Spiral (24 page)

When ready, they waited on the porch of Justus’s huge white-walled house as night fell. An engine broke the silence; a huge Toyota Land Cruiser rumbled into view, a little battered and sand-scarred, the bright headlights carving a huge slice from the night pie. The vehicle squeaked to a halt on heavy springs, and Justus leaped out. The large black man, bald and grinning widely, slapped Carter on the back, making him groan in agony.

‘For you, and Mama Natasha,’ he boomed.

‘Mama Natasha?’ Nats’s hands went to her hips, her stance on the porch changing subtly from submissive to aggressive with barely a change of muscle tone.

‘It is a mark of respect,’ rumbled Justus, a frown creasing his huge black brow.

‘That,’ said Carter dryly, ‘doesn’t look like a Cessna fuel pump to me.’

Justus shrugged. ‘I do what I can. This is all I can do; your part take maybe three days to arrive. This is Africa, Carter, not London or New York.’

Carter sighed. ‘All I fucking need. A cross-country fucking trek.’

‘You look after my baby, Carter. You bring her back to her Papa; she cost me many shillings, understand?’

‘Don’t worry,’ grinned Carter bitterly. ‘And anyway, you’ve got a Cessna out of the deal. More than a fair trade, I’d say.’

Justus shouted to another man, his words fast and smooth in the local Swahili dialect. The man disappeared into the white-walled house, then returned with two rucksacks.

‘Supplies. For Mama Natasha.’ The huge black man smiled. He ran a hand across his shaved head, where a sheen of sweat could be seen in the light from the Toyota’s headlamps. ‘Now you be careful out there, Carter. This is not a place for a weak-kneed English white man!’

Carter laughed, patting the man in return, his affection genuine. ‘You take care, Justus. And remember: we were never here. And we didn’t steal that Cessna on your lawn.’

‘Justus always remember for the right price.’

They circled the Toyota - or what had once
been
a Toyota. The paint was peeling, and rust showed through. Parts of the coach-lines were dented and, worryingly, bullet holes rimed with rust peppered one flank. At the rear, a flat-back section had been devised - the rear seats had been ripped out and a huge upside-down U-bar welded into place. Mounted on this was a 106mm recoil-less rifle with a small box of ammunition.

‘This has seen the wars,’ said Natasha softly.

‘It’s a Technical,’ said Carter, helping Natasha into the cab of the customised Toyota. ‘What do you expect?’ He slung the rucksacks in the back, then climbed up himself and slammed the door, which shut with a dull
clunk
on the fourth attempt.

‘A what?’

Carter turned the key. The vehicle rumbled into life, belching smoke from an impromptu welded exhaust. ‘A Technical. When a man needs - shall we say - off-the-record protection from the local guardians, he pays for a vehicle and a few armed men. He reclaims this cost on his balance sheet as “technical assistance” - hence Technicals.’ Carter wound down the window, which groaned as if in pain. ‘Hey, you pack me a compass, Justus? Sometimes this low technology just gives me a hard-on.’

‘On the dash, white boy. You see? By all the gods, I hope you look after yourself. This not a tourist safari now! You not have comfy beds to fly back to!’

Carter laughed again, pushed the grinding gears, then hit the accelerator. Wheels spun on loose gravel; the huge engine roared and they shot towards the gates where two men hurriedly pulled the iron barricades open. Carter accelerated down the narrow single-track dirt road, tyres bumping and thudding, and suddenly—

Suddenly the light from the house had gone—

And a terrible, complete darkness closed in.

Natasha shivered. ‘Jesus, it’s dark out here.’

‘No ambient light,’ explained Carter. ‘No street lights, no house lights ... just landscape and wild animals. Including lots of monkeys.’

Ahead stretched a perfectly straight dusty trail, lined with huge trees, swaying palms, and screeches from the darkness. The Toyota’s lights cut a slice of life from the black, but all around was the promise - the inherent threat - of oblivion ...

‘Relax,’ said Carter. ‘Get some sleep. I think you’re going to need all your energy when we meet Gol.’

The dark trees flashed past, and the two fugitives were swallowed swiftly by the African night.

