Deception Game (35 page)

Shielding his hands against the harsh glare of the sun now rising to its zenith in a sky devoid of clouds, Mason surveyed the shimmering, bleached landscape surrounding their hilltop refuge. There wasn’t much to see.

Rocky escarpments and withered, inhospitable uplands lay to the north, forming a range of low mountains that marched in grim procession eastward. To the south stretched a vast sea of sand dunes that seemed to carry on forever, their tops slowly eroding under the burning-hot wind that sighed across the arid, shimmering desert.

Nothing in every direction. No sign of humanity at all, save for the bleached ruins in which they found themselves. They might have been on the edge of the world for all he knew.

‘Jesus,’ he breathed, captivated and perhaps a little intimidated by the harsh, stark, unforgiving land. It was almost a mystery to him why any people would try to carve out an existence in such a place.

With no activity in their vicinity all morning, Mason felt secure enough to interrupt his vigil and return to the shade for some water. His eyes were dry and sore after staring at the desert for so long, and his throat was parched.

The interior of the building was a mess. Whatever roof had once been supported by these walls had long since collapsed, leaving a veritable maze of broken archways, fallen pillars and crumbled masonry in its wake. It was here that the other two members of his group had set up their meagre camp.

Frost was sitting on her heels in one corner, keeping to the shade as much as possible. She had drawn her field knife from its sheath, and was idly running the edge across a piece of stone to sharpen it. It helped to pass the time, and perhaps take her mind off their two companions who might be risking their lives at this very moment.

Laila, their captive, was sitting with her back against the wall. Her eyes were closed and her legs crossed, almost as if she were meditating. Unlike her captors, the heat didn’t seem to trouble her. Indeed, it was hard to know if she was even awake.

‘Ain’t much to look at, huh?’ Frost remarked without glancing up from her task. ‘Let me guess – sand and lots of it.’

He gave a wry smile. ‘Give me Russia any day. That was a vacation next to this.’

‘No argument here.’ The young woman paused for a moment, thinking. ‘Afghanistan, now there was a country. Hot as hell, but at least there was stuff to look at. Mountains, valleys, rivers, even trees and grass.’

Mason said nothing to that, because he knew she was referring to something he hadn’t been part of. He’d been sidelined for nearly two years after taking a round to the shoulder during their mission to retrieve Anya from a high-security prison in the icy wastes of Siberia. Little could he have imagined then the chain of events that ill-fated adventure would unleash.

‘Keegan liked it there, I think,’ she continued. ‘It was his kind of country. Wide open spaces, no people around. Son of a bitch probably thought he was John Wayne out on the frontier.’

The young woman had an oddly wistful look in her eyes when she spoke of their former teammate, killed during a mission in Afghanistan the previous year. It wasn’t often that she indulged in nostalgia, but then, he supposed they hadn’t had many opportunities to talk like this.

Mason eased himself down onto a massive block of masonry that had probably once formed part on an archway, picked up his plastic bottle of water and took a drink.

‘Still miss him, huh?’

He had felt the loss of a trusted comrade keenly himself, but it wasn’t the same. He hadn’t come to know Keegan the way Frost had.

She drew the knife edge slowly along the stone, the rasp of metal an eerie counterpoint to the sighing wind beyond the walls. ‘This the part where I say he was like a father to me, that he looked out for me and that...it feels like I lost part of myself when he died?’

‘This is the part where you be honest.’

She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable talking about such personal matters, and for a time it seemed like she wasn’t going to speak at all. ‘Well, he drank too much, couldn’t cook for shit and he was definitely one of the most sexist guys I ever met, but...he was still a better man than my real dad. And I miss him.’ She chewed her lip and looked down. ‘I guess that counts for something.’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled, a little amused and strangely touched by her characteristically honest eulogy for a fallen friend. ‘Yeah, I guess it does.’

Seeking to change the subject, she laid the knife down, snatched up a plastic bottle of water and tossed it to Laila, who opened her eyes and glared at the young woman as it landed in her lap.

‘Drink,’ Frost commanded.

