On the riverside of promise (27 page)

“Look, I’m leaving through that door. Andy,
for the love of God, don’t try to stop me.”

“Stop you? I’d have you killed all along from
the start if I needed to stop you. Jesus, Ethan. Put down that
rifle and help me drag this one inside,” said Andy as he proceeded
to grab the slumped body from the armpits.

Ethan’s confounded look was exaggerated by
his dumbstruck tone of voice:

“What the fuck do you mean?”

Andy looked at him with a blank expression
and replied in all seriousness:

“It’s English for `put down that rifle and
help me drag this one inside’.”

The attempt at humour went largely unnoticed
by Ethan who lowered his weapon before asking incredulously:

“You’re helping me escape?”

Andy dragged the body a few feet inside while
Ethan watched as if mesmerized. He put it down on the floor and
closed the door quietly before turning to reply with a grin:

“No, not yet; you’re helping me blow this
place up first.”

Ethan asked with a hint of irony, still
clutching the rifle in his hands:

“Change of plans?”

Andy shook his head and replied with a tone
of pride:

“This was the plan pretty much from the
start.”

Ethan put down the rifle and looked at Andy
with a blank expression. He sounded helpless when he said:

“I don’t understand.”

Andy looked behind him momentarily as if he
had heard something and then said, looking almost smug:

“I hate to brag but you were never the
brightest of the two of us.”

Ethan got up and moved towards the body with
the knife still sticking out of its head. He eyed his brother
warily and asked:

“Care to explain? Did your deal break
down?”

Andy knelt beside the other body and checked
for vital signs. He looked at Ethan and replied as if trying to
explain something very complicated to a schoolkid:

“Not exactly. I infiltrated the French Secret
Service in ’62 and placed myself in a position to select the
assignment in Biafra. I set every part of this operation up in
order to close it down when it would be most needed. I’d have
waited for a few more weeks, but then you turned up. So now I’ve
got to speed things up and improvise.”

“What on Earth are you saying?”, asked Ethan
as he pulled out the knife, his expression a confused mix of
wariness and curiosity.

Andy said flatly, “I’m MI6.”

“You?” asked Ethan with a slight shake of his
head, grinning thinly.

“Who did you expect, Sean Connery?” said Andy
almost indignantly and smiled reassuringly.

Ethan smiled back with some effort and asked
his brother:

“It was all a show then?”

Andy looked at Ethan in a stern fashion, as
if he’d been hurt and told him:

“I told you to really try and think about
Father Mulcahey.”

“I thought you were being a bit remorseful,”
replied Ethan in a somewhat awkward manner. Andy came right next to
him and grabbed him by one arm, looked him straight in the eyes and
said:

“I thought you hadn’t forgotten about what he
made us promise.”

Ethan felt a weight suddenly lift from his
shoulders and replied with a shake of his head:

“I haven’t, Andy. That’s why I’m here.”

Ethan nodded and said calmly:

“A blessing in disguise, because we’ve got
work to do.”

They dragged both bodies inside the bathroom
before locking the bedroom door. Andy said to Ethan:

“We’ve got about half an hour before someone
comes to check up on you. It might look like a lot of time but
there’s a lot to do. We’ll be cutting it close,” he said and
produced a length of rope. He then told Ethan:

“Come on, give me your hands.”

“You’re going to tie my hands?” asked Ethan
with wariness in his voice.

“You’re supposed to be the prisoner,
remember? Just because they’re sentries it doesn’t mean they’re
that thick.”

Ethan nodded silently before he replied:

“Makes sense. What did you have in mind?” he
said while Andy loosely tied his hands together, making sure Ethan
could easily pull on some of the rope and untie it completely.

Andy checked the finished knot around Ethan’s
hands, raised his brow and said in a professional, neutral
manner:

“Blow everything up, basically. I’m not sure
how much you’ve seen but there’s about a mile of underground
corridors and rooms filled with a couple millions of rounds of
ammunition.”

“Time detonators?” asked Ethan.

“Slow fuses. Then we really need to get
going. With any luck we’ll be a mile out when everything lights
up.”

“Guards, patrols? From what I’ve seen these
guys mean business.”

“There are sentries at the entry and exit
points of the underground complex. There won’t be much of a problem
as long as we keep ahead of the two patrols. They’re doing runs
across the perimeter and checks on the inside as well. They meet up
at the entry point. If all goes well, we should have about fifteen
minutes once we go inside.”

“Let’s make it count then. You’ve got
everything figured out, haven’t you?”

“Well, not everything,” said Andy with a hint
of worry and beckoned Ethan to follow him downstairs.

“You mean Nicole?” whispered Ethan
instinctively as he followed him.

“Yes, I mean Nicole,” replied Andy with some
irritation and added:

“You don’t have to whisper, the house is
empty. No-one uses it but me and Nicole; the Biafrans live in the
huts.”

“Where is she?”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” replied Andy
and added with a feeling of anxiety, “I’m not sure.”

Ethan said then:

“She’s keeping secrets as well?”

“It’s just that she roams about when she’s
back here; checking up on the people, the ammo, everything. Like
some sort of pesky General. The Biafrans got a nickname for her
too.”

“Let me guess. They call her bitch?”

“Something like that, but it also means she’s
doing her job right.”

“She might be trouble then, won’t she?”

“Look, I’ll handle Nicole. Now come on, let’s
go. Try and look a bit crestfallen, glum, ashamed. That sort of
thing.”

“You could ask me to play it natural then,”
said Ethan and grinned before continuing:

“No, seriously. I need my stuff.”

