Dark Horizon, page 25
The static homes stood on short, thick stilts raising them up off the ground – high enough to keep them safe from any surge tides – and the shadows beneath had the added bonus of giving Alex somewhere to conceal himself as he crept forward.
A bitter wind off the estuary carried to him and he heard voices he recognised. Seeking the source sound, he soon spotted Matvey and one of his mates. They stood on the beach close to the car, where a long concrete quay extended out into the water. Moored out at the far end was the squat, slump-shouldered shape of a fishing boat, lit by a yellowy glow inside its wheelhouse.
Breathing hard, Alex watched the trawler rise and fall in the swell. In the back of his mind, he’d been expecting these men to make a break for Dover and the ferries across to the continent. It had not occurred to him that they might have another exit route already in place. Under cover of night, a smaller boat like this would easily be able to slip across the English Channel to France or Belgium.
The other thug, the one called Luka, was busy at the back of the car, and when he rose into view, Alex physically recoiled. The man carried George over his shoulder, the boy hanging limp and unmoving.
Alex’s breath caught in his throat. Had they drugged his son? Or done worse? George didn’t utter a sound or show any sign of life as Luka brought him up to the quay, his arms swaying from side to side.
Luka tried to get Matvey’s attention, but the grey-haired ringleader waved him away irritably. Matvey talked into a mobile phone – the chunky, heavyweight sort with a thick antenna rod that bounced signals off satellites rather than any regular cellular network. Whomever he was speaking with, he didn’t appear happy to be having the conversation.
Alex bottled up his anger and made it his fuel. He gauged the distance from his hiding place beneath the static home to the BMW. He could make it in a few seconds, but he would be seen the moment he left his cover. Alex had not forgotten the burning pain in his shoulder from Matvey’s glancing bullet and he had no desire to get shot at a second time.
Wait, he told himself, fighting down the urge to rush out, to attack. For George’s sake, watch and wait.
Breeze’s gaze was hooded, and she laboured through her words – but none of that blunted the edge in her tone as she glared up at Kate. ‘Do you have, like, an undiagnosed head injury I don’t know about? That’s the only excuse I can come up with for you suggesting something this idiotic.’ She leaned back against the wall and made a snorting noise.
‘You and I can’t get out of here on our own, that’s a given. But we might make it, if Hamid helps us. And right now, he’s up shit creek like we are. We’ll hang separately or we’ll hang together – at this point it makes little bloody difference.’ Kate could barely countenance the words coming out of her own mouth, but she knew they were past the point of anything else. She took a different tack. ‘I thought the CIA did this kind of thing all the time, making deals with terrorists and sundry other rat-bags.’
‘Yeah, Katie, we do.’ Breeze’s eyes flashed. ‘I’ve done it hundreds of times. Getting into bed with people who make my skin crawl for the greater good. I would pucker up and kiss the bright red ass of the devil himself if I thought it could save lives. But that man?’ She pointed a trembling finger at Hamid, who stood across the room, listening at the locked door. ‘He has no motive to trust. He hates us like fire, don’t you get it? He will absolutely back-stab you at the first opportunity.’
Kate let her run out of steam, then went on. ‘Can you honestly tell me you’re pushing back on this because you believe it, or because of what he did to your friend Sophia?’
‘Both,’ spat the other woman. ‘I’ve sold out and been sold out enough times to know how it works, and forgive me for noting you have no goddamn idea about it. This is a lose-lose proposition.’
‘We are wasting time,’ said Hamid, looking through a thin gap between the door and its frame. He threw a glance in Kate’s direction. ‘Forget the American. She will only slow us down.’
Breeze gave her a look that said See, I’m right, but Kate ignored it. ‘No. We all go or no one goes. That’s the deal.’ She gestured at the door. ‘There are two guards out there with assault rifles and itchy trigger fingers. Good luck dealing with both of them on your own.’
Hamid said something under his breath that Kate guessed was a swearword, but at length he gave a reluctant nod. ‘I have little choice but to agree.’
Kate grabbed the medical kit and brought it back over to Breeze. The other woman shook her head. ‘This is the pinnacle of bad ideas,’ she told her. ‘The Mount Everest of clusterfucks. We both know it.’
