Guardian (30 page)

The first address proved to be a small, dingy-looking terraced house in a dark and smelly alley just off the old harbour entrance. No sound or light emanated from it and although it appeared unoccupied, we nevertheless jemmied a ground-floor window shutter as quietly as possible, discovering it just to the left of a solid-looking entrance door. Carefully done or not, the sound of the latch bursting in the predawn silence sounded to us like the proverbial thunder clap, but, making sure we hadn't been seen, we climbed swiftly inside. Nothing. Just a couple of empty rooms and not a trace of any previous owner. It was as though, before leaving, someone had been determined to clean every last suggestion of human activity from memory. But perversely, that in itself gave us some small hope. Any normally vacated house would surely contain some hint of its former occupant? It was only if a resident needed to wipe away all trace of himself, to vanish into thin air without fear of pursuit, that it would be so thoroughly cleansed. And surely, only someone whose activities wouldn't bear the light of day would be interested in doing that? So we began to hope that this first address wasn't the start of a complete fiasco, from which there could be little hope of recovery. Rather, we decided to look upon it as an indication that Fatih hadn't actually sold me down the river. More likely, what it did do was indicate the preternatural wariness inevitable within the feral world of the criminals we were after. A hasty look around the remaining room confirmed our first impressions, and we got out as quickly and quietly as possible. Strike one.

The next address was only a few hundred yards away but, in the labyrinthine streets of the old Arab quarter, it seemed more like half a mile by the time we arrived. Once again we were presented with a run-down fleapit, but this time we were immediately sure it was occupied. The hint of a dimly flickering light behind one of the ground-floor shutters gave the game away, deftly backed up by the stench of something indefinable wafting under the front door. We hadn't expected anyone to be up and about at this time of the morning, so we were particularly wary as we approached, taking care not to disturb a stray dog loitering nearby. However, with the occupant obviously awake, clandestine entry was out of the question so, after a quick debate, we took the bull by the horns, approached the door openly and simply knocked quietly.

Interestingly, from behind the door came abrupt, scuffling sounds, as though someone was attempting to hide evidence (or that's how it seemed to our suspicious minds), but then all noise ceased for a moment or so. An interval during which we were sorely tempted to try kicking our way straight through the door, until the clatter of bolts being dragged back came as something of a relief. The door opened a mere crack, but behind it we could clearly detect the outline of a short, hooded figure. The figure issued a single, terse demand for identity in Arabic and it was clear there was little likelihood of exchanging pleasantries. Fortunately, I speak the language fairly fluently and, although unable to provide a satisfactory answer to the specific demand, I took a guess that his was the name Fatih had provided and the enunciation of it was just sufficient to hold him, while we threw our combined weight against the door, catching him by surprise and knocking him smartly backwards.

No longer obstructed, we pressed in swiftly before closing and bolting the door behind us. Once in, we could see the room was clear except for our man. The problem was he had regained his feet as swiftly as he had been felled and was now brandishing a rather fearsome curved knife and heading straight towards me. Fortunately, Malcolm is a big man and it quickly became clear why my choice of companion had been a wise one. Stepping between me and my oncoming assailant, arms swinging in a fair imitation of a haymaker on the loose, one of Malcolm's big fists brought the man to a sudden halt, pitching him his full length along the ground. This time, we took no chances and with Malcolm hovering in the background bemoaning the pain in his hand, never mind his side, I swiftly turned the stunned man over and secured his hands behind his back with the tape we had wisely brought. Then it was a simple matter to sit him upright, prop his back against the nearby wall, bring the lamp closer and take stock. We seemed to have bagged ourselves a middle-aged, reasonably athletic-looking man with the kind of strong, aquiline features that would have marked him out in virtually any social gathering. So far, so good. The fact that he had been prepared to attack told us nothing. We could hardly have expected any other response, given the circumstances of an early morning and definitely unexpected visit. However, something in his demeanour as he began to come round told me we might be onto something here. I had always hoped, indeed assumed, Fatih had included some useful names, not just those of mere ‘rank and file' criminals. Simply because he couldn't know how much I already knew, he was far more likely to have mentioned the bigger fish, because he'd still been hoping to get out alive.

Which meant we were now firmly into my type of territory and knowing Malcolm would not approve of what I was about to do, I suggested he keep watch whilst I used my superior command of the language to embark on an interrogation. Fortunately, he readily agreed, although I'm convinced to this day he had a pretty clear idea of what was likely to happen. Wanting nothing to do with what he considered to be distinctly uncivilised behaviour, Malcolm had stepped smartly outside to ensure we remained undisturbed.

