The Devil's Handshake

51

Borama

“Packet. We have reached the second floor!” shouted the Ukrainian commander over his radio to Martin who was in his command location across the street with Wasir. The battle had been raging for over two hours, and it was going badly as none of Wasir’s useless bunch of cutthroats had kept any of their objectives they had secured. It suddenly got a whole lot worse for Martin once Wasir got off the phone with one of his men.

“Mr. Andrew, the Russians are at the airport!” the ashen-faced Wasir stated.

“What, how many!” Martin replied. He tried to comprehend where the devil they had come from. The Russians didn’t have any armed forces within nine hours of Borama apart from the men guarding the President and fighting tooth and nail across the street and who so far had taken out over ninety men in the process.

“My men tell me two planes have arrived with over three hundred white devils with fighter jets also in support,” the ex-pirate replied crestfallen. His plans in ruins!

“That’s it then, Minister. I am afraid we have to retire!” Martin replied they were outnumbered and now out-gunned.

“No! If we can take the President all is not lost!” ordered the Minister desperately.

Martin looked at Wilson first then replied over the radio, ignoring him.

“Packet Four, withdraw. Mission is a scrub!” he wasn’t about to send his men to their deaths just because of the ego of a warlord.

“No!” cried Wasir again this time pulling his weapon. Immediately Wilson with his already in his hands cocked his own weapon in the same movement towards Wasir, his son, and his bodyguard before they even got a chance to pull theirs. Not wanting to die, both men relaxed their movements.

“Minister, it is necessary that we get you to safety,” offered Martin in an attempt to defuse the situation.

“That way you can fight another day, my friend,” responded Andrew with his hands up in a calming gesture towards the wild eyed Somali, not meaning a word of it as his primary objective now was to get out alive.

“He is right, father!” replied Mohammed agreeing with the Englishman. He had no wish to die in this room chasing a lost cause.

Wasir’s eyes continued flashed in anger, but the primal need for survival overrode his desire to press on.

“We go!” he said as he stormed off with his son and bodyguard out of the room.

“Time to go RSM,” Martin said with a sigh, knowing his bonus had also left the building.

“I will let the Boss know it’s a scratch!” Wilson answered shaking his head like his former Commanding officer over the disappointment of the loss of the bonus he had been promised and to tell Gourgamani to stay put at the Sammo while they made their way to him as they had pre-agreed to depart on his plane if things were scratched.

As they started to drive away in their Land Cruiser, the former RSM turned to old commanding officer, his face ashen.

“I can’t reach him!”

“Sir!” Wilson said reverting to type under stress and fearing what that meant.

Before Martin could say anything in response, machine gunfire strafed their vehicle.