Dead Centre - Andy McNab [116]
‘Deniable bags, mate. They’ll torch everything in them. It’s to stop cash and valuable documents being stolen.’
Awaale looked offended. ‘Erasto wants you to talk to them. Tell them that the money must be counted before he’ll let anyone else come ashore. As soon as he has the money, Mr Nick, no problems – in they come.’
For all I knew, Erasto might have set out with other ideas. As he drove to the airport, he might have been thinking of ways to have his cake and eat it.
I nodded, turned, and headed for the Cessna as Bob sang about being a buffalo soldier. The guy draped around the 12.7 in the back of Erasto’s wagon joined in with the chorus.
Joe leant over and opened the cockpit door. He had his AK on his lap.
I climbed up. In the dim lights, I saw Mr Lover Man – on his mobile – and Genghis in the hold. They were dressed for war in green fatigues and Kevlar body armour. Mr Lover Man had a black set, Genghis a green one. They’d inserted both front and back plates. They clutched M4 assault rifles with telescopic butts, firing handles on the stocks, and the shorter eleven-inch barrel for close-quarter work. No eastern shit for Frank’s lads, only state-of-the-art USA. Most telling of all, the magazine pouches on their armour sets were well worn. They’d done this shit before. They looked like they’d been born into it.
At their feet were two black nylon holdalls. Thick steel wires protruded from them, with ring-pulls at the end. Mr Lover Man and his mate had also come prepared. There were six-packs of two-litre water bottles; a Bergen-sized medical kit; big plastic zip bags holding spare saline drips and field dressings. Other bags held mountains of chapattis and bananas. There was milk in plastic one-litre containers.
Joe was his normal politically correct self. ‘Fucking flip-flops, man. I told you, don’t fucking trust them. They would have had the money – and us – if it wasn’t for these two in the back. They were going to take the fuckers on. All you people are mad, man. You’re fucking mad.’
It looked as if Erasto had had other plans, and these two lads had fucked them up.
Mr Lover Man came forward to study the technicals through the Perspex. He waffled in Russian on his mobile.
Joe eyed me. ‘You look shite, man. Where are your shoes? Did the flip-flops fucking steal them as well? Where’s the other three? We were told you’d got them. Where are they? I want to get out of here, man. It’s a fucking nightmare.’
‘They’re on their way, mate.’ I got eye-to-eye with Mr Lover Man in the dimmed cockpit lights. ‘Tell Frank they want to count the cash before they let Tracy, Stefan and Justin come ashore. Tell him it’s under control. Once you’ve done that, get off the mobile – we’ve got work to do.’
I glanced back into the hold. ‘You speak English?’ Genghis shook his head and slowly stretched out his legs. This lad was so laid back he literally was almost horizontal.
Mr Lover Man closed down and gave me a nod. ‘We’re ready. I don’t trust that old man.’
‘Nor do I, mate. I’m going to bring one of them over. We get him to count the cash, then we hold tight until everyone is delivered. They hold us tight, we hold the money tight. Those bags in the back, they really have deniable devices installed?’
Mr Lover Man waffled to Genghis. He unzipped the bags to reveal the shrink-wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills. Two black plastic containers, about twenty centimetres square, sat on top of them. Thick steel wire protruded from the corner of each. There were two in each bag, in case one didn’t kick off.
Frank probably used them all the time to make sure no fucker got hold of any information he didn’t want to share. After all, knowledge is power. If the ring-pull was triggered, the incendiary devices were detonated. The agent was magnesium. It burnt with unbelievable intensity. The problem, especially with two of them in each bag, was that they’d keep on burning – and take out the plane as well.
Mr Lover Man was certainly in no mood for compromise. Even if he was, his deep growl wouldn