“So, Kareef, for that is your name, is it not? You are perhaps wondering why we are here and why you find yourself restrained and, believe me, in some real danger of your life. Ah, I see you don't believe me. Well, let me tell you a story. There's a well-known Arab business man operating around here. His name is Prince Ahmed. As I'm sure you know, he runs not just the local slave trade, but drugs and ivory, too, and he often deals with a man from upcountry named Giuseppe. Giuseppe supplies Ahmed with all these things. Now, I have no doubt you know exactly who I am talking about and, for my part, I have neither the time nor the patience to wait while you decide whether or not to tell me where these men are right now, and how well they are guarded. I was given your name by Fatih, whom you also know. He was happy to tell me where I could find you and how you fitted into the picture. Unfortunately, however, Fatih is no longer with us. He took too long to understand that I meant what I said. As a result he died in a great deal of pain. Now, I also know you are one of Ahmed's enforcers, so please don't waste my time denying it. Fact is, you do things for him that can't be entrusted to anyone else. I know, for instance, that if Ahmed wants a slave taught a ‘final' lesson, you're the one he turns to. A useful ally, Kareef, aren't you? One who always makes sure the other slaves get the message, never mind the one you've been sent to kill. So, there it is. I don't really care what happens to you, but I might allow you to live if you tell me now – and quickly – what I want to know about Ahmed and Giuseppe. Oh, and by the way, please don't think that I will be any easier on you than Ahmed would if you fail to give the right answer.” I sat back, watching Kareef closely, expecting that, if anything, he would be harder to persuade than Fatih. However, my recent experience in breaking Fatih had been a useful and informative exercise. I no longer had any qualms about what was likely to happen, or even how I would go about it. Which made everything relatively easy.

So when, as expected, from underneath his hood Kareef contented himself with glaring defiantly, daring me to do anything about it, I was more than prepared. With a sigh (purely for Kareef's benefit), I leaned forward, pulled down the lobe of his left ear and sliced it off, figuring that immediate drastic action would have a more salutary effect on him than continuing threats. Moreover, I found I had begun to enjoy inflicting pain. Which, when I thought about it, was rather odd, really, but I put it down to becoming inured to suffering through months of my own intense pain. At any rate, with a hiss of pure malice undoubtedly laced with agony, Kareef jerked his head back against the wall, barely able to believe that a white boy could have the effrontery to do such a thing to him. Feigning indifference, I tossed the segment of human tissue onto the recently lit fire, which was beginning to spark into fierce life in the centre of the room, and stared off into space.

“Kareef, believe me, I'm not playing games here. You will talk in the end and, for your own sake, I suggest you make it sooner rather than later. Next time I will remove something of rather more value to you and I'll do it with the help of the fire over there. So, I'll ask you again, where are Ahmed and Giuseppe right now?” I already knew how terrified of Ahmed his men were, so it didn't surprise me that, at this stage, Kareef preferred to take his chance antagonising me, rather than the boss he knew to be a coldly calculating killer. However, by the same token, I possessed a number of advantages over Ahmed. For a start, I was the one present, the one meting out judgement and then again, I was the one with the now nicely blazing fire, the razor-sharp hook and the insensitive conscience, both the latter bequeathed to me by Fatih. Unfortunately for him, Kareef hesitated for a second time, showing no sign he intended to play ball.

So, once again, sighing ostentatiously, I leant forward and gripped his foot, which, by virtue of his sitting position, was severely hampered in its movement and couldn't be easily snatched away. Simultaneously, I pulled one of the more substantial and now nicely blazing sticks from the fire, brought it close to the sole of his foot and steadied myself, in order to press it firmly down, with every intention of searing through to the bone if necessary. However, and fortunately for us both, Kareef was beginning to get the picture and to accept that I had few qualms about implementing any threat I might make.

“OK, OK! I knew where Ahmed was a week ago, but Giuseppe is upcountry, and I can't tell you when he might return. That is all I know.”

“Well, Kareef, you speak with much conviction, but, actually, I don't believe you. Either you can't or you won't tell me. Which is it? Whichever way it is, unless you come up with something rather more convincing as an answer, I'm going to burn your feet until you are permanently crippled.”

As I spoke, I scraped the still-flaming brand across the thick skin on the bottom of his foot and watched him shrink back in agony as a row of blisters formed almost instantaneously. Seeing the glow begin to die down, I put the wood back into the fire and let it rekindle, making sure Kareef was aware of the process.

