, is that it?’ He roared with laughter and groped for his zip with his left hand.

Andrew got to his feet and shoved Roobie in the chest so hard that he staggered back and crashed against the wall. ‘You bastard!’ screamed Andrew. ‘We’re not animals. We’re human beings!’

Roobie snarled and lashed out with the machete in a wide sweeping motion and it sliced through Andrew’s throat. Blood spurted up towards the roof and Andrew fell back, clawing at his neck. Joy and Katie screamed in horror and Eric and Hoop scuttled away from the dying man as he fell to the floor in a pool of blood. Andrew slumped back; bloody froth welled up from between his lips and his feet began to drum on the floor. His whole body began to jerk as if he was being electrocuted and Joy began to shriek uncontrollably.

Roobie stood over the dying man and whooped with laughter. ‘Happy now?’ he screamed, swinging his bloody machete from side to side. ‘You die like a dog and your wife is still going to suck me. Happy now?’

Andrew went still and the life faded from his eyes. Roobie spat in the dead man’s face and then turned around to leer at Joy. ‘Come here, bitch,’ he said.

Blue used the sat-phone to call Crazy Boy’s mobile. ‘They have agreed to pay five million dollars,’ he said. ‘They say they can get the money to the airfield tomorrow.’

‘Excellent,’ said Crazy Boy.

‘I’ve called Roobie already. He knows he has to check the money before he releases the hostages. And he will hold the money for us.’

‘He’d better,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘So he will let you know when he has the money and then you and your men leave the
Athena
?’

‘That is the plan,’ said Blue. ‘I will go straight back to the airfield and look after the money.’

‘Well done, brother of my father,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘We will get our reward in heaven for this.’

Blue laughed. ‘I’m satisfied with my reward in this life,’ he said. He put down the phone. There were two pirates on the bridge, one at either side, using binoculars to check the sea around the
Athena
. ‘Any of you seen Marlboro today?’ asked Blue.

The two men shrugged and shook their heads.

‘If you see him, tell him to come to the bridge.’

Martin O’Brien grinned when he saw John Muller walk through the sliding doors into the arrivals area. ‘There he is,’ he said. ‘The one dressed like a jungle explorer.’

John Muller was tall, well over six feet, with grey sweptback hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. He was wearing a pale blue safari suit with short sleeves, towing a Samsonite suitcase.

Standing next to O’Brien was Jack Bradford, in his early thirties with broad shoulders and unkempt brown hair that was too long to be fashionable. ‘A Yank?’

‘Yeah, but he’s OK in spite of that,’ said O’Brien. ‘He was in Vietnam when he was a teenager. The Phoenix Program. Winning the hearts and minds of the VC, and when that didn’t work throwing them out of helicopters. He’s mellowed a bit since then.’

Just behind Muller was a second man in a dark suit pulling an identical Samsonite suitcase, and they were flanked by two other men without luggage in dark grey suits and wearing Oakley sunglasses, the brand favoured by mercenaries around the world.

Muller grinned as he saw O’Brien. He strode up to him, let go of the suitcase and gave him a tight bear hug, slapping him on the back. Then Muller did a double-take when he saw the man standing next to O’Brien. He was the twin of the man behind him, towing the second Samsonite suitcase.

‘Jack Bradford,’ said O’Brien, by way of introduction. ‘Billy’s twin.’

‘Billy didn’t say anything,’ said Muller.

‘He’s a bit embarrassed because I’m the good-looking one,’ said Jack, shaking hands with Muller.

‘Any problems, John?’ asked O’Brien.

‘None, mate,’ said Muller. ‘I had these two guys to run interference if we needed it but we were waved right through.’ He flashed a thumbs-up at the two men in dark glasses and they both threw him mock salutes and headed for the exit.

O’Brien grabbed the handle of Muller’s case. ‘We’ll take it from here, John, thanks.’

‘No you won’t,’ said Muller, taking the case off him. ‘You’re not just using me as a delivery boy. If there’s action to be had, I want in.’

‘With the greatest of respect, John, you’re a bit long in the tooth for this.’

Muller took a step closer to O’Brien, his eyes hardening. ‘You watch who you’re calling long in the tooth,’ he said. ‘I’m not too old to give you a good hiding, even with all that Jewish aikido crap that you’ve studied.’

‘It’s Krav Maga, and it’s Israeli, not Jewish.’

‘Yeah, tomayto, tomato,’ said Muller. ‘I’m coming with you, you Irish bastard.’

O’Brien’s face broke into a grin. ‘Yes, John, I guess you are.’

