Detonator (37 page)

I wasn’t sure that I could haul myself aboard, cross the deck and drop him before he turned his weapon on me or raised the alarm. But a SAW was definitely more lawful than a stiletto and an UZI pen. And there was really only one way of finding out.

My main enemies were my noise and his peripheral vision. When I saw him glancing anxiously to his left after lighting up, I realized he was more worried about getting a bollocking from his boss than he was about keeping watch in case their diversion hadn’t worked and the GIS rolled on to the quay.

I decided to go for it.

I reached in and grabbed the rope just short of the noose that had been looped over the bollard. My target glanced to his left for the second time in as many drags, and sucked in another lungful. His body language told me he was so wired he was smoking at warp speed.

The sea breeze had kicked in, and got busy rattling whatever hadn’t been tied down. A burst of laughter and chanting carried across the water from one of the streets near the fortress. My target leant further over the rail and scanned that side of the harbour, trying to ID where the noise was coming from. Or maybe he just wished he was having as good a time as they were.

I pulled my upper body through the hole, brought up my knees, then my feet and, keeping in the shadow of the bulwark, got my boots on the deck. Staying beneath the rail, I brought out Elvis’s blade and circled around behind him. The closer I got, the more of his toxic Eastern European tobacco I was sharing.

I focused on the back of his head as I ran the last few metres towards him. Nothing else mattered. I couldn’t even hear my own movement.

I gripped the blade in my right fist, my thumb over the top of the handle to prevent my sweat-covered palm sliding down it once I got the thing working. I wasn’t going to fuck up like I had with Elvis. I was going to get straight in, get it done and move on.

One pace left.

He finally realized someone was behind him, but it was too late. He didn’t have time to turn. I was already climbing aboard him, my legs scissoring, my left hand flying in front of his face and slamming against his mouth.

I pulled him back with my arm, my knees and calves locked around his waist. He struggled to stay upright, but it wasn’t happening. I started to take him down with me, keeping his body on top of mine as I braced my back for a hard landing. Keeping my head up, I clamped his mouth even harder to keep him quiet when it happened.

I hit the deck.

A split second later he landed on top of me.

Fighting for breath, I arched my back to push up and present his chest as I punched the blade into him again and again, wherever I could make contact.

Under my palm, I felt him trying to scream.

He jerked and twisted, desperate to anticipate the next stab and avoid it. But I kept them deliberately erratic.

The point of the stiletto hit a rib and juddered until it found flesh that yielded. I forced it down again, into the side of his chest now, then switched back to the top again, trying to get it into his heart.

I didn’t care where it hit. I just wanted him dead.

He jerked again, less violently. I kept on going, fuck knew how often, until he finally stopped.

I didn’t waste time trying to catch my breath. I heaved him off immediately. I wanted him out of the way before he leaked too heavily.

I dragged him back to where I’d first seen him and checked if he had more ammo for the SAW. He didn’t, so I bundled him over the handrail. If there was a splash, I didn’t hear it.

I picked up the SAW and extended its butt. It was a Western infantry weapon, probably lifted from Coalition troops in Afghan or Iraq. You could belt-feed these things, but this one had a regular thirty-round M4 assault rifle mag. I released it and pushed against the rounds. My finger pressed them down a little more than a full mag would have let me. It didn’t really matter: it was full enough.

I pulled back the cocking handle. It was loose, which meant the working parts were to the rear. I reloaded the mag, threw the sling over my left shoulder, folded the bipod in below the barrel. Clamped my right hand on the pistol grip and my elbow on the butt, leaving my left arm free. The thing was now ready to fire three-to-five-round controlled bursts, and so was I.

I edged around the base of the bridge superstructure. The laughter and chanting were closer now, and a few wolf whistles for the ladies as the group of rowdies spilt through the arch by the fortress. Perfect. As far as I was concerned, they couldn’t have timed it better.