“Next time, I'll be sticking this to both feet, not brushing over them, and by the time I've finished, you'll be crippled for life. Do I make myself clear?” Kareef nodded. “OK then, let's try again.” Slowly, hesitantly, Kareef began to spit out the details of where I could find Ahmed that day and, perhaps more importantly, the number of guards involved and the guidelines by which they operated. Only if I knew how to circumvent them could I hope to get near enough to Ahmed to finish him off, as I fully intended. By the time Kareef paused for breath, having once again denied knowing anything of Giuseppe's whereabouts, I was sure he was telling the truth and that I now had all I could expect to learn. Satisfied, I grabbed him quickly by the hair, jerked his head back and ran Fatih's hook across his throat. It took all my strength to hold him tightly until he stopped jerking and the blood had stopped spurting, the product hissing as it sprayed across the fire. Then, with the life drained out of him, I removed the tape from his wrists, pulled him away from the wall and placed his own knife back in his hand, wrapping the fingers tightly in place. Then, standing back and already appalled by what I had just done, I threw the hook into the fire before beginning to tremble deep down and uncontrollably. Somewhere in my conscience I had caught a glimpse of what I had become and I didn't like it one little bit. I was no longer a safe person to be around, because brutalised cruelty wasn't really my line and yet it was clear this was the way I was developing. Only after several minutes of violent shaking was I able to regain control and gather sufficient strength to call Malcolm in to give him the news of Ahmed's whereabouts. As to the rest, I lied easily, telling him that Kareef had broken free, forcing me to kill him before he got the better of me and escaped. Whether or not Malcolm believed this, his face gave little away, merely accepting that at least we now knew Ahmed was still on the island and, as far as I was concerned, could probably be approached by a determined assassin.

In his warped and prejudiced way, the malevolent devil Arcturus really couldn't have been more satisfied by the latest turn of events. To all intents and purposes, he had the field to himself and was once again acting as the main opponent of a specific human being. More than that – a human on Lucifer's ‘hot list'. Me. But much better as far as he was concerned, there had been little hint of reprisal from the normally ever-vigilant Heavenly host. Not even when he'd taken a chance and crossed what had been cited as Heaven's ‘line in the sand'. The one he'd been specifically warned about. He'd not even admitted to himself how apprehensive he'd been to start with, especially when he'd incited me to kill, knowing I might well die first. However, with Israfel apparently missing from the scene, Arcturus had finally convinced himself that the only reasonable explanation lay in said angel having been forced to acknowledge he'd met his match. Although this would also have had to mean Heaven downgrading its interest in me, a fairly unlikely possibility. But then Arcturus was no chess player.

Most importantly, as far as he was concerned, there had been no sign of a Guardian for days now and with those infuriating angels apparently well out of the way, everything seemed to be on course to achieve his own venomous aim. All accomplished with only one slight glitch – one that had admittedly caused him a smidgeon of momentary doubt – the awkward but tiresome detail that I actually had recognised and now appeared to loathe what I was fast becoming. Nevertheless – and here was the clincher – as far as he was concerned, I continued to respond well to the monstrous advice being dripped unobtrusively into my subconscious ear. Satisfying proof of which, as far as Arcturus was concerned, was the bloody and totally unnecessary death of Kareef. And so, placing it within Hell's warped context, all that had to be done was to keep the venom trickling into my co-operative mind until, in due course, he would reap certain rewards.

Actually, to Arcturus, the raw, violent and bloody death of any human was like pornography to the sex obsessed. So every time he had a moment to reflect, his mind would inevitably direct its gleeful thoughts back to my contretemps with Kareef. Before turning, with some pleasure, to ponder the likely course of future events (conveniently overlooking the slight embarrassment of my momentary foreboding). His daydream climaxing in a mouth-watering, vicarious thrill that ran through every fibre of his being. And at the very least, he thought, this latest venture had to be good for several more gory deaths. The more brutal, the better. Moreover, if it all went to plan and I was also killed, he could then present Hell's hierarchy with a
fait accompli
, which, in its consequences, should far outweigh the disgrace of his past failings. And then perhaps it might really be time to bring Josephus to account. To drop him well and truly into the proverbial, with just a hint in the right quarters about how Josephus had been rather too swift to consign two particularly useful senior devils to Abbadon (they having submitted a joint report showing Josephus for the incompetent he really was. Only to have him intercept and dispose of this analysis). Brilliant. Could there be a more effective, a more suitable demon to take over than himself? After all, looked at from his own, obviously unbiased view, it was clear that his overall game plan would present a model of excellence. Why, the Directing Staff at Demon Command School might even consider using his tactics and ideas at their abortion of a college, citing them as an example of how experts achieved their goals. He could already see himself as their idol. But then, as always, miserable reality set in and he knew, deep down in what passed for a heart, this would never happen. Only those at the very top of the hierarchical tree were deemed worthy of having any notice taken of their schemes and a fiend like him, even one with proven warrior status, was currently as low on the scale of satanic merit as it was possible to get and it was hardly likely that matters would improve, or that he would aspire to any greater heights (or was it ‘depths'?) given the commuted death sentence still hanging over him. Still –even an excrescence could dream.

