Dont play dead with vult.., p.14
Don't Play Dead with Vultures, page 14
Manny’s eyes dropped to the knife and widened. He was awake now.
‘Just in case, mate.’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Just in case. If this blows up, then follow my lead and listen in.’
Manny had been through plenty of shit in Sierra Leone back in the day. He might not want to believe it, but we needed to be ready for anything.
As he slouched into his seat, there was movement on the track behind the three soldiers. A burly figure wearing a beret and shades fastened the top buttons of his shirt as he strode in our direction, a holster bouncing on his hip. A soldier carrying an AK-47 followed at his shoulder.
As the pair approached, the officer wearing the beret ordered one of the three men near us to a position behind our two stationary vehicles, indicated by his extended arm and pointed finger. Our friend with the wayward muzzle discipline trotted away in response.
The detachment commander walked to our window, glanced in and fixed me with a blank stare, then moved to Baldé’s window. The two yellow bars on each shoulder denoted him a lieutenant.
‘Caporal, qui êtes-vous et que faites-vous sur cette route aujourd’hui?’ Corporal, who are you and what are you doing on this road today?
‘Lieutenant, j’escorte ce Britannique dans le cadre d’un projet soutenu par le gouvernement. J’ai des papiers d’autorisation ici.’ Something about escorting a British man in a project for the government with authorisation papers.
Baldé began to pull the paperwork out of the clear plastic binder insert I’d given him. The officer didn’t wait for them to be handed over. ‘Viens avec moi.’ Come with me.
The old car trying to impersonate a removals van pottered past with a puff of exhaust fumes that stung my eyes and tasted vile. Two much faster cars followed behind it and both pulled out to overtake on the blind bend up ahead. Confirmation that road traffic accidents promised to be the biggest risk here, as on most projects.
Baldé had stepped out of the car and left his weapon in situ. He ducked his head towards Manny. ‘Ca va. Cinq minutes.’ It’s okay. Five minutes.
‘What’s going on?’ I murmured to Manny. ‘Is this normal do you think?’
Manny shrugged his shoulders. ‘I suppose so. Just checking the paperwork.’
The lieutenant led Baldé up the track towards the shack with his accompanying soldier slotted in behind them. The two other troops in my eyeline hadn’t moved and remained five metres away holding their rifles a little aggressively for my liking.
What-ifs began to run through my head.
‘Demba, est-ce normal?’ Spoken like a native.
Like Manny, he also shrugged his shoulders. ‘Parfois.’ Sometimes.
I leaned sideways to gain an angle to see into Demba’s mirror, saw no traffic approaching, and opened my door.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Manny.
‘Stretch my legs and get out of this baking tin.’
‘Don’t…’
I cut him off. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll leave the knife there.’ I moved the open Ka-Bar to the floor and shut the door after stepping out. Without the self-generated airflow, it had quickly grown stuffy in the car. Outside, the languid afternoon hardly counted as refreshing either.
As I walked around the rear of the Land Cruiser, I nodded at our two escorts in the second vehicle. Its engine ticked over and a trebly wail of African music leaked out of the open windows. Neither responded or altered the default mask of boredom and mild annoyance they had both displayed all day.
Manny opened the door as I arrived at his side of the car. A harsh, rising voice behind me said, ‘Remonter dans la voiture.’ I turned to see the taller soldier marching towards us. Something about in the car.
‘I’m not going anywhere. Just stretching my legs.’
Manny stepped beside me. ‘Nous restons ici.’ We’re staying here.
The soldier reached out and gripped my right arm with his left. His other arm holding the AK-47 on its improvised sling against his right side. As his fingers dug into my bicep and a flash of pain erupted, I ripped my arm away.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I jutted my chin towards him and squared my shoulders.
‘John.’ Manny then launched into quickfire French. ‘Ce gar anglaise est important. Il veut seulement marcher.’ English, important, and some other stuff I didn’t understand.
The soldier bared his teeth and shouted at close quarters into my face. ‘Remonter dans la voiture maintenant.’ Get back in the car now – at a guess.