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s our job to keep you alive. I sure didn’t ask for it, but it’s ours anyway, and I’m not going to let our friends down because you were too stubborn to keep yourself hydrated.’

‘I’m not thirsty.’ No doubt considering the matter settled, she closed her eyes once more and resumed her meditation.

Frost however was in no mood to let the matter rest. ‘Okay, if that’s how you want to play it, I’ll make this real simple. Drink the fucking water, or we’ll hold you down and force it down your throat. Your choice.’

The older woman let out a slow, weary sigh. ‘God deliver us from Americans. Does every other word that comes from your mouth have to be a curse?’

Mason watched the smile spread across Frost’s face. It wasn’t a smile of pleasure or satisfaction, but rather anticipation of a good fight – something she seemed to enjoy a great deal.

‘It’s called freedom of speech. I don’t suppose you’re too familiar with that.’

Laila regarded her as one might regard a bothersome fly to be swatted. ‘If you mean freedom to act as uncouth idiots, then you have used your rights with great enthusiasm.’ Grabbing the bottle of water, she hurled it away in disgust. ‘And if this is the best you can muster, the rest of your so-called “team” have probably been captured or killed already.’

Frost said and did nothing for a few moments, as if she were weighing up the situation and carefully considering her next action. She didn’t look angry. She was past that stage now, which worried Mason far more. Now she was making a calculated choice about what she could get away with doing to their captive.

Then, just like that, she seemed to reach a decision. With a single, rapid movement she leapt to her feet, fists already clenched, muscles taut in preparation for what seemed likely to turn into a physical confrontation.

At the same moment, however, Mason raised his hand and hissed a single word of command. ‘Quiet.’

Angry and resentful she might have been, but Frost was still aware enough to know the danger they were all in. If Mason had appealed for silence, it had to be for a reason. Straightaway she froze, saying nothing, her eyes on him.

Her look said it all – what have you heard?

Straining to listen over the mournful sigh of the desert wind and the faint hiss of billions of grains of constantly shifting sand, Mason waited, tense and silent, hoping against hope that what he’d heard had simply been in his mind. A trick played by the wind and the heat and his own imagination.

Seconds passed, strained and anxious, as he waited. Nothing save for the background noise. He let out a breath slowly, wondering if it had been a false alarm.

Then he heard it. The distant braying of an animal of some kind, accompanied by the clang of a bell. It was coming from somewhere off to the south.

His eyes locked with Frost’s, that one look communicating everything they were both thinking in that moment.

Contact.

Straightaway he made a gesture with his hand, pointing two fingers to his eyes, then to Laila.
Watch her – I
’
m going to check it out.

Drawing his silenced weapon, Mason loped over to the south side of the ruined building and backed up against the wall, next to a gaping hole that might once have been the frame of a window.

While Frost kept an eye on the prisoner, Mason took a breath, then edged around the hole just enough to glimpse the desert beyond their temporary sanctuary.

As with his previous stint on lookout duty, there was little to see. The vast empty expanse of sand and weathered rock seemed to stretch off into infinity. No other buildings, no vehicles, no people.

He squinted as the hot breeze carried with it tiny grains of windblown sand that peppered his skin and eyes. The horizon seemed to shimmer and fade in and out, as if it possessed only a tenuous foothold in reality and might dissolve out of existence at any moment. The silenced weapon was a leaden weight in his sweating hands as he watched and waited.

There!

A shape emerging from a small valley to the south-west. A single animal, long-legged and heavily furred, with the distinctive humped back of a dromedary camel. And perched on top was a single human rider.

He was clothed in the loose flowing robes typical of the indigenous peoples of this region, his head and face largely obscured by a keffiyeh. Most likely he was a Bedouin or a Tuareg, one of the nomadic tribesmen who inhabited the desert in this area.

He might not have belonged to the Libyan military or government, but he was far from unprotected. Even from this range Mason could make out the long knife sheathed at his waist, as well as the distinctive long barrel of a rifle slung across his back.

Perhaps 200 yards distant, he seemed to be heading towards their hilltop refuge at an unhurried pace, allowing his mount to choose its own speed and course. But he was undoubtedly coming their way.

