9

AS WE NEARED the beach I could see the two technicals. They were now weapon free. Awaale stood on the wall. His radio was going ape-shit. All I could hear was whoops and shouts and jibber-jabber.

‘Come, Mr Nick, come.’

There were no more rounds heading our way from the town. The lads here were having a good cabbie.

‘Two skiffs left, just for us.’

He jumped on board the first with the two lads who had stayed with it.

‘Where’s Tracy? Where’s the boy’s mother?’

The rest of Awaale’s crew clambered into the one behind. They were still on cloud nine. Mobiles went off. Lighters were struck and cigarettes lit. I heard the hiss of bottles being opened.

‘Awaale. Look at me.’

He wasn’t on receive. He was stuck on transmit, gobbing off to anyone within earshot.

‘Awaale!’ I finally got his attention. ‘Where is the boy’s mother?’

‘They’ve gone in the other skiff. No problem.’

‘You sure she’s safely aboard?’

‘Yes, of course. We need them safe. She’s with the man.’

‘What about the other two white guys? Are they on board as well?’

‘They’re on another boat. Erasto wants them most of all.’

I passed Stefan to him. Awaale’s face creased into a huge grin. ‘Hello, big man.’

I didn’t know if it was what he said or the scary Twilight smile that made Stefan scream, but his little arms swung back towards me. ‘Mummy! I want my mummy!’

Awaale patted his head and handed him back. ‘Not long now. We’ll see her soon.’

The engines revved and we headed into the darkness as the RPG team behind us kicked off one last round. Judging by the laughter, it was just for the fun of it. It made contact with one of the low-level buildings lining the beach.

I took the middle bench. Stefan sat on my knee, legs over one side but face buried in my chest.

I turned back towards Awaale. He wasn’t too thrilled to be back at sea. He sat to the right of the outboard, arse on the floor, knees up.

‘Awaale, good one, mate.’ The lad at the tiller revved the engine to fight the surf, so I had to shout. ‘Really good one. Now, can we hook this boy up with his mum? I want to get them together before the airport.’

Awaale curled up into a ball. ‘They’re out there somewhere. It’s no problem.’

‘We’re not there yet, mate. Make sure your guys know to keep the lights to the left. We need to go north. Let’s keep everyone together. Control them, mate.’

Awaale heaved himself up and gobbed off into the radio. Six different voices tried to answer at once. I left him to it and pulled out my iPhone. I had one voicemail message.

‘Good evening, Mr Stone, Henry here. Just calling again about that apartment of yours. Could you please give me a ring when convenient? Thank you.’

I felt a bit sorry for Henry. Commission on £150K was never going to make his day, but four per cent of fuck-all was a bit of a choker. I called Frank.

Two rings.

‘Yes?’

‘Good news. I have Stefan with me. Tracy’s in another boat. We’re—’

‘Is he hurt?’

‘No. He’s traumatized, but physically he’s OK.’

‘Can I speak to him?’

I put the iPhone to Stefan’s ear. ‘It’s Daddy.’

He looked up. He didn’t believe me but he took the phone with both hands. ‘Papa! Papa!’

There was a chorus of oohs and aahs around the boat before he started gobbing off in Russian. He almost fell over his words as he raced to get them out.

They spoke for a couple of minutes while Awaale bollocked somebody for something over his radio. The two crew members in the bow were on their mobiles, sucking teeth, flicking fingers.

We’d left the lights of Merca behind us. There was no sign of land. No sign even of the other skiffs as we bounced out of the last of the surf and started to ride the heavier swell.