Stratton decided to leave the girl to sleep a while longer. The more rest she got the better. He crawled through the bush to the edge of the scrub from where he could see the water. He checked left and right. There was no sign of danger. He was going to have to break cover at some time. It would get darker yet but he estimated it was enough for him to get to the water and back.
He moved out, keeping low, covering the open ground in seconds. When he reached the water, he laid down on his belly. It smelled OK although it was hard to see how clear it was. He couldn’t hold back any longer, convincing himself that no matter how bad it was he would live longer with poisoned water than without it. He dipped his face into the cool liquid and gulped in several deep mouthfuls. He immediately fought to control a coughing fit, plunging his head into the water and coughing violently, the noise muffled. He came back up for air and with some difficulty managed to bring the fit under control. The sudden liquid had been too much for his parched throat. A moment later he felt ready for more.
Stratton made an effort to drink as slowly as he could. The water had a strange taste but he was past caring. It was wonderful to feel it flowing down his throat. When he’d had his fill, he doused his head again, rinsing his hair and washing his face. He could feel the life flowing back into him. It was magical.
Stratton made his way back to the girl and gently squeezed her arm. She woke with a start and was afraid for a moment until she realised who he was and where they were.
‘It’s OK. Everything’s fine,’ he said.
She took a moment to gather her thoughts, her hand going to her throat.
‘Go get a drink,’ he said.
She got to her knees and headed through the brush.
‘Drink slowly,’ he whispered after her.
He followed, suspecting she hadn’t heard. As he reached the bank, she was already at the water. It was dark enough to almost conceal her from him. She began to cough violently but only for a few seconds as she muffled her mouth. She brought the spasm under control and put her mouth into the water once again.
He joined her for another drink. It would take several hours for them to recover from the effects of the dehydration.
When she had had her fill, she sat by the water gently dabbing her face with the bottom of the shirt.
‘Better?’ he asked.
‘Better,’ she replied.
‘You ready for the next phase of this game?’
‘The ship?’
‘I still think it’s our best bet out of here.’
‘What if they search it?’
Stratton saw the fear in her eyes. It hadn’t been there the day before. The memories of the previous night had clearly frightened her.
‘We’ll make an assessment when we get there.’
She took another drink before rinsing her hair.
‘How’re your feet?’ he asked.
She threw back her hair and sat cross-legged to inspect them. ‘I need to make myself some new shoes.’
She set about tearing more cloth from the bottom of her trousers and fashioning them into a sandal. ‘Did you kill him?’ she asked.
Stratton didn’t answer.
‘I wish I could have done that for Jimlen,’ she said, like she knew he was uncomfortable with the question. ‘Did you?’ she asked again.
He believed he had. But he couldn’t be sure.
‘Do you feel guilty?’ she asked.
He flashed a look at her. She was direct. ‘What about?’ he asked.
‘You didn’t need to leave him behind when you escaped to search the ship. Why did you?’
It felt like a punch. ‘The job comes with risks,’ he said. ‘Hopper knew them. You know that too.’
‘You would do well in my business,’ she murmured.
He wondered why she had said that, feeling a tinge of resentment towards her. Like she had an arrogance, talking like she understood all the issues involved. But perhaps it was his guilt again. Something inside of him trying to defend it.
His ears picked up a sound and he stuck out a hand, warning her to be silent. She froze at the gesture. Then she heard the sound herself. A stick snapped followed by more similar noises. The dull crunch of footsteps in the dry, stony soil became a rhythm.
If they tried to head back into the scrub, they would most likely be seen. Stratton tapped her shoulder, an order to follow, and eased his way into the water. A reed bed growing out of the shallow water was not far away. They crawled through the water as quickly and as quietly as they could, their hands sinking into the riverbed, pulling at the muddy bottom. The ripples they formed mingled with those created by the gentle breeze.
They saw a line of men approaching, walking between the riverbank and the bushes. As Stratton made out the dark silhouettes, at first it looked like two or three men. But as the angle changed, the line grew longer and they saw more men. Maybe just less than a dozen. Stratton and the girl moved behind the reeds as the first man reached the bank where they had crossed from the bushes. They lowered themselves until only their eyes were out of the water. Not great cover but as long as the jihadists didn’t stop and examine the location, they would be OK.
The first man walked past, his long shirt brushing the line of bushes. The second man stepped close behind. They all wore turban-like headdresses and all but the man in front carried their weapons slung over their shoulders. But as he looked at them, Stratton got the feeling that none was particularly vigilant, each watching the heels of the man in front as they trudged along. They looked like they were heading somewhere rather than patrolling.
They soon passed out of sight, their shadowy figures melding with the dark bushes and occasional straggly tree. It was going to be a long night.
11
Stratton eased himself to his feet, felt the water running through his clothes. He could see no further evidence of the enemy. Time for him and the girl to get going too.
It was much darker than the night before. Clouds had moved in to shroud the moon and stars. Dozens of small lights flickered in the trees on the lower hills where the Al-Shabaab camp was. A campfire burned on the highest crest beyond. A watching post perhaps.
Stratton turned slowly around in order to take a look in each direction. When he stopped, he faced the coast, far off out of sight. Lights flickered in the distance. Hand-held flashlights. Moving but too far away to be of a threat to them, at that moment at least.
His general assessment had been that the warriors were manning all obvious routes through the area. He could imagine how angry Sabarak must have been, not only with Stratton’s assault on the camp and his attempts to kill him, but his subsequent escape. Sabarak knew Stratton was still somewhere in the immediate area and he would be desperate to get his hands on him. Sabarak would also be fully aware of the dangers to his operations if Stratton were to succeed in getting out of the country and back to his own people. That would make Stratton a very high-priority target.
‘What do you think?’ the girl asked. She knew the question sounded like an enquiry of the current situation but in reality she wanted to know about everything. He looked supremely confident, as ever, but it wasn’t enough for her. Not right then. She felt in a weakened state and extremely vulnerable.
‘I think we’re going to have to take it very carefully if we want to get back to the coast without running into any of Sabarak’s people. He cannot afford either of us to get away from here. He doesn’t know what we know. And that’s what’s bothering him.’
‘So what’s the plan?’