8

THE TECHNICALS HAD gone from the compound. So had Tracy and BB. And there was definitely shit on down by the harbour. Tracer swirled into the sky above it from behind the court-house.

Awaale had already reached the obelisk and was standing there as if he had fifty layers of Kevlar, back and front.

‘Mr Nick, come on – we are waiting.’

I passed two of his crew kneeling in the open. They were giggling and arguing between themselves at the same time as they tried to load an RPG. Automatic fire still came from the fringes of the square.

Stefan clung to me, his legs trying to cut off the circulation in my waist. I gripped him tight with my left arm. Just as we passed the stoning holes the RPG cracked off behind us. The crew had fucked up. A split second later it smashed into the obelisk. The pressure wave hurled me to the ground. My ears were still ringing as I staggered to my feet in a cloud of sand and mortar dust.

‘It’s OK, Stefan. We’re all right. We’re nearly there. Nearly with your mummy.’

Maybe the lads hadn’t fucked up. Maybe they’d been aiming at the obelisk. Who knew? There were peals of laughter as they legged it towards us. I wondered if Awaale had enjoyed the joke. I gripped my hands under Stefan’s thighs so I could get my feet pounding across the open ground.

Bodies lay all over the place. AS, crew or crowd, it was hard to make out one from the other. Skull-cap’s body was draped over the railing of the veranda. Most of the arc lamps had been shot away. The dark liquid pooling beneath him glistened in the light of those that remained.

I pushed Stefan’s head into my shoulder. He didn’t have to see that shit. He’d had enough drama to be going on with.

I followed Awaale. My throat was so dry it felt like I’d been swallowing sand. It was a long time since I’d had fluids. I was dehydrating.

We turned left between the court-house and the compound and then went right. At its far end, the alleyway intersected with the harbour road. I’d just turned into it when I saw a rocket trail at the bottom of the hill. It was heading our way.

‘RPG! RPG!’

I ducked back into the alleyway as the grenade screamed past us, less than a metre above the ground. It hit somewhere the other side of the court-house and exploded.

‘Not far now. It won’t be long.’

Stefan didn’t say a word. He gripped me harder. He buried his head deeper into my shoulder to get away from this nightmare.

I stuck my head round the corner and yelled, ‘Awaale! Where are you? Get them to stop! Not down the road! Not down the road!’

The RPG team who’d demolished the obelisk loaded up again, giggling with excitement, then ran out into the road to return fire towards the harbour.

‘No! No! No! That’s your crew! Awaale!’

I could hear his radio in a doorway further down.

‘It’s OK, Mr Nick, come on.’

He sauntered into the middle of the road, waving me on, as if I was holding up proceedings. ‘Come on, Mr Nick.’

‘Tell these lads to can it. No one’s to fire down or up the road.’

‘It’s OK.’

We’d gone no more than ten paces down the hill when the RPG kicked off behind us, heading back towards the square. I was buffeted by the shockwave, then the hot back blast washed over me. My nose filled with the acrid smell of cordite and spent propellant. My eardrums zinged.

Ahead of us, muzzle flashes flickered the length of the harbour wall. Miraculously, the tracer headed left and right and over us.