Dead Centre - Andy McNab [115]
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.’
13
Wednesday, 23 March
04.55 hrs
THE SECOND TECHNICAL faced the Cargomaster head on, its 12.7 aimed at the airframe. We pulled up alongside it. The third one drove across from the Skyvan. Bob Marley sang louder and louder the closer it rolled. Its headlights cast shadows around the Cargomaster; with no windows in the hold area, all I could see was Joe sitting in the left seat. I tried to signal that everything was OK. His head turned behind the Perspex. I couldn’t be sure he’d noticed.
The Bob Marley fan jumped out of the driver’s seat with a wad of US dollars. He passed it through the cigarette smoke billowing from the rear window of the other double cab.
‘Come, Mr Nick, come. We’ll go and talk with Erasto.’
We followed the same route as the dollars. Erasto was settled in the centre of the bench seat, his arms up along the rear.
Awaale waffled away and Erasto nodded slowly. But he wasn’t happy. He pointed his cigarette at the Cessna and gobbed off.
Awaale turned back to me. ‘Erasto says that the men in the plane, they will not let him count the money. They say they will burn it if we attack or try to come aboard. The money was in— Wait a minute, please, Mr Nick.’ He asked the boss to clarify something before turning back to me.