Fair Game (49 page)

‘That’d be me,’ said Shepherd. ‘The crew are on the deck below us. There are two pirates bound and gagged in the engine room.’

The trooper grinned. ‘Sounds like you didn’t need us.’ He headed back into the bridge.

The Lynx went into a hover about twenty metres above the bridge and more troopers began abseiling down. Shepherd stood back and they ran past him, cradling their MP5s. As the last trooper ran by him, a bright orange harness appeared at the hatchway. The downwash from the helicopter’s rotor ripped at Shepherd’s hair as he looked up. Dominik came out joined him and they both watched as the bright orange harness was winched down, whirling around in the wind as if it had a life if its own. Shepherd could see the winchman, looking out of the hatchway, peering down the cable.

‘Who are they, the men in black?’ asked Dominik.

‘SAS and SBS,’ said Shepherd. He grabbed at the harness and slipped it under his arms. ‘Special forces.’

He looked up and made a circling motion with his right hand, letting the winchman know that he was ready to be winched up.

‘Answer me one question, will you?’ said Dominik.

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. The helicopter’s engine pitch increased and the rope tightened.

‘You don’t really work in human resources, do you?’

Shepherd laughed as his feet left the deck and he headed upwards. The helicopter banked towards Somalia as the winch pulled Shepherd away from the
Athena
.

Shepherd peered out of the open door of the Lynx as the helicopter circled around an airfield far below. The pilot was talking to someone on the ground as Shepherd caught glimpses of a dirt track running through arid scrubland, then a line of white SUVs and half a dozen tents.

The co-pilot twisted around in his seat and gave Shepherd a thumbs-up and Shepherd grinned back. The helicopter landed in a cloud of choking dust and Shepherd climbed out and jogged away, bent double and coughing.

As he straightened up he saw Martin O’Brien grinning at him. O’Brien was wearing khaki fatigues and had a floppy camouflage hat on his head. ‘Welcome to Ethiopia,’ he said, and clapped him on the back. ‘Nice flight?’

‘Not much in the way of in-flight entertainment and I prefer flat beds, but yeah, it was OK.’ The Lynx’s twin turboshaft engines roared and the helicopter lifted off and banked to the right before heading north.

There was a group of men standing behind O’Brien wearing similar fatigues and Shepherd grinned when he realised that one of the figures was a woman. ‘Bloody hell, Carol Bosch,’ he said. She had shoulder-length wavy black hair tied back in a ponytail and charcoal-grey eyes that sparkled with amusement. She had an Uzi hanging from a nylon sling.

‘Bastard,’ she said. ‘You never called.’ The last time Shepherd had seen Bosch they had been in Iraq four years earlier. ‘And you forgot my birthday. I hit the big three zero last month.’

She hugged him, then screwed up her face. ‘You’re a bit ripe, Spider,’ she said. ‘Have you given up showering? And the facial fuzz really doesn’t suit you.’

Shepherd ran a hand over his stubble. ‘Long story, Carol,’ he said, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘And really, it’s good to see you.’

‘Couldn’t let you do this on your own, could I?’ said Bosch. ‘When Martin said you’d got out of your depth again we had to offer to pull your nuts out of the fire – again.’ She turned and gestured at three of the men behind her. ‘You remember Joe, Ronnie and Pat?’

‘Of course,’ said Shepherd, and he shook hands with the three men and hugged them in turn. Like Bosch they were South African mercenaries, and the last time he’d seen them had been in Iraq. Joe Haschka had a shock of red hair and freckles across his nose and cheeks. He was a big man and was carrying a Kalashnikov. Ronnie Markus was tall and thin with a straggly moustache and had a pump-action shotgun hanging across his back. Pat Jordan was in his early fifties with a grey crew cut and a fading tattoo of a leaping panther across his left forearm. He had a handgun on either hip and a combat knife strapped to his right leg.

O’Brien introduced Shepherd to the rest of the team, most of whom were former SAS. With the introductions out of the way, O’Brien clapped Shepherd on the back. ‘Carol’s right about you being a bit ripe,’ he said. ‘You’ve got time for a shower and a feed if you want one, and I’ll get you clean clothes. Then we’ll have a briefing.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’re going to be moving out in about an hour.’

Roobie’s mobile phone rang and he put down his bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label and picked it up. It was Crazy Boy. ‘Cousin, have you heard from your father?’ he asked.

