The Watchman

Thirty

An hour after the plane had flown over, I heard the rumble of an engine from the north. It was the white SUV. This time it was moving slowly over the rough ground, and as it passed across in front of me and pulled up outside the villa, I could see why: it was full of passengers.

A reception committee had gathered and stood watching as the doors opened. I counted three Somalis, all armed, and another man who climbed out and stood issuing orders like he wanted to exert his authority. Unfortunately, his lack of height and sizeable girth seemed to go against him, and none of the men from the house seemed that impressed. Unlike the men from the villa, these newcomers were dressed in light pants and western-style shirts, setting them apart.

The two SIS representatives got out and the reception committee promptly played their part by levelling their guns at them. The woman was slim and of medium build, with dark hair cut short. I didn’t need her photo on my sat phone to know who she was. Angela Pryce wore a lightweight jacket and pants, and looked slightly pissed at the number of guns being pushed in her face.

Her minder was a big guy, and looked like he could pick up a couple of the Somalis and swat the rest on to the beach in the background if he got really sore. But he wore the blank expression of a seasoned pro, and I was guessing he must have already worked out that he’d drawn the short straw here if anything went wrong.

After a while, the fat man organized his three goons to get the Brits inside, and everybody followed, leaving two men on guard outside.

The SUV drove away towards Kamboni, leaving a dust cloud hanging over the villa and a sullen silence in the air.

I settled back down to wait and switched on my sat phone, and checked through a file of potential relevant participants supplied by Vale. I found the fat man immediately; it was Xasan, the middleman. None of the other faces looked familiar.

Musa, the man holding the hostages, wasn’t here yet. I checked his photo again. He was unusually tall and thin, even for a Somali, with a hawk nose and eyes set close together, and looked oddly familiar, although I was pretty sure I’d never seen him before this photo. The shot had been taken covertly, and showed him at a sidewalk café table with two other men, hunched in conversation over small cups of coffee. Two others stood in the background, watching the street. Musa obviously didn’t believe in travelling without protection.

By the time darkness was beginning to roll in, all the signs down at the villa indicated that nobody else was showing up today. First the guards began to look bored, squatting together and talking, their rifles on the ground beside them. Occasionally Xasan would put in an appearance and snap at them. They would stand up and shuffle their feet, but their response was grudging and lacked real respect. I figured he wasn’t part of their clan, so didn’t rate more than a nod and a grunt.

Xasan himself seemed on edge and would go to the part of the garden overlooking the beach and stare out to sea with the frustrated appearance of a man wanting something important to happen.

I knew how he felt. I was hot, tired and thirsty, and my water reserve was running low. I had to get more or another day out here and dehydration would become a serious problem.

Eventually Xasan went inside. Moments later, the door opened and another figure came out. He was followed by one of the men, who said something and cuffed him round the head before shoving him on his way.

It was the kid who had come so close to stumbling on my OP. He had a bag slung over his shoulder. He ducked his head as he passed the two guards, and headed out towards the track to town, holding one arm tight against his chest, as if injured.

I got him in the scope before he disappeared from sight. He had the bearing of a whipped dog and I was pretty certain his arm had been fine earlier.

It gave me an idea.

I waited for the two guards to get bored again, then slid out of my OP and went after the kid.

Apart from getting water, which I was going to have to steal, I needed to get a line on what was happening inside the villa with the two SIS personnel. I had two ways of accomplishing the second task: one way was hi-tech, the other wasn’t.

It was time to try low-tech first.