I turned away from his rancid breath. ‘Okay, okay. Fucking hell.’
The other soldier had joined my new best friend and gave a stab at a menacing glare as I stepped away. Twat.
We’d need to get some special status ID and heavy escorts to stop this shit from happening all over the country. And this was near the capital. I hated to think what might go on deep in the interior.
A gunshot rang out loud and clear from close by, and an unseen bird squawked a response. All other noise evaporated as the shot hung in the air as though maintained by a musician’s effects pedal. It had come from the direction of the shack. Baldé had been unarmed.
‘What the fuck?’ I glanced at Manny, then at the angry soldier.
He began to lift his AK with his right hand and his eyes dropped towards it as his left hand reached across.
I launched at him from a standing start and smashed a right hook into his cheek before the momentum crashed me into his body, knocking him over with me landing on top.
As we landed, the AK barrel caught me hard in the solar plexus. I sucked in a breath and brought my elbow down hard into his face. I grabbed his weapon by the barrel and yanked it, snapping the flimsy sling.
Shouted French registered and had to be ignored.
I pushed back up into a standing position and used the momentum to swing the rifle by the barrel and smash the stock into the face of Mr Menacing Glare. Teeth, blood, and bits of sunglasses exploded as it connected, and he went down like a sack of shit. That shut him up.
My eyes swept left and right. No other targets. I adjusted the AK in my hands, flicked off the safety catch and pulled on the cocking handle. It hardly moved. Stoppage. These wankers were fucking useless.
I flipped the weapon round again, took two steps to my left and prepared to bring the butt down on the head of my first victim as he tried to haul himself up. ‘I don’t fucking think so, mate.’
His good eye met mine. He collapsed to the floor and rolled onto his back, open hands up by his shoulders. Blood, snot, and tears decorated his damaged face. ‘Non, non. Pitié, pitié.’
I hesitated.
‘No, John. No.’ Manny held his hands out wide.
‘Take this. Stoppage. Clear it.’ I thrust the weapon at Manny and ripped open the front passenger door of the Land Cruiser. ‘Demba, engine on.’ I simulated turning the key as I grabbed Baldé’s Kalashnikov from next to the seat.
I hammered the safety catch down two notches to single shot semi-automatic and yanked the cocking handle. It snapped forward and loaded a round into the chamber. Fifteen rounds. I checked left and right again as our car engine fired up.
The faces on the two lazy twats in our second vehicle weren’t on the default setting anymore. Their mouths hung open as I pulled the butt of the AK into my shoulder and lifted the barrel. The third soldier had appeared round the back of the second car.
‘Arrête. Je vais tirer.’ Stop. I will shoot.
He halted and stood still. Face taught and mouth open. His rapid-blinking eyes fell onto his oppo, spark out on the deck to my left.
‘Baissez votre arme,’ shouted Manny. I assumed that meant about the same thing I’d said, only better.
The soldier put the weapon down and stepped back with his hands by his shoulders, palms open. He followed the nod of my barrel by dropping to his kness.
‘This is no good,’ said Manny.
I assumed he meant the shitty AK. ‘Get Demba’s Makarov. Then put these weapons in the car.’ I nodded towards the two AK’s laying in the dirt. ‘And tell those two to stay put.’ I flicked my head at our rear vehicle.
‘I mean this is not good.’ He was behind me, so I couldn’t see what he might be indicating. I had a good idea though.
‘Mate, just fucking do it. I’ll see what’s happened to Baldé. If either of the other two AK’s work, then you and Demba use them to cover these fuckers. Otherwise, grab one of theirs.’ I scoped the barrel towards the rear car, causing both men inside to flinch.
A passing car slowed, and a questioning voice received a mouthful from Manny. The engine gunned into the distance as I moved onto the track.
CHAPTER 21
Deep breaths slowed my racing heart rate. Pain flashed deep inside my midriff where the barrel had caught me. The knuckles on my right hand joined in. Sweat cascaded off my forehead. I shook it off, to little effect. The crook of my right arm helped smear some away from my eyes while I kept both hands on the AK.