‘Then, by all means, give me something else. You’re the expert.’ Kate rooted through the kit and found what she was looking for.
‘Piss off,’ Breeze retorted. ‘You know I’ve got nothing.’
‘You want to die here? What happened to Team Belligerent?’ Kate’s temper broke and she barked the questions. ‘Do you want to go out being a snarky bitch, or do you want to keep kicking and screaming right up to the bloody, bitter end? I know what choice I’m making.’
Breeze said nothing, then snatched the kit from her. ‘Give me that thing, stupid. If we’re doing this, then at least follow my lead.’
Uzal found it hard to talk to Yuba.
Yuba was a newer addition to the ranks of al-Sakakin’s foot soldiers; a gaunt young man with the features of someone ten years older, lacking the rangy build that characterised Uzal. Yuba did not smile, he did not laugh, and when he did speak, he wasn’t interested in anything but parroting scripture or whatever epistle the old man Zameer had most recently posted on social media.
Yuba thought that everything was haram – disrespectful, foreign and against the will of God – and while Uzal certainly considered himself a true believer, he found the other man’s endlessly grinding, bitter piety wearing, to the point that the two guards stood their posts side by side, but rarely spoke.
But tonight was different. Uzal adjusted the rifle on his shoulder and caught Yuba’s eye. ‘What?’ said Yuba.
Uzal couldn’t keep quiet about what bothered him. The arrival of the aircraft and everything that had happened after played on his mind.
He jerked his head at the locked door. ‘The man in there, that is Hamid! Hamid the warrior!’
Yuba didn’t seem convinced. ‘How do you know? Have you ever met him?’
‘Well, no, but . . .’ Uzal stumbled over his answer. Hamid was a legend to the lower ranks; the ghost who moved unseen through the halls of the infidels, putting them to the sword and leaving no trace. I mean, I heard talk—’
‘You are like the old women in a village square,’ Yuba turned away, his lip curling, ‘with their gossip and their stories. But you have no facts.’
‘Hamid is a hero.’ Uzal reframed his thoughts. ‘He should not be treated like a prisoner and made to share a room with foreigners.’
‘Zameer says we are all heroes, unless we weaken and become traitors.’ Yuba sniffed, as if he smelled something foul, and patted his weapon. ‘Only a traitor would be caged and guarded.’
Uzal searched for a reply but, before he could form one, he heard movement on the other side of the door. Someone banged a fist on the metal panel.
‘Hey! Hey, you outside!’ Uzal knew enough English to understand the woman’s words. ‘The American’s not breathing! I can’t wake her up!’
Yuba frowned. ‘What is the female saying?’
Uzal translated for him. ‘If the American dies, Nasir will not be happy.’
‘This is a ruse.’ Yuba let his rifle drop into his hands, as the woman continued to bang on the door, becoming more agitated by the second. ‘Ignore her.’
Uzal readied his own weapon, shaking his head. ‘Do you want to be the one to say we stood by and did nothing?’ Nasir had promised Uzal that he would be on the execution detail when the time came to kill the infidels. It was an honour to be selected for that, and one he didn’t want to lose. ‘What will Zameer say when he arrives and learns the American perished before she could taste justice?’
That gave Yuba pause, and he nodded. ‘Very well. Open the door.’
‘We come in!’ Uzal shouted, in broken English. ‘You back, back!’ He released the heavy industrial padlock and slid aside the bolt, kicking open the door.
Yuba rushed in first, his rifle raised to his shoulder, and he turned it to aim at Hamid’s chest. Hamid slowly raised his hands and kept his gaze averted as Uzal followed the other guard into the room.
The two women were in the far corner of the room, the American ashen-faced and unmoving where she lay on a sleeping pallet beside the contents of a medical pack, the British pilot hovering over her.
‘Back!’ Uzal shouted in English. He pointed his weapon at the pilot, and she nodded, retreating meekly into the corner of the room. Cautiously, he approached the woman on the pallet and gave her a kick. When she didn’t respond, he shot a look at Yuba.
He frowned. ‘Is she dead?’