‘Not since yesterday,’ said Roobie. ‘The money is coming today, you know that?’

Crazy Boy ignored the question. ‘What did he say when he spoke to you?’

‘He wanted to know that everything was OK with the hostages. And that I was to take good care of the money. Is there a problem, cousin?’

‘He hasn’t called me today and he said that he would.’

‘He might be waiting until we have the money.’

Crazy Boy didn’t say anything.

‘Cousin, I said he might be waiting until we have the money.’

‘He should have called me, and when I tried to call the ship’s sat-phone I couldn’t get through.’

‘You think something is wrong, cousin?’

‘The last time your father contacted the company about the ransom, everything was as it should be?’

‘That was days ago,’ said Roobie. ‘But they said that they will deliver the five million dollars today. That is agreed.’

‘And the hostages are OK?’

Roobie flinched and took a swig from his bottle of whisky. ‘There was a problem.’

‘What sort of problem?’ asked Crazy Boy quickly.

Roobie closed his eyes. ‘Cousin, he attacked me. I had to defend myself.’

‘What happened? What did you do?’

‘One of them attacked me and he died.’

‘He what?’ exploded Crazy Boy.

‘He died. I had no choice.’

‘You killed one of the hostages? How could you do that?’

‘I had no choice, believe me. He went crazy, he tried to kill me and I had to stop him.’

Crazy Boy went quiet.

‘Cousin, are you there?’ asked Roobie.

‘Do they know?’ said Crazy Boy coldly. ‘Does the company know?’

‘I have only told you. I didn’t tell my father.’

Crazy Boy cursed. ‘What do you think is going to happen when they find out that you’ve killed a hostage?’

‘It’s the ship they want and they’re getting that back, aren’t they? Why would they care about one hostage more or less?’

‘You don’t understand these people,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘We did a deal, we said that they would get the ship, the crew and the hostages, and now you’re telling me that you’ve killed a hostage.’

‘They will still pay us the money,’ said Roobie. ‘And if they don’t, we can take it from them.’

‘That’s not how it works,’ said Crazy Boy.

‘They are bringing the money here,’ said Roobie. ‘What can they do?’

‘You don’t understand what’s happening,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘That ship has to be released. It has to be on its way, and soon.’

‘It will be, cousin. We will take their money and we will give them back their ship. What is the problem?’ He took another swig from his whisky bottle.

‘Listen to me and listen to me carefully, Roobie. Nothing must go wrong today. Nothing. If anything does go wrong, it is on your head.’

Before Roobie could reply the line went dead. Roobie sneered and tossed the mobile phone on to the table. Nothing was going to go wrong. Roobie would get the five million dollars and he would keep it for himself. He would use the money to buy himself passage to London and then he would teach Crazy Boy a lesson that he would never forget. Roobie laughed and reached for a khat twig. Crazy Boy had no idea about the world of hurt that was heading his way.

Shepherd showered in a makeshift shower unit connected to a water tank, then shaved and changed into a clean polo shirt and jeans before heading to the briefing tent. There was a twin-engine Sherpa plane parked to the side of the dirt runway. The C-23 Sherpa reminded Shepherd of a shark, with a strip of windows above a pointed nose and the thirty-foot-long grey body tapering back to a twin tail. The wing was above the body with a Pratt & Whitney turboprop on either side.

Shepherd had seen several versions of the Sherpa during his years in the military. It could be converted to carry thirty passengers in airline-style seats, or outfitted as a troop carrier able to drop two dozen paratroopers, used to carry and drop freight on pallets, or be set up as an air ambulance with eighteen stretchers. It had a top speed of more than 200 mph flying at 10,000 feet and a range of almost a thousand miles, and was the perfect all-purpose workhorse.

Shepherd was the last to arrive in the briefing tent. There were fifteen men in camouflage fatigues sitting on camp stools. Between them they were carrying a variety of weapons, including Kalashnikovs, pump-action shotguns and Uzis, and with various handguns in holsters attached to pretty much every part of their body. Bosch was standing at the entrance to the tent and she nodded her approval at his improved appearance. ‘You look OK when you’re scrubbed up,’ she said.

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘You got yourself a girlfriend yet?’

