The Watchman

Forty-Seven

Down in the basement, the percussive effects of the explosion jolted all three prisoners awake. A split second later the sound rumbled by overhead and a thin veil of debris rained down on them from the ceiling and walls as the building continued to vibrate.

‘Get ready,’ Tober said calmly. He turned on the flashlight again and beckoned Angela to follow him towards the steps. He gave Madar a warning tap on the leg as he passed by. ‘Stay close, kid.’

Edging up the steps, he waited, listening for the first sounds of anyone coming to open the trapdoor. The explosion had been some distance away, although he couldn’t tell by how much. He guessed it had been a diversionary tactic, to draw the men upstairs outside. He was pragmatic enough to know that if it worked, a rescuer would appear. If it had failed, there might be a brief flare of light as the trapdoor opened, followed by a burst of automatic fire pouring in on them from their angry or crazed captors.

Then lights out.

The men upstairs were shouting in a frenzied panic, and he heard the sound of running footsteps heading for the door to the outside. If anybody was coordinating their response to this surprise attack, they were being ineffective.

The shouting diminished as the men moved away. Two shots sounded close by. Then another explosion shook the structure and somebody began screaming.

The door slammed shut and footsteps sounded near the trapdoor.

A man’s voice called out. ‘Khaalid? Saalim?’

Silence.

Tober reached up and tested the trapdoor. He had already tried it shortly after being put down here. Now, as then, it was solid. He got his legs underneath him and put his back against the wood. If the gunman upstairs was watching the door, he might be able to take him by surprise. It was a risky thing to do, but better than waiting for the man to open the trapdoor and blast the basement with gunfire.

He heaved, testing the rigidity of the trapdoor, his leg muscles creaking from lack of exercise in the cramped conditions. The door shifted slightly, dust cascading down on his neck, but he couldn’t get sufficient power in his awkward position on the steps to really move it.

He had to try again. He handed the flashlight to Angela. ‘Take this and stand to one side.’

As he braced himself for another push, he heard a rush of approaching footsteps and a crash as the front door was kicked in. The man on the other side of the trapdoor cried out in alarm, then came a burst of automatic fire.

Silence. Then two shots in quick succession.

More silence.

Tober held his breath and waited, hoping against hope. Even muffled by the trapdoor, he was sure the last shots had come from a semi-automatic pistol. Yet none of the Somalis carried pistols.

Then the trapdoor was lifted, flooding the steps with light, and he prepared to launch himself forward.