‘I don’t know,’ Uzal replied. Now they were inside the room, he was unsure how to proceed.
‘You need to be sure, Uzal,’ offered Hamid, catching him off-guard.
‘You know my name?’ Uzal blinked, suddenly uncertain.
‘Be silent, collaborator,’ snarled Yuba.
‘Watch him.’ Uzal shook off his moment of doubt and leaned down, shifting his rifle with one hand so he could reach down and put his fingers against the American’s neck, to check for a pulse.
When he touched her skin, it was as if he had pressed a switch on a dormant machine. The woman’s eyes snapped open and, before he could react, her arm came up between his legs and agony exploded there. She rammed a blade of blunted metal, part of a pair of medical scissors, as hard as possible into the meat of Uzal’s inner thigh.
He screamed, the cry thin and reedy, as the woman twisted the blade through the thin cotton of his robe, gouging into flesh. The pain was breathtaking, and blood gushed from the wound as he fell backwards, unable to remain standing.
The taller of the two guards fell down, howling in agony, and his cry caught the other gunman’s attention, distracting him for a split second.
As Kate kicked off the wall and came forward, Hamid brought his hands down and knocked the other man’s rifle, forcing the muzzle of the weapon away from his torso.
‘Get him!’ shouted Breeze, rolling her weight away from the man she had stabbed, putting the effort she could into driving her makeshift dagger even deeper.
Kate snatched at the arm of one of the plastic lawn chairs and it came up in her hand. Lightweight and flimsy, it rattled as she swung it at Hamid’s opponent, breaking across his back. The chair splintered into pieces, knocking the guard forward.
Hamid snatched at the exposed stamped-metal workings of the rifle, jamming his fingers against the cocking handle so it could not fire, even as the other guard mashed the trigger. They stumbled against one another, fighting for control of the gun.
Kate grabbed the man from behind, both hands clamping round his head, fingertips digging into his cheeks and his eyes. He cried out as she tried to wrench him away, letting go of the rifle with one hand, fist flailing as he swung blindly, trying to connect with a wild punch.
It was the opening Hamid needed, and he kicked hard against the younger man’s shin, breaking bone. The guard sank, and Hamid twisted the rifle from his grip, following his opponent down with a blow from the wooden butt of the weapon.
Then, without a second of hesitation, Hamid flipped the rifle along its length and jammed the muzzle into the fallen man’s chest. Kate opened her mouth to call out, but he had already pulled the trigger.
A rifle round punched through the guard’s sternum and blasted blood and lung matter over the dusty floor, the shot as loud as thunder in the quiet of the night.
For an instant, Kate thought the next bullet would be for her, but Hamid sighted past her shoulder and fired again. His second bullet drilled a black hole in the back of the other guard’s head, sending him sprawling down to the ground in spreading mess of wet crimson.
The rifle’s muzzle pivoted in Breeze’s direction, and without thinking, Kate stepped in front of it. ‘No,’ she told Hamid. ‘We all go or no one goes.’
He glared at her before letting the weapon drop away. Behind Kate, Breeze sat back on her pallet, her hands bloody against her pale skin. The American scrambled to gather up the dead man’s weapon, while Hamid surveyed his work with a cold expression.
‘You had no need to interfere,’ he told Kate. ‘I was dealing with it.’
‘You killed both of them.’ Kate felt bile build in her throat and swallowed it down. ‘You knew those men.’
‘Does it matter? Nothing will be accomplished without bloodshed. Better theirs than mine.’ He moved to the door, risking a quick look outside. ‘Time to go. The others will have heard the shots.’
‘He must piss ice water,’ muttered Breeze, as Kate went to her to help her up. She tossed away the red-stained scissors and used the rifle as a prop. ‘This is getting messy.’
‘Yes.’ Kate breathed through her mouth, the sickening mix of spent gunpowder and blood thick in her nostrils. ‘I’ve got you, come on.’ She pulled the other woman’s arm over her shoulder to take her weight.
Breeze stifled a groan of pain as they moved, and she pressed the dead man’s rifle into Kate’s hands. ‘Here. You have it. It’s taking all I got to walk upright. Can’t shoot as well.’