Shepherd laughed and walked over to O’Brien. O’Brien had changed into a denim shirt and chinos, and for the first time Shepherd saw John Muller and Billy Bradford, who were also dressed casually. Shepherd hugged Muller, whom he had last seen in Dubai, then shook hands with Bradford. ‘Where’s Jack?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Taking care of the plane,’ said Bradford. ‘He’s fitting extra fuel tanks, just to be on the safe side.’

‘OK, let’s get started,’ said O’Brien. He was standing by a large sheet of plywood on which had been pinned several maps and satellite photographs. Next to it was a whiteboard on which he’d drawn a rough diagram of the airfield where the hostages were being held.

He tapped the two watchtowers that overlooked the airfield. ‘Generally there are two men in each of these towers. Now more often than not the guards are stoned or asleep or both, so they’re not a major problem, but we already have two sniper teams in place. As soon as it kicks off the snipers will take out the four guards and then pretty much take care of any hostiles they see.’

He tapped the huts behind the main control tower building. ‘There are three huts here and the hostages are being held together in the middle one. There is a single door and the windows are barred. The door is usually closed and there are two guards stationed outside. We’re not going to wait until the pirates bring them out because with bullets flying they’ll be safer in the hut. The walls are made from concrete blocks so the rounds won’t penetrate.’

He drew a plane on the diagram’s runway and there were a few sniggers from the men. ‘I never claimed to be Van Gogh,’ said O’Brien. He drew an arrow from the plane to the control tower building. ‘We figure this will be the place where they’ll count and check the money.’

‘The money’s real, right?’ asked Haschka.

O’Brien pointed a warning finger at him. ‘Don’t get any ideas, Joe. We’ve got the number of every note.’

‘I’m asking because I was wondering why we’re going in with genuine cash if we’re going to be taking it back anyway.’

‘Fair point,’ said O’Brien. ‘If we used counterfeit then the game’s up as soon as they spot the fakes. Using real money gives us extra time.’ He tapped the drawing of the plane. ‘We land and we taxi to this end of the runway. Before we stop we’ll position the plane so that we’re ready for take-off and Jack will keep the engines running. Four of us will get off with the money. Everyone else stays on the plane and stays hidden. They won’t expect us to be alone but if they see you lot they’ll know that something’s up.’

Bosch raised her hand. ‘I know what you’re going to say, Carol, and I know you want to be in the thick of it, but the sight of a woman will probably set them off.’

‘Even one as ugly as you,’ said Jordan, laughing.

Bosch smiled thinly then grabbed Jordan’s testicles with her right hand and squeezed. ‘Be nice, Pat,’ she said.

‘Sorry, honey,’ said Jordan, and she let go of him.

‘I’m serious, Carol. Head down, OK?’

‘I hear you,’ said Bosch.

‘So, I’ll be walking off the plane with the money, along with Spider, Billy and John,’ O’Brien continued. ‘As you can see, we’re in casual clothing. Please try to remember that when the shooting starts.’

There were several laughs and catcalls and O’Brien held up his hand. ‘I’m serious, guys, we don’t want any collateral damage. We’re a long way from home and we’ve no medivac on tap. Now, John looks the part so he’ll be playing the company man and Spider, Billy and I will be his security. The money is in two suitcases. John will have one, so will Billy. We take the money to this building here.’ He tapped the drawing of the control tower building. ‘As I said, this is where we figure they’ll count and check the money. They always do on piracy operations. They’ll have electronic counters and gizmos to check for forgeries. We’ll be armed and we’re going to be insisting that we keep our guns with us. If there’s a problem with that, I’ll take out this handkerchief and wipe my head.’ He pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket and waved it around. ‘If you see this, it means you come out shooting. It’ll also be the signal for the snipers to start taking out the guards in the watchtowers.’

He put the handkerchief away and tapped the control tower building again. ‘If everything goes to plan the four of us will go inside with the money. We’ll choose our moment when we’re inside and hopefully we can take the leader hostage and get him to release the crew without any shooting. But if it goes tits up and you hear shooting, then you pile out and we’re at war. Once the four of us are away from the plane, Jack will lower the rear ramp so that you can all make a quick exit when necessary. And he’ll keep the ramp down until we’re all back on the plane.’

He looked at his watch. ‘OK, ten minutes and then we’re off. Any questions?’

Several of the men made loud grunting noises.

‘That’s it, then,’ said O’Brien. ‘Let’s rock and roll.’ The men filed out of the tent.