It was over an hour past dawn. The sun had risen, a bright flash slicing over the horizon. The land changed from a gentle, purple-hazed hue - surrealistic, as if witnessed through frosted glass - to a bright hot furnace of sand and tangled trees. They travelled down a perfectly straight road - single-track, rough-dirt. It stretched ahead, an arrow, a slice of trail carved from the chaos of trees and jungle and scrubland that crowded the road, attempting to usurp its threadlike hold on some semblance of civilisation ...

The tyres thudded over and into the ruts of the track.

Monkeys screeched and fought in the trees beside the trail, sometimes on the track, scattering with squeals and chatters as the Toyota roared in its aggressive approach.

Natasha moaned tenderly, fingers coming up to touch the sensitive area of her throat that had so very recently been punctured; Carter had claimed it was healing nicely, but to Natasha it still felt on fire ... a razor sitting in her windpipe and gnawing her flesh.

The sun rose; so did the temperature. Carter wound down the windows, and fresh breeze heavy with tree scents and dust flowed into the cabin. The Toyota’s air-con was totally shot and the fuel gauge reported its precious load erratically.

They passed through a village. Most of the houses were huts, built from mud bricks and a random selection of breeze-block, stone, wood and corrugated iron, which had rusted in the rains and now displayed deep orange streaks. Fires burned by the edge of the road, with groups of villagers standing around. Some worked, one old grey-haired man sharpening knives. He paused as they rumbled past, lifted his arm and waved. Natasha, smiling, waved back. A swathe of children ran after the Toyota, hands outstretched.

They left the village, heading inland over rough roads that the Toyota ate with ease.

They drove for an hour, tyres churning the red dust which flew up to coat the entire vehicle in a fine matt veil. When they stopped, to empty their bladders and to stretch their legs, they stood under the baking sun for a moment and eased their backs. The tyres of the Toyota were stained red and, glancing down, Carter saw the fine dust covering his boots - and he felt intimate with the African land, almost welcomed back ... it covered him, possessed him, called him its own ... he was a child again ... The sun was high, a singular piercing eye. It was incredibly hot, almost unbearably so without the coastal breeze to cool their skin. The scrubland seemed to stretch off to infinity.

They rumbled on, stopping at an insanely ambitious outpost to fill up with diesel and buy a few supplies -mainly of the liquid nature. There was even a fridge, with a few out-of-date cans of chilled lager. Carter bought them and half fulfilled Natasha’s heat-induced fantasy ...

Another two hours saw them climbing a rise. Carter licked his lips, and slowed the vehicle to a halt on the summit of the track. Rock reared up to either side, and this seemed to be an entrance - a doorway or marker to a mammoth canyon walled by low red-rock mountains and filled with a wide sweeping splash of orange trees.

‘Down there,’ he said simply.

‘What?’

‘One of Spiral’s hidden outposts ... and Gol.’

Natasha stared. ‘All I see is trees. I knew there was an outpost out here somewhere - after all,
I am a
Spiral Tactical Officer - but it’s fucking well disguised!’ Natasha’s voice was a little strained, her gaze searching the canyon.

‘Someone will come shortly. They’ll have sentries. We haven’t got this far untagged, I assure you. Let’s just hope they don’t shoot us on sight, eh, love? But then, that isn’t Spiral company policy, is it?’ He gave Natasha a sly sideways glance. And she knew; the mistrust was still there. He wasn’t sure if she was real or ... or what? A Spiral spy?

But then, in all the years she had known him, Carter had never trusted anybody. It would have surprised her if he was to change now.

Within a minute an old US army jeep, bearing five black men wearing cut-off combats and little else, arrived. They all sported an array of gleaming weapons and Carter watched them warily, the Browning in his hand held concealed between his legs.

He smiled broadly.

‘Hiya, guys. Coupla tourists, out sightseeing, you know how it is.’

‘You leave here,’ said a large man in a gruff voice. He lumped down from the jeep, bare feet leaving imprints in the red sand. ‘This not a good place for you to be visiting.’

‘But maybe I’d like to catch up on an old buddy while I’m out playing with the elephants. One happy old Mr Gol. R’ng any bells?’