‘Right.’ Kate shouldered the weapon by its strap to hang it at her hip, one hand clasping the pistol grip, aiming it ahead of them as they lurched toward the open doorway and the corridor beyond. ‘Put one foot in front of the other,’ she added. ‘Let me deal with anything else.’
‘Sure.’ Breeze slurred her words. ‘Walk in the park.’
TWENTY FIVE
‘Do not be late,’ Matvey growled into the sat phone, making sure his contact in Belgium knew he was serious. ‘If I need to come looking for you, you will regret it.’
‘I’ll be there,’ came the reply. ‘You make sure the Coast Guard doesn’t follow you.’ The call cut and Matvey collapsed the phone’s thick antenna, jamming the chunky device into the folds of his jacket.
He took a deep breath of the damp, briny air, listening to the rush of the waves on the rattling beach. He didn’t like working with the Albanians. Matvey found their manners crude and bellicose, while they considered the Russians to be uneducated idiots, but he couldn’t deny their ample skills in illegal trafficking across the Low Countries. For better or worse, he needed them to get Luka, Stepan and himself as far from Britain as possible. Matvey did not want to remain on this rainy, dreary island another second longer than he had to.
The plan was to make a fast run to Ostend, putting in the trawler at a wharf where a car would be ready to pick them up. From there, a short drive to Antwerp and the three of them would go their separate ways, secure in the knowledge that the money they were owed for this night’s work would be safe in their bank accounts. But until he stood on Belgian soil, Matvey would not be able to relax. The police would know that murderers were at large, and they would be combing the countryside for any trace of them.
Stepan approached him. He was hunched forward, hands rammed deep into his pockets. The light jacket he wore wasn’t cutting the cold wind in off the water, and he was grumpy about it. ‘Luka put the kid in the cabin,’ he began, nodding at the trawler at the far end of the concrete quay. ‘He says he is ready to go when you are.’
Matvey eyed the boat. ‘You are sure he can handle that thing? Do we trust him not to sail us into the side of a car ferry?’
‘He is from St Petersburg,’ said Stepan, with a shrug, ‘his family were koryushka fishermen.’
‘I am from the Urals,’ Matvey retorted. ‘That does not mean I know anything about growing potatoes.’
‘He told me he crewed boats when he was young. You want to find someone else to do it? It was enough trouble getting the trawler here, never mind a crew!’
Matvey made a negative noise and blew out a breath. ‘No. We do not want any more eyes on us.’ He started walking, but Stepan hesitated. ‘Something else?’
The other man shifted from foot to foot. ‘Do we really need to take the kid with us?’
Matvey eyed him. ‘Do not go soft on me now, Stepan.’
‘I am not!’ he retorted hotly. ‘I do not see the point, that is all.’
‘You are right, there will be no use for a hostage after we cross the water.’ Matvey considered it. ‘When we are under way, find a weight, a rope or something. Then when we are in deeper water, we send him to the bottom, yes?’ Stepan didn’t reply, looking past Matvey’s shoulder at the line of clapboard houses along the beach. ‘You hear me?’ Matvey prodded him.
‘I hear you.’ Stepan hugged himself against the cold, staring into the gloom as if he had seen something troublesome.
‘What is it?’ Matvey followed his line of sight, but he saw only shadows and darkened buildings. ‘Someone there?’
‘No,’ said Stepan, after a moment. ‘It was nothing.’
‘Then cast us off,’ ordered Matvey, striding away toward the waiting boat. ‘It is time to be gone.’
As Kate and Breeze made their way down the corridor, a shout of automatic fire sounded and all the lights in the building went out, plunging them into darkness.
Kate smelled smoke and burned oil, turning to find Hamid striding out of a machine room across the way. Behind him she could see the sparking remains of a large petrol generator, the outpost’s power source now rendered useless. ‘This will give us an advantage,’ he said, reloading his weapon. ‘Keep moving.’
Advancing with his stolen rifle at his shoulder, he moved ahead of them, kicking in doors along the way, swinging the weapon’s muzzle left and right with quick jerks of motion.