‘Shit,’ Mason mumbled as he ducked back behind cover, cursing their bad luck at having run into this isolated traveller.

Knowing that Frost would be anxiously awaiting his report, he looked over at her and held his fingers to his eyes, then raised a single finger.
I see one man.

Next he raised his hand with his thumb outstretched and his index finger pointed skyward.
One man armed with a rifle.

She nodded understanding.

Leaving his vantage point, Mason hurried over to join her, keeping his head down.

‘One tango on camelback,’ he whispered. ‘He’s heading towards us.’

‘Fuck,’ the young woman hissed. ‘Military?’

‘Don’t think so, unless the Libyan army’s added camels to their ranks. Looks like a civvy to me.’

‘We can’t let him see us,’ she warned him.

‘I know.’

‘If he reports us to the authorities, it’s game over.’

‘I know.’ His tone was sharper than he’d intended, because he knew exactly what she was suggesting. If this new arrival spotted them, he couldn’t be allowed to leave this place alive.

‘Then you know what we have to do.’ She was looking right at him now, needing to know if he was prepared to go all the way.

It wouldn’t be the first time that operations like this had incurred such ‘collateral damage’. It wasn’t something anyone liked to talk about or even think about too much, but it was an ugly reality of their profession that every operative had to face up to sooner or later.

The rule they lived by was simple, hard and uncompromising – the mission came first. Always.

‘I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s him or us.
We
have to do something.’ Sensing his reluctance, she shook her head and drew her automatic. ‘Screw it. I’ll take care of it.’

‘No,’ Mason cut in. Something about the distant figure continued to play on his mind, and only then did he realize why. ‘He’s travelling light. I saw no tent, not many supplies.’

‘So what?’

‘So he can’t have gone far from his tribe. If he doesn’t return home, he’ll be missed. They’ll come looking for him.’

One man with a rifle was a problem. An armed mob of angry tribesmen baying for revenge was something none of them would survive.

‘We’re in the desert. Maybe he doesn’t need a tent,’ she countered. ‘He could live in a cave, for all we know.’

‘You want to take that chance?’

‘So what do you suggest?’ she pressed him.

He chewed his lip for a moment, considering their limited options. ‘We hide. With luck he’ll be on his way before we know it.’

‘And if he isn’t?’

Mason eyed her hard. ‘Then
I
’
ll
take care of it,’ he promised. ‘Gather up our gear. No tracks. Hurry.’

Frost looked at him a moment longer, perhaps thinking to press her case, but reluctantly obeyed. There was no clear chain of command here as far as the two of them were concerned. They were equals, which meant neither had the final say in any decision making. But perhaps some part of her hoped to escape this without bloodshed, despite the risks.

Saying nothing, she turned away and quickly gathered together the water containers and their other limited supplies. As she did this, Mason turned his attention to Laila.

‘I have to gag you and tie your hands for now,’ he explained, speaking quietly and calmly. One scream from her was all it would take to alert the approaching tribesman, and that would force their hand. ‘Don’t make a sound, and everything will be fine.’

‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ the woman said, though she held out her hands and allowed him to bind her wrists.

With their captive secure and their gear gathered up, the small group retreated to the north-eastern end of the building, where an alcove had once opened out into a small antechamber of some kind. It wasn’t much, but it was as isolated and secluded a spot as they were likely to find. Assuming they remained quiet, nothing less than a full search of the building from end to end would uncover them.

Mason was just settling into the shadowy recess when Frost suddenly let out a gasp. ‘Oh Christ.’

‘What?’ he demanded, angered by the noise made by her outburst.

For perhaps the first time since he’d known her, the young woman looked genuinely frightened. Not because of the danger they were in, but because she’d realized she had made a mistake. ‘I left my knife out there. Shit!’

Mason felt his heart sink. The knife that she had been so methodically sharpening when he’d returned from his vigil outside. She had laid it down on the sand to throw the bottle of water to Laila, and must have forgotten it in their haste to relocate. He remembered the exact spot where it lay.