Recoil

10

01:28 hours

Most of us were on the roof, staring at the vehicle lights and fires out there in the darkness. It was only a question of time before they attacked again.

Standish was down on the Renault, talking to the High Commission and the Third Fleet, and anyone else who’d listen, by the sound of it. Annabel stuck to him like glue.

As far as we knew – or could gather from what Standish was saying – the Americans were still steaming towards the Zaïre coast. There was still no clearance for fighter jets, and still no word on the helis. I got the feeling that a little backtracking was the order of the day.

This job had been going on once a month and the cargo hadn’t been a problem as long as nobody knew about it. Even after the attack, everything was OK because we were going to nip this little bit of drama in the bud. But now that fast jets and heli support were being requested, things had gone a little quiet.

Sam was taking the silence in his stride. ‘So what’s new?’

The general wasn’t so patient. He yelled into the darkness from time to time and, judging by his body language, if he ever got his hands on the guys who’d run away tonight, he’d rip their hearts out with his bare hands.

Davy was on stag next to Gary, who was still lying where he’d dropped. His face was covered with a sheet of blood-soaked gingham.

Sam had been staring at the dark pool that had leaked from under his head, and still glistened in the moonlight. He finally tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Come with me.’

We crossed the roof and headed down the spiral staircase.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t you want to know why Gary’s history?’

It was pitch black. The further we went down the stairs, the stronger the smell from the bodies. It wasn’t the usual butcher’s-shop smell. It was too hot and sticky for that. It reminded me of dog food.

The small wooden crates in the middle of the hall were split but still intact. ‘Grab one, Nick. I’ll get the door.’

I did as I was told and carried it out into the moonlight. The box was about half the weight of the link I’d been carrying earlier – surprisingly heavy for its size.

A small zinc plate on the side read: London Good Delivery.

I didn’t know what to make of that. It wasn’t in London yet, and there certainly wasn’t anything good about this delivery. But Sam knew. ‘It’s gold. London Good Delivery bars are the world trading standard. That’s what those guys out there are here for.’ He picked up one of the brick-sized bars. ‘Twenty-seven pounds each, these boys weigh. That’s a big wad we got here, in anybody’s language.’

‘I don’t give a shit. Gary and the others in the house died for this?’

Sam saw the expression on my face. ‘Let’s go ask her, shall we?’

I followed him over to the Renault. Sam held the gold bar almost under Annabel’s nose. ‘All this, just so Uncle Mo ships a few more million to Switzerland? Politically sensitive? I must tell that to the mother of Gary’s kids. And what about your two friends? Do they have husbands? Brothers? Sisters? I’m sure it’ll be a comfort.’

‘Sam, I—’

‘Giving aid with one hand and taking back with the other, that’s all this is.’ He gave her the sort of look he’d given me when I’d used ‘fuck’ and ‘New Testament’ in the same sentence. ‘How do you people sleep at night?’

She didn’t reply. Tears were rolling down her face. She was young; this job was just a little rung on a big career ladder. What was she supposed to do? Refuse on moral grounds or something?

Standish had been silent up to now, but he’d obviously heard enough. Good: she needed defending. ‘Shut up and stop crying. I can’t stand whinging women. And you, Sergeant –’ he glared at Sam ‘– just get on with your job. Do you think this didn’t come right from the top? It’s important.’

Sam clenched his jaw. ‘Important for you, maybe, but not for me. I’m a soldier.’

For a moment, it looked like Sam was going to deck him, but he never got the chance. Davy was screaming from the roof: ‘Stand to!’