Masters of War (52 page)

‘Spud, can you hear me?’

‘Who the fuck’s that?’ His voice sounded rough.

‘Danny.’

A pause.

‘Took your fucking time, mucker.’

‘RV at 01.30 hrs at a crossroads five klicks south of here. Can you overpower the goons?’

Another pause.

‘We’re in a bad way, mate. I didn’t think Greg was going to make it through another night.’

‘We need them to get us through any roadblocks. We don’t have time to fight our way through. I’ll deal with the ambassador first.’

Danny returned his attention to the approaching car. It had stopped exactly where he had instructed.

Taff’s bag of money was resting on the passenger seat of the vehicle. Danny leaned in and grabbed a fistful of notes. He didn’t know how much it was, but neither did he expect the ambassador to sit around counting it. Money in one hand, unlocked Sig in the other, he walked towards the car.

The ambassador lowered his window as Danny approached. By the time he was alongside, pistol fully on view, the Czech had his hands resting on the top of the steering wheel. Sweat dripped from his brow, he licked his lips nervously and his eyes darted towards Danny.

Danny chucked the bundle of notes on to the ambassador’s lap.

‘Go. Now.’

Immediately the ambassador veered off the side of the road and crossed to the correct lane. His tyres screeched as he accelerated and he’d already travelled thirty metres before he remembered to switch on his lights. In the distance, Danny saw that another car was approaching. It was maybe two kilometres away. Most likely just another civilian, but he didn’t want to make assumptions. He jumped back behind the wheel and drove towards the others.

As he pulled up ten metres from the remaining vehicles, he could see that Spud had already taken control of the situation. Although his broken arm was still hanging uselessly by his side, he had the ambassador’s pistol aimed at the two Syrians, who had raised their hands in the air and looked very frightened. Danny raised his own weapon in their direction, then edged over to where the others were standing. Buckingham and Clara were holding Greg up now. Buckingham had the thousand-yard stare and was shivering. At least it meant he kept quiet.

No time for pleasantries. Just instructions.

‘We need both vehicles,’ Danny said. ‘Too many of us crammed into one will just raise suspicion if we’re stopped.’

‘Leave
her
,’ Buckingham interrupted.

Clara turned to him and, quite coolly, slapped his bruised face. Buckingham squealed with pain.

‘I’ve been wanting to do that for days,’ Danny muttered, before turning back to Spud. ‘We’ll take one of these Syrian fuckers each in case of roadblocks. They’ll—’

‘Danny . . .’ Clara interrupted. She tugged at his sleeve and pointed back along the road.

Danny turned. Another vehicle had parked almost exactly where he himself had stopped. The headlamps were on full beam and the driver’s door was opening. Danny raised his scope, wincing slightly as the close-up of the headlamps burned his retina. The figure emerging was short and squat. He carried an assault rifle.

Danny recognised the face.

Hector. Bastard must have seen him leaving Al Kamada Street and followed him. Must be here for the money . . .

‘
Get down!
’ he yelled.

He pulled Clara to the ground. Greg and Buckingham fell with them. Spud dived of his own accord. A burst of gunfire rang out, and suddenly the air was filled with inhuman screaming. One of the secret police had been hit.

Danny made his way to the front of the
Mukhabarat
’s vehicle, where he got line of sight with Hector. He saw that De Fries was sitting in the passenger seat. Distance: seventy-five metres. Danny loosed a round. It ricocheted with a spark off the open driver’s door, causing Hector to seek cover in the vehicle.

‘I know this cunt,’ Danny shouted over his shoulder to Spud. ‘We don’t want him after us. I can distract him. You need to get the others to the 01.30 RV with the chopper.’

‘Roger that!’

The wounded Syrian was still screaming. Movement from the direction of Hector’s car. He was emerging again . . .

