Decoy (17 page)

It was still dark when Jack awoke. The dawn was still a distant sliver of pale grey on the horizon, an idea taking shape, silent and unborn, not yet the clamouring chorus that greeted first light. Two hundred miles to the east, his father was already awake, inspecting the helicopter Spike had organised for him. He didn't much like the look of it, if it had been made out of Lego it would have inspired more confidence. He had checked the tracking device twice in the night, an imprecise machine, almost out of range, the signal fluctuating and fading, hardly there at all, but he had nothing else to go on. Once they were in the air he should be able to home in on it, get closer to it, find his son.

Jack shifted on the table, back aching, side aching, throat parched. The table creaked. He let his eyes get used to the dim light. A shadowy form nearby, the boy guarding the door. He had no way of knowing what time it was. If there was a moment to escape, this was it. The boy stirred, the sound of the table creaking, interrupting his sleep.

“You wouldn't mind getting me a glass of water would you old chap?” Jack said.

“Huh?” the boy replied, still half asleep.

“Never mind.” Jack said.

Further down the corridor, Jumo banged heavily on the General's door. Any fear he would normally have felt at disturbing the man in his sleep had been swamped by the adrenaline rushing through his blood. The door opened a crack. One of his Clement's personal bodyguards peered warily through.

“What do you want boy?” He hissed through stained yellow teeth.

“Please sah, the General, I must report back.” The bodyguard took in the wild-eyed expression, the dilated pupils, the way the boy was out of breath and shaking.

“What have you taken, been on the jungle brew? Chewing cocoa leaves? Whatever prank this is, it is not worth it. You should not always do what the older boys tell you to do. Nobody disturbs the General's sleep.” He closed the door, disappeared from view.

Jumo tapped at the door again, more insistently. “Sah, please sah, very important.”

The guard opened the door, took a swipe at him.

“I tell you once, I will not tell you again. Get out of here. You cannot disturb the general's sleep.” Jumo ducked his punch and backed away towards the wall. The bodyguard stepped into the corridor, shaking his fist angrily and pulling a baton from his belt.

“Get out of here, before I give you a proper beating.”

The last time he had allowed someone to interrupt Clement's sleep it was him that had received the beating. He watched in satisfaction as Jumo scuttled off down the corridor.

Jumo shook his head at the man's stupidity. The guard was as stupid at Toma, waving his gun at what he thought was a gorilla in the night. Why did the General employ such stupid people? He stood outside, looking up at the night sky, the first glimmer of grey dawn now visible above the canopy. This was a time to stand up for himself, not to run away. His mind made up he charged back into the house, up the stairs and flung himself at the General's door. Hammered his fists as hard as could, called out “Emergency! Emergency!” He was sick of other people deciding what was and wasn't the right thing to do.

Gavin McCallister had reached the General's runway, the broad strip of grey cut through the jungle like a concrete river. Over a mile long, it was an impressive and somehow ominous sight. The effort and expense required to construct and maintain it was a supreme act of will. For one brief moment, Gavin wondered whether the bosses at MI6 had underestimated their man. Anyone who could organise a building project on this scale in the heart of the jungle was likely to be able to organise an army.

He signalled to the men to stay down. There would be some kind of surveillance. Even if it was just a pair of sleepy soldiers in the ramshackle wooden hut at the far end.

“Right boys, I want these charges evenly spaced. We can stay on this side of the runway. The main purpose of these explosions is to simulate a sustained rocket attack, so we need them the last as long as possible. According to the GPS, the camp is only a couple of miles away and there's a track to it. If you're quick and we finish this before first light we can take the track. If not, we'll be cutting a path through the undergrowth. Questions?”

His men shook their heads, already unhitching the rucksacks that contained the explosives, checking the remote detonators.

“Good, we'll do this in pairs. One person to set the charges and another to keep look out.”

Six kilometres away, close to the camp, Ed Garner wiped his brow with his sleeve. It was a hot and humid night, the backpacks heavy and unwieldy. The sweat that formed on his forehead kept running into his eyes, catching the end of his lashes. It was an arduous trek, slow going, the constant threat of landmines at the back of his mind and dawn not far off.

There were two tall trees directly overlooking the camp. Good places from which to watch and listen. They needed to get in position while it was still dark, ensure they were well-covered.

The banging on the door took its time to filter through Clement's thick skull, through the whisky fumes and cigar smoke.

“What is all this, what is going on?” He asked irritably, his eyes focusing on the unruly vision at the end of his bed. One of his bodyguards appeared to be holding a young boy by the scruff of his neck.