I could only see the far-right side of the shack and outside deck. Not the central door or more than a sliver of the right window. Mixed voices shouted inside.
The track rose up a slight incline. There was tall vegetation on the immediate left, open ground to the right. More of the shack emerged as the track bent left around the treeline. A voice called out from only a few metres away. ‘Celine. Que se passe-t-il? Est ce que ça va?’
Unfortunately for you mate, whichever one of the crew Celine might be, he’s not okay.
I stopped dead, butt in the shoulder, and leaned into a standing firing position with a featherlight touch on the trigger with my finger. The soldier appeared ten feet away.
‘Drop the fucking weapon. Drop it. Arrete. Je vais tirer.’ Stop. I will shoot.
He reared back. The AK-47 in his hands swung wildly. He looked down at it and reached for the cocking handle.
‘STOP. Stop. Drop it.’ My finger took up first pressure. The touch remained light though. AK’s weren’t known for a hair trigger, but I’d never fired this particular weapon before and wasn’t going to chance it.
His right hand clawed at the cocking handle which didn’t move. In a flap, he’d forgotten to flip the safety catch off. He struggled with it. Of course, it might already be cocked. Don’t do it. Don’t fucking do it.
His eyes blazed wild with panic.
I advanced, almost on top of him. Barrel pointed into his face. ‘DROP IT. Fucking drop it.’
He gave out a strangled yelp and dropped the rifle. His hands raised and palms open at chest height. Breaths coming in sobs.
‘Get down. Get down.’
He crouched and I kicked him over. He rolled easily into a prostrated position, face down. I grabbed his AK and released the magazine. By weight, maybe half full. I stuck it into the cargo pocket of my trousers. The weapon took a graceful arc into the undergrowth.
What to do with him? I stamped hard on the fingers of his outstretched right hand. A piercing howl rang out as he rolled into a ball. That should limit his options.
‘Fucking stay there.’
All this shouting and screaming meant the element of surprise was probably off the menu. I advanced, tucking in against the bushes on my left as the shack came into full view.
The yelling from inside had stopped, and a figure moved behind the left-hand window as the door catapulted open. The lieutenant rushed onto the decking and halted with a handgun dangling in his right hand. My sight picture centred on his chest.
He looked directly at me. Less than ten metres away.
‘Arrête. Drop the weapon, lieutenant.’
His soldier sidekick appeared next to him, AK-47 in hand.
‘Both of you. Weapons down.’
I risked a snatched glance over my shoulder to make sure my latest victim hadn’t decided to enact revenge. He remained on the floor in a ball, moaning.
Baldé emerged behind the two men at the door. More alive than I’d expected.
‘Baldé, come on. Yella, come on.’ The Arabic came naturally. I didn’t remember the French equivalent.
The two soldiers remained unmoving, both still holding their weapons although neither currently pointing in my direction. One of them had been fired recently and would therefore be made ready. I hadn’t needed to shoot anyone so far. Best to keep it that way if possible.
‘Put your weapons down on the ground.’ I couldn’t remember how Manny had said it earlier. Fuck it. Should have studied harder at school, although I doubt that phrase would have been on the curriculum.
Baldé had clearly taken in the shock of the situation and began waving his hands and spouting French ten to the dozen. His movement seemed okay. No obvious sign of injury. He turned to face the two men, his hands still bouncing invisible basketballs as he gabbled away. He had his back to me, partially blocking my view of the other two men.
‘Baldé, come on. Let’s go. Nous allons rapide.’ We go quickly – the best I could do.
He started to turn my way, then stopped and instead scooted past the AK-47-wielding soldier and back into the shack. Now what?
The officer and soldier still held their weapons by their sides while I dropped my barrel’s aim twenty degrees to the officer’s feet — an attempt at de-escalation. But still ready to quickly engage if either made a move. Both eyed me impassively. Neither spoke nor altered their gaze. I could almost hear the ticking of the pocket watch in For a Few Dollars More, counting down until Clint and the boys let rip at each other.