There was ten metres of open ground between Danny and his own vehicle. If he didn’t move quickly, Hector wouldn’t give him the chance to cover it. He jumped to his feet, raised his Sig and, arm outstretched, released another round as he ran to the car. It took him five seconds to get there, in which time he released another three rounds. The windscreen of Hector’s car shattered to reveal De Fries still in the passenger seat. Hector dived back in.

As Danny hurled himself into his own vehicle, it crossed his mind to grab his M4 from the passenger seat and open up. He quickly rejected that idea. Two against one. Even if Danny made it through those odds, he couldn’t be sure that his companions wouldn’t be wounded in the crossfire.

So he didn’t grab his rifle. He grabbed Taff’s bag of money instead. He held it out of his window, in full view of Hector, for three seconds. His message was clear. You want it – come and get it.

Then he slung the bag back on to the passenger seat, slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped west into open country.

The beaten-up Peugeot bounced over the stony desert floor. Immediately Danny started driving in a random, zigzag pattern. He knew he was going to draw fire and he needed to make himself as difficult to hit as possible. Screeching up through the gears, he checked his rear-view mirror. Hector was already chasing him, but Danny was accelerating faster. The distance between them was thirty metres and increasing. They’d pick up speed soon, but at the moment he had the edge. Back by the road, he caught a quick glimpse of the others. Spud was forcing the remaining secret policeman at gunpoint into the driver’s seat of their vehicle. That was all Danny needed to know. The others were in Spud’s hands now. The responsibility of getting them to the RV was his.

The Peugeot’s ancient engine screeched as Danny forced the speedo up past 90 kph. It rattled its way across the uneven desert. When he was 150 metres from the road he yanked the steering wheel to the left so that he was heading south. Five seconds later the first round hit.

The Peugeot’s rear windscreen shattered and the noise of the protesting engine was joined by a sudden, deafening rush of air. Danny checked his mirrors. There was forty metres between them and the gap seemed constant. They were moving at the same speed. Which was bad news, because if Danny had to continue to zigzag to avoid being hit – and he did – it meant covering more ground. And that meant Hector would catch up.

With his right hand still on the wheel, he used his left to point the Sig over his shoulder. He couldn’t aim, of course, but perhaps a couple of loose rounds would make his pursuers think twice about getting too close.

He let one go, almost deafening himself in the process. It flew harmlessly through the desert air. His second shot was more successful, smashing into Hector’s left headlamp. He zigzagged again, and noted that the gap still remained constant. They’d slowed down. For now.

No more rounds from behind. Had they spent their ammo? More likely they were saving it for when they had a better chance of a kill. Danny set his eyes on the landscape ahead. The terrain had become more undulating, so he could no longer see the road to his left and every few seconds the vehicle behind him disappeared in a dip.

He tried to analyse his options. They really wanted this money. Perhaps he should just stop and throw it at them.

No. They’d still move in for the kill.

Time check: 01.17 hrs. Thirteen minutes till RV. He reckoned it was about three klicks to the crossroads. He realised he still hadn’t disconnected the sat phone, so he grabbed it from the dashboard and yelled into it: ‘
Spud! Update me!
’

No answer. ‘
Shit!
’

But his only option was to keep going.

Incoming fire.

A round flew over his right shoulder, missing him by inches and slamming into the windscreen. The glass splintered but did not break. He couldn’t see a thing. Even as his foot was pressed on the accelerator, he whacked the body of his Sig against the glass. It shattered and fell inwards, cutting open the back of his left hand. Blood and glass were suddenly everywhere. He ignored it and fired another round behind him. It went astray.

‘
Fuck!
’ They’d closed the gap. Twenty-five metres max. The threat of Danny’s loose rounds was no longer slowing them down.

With the force of the wind in his face, it was difficult to see up ahead, but was the gradient increasing? Could he see the brow of a hill silhouetted against the inky night sky?

He could. What was more, he could make out the lights of a vehicle moving along that brow from west to east. That meant the crossroads was somewhere up there. The RV point was close. No more than a klick and a half.

