Strike Back (33 page)

But the British do. And the Israelis.

‘This way, quick,’ yelled Hassad. ‘We haven’t much time.’

Porter now saw he was pointing towards a corridor that led away from the main room.

Porter glanced around. The area near the lift where they had come in last night was clearly impassable. The missile had left a pile of burning debris. Even the rock looked redhot: touch it and it would set fire to you instantly. The timbers along the room had ignited and burnt, and the floor was now a smouldering mess of ash and embers. There was no way they could cross it. But the corridor Hassad was pointing to looked OK. If I can trust him, thought Porter.

Checking that Katie was secure on his back, Porter started to run across the open space towards the corridor. He could feel great waves of raw heat from the lift, and a couple more explosions rocked through the mine in quick succession. The ash and embers on the floor were burning into his feet: running as fast as he could, he could feel it singeing the soles of his trainers. The ground was vibrating all around him, and the walls were shaking. Another explosion, and then a vicious fountain of sparks shot upwards from the lift shaft like a display of fireworks. This mine can’t take much more punishment, Porter reflected grimly. Any moment now, the whole place is going to blow.

Hassad had already turned into the corridor. Porter ran after him. The tunnel was long and thin, twisting up and down through the rock. It was held in place by a series of
wooden timbers, many of which were already burning. The heat was searing, like stepping straight into a microwave. Porter could feel the sweat dripping off his skin, and on his back, Katie was coughing viciously, the flannel across her face doing little to control the heavy fumes from the fires all around them.

They covered ten, twenty, then thirty metres. Porter wasn’t sure how much more he could take. The temperature was rising all the time. His head was throbbing and his vision was starting to blur: beyond a certain point, he knew that men just dropped from heat exhaustion.

‘We can’t make it much further,’ he shouted to Hassad.

‘Just another ten metres.’

Porter pressed on. He could see the tunnel opening up ahead. There was a wooden structure up in front of them, with flames already licking around it, and beyond that a rickety wooden staircase that had not yet caught fire. Behind him, the heat was growing more intense by the second, and he’d already heard the sound of rocks crashing to the ground. As they burnt, the timbers could no longer support the weight of the roof. It was groaning, threatening to collapse at any moment. Ignoring Katie’s cough, he pushed on harder, picking up the pace. There might only be seconds left before the whole place collapses, he told himself. Each step could well be the last one.

The wooden entrance was now covered in flames, and for a moment Porter paused. There was no way through, not without risking setting fire to yourself. Already, Hassad had ripped the shirt from his back. He was using it to beat back the flames, creating a space large enough for a single man. ‘Take her through,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll follow on behind.’

Porter threw himself past Hassad, and towards the staircase. It stretched up for ten steps or so.

Suddenly he heard a scream.

Hassad.

He was shouting something in Arabic.

Porter looked round.

Part of the wall had come away. Hassad was lying flat on the ground, a heavy timber pinning down his leg and his groin. Flames were licking along the wood, getting closer all the time. He tried to lever himself up so that he could push the timber away, but it was no use. He was trapped, and from the look on his face he knew it. Any moment now, he was going to die.

‘Help me,’ he shouted.

Porter rested Katie on the staircase. The flames hadn’t reached this far yet, but sparks were spitting all over the place, and the heat was intense so it might not be long before the steps went up as well. ‘You going to be OK?’

She nodded. ‘I …’

The words ended in another fit of coughing.

‘Just stay right there,’ said Porter. ‘Don’t try to move.’

He turned and ran back towards where Hassad was lying on the ground. The timber wasn’t that heavy – no more than a hundred pounds – but it was hot. More than half of it was alight now, and the sparks were spitting into Hassad’s leg. Porter grabbed it with both hands, and started to heave it away.

Then he paused. He looked straight at Hassad.

‘This is the second time I’ve saved your life,’ he said.

Hassad glanced towards him.

‘This time I want something in return,’ said Porter. ‘You have to help me get Katie out of here, and across the border.’

‘Just release me,’ shouted Hassad.

The flames were getting closer all the time. A couple of sparks spat on his clothes, singeing his skin. Porter could feel his own face burning up, and his cheeks reddening.

He lowered the burning timber just a fraction, so that it was still pinning Hassad down. ‘Give me your word.’

‘I’ll get her to the border, I swear it,’ screamed Hassad.

With a heave of his shoulders, Porter hoisted the timber up into the air, and tossed it clean away from Hassad’s legs. He reached down a hand, and grabbed hold of the man, pulling him up to his feet. ‘Then let’s get the fuck out of here,’ he said. ‘Before the whole bloody place collapses on top of us.’

Their way was blocked by what looked to Porter like no more than an old and rusty manhole cover. Unhooking the AK-47 still strapped to his back, and flipping the gun around, Porter smashed its butt into the disc, pushing it open. His hands grabbed the sides of the hole and he pulled himself up with one swift movement. He glanced anxiously around to see if anyone could see him, but the way was clear. Instantly, he plunged his hands back into the mine. ‘Grab hold of these,’ he shouted.

Katie was just below him, and had enough of her wits about her to grip on to Porter’s wrists. He pulled her sharply upwards, dragging her out onto the land. Hassad followed on swiftly behind them. ‘What do we do now?’ said Porter, his voice breathless.

‘Run like hell,’ said Hassad. ‘It’s not safe here.’

Porter hardly had time to take in the scene around them. It was still night-time, and visibility was limited. They had emerged about eighty metres from the main entrance to the mine. There was a huge crater in the ground where the missile had smashed into the site, throwing up a ton of hot, molten rock as it cleaved its way through the ground. A few corpses were scattered around the entrance: men who must have been killed when the missile first struck. However, up to a dozen more were still standing, grouped twenty metres behind that, too far away for them to be able to see Porter. Guys who were out on patrol or too far from the missile
strike to be killed on the first impact, he reckoned. Probably trying to figure out what the hell has just happened to them.

