Monsieur Blanc raised an eyebrow, “I believed you, Jack, that is all. About the setup. Not when you first suggested it to me, no, then I thought you were just trying your luck. But once I cut the device out, saw it wasn’t attached to anything, that there was no reason for it to be inside you other than for effect. Then I had my doubts. And like you I am perfectly capable of recognising the sound of an RAF Hercules, even from a distance of several miles.” He wiped his forehead again. “A man can ignore his suspicions once, but only a fool would ignore them twice.” Rain had started to fall, heavy splashes that cooled the warm air.
“So you’ve sorted out a new pick-up?” Jack asked. Monsieur Blanc nodded.
“There is a clearing not far from here, 40 kilometres or so. We will drive and then hike. You are welcome to stay with us or make your own way out of the jungle, but I should warn you now there is no room for you in the helicopter.”
Jack nodded, he had suspected as much, he was just surprised Monsieur Blanc had sent Gustav to collect him at all.
“Why not just leave me at the camp?” He asked somewhat reluctantly, afraid Monsieur Blanc might now decide that was a much better idea than taking him with them. Monsieur Blanc frowned, and then smiled a smile that seemed almost embarrassed.
“You gave me information which I believe may have saved my life. So I must do my best to save yours. As far as I can. Otherwise,” he paused and laughed quietly laugh to himself. “You may think me superstitious, but in my experience the universe does not look kindly on that sort of unpaid debt.”
Not so much superstitious as positively certifiable, Jack thought. He turned and looked away, into the jungle, the dull light of dawn bringing the world around them slowly to life, the dark grey trees of the forest taking on more distinct forms. The jeep suddenly skidded across the mud track.
“If the rain keeps up we’ll be on foot, boss.” Gustav said, skilfully spinning the wheel so the car caught the skid, accelerating out of it. Water was splashing up on either side, the tyres working hard to keep a grip on the slippery surface.
“Slow down. We need to stay in the car as far as possible. Otherwise it will be a very long walk.” Monsieur Blanc replied.
54
Nbotou sat at the head of the table, waiting impatiently for his captains to take their seats. They could see his anger, the coiled spring inside of him. Fit to burst.
“There is someone out there, heading this way. Might even already be here. From the report given to me it is most likely to be Special Forces. I do not know what they want, who they are after. I have my suspicions they are here because of a deal I did with that fat Chinaman.” He paused, breathing deeply, lighting a cigar. He found the rich smoke from the Monte Cristo helped focus his mind.
“But who can predict what the army of a so-called western democracy will do next.” He cleared his throat and spat on the floor. “Whatever the reason, I need not remind you how dangerous these soldiers can be. You are all aware of the tactics they employ, when they raided the Uganda Liberation Army’s camp last year to free those hostages, they used lethal force. So lethal they killed two of the hostages.” He shook his head, the men around the table chuckled, a useful release of tension. Clement drew heavily on the cigar, letting the smoke flow out of his broad nostrils.
“Their main weapon is surprise, the confusion they cause. That is what they need in order to overpower a superior army, like ours.” His men nodded their heads, murmuring their assent. “But we have taken that advantage from them, we have taken their most powerful weapon. This time the surprise will be for them.” A chorus of “yes sirs” echoed round the table.
Ed had the parabolic mic focused on the camp, but the rain was falling so heavily it was hard to pick anything up, just the background noise of drops hitting the broad leaves of the jungle trees. Finally he got it, centre of the main building, a strident voice, a language he couldn’t understand. He adjusted the amplifier, isolating and heightening the frequency. A sophisticated bit of kit. He signalled to their linguistics expert, carefully passing him the headphones. The officer leant forwards gingerly to take them. Although the treetop provided good cover it was difficult to manoeuvre. Each man was secured to the thick branches with climbing rope, but with the rain they were becoming treacherous. One slip and you might find yourself dangling like a hapless bungee jumper in front of the camp.
The linguistics expert, Oliver Denbigh, placed the headphones over his ears. A crackle of static as Ed repositioned the mic. The officer identified the language immediately, a Bantu dialect, similar in tone and inflection to Swahili. He couldn’t follow every word but he could get the gist.
“Soldiers killed last night, four of them…on guard…in position…ready ourselves,” fragments of what sounded like a speech. Although the precise meaning was beyond his grasp the significance of the words he had just said was clear. He turned to face Ed, the same thought occurring to them at that moment. They know we’re here, they’re onto us.
“Shit,” Ed said as he picked up his radio mic and called Gavin. “Where are you, over?” he asked.
“Two kilometres from you, according to the GPS.” Gavin replied.
“Look, you’re going to have to be careful. We think they might be expecting us. I need you get here as fast as you can.
“Fuck,” was all Gavin said in reply.
“We’re going to move in as soon as possible. While there’s still some cover from the darkness. Dawn will break in the next half hour, so it has to be now.”
“You’re going in without us?” Gav asked.
“No other option. I need you to set off the fireworks.”
“When?” Gav replied.
“Now,” Ed said tersely. He turned to his men. “In about 20 seconds there’s going to be a hell of a firework display over at the runway. We expect to see a significant number of soldiers heading out the camp to try and defend it. Once they’ve gone we’ll launch a rocket attack on the house,” a loud explosion to his left, the vibrations shaking the tree, interrupted him. “Denbigh, you stay here, get the thermal imaging camera on the house. You’re going to be our eyes and ears on this one. You’ll also be providing covering fire.” Another explosion, even louder, the sky lit up in flash of bright white light. For one moment all their faces visible, grimly determined, ready to do what was needed. Then darkness. “Check headsets.” The four of them checked the earpieces and mics were working.
“I want the camp in darkness, so make sure you get an RPG off at their generator,” Ed said as he leant backwards, letting the climbing rope take the weight. The forest shook with another explosion, almost sending him straight to the ground, face first. He held on, grinning at this team, “just my luck to break my bloody neck before the battle begins.”
The walls of the old Colonial mansion shook with the force of the first explosion. A shower of white dust from the cracks in the plasterwork. The men around the table were startled.
“The runway,” one of them shouted, “that came from the runway. We must defend it,” he rose quickly from his seat. The others stood up too, uncertain what to do, but convinced the situation required them to be decisive and courageous.
Nbotou heard the panic in the man’s voice, the last thing he wanted was for a half-scared captain to lead his soldiers into a firestorm.
“Wait, all of you. Nobody moves without my command.” He held up his hand for silence, listening to the explosions, trying to hear if there were aircraft overhead. Whatever was happening to the runway, it was too late to save it.