“Sorry Sir, this boy has been trying to wake you all night. He rushed past me into your room but I caught him. I will be happy to beat him for you sir, if you wish to return to sleep.” The guard attempted to execute an untidy salute but was still holding onto Jumo, who was attempting to wriggle out of his grasp. Clement flicked the light switch, and the dull yellow bulb above the bed flickered to life, painting everything a sickly green. He scratched his head, frowned.

“I know this boy. Sent him out earlier tonight into the jungle.” He said impatiently. “Let him go.” He turned to Jumo. “Now tell me boy, what is so important that it cannot wait till morning?” Jumo shook himself free from the guard's grip.

“Soldiers sir, heading to camp.” Clement sat upright smartly. Looked deep in the boy's eyes. “How many?” He asked.

“Five. Maybe more.” He thought back, ran through the scene in his mind, the dark figures passing below the tree. “No, five Sir, definitely.”

“Did you see the uniform? Were they Ugandans?” Clement hacked up a heavy gob of phlegm as he said the word, spitting it smartly into an elephant's foot umbrella stand, a relic of the previous owners. He had been expecting a raid from Ugandan forces for over a month now, their helicopters had been seen hovering over his camp and didn't leave until he sent a volley of ground-to-air missiles in their direction. A waste of ammo as far as he was concerned.

“Not Ugandans. Not like any jungle army Sir. More weapons. Big packs. Rich army.” Clement patted the boy on the head. Five soldiers, well-equipped, heading towards his camp. Didn't make any sense. Only an elite division would be confident enough to walk through enemy territory in such small numbers. He knew the British and Americans liked to send in a small force, specialist troops using guerrilla tactics to spread panic through the enemy, but what the hell were they doing here? Was it even him they were after? There were plenty of other armed militias that might be the target.

“Well done, you were right to wake me. I assume the other boys are keeping track of them?” Jumo swallowed hard, his large eyes blinked quickly.

“No sir, I am afraid they did not make it. Dead Sir.” He tried to keep his voice from cracking but failed. Now he really had the General's attention.

“How?” He asked, getting up from the bed and pulling on his combat fatigues. Jumo hesitated. “How!” Clement shouted.

“Burnt Sir. White fire. All of them. First Toma, then the rest. All at once.”

“Flame thrower?” He asked, whipping his belt around his waist, buckling it tight under his belly.

“No. Just light. No petrol. And a noise like an insect in the fire. Crackling.” Clement frowned. The boy must be in shock. Blocking out details of the attack. Nothing else it could be other than a flame thrower.

“And all of them dead?”

“Yes sir, one shot. All of them dead.” Clement shook his head and turned to the guard. “Bring Uko here. And rouse the soldiers, tell them to ready themselves.”

Jack had heard the commotion in the corridor, wondered what was going on, he got up to have a look but the boy waved his gun at him. He looked nervous enough to use it. Gustav burst through the door, barely cast a glance at the guard, pushing him to one side.

“Come with me. Monsieur Blanc's orders. I'm taking you away from the camp.” Jack took in his dishevelled appearance, the dark rings round his eyes, heavy from whiskey consumed the night before.

“Now Jack, now!” He said impatiently, pulling him by the shoulder and off the bed. Jack ducked out of his grasp. “Why, what's happening?” He asked, backing away from Gustav, suddenly suspicious.

“Something's going on. A disturbance in the camp.” Jack ran to the window. Outside the soldiers were moving, darting across the camp, dark figures at the edge of dawn. Checking equipment, shifting supplies across the courtyard.

“Most of them don't normally get up before midday, so something must be up.” Gustav said, “and I am leaving now whether you are coming or not, it was not my idea to take you with us.” Jack frowned, something in the man's bearing made him more believable, an urgency to his movements.

“Here, untie me.” Jack said, holding up his wrists. Gustav pulled a hunting knife from his belt and cut quickly through the cable. The boy with the gun shouted at him, Gustav knocked him smartly to one side, opened the door and ran out, shutting it quickly behind him. He ran down the stairs without checking to see if Jack was following, walked quickly past the white Delft tiles in the kitchen, and into the rear garden. A row of jeeps were parked under the trees close to the house. Two of them had machine guns mounted on the back, three didn't. Gustav picked one that didn't, the lighter it was the faster it would travel.

“So where did Monsieur Blanc go in the middle of the night?” Jack asked, climbing into the seat beside him.