I blinked rapidly as sweat stung my left eye. Not the time to adjust my hold on the weapon and provide any excuse for this pair to try anything.
Baldé reappeared with the clear folder of documents in his hand. He spoke to the lieutenant as he passed and made his way down the track towards me.
‘Keep going.’ I tilted my head in the direction of our vehicles, while maintaining aim towards the unmoving lieutenant and his underling.
‘Nous allons.’ We go. Baldé pointed at the two men by the shack door. ‘C’est fini.’ It’s finished.
‘Bon.’ Good. I kept the weapon on aim as I stepped backwards. Cautious that the lieutenant might do something stupid if given half a chance.
From behind me a softly spoken, ‘Merde.’ Shit. Baldé must have spotted one or more of our victims. My victims.
Once out of sight of the targets, I yanked the safety catch on and broke into a jog down the track, passing Baldé who’d stopped at the whimpering figure still curled into a ball.
‘Forget him. Let’s go.’ We might be out of sight of the shack, but the foliage wouldn’t provide much cover from fire if they let rip with an AK-47.
I ran to the car, calling to Manny as I drew near. ‘Tell them we’ll drop their weapons fifty metres along the road. Mount up. Let’s go.’
Manny and Demba sprang from their positions by the car. Demba shoved his Makarov into a belt holster as he rounded the front of the car to the driver’s side, and Manny pulled his door open and spoke to the figures on the floor, a Kalashnikov tight in his shoulder. None of the three men on the deck so much as twitched in response.
‘Baldé, come on,’ I yelled as he trudged down the track. I still didn’t know what the hell had happened, but it seemed to have ended with only a few cuts and bruises. Bruised egos as well, no doubt. The repercussions might be a problem.
Once Baldé shut his door we took off at speed. After less than fifty metres, Demba braked sharply and I lobbed three AK-47s and their ejected magazines onto the side of the road.
‘Go, go, go.’
As we accelerated again, I asked the burning question. ‘What the fuck happened up there?’ At the same time as, according to Manny, Baldé asked pretty much the same question in reverse.
I multi-tasked as Manny translated Baldé’s account from inside the shack, checking the map and the GPS for the locations of the two other checkpoints we would encounter on the route to Conakry.
Baldé said the lieutenant had asked questions about me, my business in Guinea, and the reasons for the military escort. Unsatisfied with the answers, he had drawn his Makarov from its holster and begun issuing threats while waving it around. When he crashed it against the table in anger, the pistol fired and a 9mm round almost took Baldé’s head off. That prompted a heated shouting match after the initial stunned silence.
The furore was only interrupted by the sound of my shouted commands and swearing in angry English nearby.
Manny stopped talking and both he and Baldé fixed me with serious stares.
‘What? Say that again?’
Manny spoke. ‘He asked why you attacked the soldiers. It’s a very bad thing to do.’
I met Baldé’s blinking gaze. ‘I thought they’d shot him, and they were going to kill or kidnap the lot of us. A fucking ND. Are you serious? Christ.’
What a mess. We had to hope the lieutenant buried the whole incident to avoid sanction for the Negligent Discharge and didn’t light the blue touch paper.
Neither of the two checkpoints on the way back gave us so much as a second glance. A relief, but nothing to take too much comfort from. It’s not as if I’d be difficult to find if they wanted to haul me in.
CHAPTER 22
The car had lapsed into a heavy silence after the post-mortem about the checkpoint drama. I’d rung Cal on the sat phone with an update and a warning about the incident. Our strained conversation had been brief and inspired less confidence than expected that he’d have my back if things went pear-shaped.
We’d all been on edge as we navigated two rural checkpoints and then arrived back into the crowded streets of the capital and the scrutiny of its numerous police officers and soldiers. An efficient BOLO ‘Be On the Look Out’ vehicle warning system might be unlikely, but it was impossible not to imagine the worst.
