Pirate - Duncan Falconer [126]
The team took up fire positions while Downs and Milton, still with the camera on his head, went to the front door of the prison hut. Downs drew the bolt across and opened the door. He looked inside and saw the hostages Stratton had shared the room with, minus the Dutch crew who had been released with their ship. Those who were awake looked startled at the new visitors but didn’t move at first in disbelief.
Downs stepped inside with Milton and the interpreter and they set about keeping the hostages calm and telling them that they were about to be freed. When the hostages in the other building had been liberated, they were formed into a single group and led as quietly as possible to the outskirts of the town and down towards the cargo ships.
As Stratton walked along Lotto’s street he breathed in deep to help bring down his heart rate after the jog from the jihadists’ camp. His concentration remained at a peak, his Colt at the ready to respond to anyone who might challenge him. The rain had stopped but the roofs still dripped water on to the muddy ground. The potholes that covered the street were filled with water, which he avoided to reduce the noise he made. Apart from occasional lights in the houses, the place seemed to be deserted. He wondered if that was because the word had spread that the jihadists’ camp had been attacked. It was possible the townsfolk didn’t know. The rain, thunder and the distance would have done a lot to mask the explosions.
He came to the front of Lotto’s house and stopped across the street to look at it. The dim light was on inside. He turned around in a circle. He could see no sign of any guards anywhere.
He turned back to the house, walked towards it and stepped gently on to the wooden porch. He stopped at the door. He could hear a soft voice inside. Followed by deep, gentle laughter. A man’s laughter. Lotto’s laughter.
Stratton slung his Colt and pulled his Sig Sauer pistol from its holster. He held it easily at his side. He was going to enjoy this immensely. Every time he had met Lotto in the last few days the Somali had had the guns, the manpower, the control. Now it was Stratton’s turn.
Stratton still did not feel any great animosity towards the man, which was possibly strange considering the number of times Lotto had tried to kill him. The explanation was understandable enough, though. Lotto hadn’t had any particular hatred for Stratton. His aggression hadn’t been personal. Stratton had simply begun as a commodity to the pirate commander and later turned into a threat to the rest of his assets.
Stratton reached for the doorknob. More gentle laughter came from behind the door. This time he thought he heard a lighter tone mixed in with Lotto’s. A woman’s.
Stratton turned the handle of the door slowly, pushed it open and stepped inside, moving away from the opening. The big pirate commander sat across the room from him with a glass in his hand and looking very relaxed. Right up until the moment he recognised Stratton. He almost let go of the glass he was so astonished. He looked hard at Stratton, from his boots to his face. His eyes locked on to Stratton’s cold eyes for a long time. But then his qualities as an old fighter came through and he regained control of himself.
Stratton looked from the Somali to his companion.
It was the Chinese girl.
Her smile faded as she looked up at the Englishman. She didn’t have quite the same control as Lotto and lost the liquid in the fine crystal glass she was holding.
All three remained silent for what seemed a long time.
Lotto’s eyes went to his pistol, within arm’s reach on a side table next to the single lamp that illuminated the room and the open bottle of whisky beside it. Then he looked at Stratton. The operative kept looking