By now I could hear another sound above the insect noises: it was the sea less than 500 metres away. This was the area of maximum danger, where locals would be moving around and where the Somalis would be most watchful.
I veered to the north-east, heading away from the few houses scattered on the outskirts of Kamboni. The ground here was soft, with less vegetation underfoot, and made for easier going. Then I hit the main coastal track, which was wide and flat, beaten down by the movement of traffic. I hunkered down a couple of metres back and waited.
Voices.
I lay down flat, slipping the rifle off my shoulder. I couldn’t tell at first where they were coming from. They sounded all around me. I twisted round, scanning my back trail, then checked to the north. Then I heard a burst of laughter and a familiar rattle.
It was the sound of someone slapping a magazine into a rifle.
It was enough to pinpoint the direction, and it wasn’t good news. They were standing just a few metres away.
I breathed carefully and felt a prickle of perspiration run down my face. By some miracle of luck, I’d avoided walking into a couple of sentries.
I started to inch away to the north, planning to cross the track further along. Then I stopped as something rustled nearby. I craned my head to see what — or who it might be.
And felt my skin crawl.
It was a snake. A big one, uncoiling from beneath a large tuft of dried grass.
I held my breath. Shoot it or back off? But this close even a silenced shot would be heard by the sentries, and there was no guarantee that I’d hit it. On the other hand, if I tried to move away and it took off after me, there was no way I’d outrun it.
We stayed like that for an age, and I tried not to torture myself with wondering if it was better being bitten by a mamba or a puff adder.
It must have been my lucky night. The snake eventually got tired of the game and slid away towards the track, disappearing into the shadows on the other side.
I did the same, giving the area a wide berth. Once near cover, I stopped again and checked my position. I had approximately half a kilometre to go to the village of Dhalib and a further kilometre to the villa.
Twenty-Five
‘There are men in the car park.’ Moments ago, Doug Tober had knocked softly on Angela’s door. It was 3a.m. and the hotel was quiet.
Angela let him in and padded over to the window. At first she saw nothing; just a few parked and silent cars, and no sign of life other than a scrawny dog trotting along the road past the hotel grounds.
‘Under the trees,’ said Tober. ‘Behind the white Mercedes.’
She saw them; two men, standing very still. They were watching the hotel. Then another figure appeared off to one side, moving across to join them. She couldn’t tell if they were the same three men Xasan had brought with him, but she wouldn’t have bet against it.
‘What do you think they want?’
‘They’re probably keeping an eye on us to make sure we behave,’ Tober ventured. ‘It’s probably nothing, but best get ready.’ He was already dressed, and she noticed for the first time that he was carrying a length of metal tubing in his hand. He caught her look and said, ‘Shower curtain rail.’ Then he left the room saying he was going to check out the corridors.
Angela stripped off her T-shirt and grabbed her clothes, which were already laid out on a chair. She went into the bathroom and threw some water over her face, then dried herself and dressed quickly. Tober was right to be cautious; if anything was going to happen, they had to be ready.
When she came out, she was dressed in a tan jacket and pants over a white blouse.
A tap at the door announced Tober’s return. ‘All quiet. It’s probably OK but I don’t think I’ll be going back to bed. Those jokers are out there to keep us unsettled.’ He said goodnight and left the room again.
Angela debated calling London again. The duty officer in the ops room would get hold of Moresby if she needed him. But beyond saying there were men watching them, she had nothing concrete to report. She slipped off her jacket and lay down on the bed, and tried not to think about the results of the talks not going well. There were hostages depending on her getting this right, and her own bosses back in London watching to see how she handled it. Dealing with unexpected delays and disruptive tactics by others was all part of the game.
Within seconds she was asleep.
Three hours later, Tober called her on the room phone.
‘Xasan sent a message. Kick-off in forty minutes.’
Angela levered herself off the bed and stretched to ease the kinks in her neck. So now it was all hurry. It was part of the game, she reflected, to keep the two of them on edge. After the long journey here, they would already be tired and stiff. Keeping them awake would leave them tired and slow to react in a negotiating situation.
She sent a brief text message to Moresby. Leaving 40 mins for onward travel. It was nowhere near specific enough to be of much use, but ballpark was all she had. If Moresby had the CIA’s over-flight cameras going as promised, while they couldn’t tell who was on which flight leaving Nairobi, they might be able to track flights moving into otherwise deserted or remote areas like Kamboni.
She switched off the phone with a growing feeling of unease. She was being pulled by forces over which she had no control, but that was part of the job. She went downstairs to the restaurant overlooking the hotel pool. Tober was already at a table, sinking a cup of coffee as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She envied him.
They ate in silence, watched over by two waiters, then made their way to their rooms to collect their bags before heading down to the lobby. There were no signs of the other guests.
Xasan was waiting for them. He apologized for the delay and hoped they had passed a good night before explaining, ‘We return to the airport now and take a flight to the coast. From there we travel on to the villa by car. We should arrive by late afternoon. It will be perfectly secure.’ He said this with a wry smile, as if reassuring children.
Angela said nothing. She couldn’t recall having seen an airstrip on the map of the area, but no doubt Xasan knew what he was doing. Either way, she took his last comment to mean that their movements were secure and beyond any means SIS might employ to watch over them.
He appeared to guess what she was thinking. ‘The flight will be quicker and more comfortable than by other means, I assure you.’
‘Good.’ She was tempted to ask why his men had been camped outside the hotel during the night, but decided against it. As instructors like Tom Vale had counselled her in her early days with SIS, never let the opposition know what you’re thinking; any knowledge can be an advantage.
They followed him outside and round to the side of the hotel to a Mitsubishi 4WD. There was nobody else around and the air was surprisingly cool. Xasan trotted ahead, a phone clamped to his ear, and began flicking his fingers at the guards, who were leaning against the vehicle watching them approach. The men split up in what was clearly a coordinated move and surrounded Tober, staying just out of arm’s reach. Up close, he dwarfed them and looked indomitable.
‘What’s going on?’ Angela demanded. The men were all armed with pistols under their shirts and were clearly not taking chances. But Tober showed no concerns, and signalled for her to stay back. One of the men stepped forward and did a fast pat down while the other two watched. The procedure had been expected, although where they thought he might have acquired a weapon was a mystery.