Shepherd sat up as he heard shouting from somewhere on the deck. He looked at his wristwatch. It was just after seven o’clock in the morning. He went over to the container doors and nudged them open. There were two men shouting, one on either side of the ship, and it sounded as if they were moving closer. He pulled the doors closed and switched on the sat-phone. He sat with his back against the wall of the container as the sat-phone tried and failed to log on to a satellite, then switched it off.

He waited for thirty minutes and then carefully pushed open the doors again. The shouting had stopped. He was pretty sure it was the pirates looking for the man that Shepherd had thrown overboard. He pushed the doors open wider. He didn’t like going out in the daytime but he didn’t have a choice. If they started a full-scale search of the vessel and its containers they might well find his hiding place, and then it would all be over.

He switched on the sat-phone and tucked it into his back pocket, attached the machete to his belt, then slung the AK-47 over his shoulder and climbed down to the walkway He crept along to the starboard side, bending double to make himself a smaller target. He reached the side and carefully checked left and right, then headed for the bow, cradling the Kalashnikov across his chest, the safety off. He knelt down between the anchor chains and took the sat-phone from his pocket. It already had a signal and he called Charlie Button.

‘They’re starting to search the ship,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t think hiding is an option for much longer.’

‘We’re ready with the ransom now,’ said Button. ‘We’re in direct communication with the group that’s holding the yacht crew and we have agreed the time and place of the handover.’

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘Martin is going to deliver the money this afternoon at four. By plane.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘He’s close to the Ethiopia–Somali border, ready to go. The money is already there.’

Shepherd heard a footfall to his left. He switched off the phone and shoved it into his back pocket, then got up in a crouch, his finger on the trigger of the AK-47. He hid behind the forward mast, keeping the AK-47 close to his chest. He heard another footfall, a sandal brushing against the deck. Then a man came into view, tall and gangly, his skin the colour of coal, wearing a red and white checked bandana and ragged multicoloured surfer shorts. He was bare chested and a Kalashnikov was hanging from a sling by his side, and there was a machete in a leather holster on his left hip. As Shepherd watched, the man stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth and then shouted something up at the containers. It sounded like ‘Marlboro’. Shepherd remembered that the man he’d killed had been smoking, so maybe that was his nickname. The pirate shouted again and then began walking towards the bow. Shepherd stared at him grimly. If he turned around, the pirate would be looking right at him.

Shepherd could shoot the man easily, he was as proficient a shot with the Kalashnikov as he was with the SAS’s standard-issue MP-5 and Glock, but if he did he’d be giving himself away. The pirate had to be dealt with silently.

He slid his finger off the trigger and upended the AK-47, then rushed forward, towards the pirate. At the last moment the pirate began to turn but it was too late, Shepherd was moving quickly, and he brought the butt of the assault weapon crashing down on the back of the man’s neck and he dropped without making a sound.

Shepherd whirled around, bringing the AK-47 up into the firing position, but there was no one else on the deck. He moved over to the port side and peered around but the whole of the Upper Deck was clear. He went back to the unconscious pirate and heaved him over the side into the sea. He ejected the magazine from the AK-47, shoved it in his pocket, and tossed the weapon into the sea after him.

He took out his sat-phone and called Button again.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘I’ve just had to deal with another pirate,’ he said. ‘No one heard anything but that’s me blown. I might have been able to get away with one missing pirate but now they’re sure to realise that something’s up.’

‘What do you want to do, Spider? It’s your call.’

‘Kill the ship’s sat-phone now,’ said Shepherd. ‘That way they can’t contact Crazy Boy or the pirates in Somalia no matter what happens on the
Athena
.’

‘Do you want me to send in the cavalry?’

‘No. The crew’s under lock and key. If the pirates panic then they could start shooting the hostages. Let me see if I can handle it. How soon can the Increment be here?’

‘They’re thirty miles away, just over your horizon,’ said Button. ‘Fifteen minutes, tops. We’ve got two helicopters on stand-by.’

‘Make sure they’re ready to go,’ said Shepherd. ‘As soon as I give the word, get them on their way.’

‘They’ll be ready. You’re sure about this?’

‘It’s the only way,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll do what I can to contain the situation here. Or at least minimise the risks to the crew. But once the Increment are on board, I want one of the choppers to take me to Martin.’

‘Not a problem,’ said Button. ‘But you be careful, OK?’

‘Always,’ said Shepherd.

He ended the call and shouldered his AK-47. He heard shouting from the port side. He took a quick look and saw two pirates walking along the Upper Deck, towards the bow. They were moving slowly, checking any hiding places, and were about a hundred and fifty yards away.