Lucy examined the hood of one of the trucks. The front of the vehicle had melted. The fender and grill reduced to a puddle of metal in the sand. The front of the engine block hung in drips.
‘Someone threw thermite grenades.’
They walked down an avenue of junkyard wreckage. Their boots crunched on glass.
Lucy looked into the rear of an APC. Bench seats burned to metal frames.
Huang reached inside and lifted the lid of a wooden trunk with his rifle barrel. A melted Samsonite suitcase. Rolled prayer mats, Scorched Reeboks and bedding.
‘Ever done a house clearance?’ asked Huang. ‘People’s shit always looks small and pathetic after they are dead. The stuff they leave behind.’
Lucy pulled the long-range radio from her backpack. An ICOM wide-band hand-set the size of a brick. She extended the antenna.
‘Bad Moon, do you copy over?’
Gaunt:
‘Go ahead.’
‘The objective site is clear. Bring in the choppers.’
‘Roger that.’
They kept walking.
‘Check it out,’ said Huang.
The incinerated frame of a Land Rover Defender. Full off-road custom kit. Winch, snorkel exhaust, ram bars.
Lucy picked a licence plate from the sand.
‘Fresh out of a Kuwait showroom.’
The tailgate hung open. The cargo compartment was bare.
Huang bent down. Broken sunglasses. He shook them free of sand. Oakleys.
‘Want me to put Jabril in a headlock?’ asked Huang. ‘Find out what really happened?’
‘I don’t care what went down. Jabril is welcome to his secrets. I hate this damn country. I don’t give a shit about the Iraqi people. I don’t want to hear about their history, their fucked-up politics and feuds. I’m here to make money. I’m here for the gold. That’s my only concern.’
They continued their search, weaving between burned-out cars.
Toon repositioned the SAW to give coverage of the convoy. He could see the distant figures of Lucy and Huang walking between the wrecked cars. Jabril and Amanda climbed the tower steps and stood beside him.
‘You’re damn sure none of your buddies are lying in wait?’
‘How could anyone survive out here?’ said Jabril.
‘You said the ruins were haunted. Some of your men saw ghosts. Phantoms moving along the battlements at night.’
‘Youngsters. Superstitious farm boys. They joined the army because it was a better life than herding goats. This battalion were supposedly elite Republican Guard but plenty of them could barely read and write. Some wore bone amulets to ward off the jinn that haunt the wilderness.’
‘You believe any of that shit?’
Jabril shrugged.
‘Can’t help feeling we’re not alone in this valley,’ said Amanda. ‘Lucy is right. There are eyes on us all the time.’
‘Look around,’ said Jabril. ‘This is the deadest place on earth.’
Lucy knelt next to a Chrysler and examined bodywork. A door panel. She pushed her forefinger into a bullet hole.
‘Big-arse holes. Fifty cal. Uniform direction of fire. Punctures on the left side of the vehicles, ragged exits on the right. Nice spray. Methodical. Each vehicle hosed down. I’m guessing the shooters took out trucks front and back. After that, everyone was trapped, boxed in. Easy meat. Soldiers took cover behind the cars but got cut to shit anyway. Fuel fires. Explosions. I reckon if we explored that valley wall we would find a couple of gun positions. A shitload of brass.’
‘But why throw phosphorus grenades?’ asked Huang. ‘They killed everyone. The convoy was on fire. Why toss thermite? Lot of time and trouble. What did they want to burn?’
‘Perhaps they wanted to cover their tracks. Wipe out forensics.’
‘Maybe.’
Lucy kicked a pile of rags. Shreds of olive green camo clothing. Army boots baked crisp by the desert sun.
Jumbled bone. A skull rolled loose.
‘Check it out.’
An empty can of gasoline. A Zippo held in a skeletal hand.
‘Fucker burned himself alive. Maybe Jabril was telling the truth. Fear. Paranoia. Maybe they drove each other crazy.’
‘It’s getting dark,’ said Amanda. ‘Let’s find the truck.’
They reached the rear of the convoy.
An armoured truck. It was boxed by automobiles.
She pressed the transmit button on her chest rig.
‘Jabril? You there?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I think I’ve found the gold.’
‘You should be looking at a big American armoured car. The kind they use for making cash and coin deliveries to banks. It was exported to Iraq before sanctions began.’
Lucy jumped on the hood. She crouched. She spat on her hand, reached down behind heavy ram bars and rubbed the grille badge clean.
FORD.
It was a bank vault on wheels. A three-seat cab up front and a hardened steel cargo compartment. Two rear axles. The vault door was secured by combination locks.
‘Looks like she got shot up pretty good. How much do you reckon this thing weighs?’
‘About fifteen tons. Twelve tons for the truck, three for the gold. It was hard to ship it across the desert. It continually sank in the sand. We had to attach chains and drag it with a couple of armoured personnel carriers.’
‘Toon. Got your binoculars?’
‘I can see you, boss.’
‘Reckon we can cut this fucker open?’
‘No problem. Chew through that door with our teeth if it comes down to it.’
Toon stood at the guard tower parapet. He surveyed the convoy.
Lucy’s voice:
‘Toon, get down here. Mandy. You too. We got to shift some of these cars.’
‘Two seconds, boss.’
He trained his binoculars on a troop bus.
‘Thought I saw something.’
‘What did you see?’
‘Movement. Thought I saw movement. Corner of my eye. A flicker. Down there, among the cars. Can’t pin it down.’
Toon rubbed his eyes. He scanned burned-out trucks, a couple of wrecked 4x4s.
‘Sorry, boss. Trick of the light.’
‘All right. Ten-four. Stay sharp.’
A furtive shadow. Something shifting in the burned-out bus.
‘Shit. We got mail,’ shouted Toon.
He cranked the charging handle of the SAW and let rip. Muzzle roar. The weapon kicked. Recoil made his flesh shiver. Smoking cartridge cases cascaded onto the flagstones, clink and chime. Bullets slammed into the troop transport at two hundred rounds per minute. The vehicle trembled and sparked as bullets pierced the body panels.
‘What have we got?’ shouted Lucy. ‘Are we taking fire?’
Toon grabbed his binoculars from the parapet ledge and scanned the bus. Dust and smoke slowly dispersed. Ragged bullet holes glowed dull red.
‘What the fuck is going on? Hostiles? Do we have hostiles? Come on, man. Talk to me.’
He hooked a fresh box mag to the SAW. He clipped a belt into the breach and slapped the receiver closed.
‘Standby. I’m going to take a look.’
Lucy and Huang took shelter behind wrecked vehicles. Machine-gun fire echoed round the valley walls. They could hear the punch and shriek of bullets ripping through steel bodywork.
Flashback: Sergeant Miller, lecturing Lucy and her platoon on Imber Live Firing Range, Salisbury. A dummy village used to simulate urban warfare.
‘If you ever find yourself in a street fight, don’t be stupid enough to hide behind a car door. Sheet metal won’t stop a crossbow bolt, let alone a high-velocity bullet. If you need to crouch behind a vehicle, get low and put the engine block between yourself and the shooter. Safe in your mother’s arms.’