The Watchman

Fifty-Two

Pryce wasn’t having it. I could feel the scepticism coming off her in waves. But when she saw that Tober wasn’t reacting she lost a bit of her bite.

There was only one way to convince her. I called Madar over from where he’d been keeping watch. He scooted close and looked at me for instructions. ‘Tell them,’ I said. ‘Tell them about the room you prepared. Tell them what the tall man was going to do. Everything.’

He didn’t want to do it and I could understand why. It was pretty traumatic for anybody, the idea of beheading a live human being. But he told them, anyway. There was no flowery language, either. He laid it out for them in straight, innocent terms, and by his tone of voice they knew he was telling the unvarnished truth.

There was a long silence while they digested the idea. Pryce looked like she wanted to throw up but held it together, eyes going tight. The imagery of what had nearly befallen her was clearly flashing through her mind, but she had the strength of character and training to deal with it.

Tober was more pragmatic. Or maybe he was better at hiding his fears. He shook his head like he’d been told he couldn’t go on a weekend pass. ‘Would’ve saved me paying for a haircut, at least,’ he said. ‘So back to the plan: we get your flyer mate to take her out of here. Then he comes back?’

‘No. It’s too risky. After the first approach he’ll be an easy target. They’ll wait for him to come in on another pass and take him out. When he leaves here, that’s it.’ I looked at Pryce. ‘Piet will take you to Mombasa or Nairobi — I’ll let him decide. You can go through your embassy or head out on the first available flight.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Tober agreed. ‘What about us?’

‘I hope you’re good at walking.’

He scowled. ‘Where I come from we call it yomping. And I’m ready when you are.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ I was familiar with the term, first brought to public ears during Britain’s war against Argentina in the Falkland Islands. Yomping was the Royal Marine term for a route march, usually and often over the worst possible terrain carrying full fighting equipment and supplies.

Tober was looking sideways at Madar, who had drifted back to his post. ‘I’m not so sure about the kid; he took a battering.’

‘He wants to go home to Mogadishu. All he needs is a friendly boat out of here heading north.’

‘Great. Where do we …?’ He stopped. ‘You’re saying we go back to Kamboni?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘It’ll be quicker by sea. We can’t hang around here in the hopes that your embassy can arrange a pickup; my guess is, they won’t be able to, not without causing an international shit-storm. Musa’s men will be expecting us to head overland to Mombasa in a direct line from here.’

‘I agree.’

‘So we do the opposite: we steal a boat and head south down the coast.’

‘You’re crazy!’ Pryce stared at me, then at Tober, who was nodding as if the idea had real merit. ‘And you agree with him?’

‘Yeah. He’s right. Going cross-country would take too long, and I don’t much fancy our luck in the bush with no food or water. By sea we’d have more than a fighting chance.’ He looked at me. ‘I’m with you.’

‘Great. Can you handle a boat?’ I regretted the question the moment I asked. I’d forgotten his background in the SBS.

Tober merely grinned, saying, ‘If it floats I can sail it. If it’s got a motor, I can drive it.’

I excused myself to cut short further questions and walked a short distance away to call Vale. I needed to know what we were planning.

He answered quickly and I brought him up to date. His relief that we were all out was palpable. I was right about any extraction plan; he wasn’t going to be able to do much to help us out without the Kenyans and Somalis kicking up an international storm in protest when they discovered we were here.

‘Getting Pryce out is my prime concern,’ he said briskly. ‘From what you’ve said it’s clear she’s too valuable a target to fall back into Musa’s hands.’

‘I agree.’

‘What about you and Tober?’

‘We’ll make our own moves,’ I said. ‘Tober knows what he’s doing so we’ll figure something out between us.’

‘Good. What have you told them?’

‘Nothing. But they’re asking questions I can’t answer. And Pryce isn’t going to stop when she gets home.’

‘And about the op so far?’

‘Only why I had to pull them out, but nothing about who put me here. They have to have something.’

‘Fine. Keep it short, tell them you were sub-contracted to keep an eye on them and they’ll be briefed fully when they get back. I’m probably going to have to reveal what I’ve done soon, anyway, but that was always on the cards. I’ll keep your name out of it, of course.’

I didn’t argue the point. Having my name splashed all over the world of British Intelligence and possibly further afield was something I wanted to avoid. The more I stayed in the background, the better I liked it.

‘Listen, Portman,’ he continued, ‘what I said before — my instructions regarding Pryce?’ He sounded strained, even with the delay in transmission, and I could tell he was feeling bad about what he had asked me to do if things had gotten nasty.

‘Forget it. It didn’t happen.’

‘Thank you. I won’t forget this.’