The Watchman

Fifty-Eight

I spotted Madar first. He was moving along the waterline, keeping low and checking the boats which were moored in a row, their rigging down. He seemed to be by-passing a lot of solid looking craft, and I wondered why. Then it hit me: Tober would have told him to look out for one with twin engines.

That automatically ruled out boats belonging to the local fishermen. If they had engines at all they were small and probably far from new, held together by repeated tinkering and lots of prayer. Only the pirates could afford the fancier machines required to get them in against their targets in rough seas and away again if they encountered resistance on board or an armed naval patrol vessel.

I stayed where I was and checked out the beach either side, listening for sounds of pursuit coming from among the huts behind me. Going out to meet up with the two others might attract unnecessary attention, and I could do more useful work watching their backs.

Tober appeared, stopping every few paces to check his back trail, then giving each boat the quick once-over in case Madar had missed something. I made sure nobody was behind him, then followed a parallel course through the passageways among the huts, keeping the beach within sight.

Kamboni was on a promontory shaped like the head of a hammerhead shark, with the uppermost part of the hammer forming the protective arm of a natural bay. Most of the town was set back slightly inland, with a few buildings and the local mosque closest to the water at the centre of the hammerhead. I hadn’t ventured that far, but from a satellite shot Vale had provided, it seemed that all the boats were moored in the bay, where they would be less vulnerable from storms along the coast.

I paused to watch as Madar approached a large boat in the shallows. We were getting very close to the area around the mosque, which I guessed might have some kind of watchman in attendance. If he carried on much further, he would run out of beach.

Then I stopped moving and lifted the AK. A figure had stepped out from the houses and was walking down the sand. I couldn’t see a rifle but he had something bulky over his shoulder. I checked through the scope to see what it was.

A rolled fishing net. And he was heading for the boat where Madar was standing.

Madar saw him too, and stopped, sinking to his haunches in the water. I looked to my left. Tober had frozen, hard up against another boat.

I heard voices.

The man had spotted Madar. But he wasn’t shouting in alarm. I held my breath, finger light on the trigger. I didn’t want to kill the fisherman just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But if he started yelling, we were in big trouble.

Madar stood and walked towards him. The man dropped his netting on the sand by the boat, then stretched his back and looked up at the stars. Next he pointed to the stern of the boat and said something.

Madar stepped forward and picked up the net, heaving it on board.

I waited, wondering what he was doing. Could it really be this simple? Had Madar stumbled on his way out of here? If so, Tober and I were down one problem and free to make our own way out, too.

Madar turned and looked along the beach and gave a short whistle. Tober stood up and moved forward to join them, and stood listening before he turned and waved to me.

He was good. He’d known I was here all along.

I jogged down the beach and saw Madar was grinning, looking like an excited puppy about to go on an outing.

‘Mr Marc,’ he whispered. ‘This is Tawfiq.’ He indicated the fisherman, who didn’t seem that surprised to see two armed white men on a remote beach in his country. If he thought anything he certainly wasn’t saying. Up close, I could see he must have been in his sixties, with the build of a marathon runner, a scrub of white beard and deep-set eyes.

‘He is a good man,’ Madar continued, ‘and says the other men are very bad and will bring nothing but trouble to Kamboni. He believes the Kenyan army will come soon and attack the town, and many may die. That is why he is leaving. It has happened before when the pirates come; they bring nothing and take everything. I have asked him if he will take me with him to the north.’

He rapidly translated for Tawfiq, who nodded and replied in a guttural burst of his own.

‘What did he say?’ I asked. ‘Can you trust him?’

‘Yes. He says he dares to go out at night because he has a bigger boat and knows the waters like his own hand. The others are like women with the courage of goats. His cousin’s son who helps him is not well and he says he will take me as a deck hand but I will have to work hard or he will throw me overboard to the sharks.’ He grinned again. ‘I do not think he means that.’

‘Let’s hope not. Does he need money?’ I didn’t want to insult the man, but I couldn’t take advantage of his kindness.

Madar spoke to him, and the old man looked nonplussed. I dug out some notes and handed them to Madar. ‘You deal with it. Tell him if he doesn’t take you home, we will come back and sink his boat.’

I’m not sure Madar passed that on, but the man seemed happy with the money.

Madar turned to Tober and shook his hand, then to me and hugged me briefly. ‘Thank you, Mr Marc,’ he muttered, his voice choked. ‘You are a good man, too.’

I hugged him back and slapped him on the shoulder. He was a decent kid and I hoped he made it.

Tober and I helped push the boat out until it floated free, while Tawfiq and Madar climbed aboard and got busy, the fisherman telling the kid what to do in a calm, practiced voice. The sail went up and filled gently, and the boat was soon moving with deceptive grace into deeper water.

Then we heard a shout, followed by gunshots.