12

THESE GUYS STARTED life as fishermen. I shouldn’t have doubted their prowess at sea. Two hours later I began to see the lights of the city over the bow. We were coming in from the east. I didn’t have a clue how far out to sea we’d had to divert during the RV with Tracy, but that didn’t matter now. All that did was that her skiff made it back too. Ant and Dec’s? I still had no idea.

Awaale perked up now he could see land. He had spent most of the time curled up on the deck holding his stomach. ‘I told you so. You don’t have to worry about anything, Mr Nick. Everybody is now safe.’

We started to approach the airport. The runway was lit up like a UFO landing pad. We headed for the bit sticking out into the ocean. As we got closer, I spotted two technicals. The crews looked excited to see us. Their new conquering hero was home. There was change in the air.

Awaale got on his radio. Then he hauled his mobile out. ‘You see, Mr Nick? Everybody loves me.’

We pulled the skiffs into the beach. The sting of salt water reminded me that, after a day in my socks, my feet had taken some serious cuts.

The technical driver shouted down at us through the glare of his own main beams. He thought he was helping, but he was just killing our night vision. Blinded, we felt our way up the rock and clambered onto the runway.

We scrambled into the back of the technical, dodging the 12.7’s dangling ammo belt, and set off between the twin lines of landing lights that seemed to converge as they headed for the terminal.

The driver stuck his head out of the window and shouted to Awaale, who was sitting directly behind the cab on the flatbed. Awaale leant forward and treated him to a blow-by-blow account – complete with ‘boom, boom, boom’ sound effects. Then he leant even further so he could deliver a high-five. The accelerator pedal never left the floor. It was like the guy was trying to take off. All around me, the boys were back on their mobiles, spinning more shit.

Down-lighters in the roof space made the newly painted terminal building look like it was suspended in its own star system. A Cessna Cargomaster stood in front of it, a weapons-mounted technical alongside. Further down the apron were a couple of closed-down Yemeni airliners.

Another technical had parked up a hundred metres beyond them. The Toyota’s headlamps were aimed at a nearby Skyvan. Winner of the Ugliest Plane in the World Award for the last thirty years running, it was basically a train carriage with a tail ramp to freefall out of, a wing and an engine slapped on each side. The twin props had chugged about all over the world since the 1980s, and this must have been one of the originals; the H tail rudders were held together with gaffer tape.

Awaale pointed at the wagon by the Cargomaster. ‘Erasto. He’s here for the money. I do not want to disappoint him, Mr Nick.’

‘Nor do I, mate. Nor do I. But what about Erasto? Will he disappoint me?’

He looked at me from the other side of the flatbed. The 12.7’s barrel cut a line between us. Finally he put his hands up and shrugged. ‘I’m not in his head.’

I pushed the cold steel barrel skywards to clear the obstruction between us and leant across the back of the cab. I wanted Awaale to hear every word of what I was about to say. ‘The other two white guys, the boy and the woman, they’re important. They’re important to someone who can come up with that sort of cash straight away. If this all goes wrong, he’s told me that he will declare war on you, on you all. Now that’s going to fuck up your future, big-time. And you’ve got enough on your plate already. Lucky Justice is not a big fan, and now you’ve got AS on your arse as well. We’ve got to make this run very smoothly, mate. For both our sakes.’

Fuck it. Things had moved on too far to hide the fact there was a lot of cash flying about, and managing Erasto’s expectations had gone completely out of the window. But solving one problem will always present you with another.

‘Mr Nick – there’ll be no problems from me. Trust me.’

‘You’ve got family in the US, right? You’ve got to be careful, mate, because my man can get to them. But all he wants is his family back. He gets what he wants, and you get what you want, and everybody’s happy. Yeah?’

Awaale nodded. ‘I understand, Mr Nick. But you don’t need to tell me these things. You’re my friend.’

‘You’re my friend as well, mate. But let’s not fuck up now that we’re so close to the finish, OK?’

Awaale smiled and leant back. The wind ruffled his hair. I still only trusted him as far as I could throw him. It wasn’t as if we were old schoolmates. We slowed. We were almost at the terminal.

Awaale leant back towards me, hand up at the side of his mouth like we were co-conspirators. ‘Mr Nick, my money … I will need it to pay for loyalty from my crew when I take over the clan.’

‘One thing at a time, mate. Let’s get in the air before you go and conquer Mogadishu.’

He smiled, and thought for a bit. ‘I’ll give it some time. I’ll let Erasto kill those two guys, of course. I’ll give him that satisfaction.’