Dead Centre - Andy McNab [88]
Awaale just about managed a nod.
‘All right. Keep quiet, keep safe. Do you understand?’
He gave another twitch.
I lifted my hand a fraction from his mouth.
He nodded hard.
I tightened my grip again and pulled the arm-lock into my chest. I needed him to know how quickly I’d be able to squeeze all the breath from his body. His throat contracted. His eyes screwed up in pain. He got the message.
I released him again, just enough for him to be able to talk.
‘I know they’re in Merca. Where in Merca are they?’
His head shook, as if he was denying it. I pushed my hand over his mouth again and tightened the lock. His Adam’s apple bobbed against my biceps. He let out a whimper. His hands scrabbled in the sand, as if that was going to take the pain away.
I released him again. ‘Awaale, I don’t have time to fuck about. I’ll find out what I need to know from you, or I’ll kill you and find out from someone else. Do you still have them?’
He went completely still, but I could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
‘Tell me.’
The hilarity around the fire was at an all-time high. The lads didn’t seem to be missing Awaale one bit.
At last he spoke. ‘You will see them tomorrow. I promise. Just let—’
‘Fuck it. I’ll ask Erasto instead.’
I squeezed the vice even tighter. I leant further forward for good measure, until my chest pushed down on the side of his face.
His legs jerked. His hands came up.
He bucked and kicked and his thumbs searched in vain for my eyes. His nose and throat rasped. Snot and saliva oozed through my fingers.
Then he went still once more. He patted my shoulder in submission.
I raised my chest and looked down at him. I wanted to see the surrender in his eyes. They were red and bulging like he’d had a kilo of khat. His arms just trembled now. He was starting to go.
I released some of the pressure. He fought for oxygen. His Adam’s apple would feel like it was stuck in the back of his throat.
I let him have just enough air to stay conscious.
‘Where – are – they?’
At first he just gulped.
Then he whispered a word.
‘Again.’ I moved my ear closer to his mouth.
‘Merca.’
‘They’re in Merca?’
‘Yes, they—’
I didn’t let him get the last bit out. I drew back and punched him in the face. I didn’t want him to make the mistake of thinking we were new best mates. ‘Who has them?’
‘Al-Shabab. The—’
I punched him again. ‘You know where they are?’
His head shook. ‘No, no.’
‘Then you’re no good to me.’
I retightened the vice momentarily to make sure he knew this was a tap I could turn on and off at will.
‘I do! I do know! They have them in the town. Please, Mr Nick.’
The lads round the fire were really going for it. Bottles were smashed and the girls swayed against the flames. Sweat dripped off my nose and chin and dropped onto Awaale’s face.
‘Why have they been taken?’
‘We had no choice. We have to pay them not to come into the city. They wanted the whites. It was a good deal for us. Erasto had another buyer, I don’t know who. But this was better for us. To keep al-Shabab away from the city. We don’t want them here.’
The girls were really going for it, gyrating their arses in front of the lads, hoping to get more than another bite of flatbread.
‘So Erasto was getting me to pay up for nothing?’
‘It’s business, Mr Nick. Erasto still needs payment for the boat. Al-Shabab have the boat. He wants payment for it. He wants money for the work.’
‘What about the video you showed me?’
‘I shot it before we handed them over. And recorded the message. Erasto wanted payment for the boat. They wouldn’t give him anything for the boat. We thought we’d get payment this way.’
A couple peeled away from the group and headed towards us, laughing and joking. I could smell the smoke on them as they came closer. I gripped Awaale.
They weren’t interested in us. They clambered into the back of a 4×4 and music soon sparked up in the cab. The laughter and clink of bottles back at the fire was soon drowned by moans and groans and heavy breathing. The wagon started to rock.
‘Give me a number. I want to talk to them.’
‘It won