‘Nobody here by that name,’ said the big man.

Natasha leaned across Carter and saw the man grin, gleaming white teeth turning his face from an intense mask of controlled hatred to a thing of beauty, a visage of soft lines and generosity.

‘Tell him that his daughter, Natasha, is here.’

The man stared. He did not blink. Then he nodded to another man, who crossed over from the jeep and climbed into the back of the Toyota. ‘Drive straight through the trees. Head for the white-walled house. Try nothing funny or Benjamin here—’ he patted the other man’s arm — well, his gun sing a song for him.’

The large man leaped back into the jeep. Carter gunned the Toyota and rolled slowly over the lip of the ridge. Wheels bumped over a rim of jagged rock and then they were in—

Inside the canyon.

Inside Gol’s lair.

The jeep followed, automatic weapons bristling, and Carter eased the Toyota down into the verdant valley, the track soon disappearing to be replaced by soft earth. People were out, mainly women, harvesting and trimming the trees, wicker baskets of fruit on the grass as they worked. Carter guided the Toyota for the full mile through the orange-tree orchards. Sometimes there would be a break in the trees allowing sunlight to stream over the vehicle - but then they were back in the shade and they welcomed the coolness, the protection of these orange trees after their journey through the scrubland. The red walls of the canyon reared to either side; threatening; enclosing; insular. Carter licked his lips nervously, and decided that he did not like this place ...

Gol was waiting, hands on his hips, eyes staring down at the ground as if deep in thought. Carter halted the Toyota, climbed out and allowed the Browning to be taken from him. Natasha climbed down and stood, gazing up at the sun for a moment before fixing her eyes on her—

‘Father?’

Gol’s head jerked up. He smiled briefly, then his gaze turned to Carter and the kindly expression fell from his face.

‘They call you The Butcher,’ he said softly, his deep voice the rumble of the Earth’s shifting plates. ‘They say you killed men - women - children. Anything that stood in your way. Without remorse.’

Carter said nothing. He made no move. He merely allowed his gaze to remain fixed on Gol, a silent invisible umbilical of connection - a linking that Natasha did not quite understand.

‘The report said that on that day you went insane.’

‘No,’ said Carter softly.

‘I don’t understand,’ whispered Gol, eyes intense.

‘It was ... messed up. And when I shot you, Gol, it was to keep you alive, not to take away your life.’

There came a long, tense pause.

‘You are the legendary Dark Knight of Spiral’s history.’

‘That title is ... misplaced,’ said Carter gently.

‘How so? How can one earn such a name without actions? How can one become so
revered
and
feared
in an organisation like Spiral without action, without destruction - without
demolition
?’ The contempt in Gol’s voice could not be missed.

‘I saved your life,’ said Carter slowly. ‘I
saved
your life, Gol. I know you have always hated me - because of my links with Natasha, and because of my reputation and because of what happened in Egypt and later at Cairo7 ... And I know you will have read all the crap printed about me in those little electronic ECube memos ... but you really, really have it wrong. I know you will find it hard to trust me on this ... but I swear to you that Spiral did a better job on me than they did on you ...’

Gol was silent. He lifted his Glock 9mm and examined the barrel.

Carter calmed his fluttering heart; he relaxed his muscles and readied himself - for Gol’s body language was the body language of preparation.

Carter’s eyes scanned the available weaponry and he realised, realised too late that maybe he had overestimated Gol’s ... humanity - understanding - nature?

And it came to Carter in a flash of profound understanding. Gol was the same. The same as Carter. The same
breed ...

‘This is dangerous,’
said Kade.

‘Not now.’

‘Let me take him. I can fucking take him.’

‘No!’ he hissed inwardly.

Carter closed his eyes as pain lanced through his exhausted mind, through his head, burning bright red and glowing with white edges; he dropped slowly to his knees, panting, and Gol no longer existed and it didn’t matter and nothing mattered and the surge of adrenalin was dying and he placed his head in his hands. Pain smashed like a stormy sea against the walls of his memory and his mind. A low moan growled through his lips and Natasha was there, holding Carter in her arms. She stroked his brow free of sweat, rocked with him in the dirt and looked up at Gol - at her father—