The Watchman

Fifty-Nine

Tober and I raced up the beach to put distance between us and the departing boat. If Musa’s men thought we were on board, they’d have a fleet of fast skiffs out and be all over Tawfiq and Madar in no time. And I didn’t think they’d stop to ask questions.

The shooting had come from between the huts to the northern end of town. It meant we had to head for the centre if we wanted to avoid a full-on confrontation. It was probably heading deeper into trouble, but right now we were short on choices.

I heard the roar of an engine and saw light sweeping through the buildings, and remembered the pickups I’d seen before. Some of Musa’s men were camped in town, and had evidently got word of our presence. They would be joining in the search by now, and every minute that passed meant the net around the town would be growing tighter.

We pounded through a network of narrow passages between the huts. Twice men appeared out of doorways and tried to stop us. Each time we ran through them. It was brutal, close-quarter fighting, but if anything Tober and I had the advantage of surprise and momentum. We eventually found ourselves by the side of the town’s mosque. Just as we did so, a figure appeared round the corner and ran head-on into Tober, who smacked him down with the butt of his rifle.

Another man appeared, this one swinging up an AK and letting off a couple of rounds before I could stop him. I knocked him over with two quick shots and pointed off to our left towards the lower edge of town, away from the sound of shooting and the searchers’ lights.

Tober got the message and headed off fast, barrelling his way between two ragged lines of huts. I followed a couple of paces behind, ready to turn and defend our flanks.

It was difficult to see clearly ahead of us, and we didn’t always get it right. At one intersection we saw what appeared to be clear space between two buildings, only to crash through a wall of palm fronds surrounding a small plot of land. The noise was considerable and raised a volley of shouting from towards the beach as the pursuers zeroed in on our location and began closing in, letting off an occasional round to show they meant business. We were forced to duck as we ran down the lines of huts due to the overhanging canopies brushing our faces, which slowed us down, and all the way I could hear the slap of running feet on the other side as the men closed in. If they got ahead of us, all they had to do was run down an intersection and cut us off.

As we turned a corner and raced across a triangle of hard ground, we found two men with rifles blocking our way and yelling at us to stop.

It was bad news: Musa must have issued orders for us to be taken alive.

Tober and I opened fire together, both taking out the man nearest to us. He crashed sideways through a hut wall and disappeared, while his companion thought to hell with orders and sent a spray of wild gunfire our way. I felt something tug at my shirt and the canopy close to my head was blown apart in a shower of palm frond fragments, wood splinters and dust. I returned fire and the Somali fell hard, losing his gun in the process.

I looked round at Tober and felt my stomach go cold.

He’d been hit and was down on one knee.

Even as I watched, he grunted and fell forward in slow motion, instinctively trying to minimize the fall by putting out a hand. But he wobbled as he came half upright and I knew that wasn’t good.

I reached out and grabbed his collar, pulling him with me and heading for another narrow alley with lots of shadow. There was no time to stop and ask how badly he was wounded; if he stayed on his feet for another few minutes, that was good enough for now.

Suddenly the whole area was lit up by vehicle headlights, and a spotlight beam thrashed around before fastening on to us. I responded by instinct, flicking the selector and emptying the AK’s magazine at the vehicle, chopping out the spot and one headlight and hearing a man go down screaming.

I dragged Tober away under cover of a bungalow, letting go of him just long enough to change magazines, and felt a searing pain across my ribs as a stray round burst through the wall of the building. I recalled what Piet had told me about the Somalis’ rule of engagement, how they go for the spray option with little thought for selective targeting.

It obviously worked for them some of the time.

We skidded along the nearest wall, tramping over domestic debris in the process, and somehow found ourselves inside a small hut. It was some kind of storage shed, full of nets, cork floats and stuff I couldn’t work out, and stinking of stale fish. Right then it was the sweetest smelling place I’d ever been in.

I lowered Tober to the floor. ‘Where are you hit?’

He coughed, which didn’t sound good. ‘In the side and the leg. The leg’s not bad but I think the bullet in my side might have done some damage. It feels like one good cough and you’ll see my guts on the floor.’

Checking a wound in the dark is not to be recommended. I told him what I was going to do, but I was shaking with tiredness and the rush of adrenalin. He swore silently as my fingers brushed against the swollen area of skin around the bullet wound, and I felt the slick wetness of blood seeping out of him and running down his side. I felt round the back but there was no sign of an exit wound.

All I could do was get it strapped up. But right now wasn’t the time or the place. We had to get out of here before Musa’s men closed in and found us by a process of elimination.

‘You should bug out,’ Tober muttered, his breathing ragged. ‘No point us both getting chopped.’

‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Keep up with that crap and I might save Musa’s men the trouble and shoot you myself.’

‘It’s no longer your fight, Portman. You did what you had to — you got Pryce out.’

‘Matter of fact, I got paid for both of you. Now shut the fuck up unless you have a miracle plan to get us out of here.’

He tried a chuckle but it didn’t quite come off. ‘What happened — you left a mate behind once and never forgot — is that it?’

‘Something like that. Any bright ideas?’

His head lolled to one side and I figured he was going into shock. But his survival instincts were still kicking in. ‘Boat. It’s the only way. Get me a boat and I’ll tell you what to do.’

He was right. First we had to find one we could use. ‘Did you see any on the beach with engines?’

‘A couple. But they weren’t great.’ He coughed and clutched his side. ‘The hulls looked heavy and the engines were lightweight. The Somalis would catch us in no time if they called up one of their assault skiffs. They may look like shite but those things can really move.’

I decided to check them out for myself. It was risky but anything was better than staying here and waiting to be caught. ‘Come on,’ I said, giving him my arm. ‘We’re off to the beach.’

He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Oh, goodie. It’s been ages since I had a day by the seaside.’

We stepped outside and stood in deep shadow. Voices sounded all around us, the configuration of the huts making it difficult to pinpoint precisely where they were coming from.

Safe to assume all over.

I checked the nearest alleyway, which I estimated ran roughly in a north-south direction, dog-legging between huts and bungalows. From the map in my head I reckoned we needed east to west, with a slight kink south to fetch us close to where the nearest boats were moored. I set off, holding Tober’s arm until he shrugged it off, and led the way past two bungalows until we came to a narrow intersection. This was about right to turn east towards the beach.

Our one advantage was, nobody had told Musa’s men that a hunting party had to be quiet if they wanted to catch their prey. With all the hollering, the roar of vehicle engines and the occasional shot being fired as somebody spooked at shadows, we knew exactly where they were, and could plan our route accordingly.

Well, almost.

As we slunk past a small hut, I heard a sudden intake of breath in the darkness and a shot was fired so close it lit up the night around us.