The Watchman

Sixty-Four

Walking through the bush at night is not as idyllic as it might sound. Sure, there’s no traffic, no street lights and no man-made noises like air-conditioning units to disturb nature’s serenity. But you could hardly call it quiet. Insects have a volume button in direct inverse proportion to their size, and most of them only fall silent when you walk close by. Otherwise it’s bedlam, which makes checking for voices or human movement harder than it should be.

I stopped with reluctance every few metres, aware that the clock was running. I not only had to keep moving through hostile territory, but had to avoid the villa by a pretty narrow margin if I was to use it as a landmark and find the boats.

I came across the first guard near the track. He was humming to himself, which was lucky for me. I sank down and watched him moving around. He was walking in a wide circle, covering the track and an area either side, then coming back the other way. I debated taking him out there and then, using the Ka-Bar. But as I didn’t know how often the guards would be changed or if he might have been told to call in on a regular basis, I moved back a ways and skirted around his position by a good margin.

I came up to the villa not far from my previous hide. A faint light was glowing in the open doorway, enough to show a patrolling guard moving across the rear of the building. I gave it a few minutes to check his routine, then moved down the slope, giving the grounds a wide berth in case other guards had been posted further out.

I reached the dunes above the beach and stayed low for a couple of minutes, listening.

It looked quiet and peaceful, the insect noise now replaced by the hiss of the sea. It could have been any idyllic, exotic vacation setting had it not been for the rifle in my hand and the still lingering smell of explosives in the air.

I counted three boats, vague slug-like shapes against the sand and frothy tideline. I took off my boots and socks, then tied the laces together and slung them round my neck. If any eagle-eyed guards came this way and saw the shape of western-style footwear where there should be none, the game would be up. Then I stepped off the dunes and walked across the beach.

Just like that.

I felt the hairs on my neck prickling all the way. I felt vulnerable like never before, as if stepping across a minefield. I was counting on being mistaken in the poor light for a patrolling guard. Not that I looked anything like a Somali pirate, but the rifle held loosely over my shoulder might throw off any suspicion.

I reached the boats unchallenged and checked them out. They looked and felt ready for sea, and held the same kind of water and fuel containers I’d found in the boats I’d destroyed what felt like a lifetime ago. There were floats, nets, extra clothing, and even coils of rope with grappling hooks and rope ladders. Everything a pirate could wish for. Even the shelters were rigged with the canvas coverings in place, which I took to mean they were ready to move come morning.

It made me even more determined; if I was right, come morning the boats would be gone and we would have no way out.

I checked each of the engines by feel. One had a stripped-down feel, with sharp edges and recesses covered in thick grease and oil and layered in dirt, and was fitted with an extra-long propeller shaft. Tober had warned me to avoid these, as without silencers they were very noisy, slow and difficult to use in a strong sea. The other two were very different beasts; they were fitted with twin outboards, which felt like newer models, but I couldn’t tell if they had been disabled or not as the casings were in place and impossible to shift.

Now was not the time to debate the issue. I ripped the power leads from the stripped-down engine and tossed them into the water. If we couldn’t use it, there was no point in allowing anybody else to do so. I couldn’t tell if either of the other two was in working order, so I’d have to get Tober to advise on them when we got back.

Then I walked back up the beach and replaced my shoes, before making my way back past the villa and back into the bush.

I reached the pickup and watched it for a few moments in case the searchers had come out this far and discovered it. Then I gave a brief whistle and walked across to the far side, where I’d left Tober.

He was gone.