And whether there is anything they can do for the poor bastards trapped down below.

Porter grabbed hold of Katie, and slung her onto his back. With some food and water and medicine she might be up to walking soon. But not yet. Never mind, Porter decided, as he started to walk steadily forwards. I’ll carry her all the way back to London if I have to. It would be worth it just to see the look on that bastard Collinson’s face.

‘This way,’ hissed Hassad.

He was tabbing across the open ground. The mine was at the centre of a big, open-cast pit, like a moon crater but filled with old and rusting machinery. The banks rose up steeply, taking you back to level ground, but there were pathways and tracks where the trucks must have carried the finished metals they dug here out towards the railways and ports. It was about thirty metres, heavy going with Katie clinging to your back, but they made it. A couple of times, Porter could feel the ground shake beneath him, like the tremors from an earthquake. Some of the soldiers near the entrance a hundred metres behind them were running around, shouting as holes appeared in the ground where the mine was collapsing. One or two men appeared to have made their way out to the surface, but not many. More explosions, Porter reflected grimly, as he listened to the ground cracking beneath his feet. Finishing off whatever poor sods are still down there.

Sweat was pouring off his skin as he marched on. He’d ripped the wet mask off his face: the air up here was clear and fresh, and just getting some oxygen into his lungs was doing him good, but he was half naked, and his body had taken a terrible beating in the past few hours. There were cuts and bruises all over him, and his skin felt charred from the intense heat of the mine. His lungs felt as if he’d just
smoked about two million cigarettes, and his head was spinning.

Even as he walked, the questions were starting to loop through Porter’s mind.

Who the hell fired that missile? The British? The Israelis?

But why?

If they knew where we were, why not just send in a Regiment unit to try and break us out?

Whoever fired that monster must have been reckoning to kill everyone in the mine.

Including us.

As they reached the top of the pathway, Porter laid Katie on the ground. Up over the ridge, the first glimmers of dawn were starting to break through the night sky. It must be five thirty, maybe six in the morning, Porter thought.

Saturday.

The day scheduled for the execution.

But the danger was far from over. Indeed, it might be just beginning.

I’ve no idea where the border is. Or how far we are from safety …

He knelt down and wiped some of the soot away from Katie’s forehead with the palm of his hand. Christ, we better keep this girl away from a mirror for the next couple of days, he thought. Her eyes were like a couple of squashed tomatoes, and her complexion had turned the mucky grey of school-dinner stew. There were scabs across her cheek where she had been cut. And her body was wasting into little more than a skeleton with some ill-fitting skin stretched over it.

‘We’re getting you home,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ she croaked.

‘Just hang in there, that’s all.’

They had paused just where the mine met an old road, made from broken and chipped concrete. Porter was already looking at Hassad suspiciously, wondering if he could be
trusted to keep his word or if he was about to call out to his mate. ‘Over there,’ hissed Hassad, pointing towards a tin shack with half its roof blown away. ‘There’s a car we can use. We stashed a few around the edge of this mine in case we needed a quick escape. The keys are left in them, and there’s fuel in the tank.’

Only another twenty metres, Porter thought. They were even further from the Hezbollah guards now, and unlikely to be spotted. But he wasn’t sure Katie should be carried any longer. ‘Bring it here,’ he muttered.

Hassad jogged across the road. Again, Porter wondered if he’d escape. Maybe go and get his mates and come and capture Katie again. Or just escape in the car. He checked the AK-47 on his back, making sure there was still some ammo left in its magazine. If he had to, he’d take the bastard down, and escape on foot himself. But Hassad had given his word when he saved his life back there in the mine. Just so long as he kept it …

The car was an old, grey VW Polo, with what looked to Porter like a hundred thousand miles on the clock. It reeked of diesel and cigarette fumes. Its engine roared and stuttered, but seemed to be spinning fine. Hassad twisted the wheel around, pulling it up next to Porter, and flung the door open. Porter grabbed Katie, pulled back the passenger seat, and laid her flat down on the back. She was in no state to sit up, he judged. He pulled the seat belt down to fasten it around her so that she wouldn’t get knocked around too much. There was no telling what kind of roads they might meet. Nor what kind of opposition.

‘Drive carefully,’ he muttered towards Hassad. ‘She can’t take much more.’

‘We still have to get past the soldiers.’

‘Do what –’

‘You think they’re going to be happy to see you drive off with their hostage?’

‘You bloody promised you’d get us to the border.’

‘But my promise doesn’t extend to the rest of Hezbollah.’

Porter looked around. They were on a ridge on the top of the open-cast mine. The road twisted around its edge, before linking up with the main highway about a mile away. Porter didn’t know how many soldiers had remained on the surface and survived the missile strike, but enough to put up a stout resistance should they catch wind of what was afoot. Behind them was a tall, rocky set of mountains. The dawn was starting to break through now, spreading a fresh orange light across the landscape, and yet as Porter surveyed the rocks, he could see there was no way through. Not by car anyway. They might be able to make their way on foot, but the condition they were in, and without any water or supplies, they might easily die within a few miles.

‘Is there a side road?’ said Porter.

Hassad shook his head, gunning up the engine at the same time.

‘Do we look like idiots?’ he said. ‘We chose this old mine because it’s simple to monitor anything coming in or out. You take the main road, which always has some guards on it, or else you have to walk through the mountains and desert, but that’s a hard and difficult journey.’