‘What was all that about?’ Hopper asked in a voice too low for the Chinese girl to hear.
‘All very odd,’ Stratton said.
As they spoke, the warrior’s truck came across the hard-packed sand and headed for the town. Lotto, his man with the bundle and the rest of the Somalis came back up the beach towards the town, passing the prisoners. Lotto glanced towards them.
He stopped and lowered his sunglasses to take a better look at the girl. She was looking back at him, her expression cold.
He remained smiling. It was a knowing smile. He kept on walking towards the town and she lowered her head.
Stratton couldn’t think of anything to say to help her. Perhaps if their leader himself fancied her, the others might leave her alone. But that wouldn’t solve her problem.
‘Up! Up!’ the old Somali shouted.
The rest of the prisoners got to their feet and they were herded back to the town, past the broken truck, along the road to the hut. They filed in through the door, starting a line for the water buckets. After each man took a drink he went to sit back in his original place. The girl did the same.
A Filipino prisoner got to his feet, stepped to the door and tapped it with the toe of his boot. ‘Toilet,’ he called out.
He waited for about half a minute. He kicked the door again and repeated his request.
They heard the Somali on the other side unbolt the door. The Filipino stepped out into the sunlight and the Somali closed and bolted the door behind him.
It was only then that Stratton realised the Saudi was missing.
‘Where did Sabarak go?’ he asked Hopper.
‘He was with us when we came back,’ said Hopper. ‘I saw him. He must’ve held back and asked to get put in another hut.’
‘He’s made his move,’ Stratton said. ‘That jihadist character who arrived in the truck. Sabarak was very interested in him and those crates. Maybe something about that episode gave him the confidence to reveal himself.’
‘He’ll tell them who he is?’
‘He’s a jihadist. The warre bugger who turned up in the truck was too. Lotto has some kind of relationship with him. That would suggest that Sabarak could at least get an audience with Lotto. Once he did that he would begin the bartering game. And we don’t know what he has to barter with.’
‘He has us for a start.’ That was very true. ‘What do you think was in those crates?’ Hopper said.
‘Not sure. Weapons of some kind. At least that’s what the boxes were designed for. But why were they taking them on board the hijacked boats?’
The Filipino returned and went back to his place.
‘I don’t think we should hang around here too long,’ Hopper said. ‘If Lottto lets Sabarak make contact with the jihadist, we’re in the shitter.’
Stratton agreed, in principle. But there was something else on his mind.
They heard the bolts on the door go again and watched as a man walked in carrying a large cooking pot, followed by a filthy-looking boy with a stack of battered aluminium bowls. The cook filled one from the pot, handed it to the boy and the boy stepped to the nearest prisoner and gave it to him. He went back to the cook and took another bowl to the next person in line.
When Stratton was handed his, he studied the contents of the bowl in his tied hands. It looked like some kind of fish stew, with more bones than meat. But he was hungry. He crunched down on a fish head and chewed the bones to a pulp and swallowed. Someone in the room choked violently as he struggled to extricate a bone from his throat. The man beside him slammed his back repeatedly. The choking man managed to cough it up.
‘It’s Saturday,’ Hopper said, eating his food as if it were an everyday meal. ‘The wife would have expected me back by now. She won’t be worried of course. Not if I’m late by a few days.’
Stratton sympathised. But it only reminded him once again of why marriage wasn’t the wisest choice for someone in their business. Close relationships were almost as bad. Something Stratton had managed to avoid for the most part. And times like this proved him right. He wasn’t missing anyone. And no one was stressing over him because he hadn’t come home when he should have.
He had long since identified it as a kind of loneliness and he was well aware that it wasn’t healthy either. The way his mind worked, no man could really be complete without a family. Surely that was the prime purpose, to find a partner and produce offspring in order to continue the line. But there was time yet for all of that. Right now he was a soldier and he needed to focus on that alone. Every lifestyle had its sacrifices. His was a lack of companion -ship, of love. He would do without for the time being and gamble that he could find it when he was good and ready. When he was no longer in this business.
‘We were going cycling today,’ Hopper said. ‘Bradbury Rings … When do you think they’ll tell her I’m missing?’
‘If they thought we’d taken a boat, then they’d more than likely assume we’d been lost at sea before considering we’d been taken by this shower,’ said Stratton. ‘They won’t rush into assuming the worst. First thing they’ll probably tell her is there’s been an extension to the op. They won’t give her any bad news until they’re certain.’ He knew that much from experience. He’d had to pass on the bad news more than once. Watching a loving wife or girlfriend break into small pieces right in front of you is not something he was built to take, tough as he felt. He didn’t have the tools to deal with it. Which only served to cement his belief that close relationships weren’t worth the pain they could create, even for those not directly involved in them.
‘If Sabarak barters us to Lotto, we’re screwed,’ Hopper said. ‘Even if London agreed to pay a ransom for us, which I strongly doubt, Lotto might not take it. He might rather make a present of us to the jihadists. We should consider making a break for it, and the sooner the better.’
Stratton knew that was the right course of action. But the boxes on the ships were bothering him. Kidnapping Sabarak was one part of a larger operation. The big picture was about something else. They might have failed to bring in Sabarak, but perhaps they had stumbled on another and possibly larger piece of the puzzle. He couldn’t let that go. If they concentrated on saving their own skins, they would be failing in their duties. They weren’t just ordinary soldiers charging at an enemy. They were specialists. That meant thinking for yourself, changing course and making decisions, sometimes major ones, without consulting the head shed. He felt an urge inside him that was far stronger than the need to save his own neck. He couldn’t leave Somalia until he found out what was going on.
‘We can’t leave,’ Stratton said. ‘Not yet.’
Hopper couldn’t hide his surprise. He didn’t know Stratton very well personally but he knew his reputation. Like everyone else in the SBS, Hopper hadn’t been privy to the details of Stratton’s operations for the SIS and, on occasion apparently, for the Americans. But the rumours went around. And Stratton would never reveal anything himself. If he had done half as much as he was supposed to have, he wasn’t someone to ignore in a situation like this.
Hopper had initially thought there was no one better to get caught with after being captured by the Somalis. But cracks of doubt were beginning to appear in his confidence, cracks caused by Stratton’s strength and his own weakness. He could think of nothing but escape and a return to his wife and children. Stratton hadn’t mentioned it since seeing those boxes going on to the ships. The man constantly pushed the limits in order to succeed on an operation. Which was why he was a top operative. He saw success as a higher priority than his own safety, or at least close to it.