The starboard wing stretched over my head. I opened the door in the bulkhead immediately to my left. It swung out on freshly oiled hinges. I stopped and listened, then stepped over the cockpit. Pulled it shut and stopped again. The heat from reprocessed air was the first thing I noticed, then the low but continuous hum of engines somewhere underfoot.

A metal ladder led up to the sleeping and eating quarters, and finally the ship’s command centre. Or down to the engine room. I heard a clang somewhere below deck, but nothing more.

I raised the barrel of the SAW and followed it, as carefully and quietly as possible, first into the bunk room, then the canteen on the level above. The doors to both were ajar, and both areas showed signs of recent use. But nobody was in them now.

The door at the top was shut.

These things were made of steel and firmly sealed, so I didn’t expect to be able to cup my ear to it and hear stuff inside. There was a porthole the diameter of a football at head height. I peered through it.

My field of vision was a long way short of panoramic, but I saw a head to my half-left, silhouetted in the glow of the instruments on the console that stretched across the centre of the bridge. I gave it five. No one else came into view.

Keeping the sling taut against my shoulder, I levelled the muzzle of the weapon and curled my right index finger around the trigger. Then I turned the door handle so slowly even I couldn’t see it moving, and pushed it open a fraction of a centimetre.

As soon as the seal was broken I heard voices.

More talk. Mostly Italian, as far as I could tell.

I was catching quick bursts of incoming radio traffic.

I waited for a response.

Got one.

A terse acknowledgement. Then the squeak of an arse shifting position on a very new seat.

I stayed where I was, listening for further sound or movement.

There was a bit more chat. I could still only hear one guy speaking at this end.

I pushed the door open.

The radio operator had his elbows on the console, and was clutching a microphone stalk. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on the monitor in front of him.

There were still no other bodies in sight.

He didn’t move a muscle as I stepped over the threshold. I went forward, weapon in the aim, eyes mostly on the back of his head, but flicking from side to side, in case of a threat from the wings. The angle of my approach meant that I wouldn’t have an unrestricted view into either of them until I was almost on top of him.

I stopped a couple of paces away from my target. ‘Where’s Dijani?’

He swivelled one-eighty in his chair and stared straight at me, completely unfazed.

For a beat, neither of us moved.

His unnatural stillness should have told me that he’d been aware of my presence all along. And when I spotted the two red dots zeroed on my chest, I knew he was not alone.

I kept the SAW rock solid on his centre mass as two figures emerged silently from the shadows on each side of me. I kept my voice low and slow. ‘Drop your weapons, or I’ll kill this man.’

Two more appeared from behind them.

I caught a glimpse of the George Michael lookalike to my right, in my peripheral vision.

‘Go ahead. It will make no difference. There are many gates to Jannah.’

Dijani’s voice was smooth and cultured, and I believed him. But I didn’t lower the weapon.

If I squeezed off a burst, I could probably drop three. On the other hand, there was a strong chance that they would take me down. Or that my rounds bouncing off a bulkhead would do it for them.

If the lad on the chair was worried, he didn’t show it. You can pull that kind of stunt if you’re a fully paid-up member of the Paradise Club.

The two with the laser sights positioned themselves at each end of the console – and on the far side of it, so there was no chance of me getting too close, or of them dropping each other as well as dropping me. The red dots stayed pretty much in the same position on my jacket.

Dijani and the fourth man, who I guessed must be Rexho, stayed where they were, outside my immediate arc of fire.

‘I planned a slow death for you. But I’d be happy to make it a quick one if you prefer …’

I didn’t need more than a nanosecond to think about it. Slow would be a lot better. I’d never been afraid to take the pain, and as long as I was alive, there was a chance I could keep Anna and our boy alive too.

I lowered the weapon to the deck.

‘Now kick it away.’

I gave it a nudge with the toe of my right Timberland. I didn’t want to make it too easy for them.

‘Further.’

Another nudge.

‘Now extend your arms in front of you, cross your wrists, take one pace back and turn forty-five degrees to your left.’

I did what I was told.

