He was still there today.
As the wheels on the underside of the cargo plane descended with a hollow groan, King fought back a temporary wave of nausea and turned to Lars.
‘So — what is this?’ he said. ‘A recruitment mission, or a rescue mission?’
‘We’re not rescuing him from anything,’ Lars said. ‘He’s a big boy. If he thought he was in danger, he could fly straight out of Mogadishu without a hitch.’
‘So you still want him there?’
‘I want to know more about what he disrupted,’ Lars said. ‘If it warranted that kind of reaction from the dock workers, I think Reed stumbled onto something big. Three bodies isn’t that big of a deal in an active war zone, but the fact that an American did it only amplifies the tension. Apparently there were witnesses. Rumours are spreading that there’s a madman protecting AMISOM peacekeepers. I don’t want the African Union threatened by our man’s actions.’
‘Got it.’
‘And…’ Lars said, recognising that touchdown was imminent. The entire plane rattled and jolted as it touched down on an uneven runway, turning King’s stomach upside-down in the process. ‘Here we are.’
‘Never been to Somalia,’ King said.
‘Nor have I.’
‘I don’t think this counts if you’re staying on the plane.’
‘I’ll accept that.’
‘Are you ever getting on the ground with me?’
Lars took his time to respond, electing to simply sit in silence and stare at the opposite wall of the fuselage. ‘Not anymore, kid.’
‘This used to be your thing?’
‘Just for a brief stint. Didn’t work out so well.’
‘What happened?’
‘Not now. Hate to admit it, but we don’t know each other well enough yet. That’s a story for another time.’
King nodded. ‘Understood.’
The plane trundled to a halt a few minutes later — King spent the time sitting rigid, unable to stop the stress from building up in his chest. It was as if a giant weight were pressing down on his oesophagus, restricting his breathing to the point where it came in sharp, rattling gasps. He masked it from Lars, but he always experienced the same sensations before a live operation.
King knew as well as anyone that an elite operative without a shred of fear was either a liar or mentally unsound. The closeness to death couldn’t be rivalled — a sensation that supercharged his pulse and honed him into whatever lay in front of him like a hungry predator. It had served him well in Mexico, and he hoped it would serve him well here. The icy demeanour of operational preparation settled over him as Lars continued.
‘Your contact has been told to meet us at the airfield,’ he said. ‘She’ll be taking you to the inner sanctum where Reed’s holed up. From there, you do your thing.’
‘She?’
Lars gave a wry smile. ‘Don’t get any ideas.’
‘I didn’t say a thing.’
‘I understand you’re a bit of a womaniser,’ Lars said. ‘Don’t think I’m oblivious to what you did with that DARPA technician back in Wyoming. We all knew.’
‘I wasn’t hiding it. It was just a brief fling.’
‘Well, between that and what I interrupted in Washington, I see you’ve got an insatiable appetite.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘That shit won’t cut it out here. Her name’s Bethany Morris. She’s a Force Recon Marine — one of the four stationed out here to watch over this particular chunk of land.’
‘You’re talking like she’s your daughter. What do you care what happens? For all you know that lady you interrupted me with is my girlfriend.’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’
‘What’s your deal?’
‘Be as much of a playboy as you want on home soil. Anything like that out here will get you distracted and killed.’
‘You seem rather adamant.’
‘I’ve only had you under my wing for a month,’ Lars said. ‘I’m trying to be stern with you.’
‘It’s not working.’
‘I’m not very good at this,’ he admitted.
As the plane’s rear ramp began to descend and the heat filtered into the fuselage in thick, rancid waves, King smirked and unbuckled the straps across his chest. He rose off the seat and clamped a firm hand down on Lars’ shoulder. ‘I’ll keep my hands to myself. Don’t worry.’
‘Good.’
‘You should get a lady yourself. Release some of that tension. Maybe she can crack through that veneer.’
‘Don’t push it.’
King laughed and snatched his duffel bag off the floor. ‘Is this where we say our goodbyes?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
King offered a hand and they shook, holding it for a moment longer than socially acceptable due to the nature of the industry they operated in.
Any handshake had the potential to be their last.
King nodded once to the man he’d rapidly become acquainted with over the last month, his face solemn and his mouth a hard line. He hated this part of the job. It was most of the reason why he’d kept to himself for so long — he didn’t want anyone growing attached to him in the highly likely event that he got himself killed in action.
Nothing about this scenario spelled certain disaster, though — not like Mexico.
King was effectively doing admin work, sorting out the aftermath of a multi-faceted conflict. Crossing the border into Tijuana a month ago had carried the gravity of unavoidable confrontation, but there was a chance he could carry out this operation without laying a single finger on an enemy.
Although somehow he doubted that’s how things would transpire.
He strode past Lars, down the pockmarked metal ramp, and dropped down onto the dusty tarmac. Mogadishu was stiflingly hot, and something in the air signified hostility. The aura of war and blood and filth swirled around everything.
King squinted against the sudden glare and turned to witness an open-topped military jeep roaring across the runway toward their plane.
9
To his surprise, the rear ramp of the cargo plane began to ascend directly behind him — before the jeep had even reached him. He spun incredulously another one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, staring open-mouthed as the back of the plane sealed itself up again. Then the massive aircraft began to trundle away down the runway, heading for a cluster of ramshackle buildings at the edge of the vast airfield.
King found himself alone in the centre of the tarmac, a single beacon amidst a hot wasteland. He lifted a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the unrelenting sun and waited for the approaching jeep to pull to a halt beside him.
It did so in a literal cloud of burnt rubber, the driver stamping on the brakes like their life depended on slowing down as fast as humanly possible. Smoke wafted off the fat tyres, and when it cleared King found himself face-to-face with a twenty-something woman in a tight black tee and faded military khakis. Her face was a stern mask of hidden emotions and she clearly kept herself in unbelievable shape — a requirement in this line of work. King noted the veins rippling up her forearms as she clasped the wheel with gloved hands. She was tall — at least five foot ten. Her skin was a deep bronze from the African sun and her hair had been bleached a dark shade of blonde by the same conditions, where ordinarily it would have been a light brown.
All in all, King liked what he saw.
He tuned out the distracting thoughts and focused on the task at hand.
‘Where are they going?’ he said, gesturing to the plane without bothering to introduce himself.