Gustav ignored him, gunning the engine determinedly. He took his pistol out of its holster and placed it on his lap, switching off the safety. The engine revved, rattling noisily as he reversed quickly, spinning a circle so tight it almost tipped them onto the courtyard floor. Around them young soldiers scurried from tent to tent, pulling on their make-shift uniforms in the orange glow of the lamp lights, draping bandoliers over their shoulders. Gustav drove toward the gate. The two guards on either side walked to the centre and hefted the heavy gates upwards, opening it just wide enough to let the car out. They didn't ask any questions. Clement had already told them to ensure they treated Monsieur Blanc and his associate with respect, he was, after all, the man who supplied most of their armoury.

Gustav grated through the gears as the car bounced over the track. He turned the car towards the jungle, away from the camp and the runway. Once they'd put some ground between them and the house, he switched the safety catch back on his gun, replacing it in his holster.

Jack looked behind him, darkness swallowing up the road as they moved forward, chasing them, devouring the meagre amount of light they cast.

“So where is Monsieur Blanc?” He asked again. He wanted to know why there'd been a change of plan but he didn't want to distract Gustav from his driving. The track they were on demanded his full attention, the potholes and vines attempting to wrestle the wheel from his grasp. He shrugged his broad shoulders.

“You should know. Whatever you said to him yesterday must have scared him. And he's not an easy man to scare. Told me he was going to wait till the others had drunk themselves into a stupor, then leave the camp quietly under cover of darkness. Take that girl with him,” he added, shaking his head. He had known Monsieur Blanc a long time, but his boss's sudden turns of sentimentality were still beyond his comprehension.

“So where did he go? I thought a helicopter was taking you both out tonight.” Jack said, a puzzled look on his face. The lights from the jeep were dim, casting a stingy beam over the bumpy road ahead. Jagged shadows thrown across their path.

“So did I. But Monsieur Blanc is a man who acts on instinct. He told me to meet him along this road. Be prepared for a trek. Drive as far as we can then continue on foot. No more helicopter from the runway. Too dangerous. He should be near here, can't have walked far.”

Uko entered Clement's room, hastily buttoning up his combat jacket. He spoke quickly, “I have ordered the soldiers to prepare themselves. What is the urgency, what is going on?” He squinted through the cast iron sheet of his hangover.

“Somebody is coming. Took out four of my boys on the way. No reason. Americans or British,” Clement replied. He looked at the briefcase in the corner of the room, his mind on the devices it contained.

“I have a feeling Monsieur Blanc has brought this on us.” He shook his head, “where is he? I want him brought to me.”

“Yes sir.” Uko saluted the General and ran down the corridor to Monsieur Blanc's room. He opened the door without knocking. “The general wants you, get up, quickly.” No response from the sleeping form in the bed. He walked towards it, put his hand out to shake the body.

“Up, get up now,” the body fell forwards, two cushions plumped up under the sheets. Uko turned and ran.

“General, he is not here. The man has gone.” Clement banged his fist into the wall. He was used to be being the attacker, leading the offensive, now he had the distinct impression a game was afoot and no one had explained the rules.

“That white boy. The one they took the last device from. Tell me he is still sleeping in his room.” Uko ran down the corridor again, calling out. The boy who had been guarding wandered into his path.

“Where is he, where has he gone?” Uko shouted. The boy shrugged, fear in his eyes. He shook him violently by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall.

“Where has he gone?” He shouted.

“I don't know. He left with the other man, the tall one who smelt of whiskey.” The boy's eyes were confused, hurt. Clement had told him to ensure he treated Monsieur Blanc and his associate with respect.

“When did they go?” He asked, his thumbs digging sharply into the boy's shoulders, making him wince.

“Just now sah, a few minutes ago.” Uko rushed down the stairs and out the front of the house. The soldiers at the gates had already closed them. The jeep had disappeared along the track. The heavy feet of the General thundered down the stairs behind him, the whole house shaking under his weight.

Clement breathed deeply, placed a heavy hand on Uko's shoulder.

“Gone?” He asked. Uko nodded, his bald head gleaming with a fresh layer of sweat.

“Yes sir. Just now. Shall we send someone after them?” Clement clenched his fist into a ball and slapped it into his palm, pacing up and down the veranda. The old wooden floorboards creaked under his weight, furniture and windows rattling with each of his heavy steps.

“No. Waste of time. We have to prepare ourselves here. This is what we must do,” his mind sifting through the problem, five well-trained soldiers heading in their direction, possibly others, prepared to use lethal force. “For now we must carry on as normal. If these men are watching us I do not want them to think we are suspicious. There are only a few of them, their only advantage is surprise. Now we have taken that from them. Surprise will be on our side. Gather the captains together. We will hold a counsel of war.”