***

If at that point I'd had the least inkling of what was going on in the spiritual realm far beyond sight or comprehension, I still wouldn't have considered turning aside from the path upon which I was resolved. As far as I was concerned, every last one of the men connected with my loss deserved to die and I fully intended to be their nemesis, even if it really did turn out to be the last thing I ever did. With Kareef in the bag and some concrete information on Ahmed's whereabouts and strength of personal protection, I felt there was little point in pursuing any other informants at this stage. Consequently, I suggested to Malcolm we return home, prepare to weather the inevitable storm from Jill and put together a game plan for executing the elusive Ahmed. Before he had time to discover what had happened to yet another of his henchmen and reassess his security – in which case, I might lose him entirely.

Jill was the relatively easy bit. Working out how I could get through the comprehensive security ring surrounding Ahmed and get close enough to have any real hope of killing him was a problem of a completely different order. But, having discovered his location, we were at least able to drive unobtrusively past the address before returning to consider the problem at length. By evening we had a plan, but I was certain what was intended had to be done alone. Especially as I wasn't prepared to risk Malcolm's life again. After all, I could hardly forget he'd put it on the line when he thought I was in Ahmed's other address. Moreover, unlike my darling Roz, I was in no mood to risk going against the, by now, implacable Jill. Plus Malcolm had a pressing private matter to take care of regarding a certain Superintendent Terence Foley. So it was that with a slight heaviness of step, but a determination beyond my years, I began to prepare for what would prove something of a turning point in my odyssey. There was no doubt confrontation had to be engineered that night, because if it wasn't, it would probably never happen. I wouldn't get another chance once Ahmed had any inkling of the way the wind was blowing, so intervention would have to be swift and conclusive. Hurriedly I prepared the one weapon Malcolm possessed that would withstand a soaking. His elderly spear gun, after I'd adjusted the trigger mechanism, one of Jill's knitting needles furnishing the essential tool.

***

Given the tight confines of suburban Mombasa, it was never going to take very long to arrive outside Ahmed's exclusive residence on the eastern edge of the island. The opulent building's longest, low-lying flank faced out to sea and was thus exposed to the best of any on-shore breeze. My problem was the whole complex was surrounded by a high wire fence, complete with arc lights that blazed outwards across a deliberately cleared strip of ground. No doubt to provide a free field of fire to the guards. Which did not bode well for any land entry, although I had no doubt I could quickly put paid to the lights, even if crossing the barbed wire was likely to prove rather more of a hurdle. So our earlier and unobtrusive reconnoitring of this obstacle to progress now proved its worth. Having obtained the requisite information, I had bought some heavy-duty, insulated wire clippers and it didn't take long to trace the power line from a nearby distribution point to where it approached the compound, deep though it was buried. And it was then that I began to really understand how much I had come to rely on my well-built friend. As I contemplated what lay ahead, Malcolm's absence, his huge and bluff company, suddenly seemed rather important to my peace of mind. However, it remained but the work of minutes to uncover the main house cable (as Ahmed was about to discover, if you want real security in Africa, always oversee the plans and their implementation yourself) and with a heartfelt prayer that there was no immediately available generator to take over, I plunged the compound into sudden but instantly animated darkness.

It was like stirring a hornet's nest, but there was little time to linger to contemplate, or even appreciate, the results. So hefting my only serious weapon, the already cocked spear gun, I hurried down to the sea's edge as quickly and quietly as possible, trying to keep low, with real fear wrenching at my guts. Wading rapidly into the gentle swell, I tried hard to put the rather too fresh thoughts of sharks and their ilk out of my mind. Then, steeling myself, I swam out for about a hundred yards until certain I was well clear of the barbed-wire fencing that marched steadily seaward on ever longer posts. An obstacle specifically designed to deter unwanted guests from joining the owners in what they considered to be their well-deserved privacy. At last able to turn back and careful to avoid any splashes, I drifted towards the private, but deserted beach, that now lay exposed in front of me. At least I could rest assured there would be no fixed obstacles underwater from this point, because their presence would pose owners and guests alike unnecessary danger.