Pirate - Duncan Falconer [35]
Hopper had initially thought there was no one better to get caught with after being captured by the Somalis. But cracks of doubt were beginning to appear in his confidence, cracks caused by Stratton’s strength and his own weakness. He could think of nothing but escape and a return to his wife and children. Stratton hadn’t mentioned it since seeing those boxes going on to the ships. The man constantly pushed the limits in order to succeed on an operation. Which was why he was a top operative. He saw success as a higher priority than his own safety, or at least close to it.
Stratton would probably never agree with that statement, but others who had worked closely with him were certain of its truth. Hopper was suddenly concerned. Like most other members of the service, he knew that Stratton preferred working alone. That was probably because few people could play by his rules. Hopper felt in his guts that it was looking bad for them.
‘Those crates they loaded on to the ship,’ Stratton said. ‘I want to know what’s in them.’
Hopper’s heart sank, though he never showed it. He nodded, accepting that it had to be done. ‘OK. Then as soon as we do that, we get out of here?’
‘Then we get out of here,’ Stratton agreed.
The guards allowed no more than two prisoners at a time to leave the room on a toilet break. After the meal, Stratton and Hopper took it as an opportunity to explore. When they stepped out, the Somali pushed them down the side of the hut opposite. The toilet, a hole in the ground, was at the back. All they could see were the cramped little houses left and right, front and back. And guys with assault rifles.
When Stratton walked back into the hut, the girl glanced at him. She did that every time the door opened. Like she was waiting for someone. Most of the prisoners had dozed off. Stratton and Hopper took their places against the wall. The girl remained awake, staring at the wall. She seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety.
The day dragged on and they all lay there in the hut. There was nothing else to do but think. Or doze. The evening meal when it came was fish stew again. The hours passed slowly until darkness began to fall. The girl had hardly moved. Her eyes were closed. The air became colder with the passing of the sun. Stratton firmed up his plans for the night’s activities. He intended to be busy.
6
The moonlight shining in through the paneless opening high up the wall of the prison hut bathed the room in a grey wash. They could hear a couple of small generators chugging away somewhere not far from the hut. The privileged no doubt. The town had no mains electricity. They could smell kerosene lamps and hear the waves pounding the beach, a sound that had not been as obvious during the daytime.
They heard voices occasionally passing by outside. A round of laughter. A vehicle, probably an old truck, puttering along the main road. By now the limited conversations in the room had ceased completely. The sound of gentle snoring dominated.
Hopper lay stretched out on the floor. He was not asleep and was thinking, mostly about his family and what Helen was doing. He estimated the time at around nine or ten o’clock. That put it at six or seven back home. The children would be going to bed soon. Helen would then watch the TV or read a book, a mug of tea in her hands. She would wonder what her man was doing at that moment. But she wouldn’t be concerned. Not yet. It was still too soon. He’d been delayed many times before. It was the nature of the job. They had got married two years after he joined the SBS. She’d grown thick-skinned, used to the long operations and him being away months at a time. He’d only been gone a few days so far and therefore the wait had been nothing.
He suddenly wondered what would happen if something went wrong. If he didn’t make it back. He imagined them coming to her front door, one of the