Pirate - Duncan Falconer [13]
Stratton looked into the darkness towards the village, then at Ramlal behind the wheel of the idling Land Cruiser. ‘No. Let’s go.’
Stratton pocketed the Chinese man’s passport, holstered his gun and climbed into the front passenger seat. Prabhu got into the back along with Hopper, and Ramlal floored the accelerator pedal.
Hopper kept an eye on their rear while Stratton studied the way ahead. He saw the foreign ambush team reach their commander. He saw the guy get to his feet. He saw them stand in the middle of the track, talking.
The Land Cruiser bumped heavily along. A lone car passed along the coastal highway in front, its headlights silently cutting into the blackness.
‘What do you think the Chinese Secret Service wanted with this clown?’ Hopper asked. The Saudi sat between him and Prabhu, his head lolling left then right, his tongue hanging out. He couldn’t stop drooling. Hopper shoved Sabarak away on to Prabhu, who was equally unimpressed.
‘No idea,’ Stratton replied. His focus had switched back to delivering their man to Oman. The threat had passed so short of any unforeseen accident, they would be at the border by first light. There was something niggling him though he did not know what. Whether it had been the fight or the close call that almost lost him his man, he didn’t know.
He made an effort to unwind, shake off the uncomfortable feeling and concentrate on the drive. They would divide the journey into two watches. The Gurkhas were fresher than him and Hopper so they could take the first couple of hours. As soon as they were heading comfortably along the highway, he would grab a nap. It had been another long day.
The Cruiser bumped up on to the tarmac highway. Ramlal turned left and they headed north-east along the coast. It looked like the weather was closing in. The coastal highway did not hug the sea but paralleled it a couple of hundred metres away. An unending wall appeared on their right side, eight feet tall, a large property boundary made of concrete block and plastered and painted. It was a typical Yemeni construction. Stratton had heard of their love of walls. It was a national trait. He believed it. Even if there was nothing yet built on a property, or anything likely to be for years to come, they’d still build a wall around it.
The wall gave way to a view of the sea once more and the smooth two-lane highway stretched away from them towards Oman. The road was in good condition like it had been built not too long before. Stratton slid down a little in his seat, leaned his head back and got comfortable. As he was about ready to shut his eyes, a light reflected off the wing mirror on his side. He looked at the distant globes.
Headlights.
Stratton stared at them, his natural suspicion tingling. He hadn’t been aware of any vehicle behind them when they joined the road. It must have come from a nearby house. The timing bothered him more than anything else. He wasn’t a great fan of coincidences.
As they took a gentle bend, a second pair of headlights appeared close behind the first. That was enough to make Stratton sit back up. Harmless or not, it had to be proved it was safe before he could ignore it.
He considered the possibility that it was local security forces. They’d be interested in a lone car at night on these roads. Yemen had been placed on a state of alert after the increase in terrorist activity in recent months. He would rather avoid the authorities. He had the right paperwork and the numbers to call but the Yemenis would take for ever to confirm his right of passage. Particularly with his unconscious passenger. It would interrupt the final exfiltration phase from the country.
But as Stratton watched the vehicles he knew this was trouble.
He could feel it.
Everyone else in the car was by then on the same train of thought. Ramlal had hardly taken his eyes off the lights since he had seen them. He was at one-forty kph, which was standard cruising speed on these roads. He added another ten without noticing.
Hopper