‘
Spud!
’ he roared into the sat phone. ‘
Where the fuck are you?
’

Still no reply, but as he raced on he caught sight of the road a couple of hundred metres to his left. A vehicle was speeding along it, roughly adjacent to Danny’s own position. Was it them? He had to hope so.

He moved the steering wheel a few degrees counterclockwise, aligning his bearing to where the road met the brow of the hill. A sharp pain stung through his cut hand. The blood loss was heavy, but he had to ignore it. He could see De Fries leaning out of the passenger window rifle in hand, preparing to fire. He swerved to the left, and just in time. The rounds destroyed his right-hand wing mirror, and for a moment he lost control of the vehicle. But he brought himself back on to his bearing with another shot over his shoulder.

Time check: 01.27 hrs. Three minutes till RV. Distance to the brow of the hill: 500 metres. Danny saw the other vehicle disappear over the top. That figured: Spud would never halt on a ridge where he could be seen for several kilometres all around. He estimated that he was thirty seconds from the RV point. Could he defend it for two minutes while they waited for the pick-up?

He didn’t get the chance to find out. There was a horrific explosion as a round from behind slammed into his rear left-hand tyre. The car spun out of control, turning two full circles at speed before coming to a sudden, jolting halt. In the confusion, Danny could hear the screeching of the other car’s brakes. He knew he only had seconds before they opened up on him. Seconds in which to dive from the car, which was about to be showered with rounds. Grabbing his M4, Danny hurled himself out of the driver’s door, landing with a thump on the hard ground. And just in time, because at that moment a furious barrage of rounds slammed into the trashed Peugeot – the only object now between Danny and the two mercenaries intent on killing him.

He was 100 metres from the top of the hill. Between the Peugeot and Hector’s car was another twenty. Another burst of rounds slammed into the abandoned vehicle, and then everything fell silent.

Hector’s voice rang across the desert.

‘Throw us the money, kid. Maybe we’ll let you go.’

Danny didn’t answer. He knew that Hector had no intention of letting him walk free. If he moved, or replied, all he’d do was give away his exact position.

‘That was quite a mess you made of Taff,’ Hector taunted. ‘Never had you down as the type.
Kiddo.
’

Danny fought the urge to defend himself. They’re just goading you. Ignore it.

‘You’re fucked, kid. You know that. Make it easy on yourself, eh?’

A noise reached Danny’s ears. Mechanical. He looked back towards the brow of the hill. There was a faint glow beyond it. He looked at his watch. 01.30 hrs.

Hector had clearly noticed it too. He didn’t sound very worried. ‘What you going to do, kid? Walk across open ground to your friends? I don’t think so. Don’t be a twat. We’ll have you before you’ve gone five metres. It’s over. Face it.’

But Danny wasn’t going to face it. He reckoned he had one play left.

He felt for his night-sight and looked back towards the ridge of the hill. It took him only a couple of seconds to zoom in on Spud. He was lying on his front, and also had a scope held to his eye. As soon as he saw that Danny had clocked him, he held up five fingers of one hand.

Four fingers.

Danny hunkered down, his breath heavy, sweat pouring from his dirty face.

Three fingers.

‘OK, kid. You had your chance. Say your fucking prayers.’

Two fingers.

One finger.

Rounds thundered against the Peugeot once more. But at exactly the same time newcomers joined the party. Two Apache helicopters, separated by a distance of no more than thirty metres, rose swiftly right above the hill. For a couple of seconds they seemed to hover at a height of about twenty metres.

And then, very fast, they advanced.

Within seconds, the thunder of the attack helicopters’ rotors felt like it was going right through Danny. One was directly above him, at perhaps thirty-five metres, nose down, ready to strike.

The noise of its front-mounted Minigun was like the grinding of an immense chainsaw as it dispensed its 7.62mm rounds in the precise direction of Hector and De Fries.