The radio operator picked up the SAW and disappeared somewhere to my right. The laser sight at the left end of the console moved into the centre. Rexho came out of the wing I was now facing with plasticuffs at the ready. He slipped them over my wrists and tightened them until my hands throbbed.

The burn scar on Rexho’s neck wasn’t pretty. Neither was the gleam in his eye. He showed no sign of losing it with me yet. I wondered how long that would last.

He stepped back again, out of my reach.

The laser sight to the right moved alongside his mate. The red dots travelled down my torso, lingered for a moment over my bollocks, then settled on my kneecaps.

‘Now raise your hands above your head.’ Dijani was still doing the talking.

Rexho went behind me and ran the tips of his fingers around my waist and chest and under my arms. Then my legs, from ankles to groin. And emptied my pockets.

The binos, torch, maps, blueprint and a small wad of euros were soon sitting by the radio operator’s mic.

The stiletto came last.

I still couldn’t see him, but I could hear the blade snap out of the handle. Then I felt cold steel, first against my throat, then up my right nostril, about as far as it could go.

Keeping it in place, he moved round in front of me again.

Those eyes burnt into mine. The melted skin on his neck seemed to glow and pulsate.

A teardrop gathered on my lid and rolled down my cheek as my sinus got a metallic massage. I couldn’t help it. He liked that.

He also liked the fact that I didn’t know whether he was going to shove the blade into my brain, or take it out of the side of my nose, as a tribute to the brother I’d left in Switzerland.

Finally, Rexho simply removed it, and ran a finger not at all gently along the scab left by the stripy projectile that had been launched at me through the windscreen of the Nissan.

He seemed a bit disappointed by what he saw.

‘You?’

He nodded, then pointed at the centre of my forehead. ‘I wanted here.’

Dijani stayed on the far side of the console, but now moved close enough for me to see his face. His grey suit was immaculate. He didn’t have a hair out of place. But just for a moment his eyes also burnt with something raw and explosive.

When he spoke again, his voice was even, and his expression didn’t shift a millimetre. ‘It took a very long time for my men to persuade Anna to give us your name, Nick Stone …’

My blood turned to ice. I’d never understood that phrase before. I did now.

‘Where are they? Can I see them?’

Just being with them would be one step closer to getting them out.

‘My people found her in Vinnitsa, Nick. They hurt her. Quite badly, I’m told. They had to. We knew Frank had called you in. The bodyguard supplied us with your first name, and hers, and a rough description of you both. But he proved difficult to trust, and we knew so little about you. We needed
her
to tell us who you were, and to help us find you.

‘Sadly, she wasn’t keen to do so.’

He sighed. But not with regret.

‘They may have fucked her. I don’t know for certain. I didn’t question them too closely.’

His brown eyes glistened.

I shifted my viewpoint and stared out of the front window at the skeleton of the mobile crane.

‘She remained silent, though. For days. I have the impression that she once loved you … very,
very
much …’

He let the silence lengthen before moving in for the kill.

‘It was only when they began to damage her child that she began to tell us the things we wanted to know.’

He paused.

‘
Your
child too, of course …’

I lowered my arms. Felt my fists clench. I couldn’t help it. I also wanted to test the tightness of the cuffs.

I lifted my right boot no more than a millimetre. Maybe I was going to take a step forward.

The laser sight closest to Dijani took first pressure.

I stayed just where I was.

‘We know very many things about you now, Nick. Interesting things. We know you were in the Special Air Service. We know you fought in Iraq. And Afghanistan. We know what you did there. And what you did in Somalia. And Libya.

‘We know you killed many of our brothers in these places. Many soldiers of Allah. We know what you have done in Switzerland. And what you have done here. Now you will pay the price for all these things.’

‘Whatever.’ I kept my voice as level as possible.

‘But I need to see Anna and the boy first.’

‘Of course.’ He gestured towards Rexho. ‘Give him back his torch. We must not keep them in the dark.’

He picked up the blueprint and turned back to me. ‘Frank Timis took a great interest in this ship. If he hadn’t, it’s possible that he might still be alive today, and that none of this would have happened.’