“Your stuff is in the basement.”

Ethan nodded and asked Andy then:

“What's our exit strategy?”

“I was thinking of a legged route till the
borders, then I could contact the office to get some tickets or
something.”

“Tickets? Really?” asked Ethan
incredulously.

“At the end of the day, we’re still public
servants,” replied Andy with a feeling of justified
indignation.

“Good thing I’ve got a friend waiting to pick
me up by nightfall.”

“How’s he going to do that? Fly?” said Andy
with an ironic grin.

“Actually, yes. With a helicopter. About
three miles north of Omuku.”

Andy nodded and filled in:

“That’s some hours of walk alongside the
river. It’s now almost ten past ten. We should be there before
nightfall.”

“Alright. With any luck we’ll be having
drinks in Lagos before the night's over.”

“I hope so, Ethan. Now off you go, get your
stuff. I’ll keep watch up here, but make it fast,” he said as he
led Ethan to the hidden door, pulled the small lever and opened the
door for him, while his expression remained one of worried
deliberation. Ethan noticed and told him reassuringly:

“It’ll be alright in the end, Andy. I know it
will.”

“God willing,” said Andy with an uneasy smile
as Ethan nodded and went down the stairs.

* * *

They walked casually out the front door of
the mansion, Ethan in front and Andy in the back with a pistol in
hand. The guards saw them but paid little attention, their heads
spending most of the time looking above to the overcast sky.

“It’ll rain. That might put a dent in the
flight plan,” said Ethan in a low key. Andy replied almost under
his breath:

“Don’t talk. Prisoners are never allowed to
talk and you, especially you can’t be an exception.” He shoved
Ethan, trying to look authoritative and bossy for the benefit of
the guards. Ethan stopped, turned his head around and looked at
Andy angrily for a moment, on which Andy commented:

“That’s the spirit. Properly pissed off,” he
said with a grin and made a gesture with the pistol for Ethan to
move on.

Ethan did not reply, but still walked
onwards. Andy checked around them for any sign of one of the
patrols going inside the house. They were walking casually but
briskly, trying not to appear too hasty without good reason. Around
them the sound of the river rushing by dominated the rest of the
voice of the jungle. The animals had felt the rain coming as
well.

They approached the guard at the entry point,
who asked Andy something in Igbo. The guard wore an unusually wide
grin and made shooting gestures with his rifle. Andy replied
tersely and the guard stopped his little act, replying curtly. Andy
nodded, the guard opened the metal panel and grabbed Ethan by the
arm, forcing him to step on the ladder and get below. Ethan used
his fingers to grab onto the small metal bars of the ladder.
Another man was posted below, silently watching Andy and Ethan.

The foot of the ladder was well lit, near an
intersection of the complex. Ethan remembered how he had been led
here when released from the machinery room where he had been kept
for a while. He could confidently find his way over there, even
though the corridors looked almost identical. The lights were on,
powered from a generator somewhere but there were blind spots from
burnt out bulbs. The dank, cool air had an oily feeling about it;
it smelled of cordite and gasoline.

Ethan and the guard exchanged a few looks,
the guard seemingly checking him up from head to toe. Ethan had the
air of an angry animal about him, as if trapped in a cage: he
sported a razor-sharp gaze, fidgeting and looking pumped-up. The
guard glanced once or twice at the knots in his hands, but Andy
stepped between them and asked the guard something in Igbo. His
voice had an anxious, urgent quality. The guard seemed uneasy,
shaking his head and answering in a monotone. Andy repeated the
question with emphasis, while the guard on the surface closed the
panel.

Once the panel had been sealed, Andy nodded
to Ethan who instantly pulled on the rope and let loose his hands.
The guard’s eyes went wide with surprise, but even as he tried to
shout and push Andy away, his mouth was already covered up and
Andy’s knee was connected powerfully with the guard’s genitals.

The guard folded from the pain and let out a
muffled groan. Ethan sprang up on him from one side and caught his
head in his hands. With a quick, expert motion, he violently turned
the man’s head around and a snapping noise was heard. The guard
went limp and they both quickly and quietly dragged him to the near
end of the corridor, where a soft shadow kept the body somewhat
hard to notice from a distance.

Andy checked his watch and nodded for Ethan
to follow him. They picked up the pace and were soon jogging inside
the complex, seemingly on a random route. They kept passing by
locked and barred doors, when Andy suddenly stopped. He produced a
small key-chain and quickly selected a key. Ethan kept looking back
and forth for any sign or sound of a patrol.

Andy unlocked the door, quietly raised the
bar and set it aside. He opened it and flicked a switch. A warm
yellow lamplight filled the room and they both went inside. It was
a large storage room, with crates of various sizes neatly stacked
and arranged. Andy’s eyes quickly scanned the room, searching for
something in particular, his right index finger hovering in the
air.

He then pointed to one corner and said to
Ethan, “There’s a crowbar lying around there somewhere.”

Andy then showed him a particular crate and
told him, “Open that one up.”

Ethan found the crowbar, while Andy was
rummaging about in another side of the room, as if sorting
something by hand. Ethan opened up the crate to reveal a tightly
packed array of small brown bricks. He carefully removed one and
examined it with curiosity. He then asked Andy:

“A crate of Semtex?” he said as he casually
checked the labels on the other crates.

“So that’s the right one, eh? That was
supposed to be used in wrecking the Onitsha bridge,” answered Andy,
lost behind a series of crates. “We’ll have to move it to another
room. And we’ll need some oil barrels as well,” continued Andy, his
voice strained from the physical exertion.