Pirate - Duncan Falconer [37]
He looked around the hut. No one had moved. If anyone was aware of her departure, they had, like Stratton, remained still and made no sign of it.
He sympathised with her completely. She’d made the right choice. If she stayed in that hut, there was little doubt about what would happen to her and probably by more than one of the bastards. It might not be any easier on the outside. But it was well worth the try. She would probably head for the water and find a boat. As a yachtswoman she had a good chance of making it once she got herself out to sea. He couldn’t really see another option for her. Anyone who could sail around the world should be able to navigate the Gulf of Aden in a fishing boat. All she had to do was get as far away from the Somali coast as she could and wave down the first vessel that came by. Preferably a navy boat.
Stratton looked at her friend lying against the wall. His eyes were closed but his sharp breathing suggested he was in a lot of pain. It must have been tough leaving him behind. But the man would never make it in his condition. And she couldn’t afford to wait. Stratton put her out of his thoughts. He had enough of his own problems. He waited a few minutes longer then he sat up and gently squeezed Hopper’s arm.
‘Have fun,’ Hopper whispered.
Stratton thought he detected a slight edge to Hopper’s voice but he ignored it. He eased to his feet, went to the wall below the opening, reached up, grabbed the sill and gently pulled himself up to get a look outside. The hut backed on to another, the gap wide enough to drive a car along. An orange light shone in the window of a house further down. The smell of kerosene was even stronger. He heard a vehicle rattle along somewhere, saw its headlights flickering between the buildings.
He reached up for a roof rafter and manoeuvred his legs through the opening. He twisted on to his front and slid outside, grabbing the sill and lowering his feet to the ground. He crouched to scan between the buildings. All he could see was junk and rubbish. As he was about to move off a nearby sound froze him. The scuff of a boot on hard ground. Coming from the gap around the corner of the prison hut.
Stratton went to ground and lay flat. In daylight he would have been exposed but in the shadows among rubbish and rubble, he could probably get away with being stepped on before anyone noticed him.
A figure appeared from the gap and paused. Stratton wondered if it was the girl returning for some reason. Whoever it was didn’t wait for long and followed the back of the prison hut to the window. And another figure left the narrow gap to join the first. The two moved stealthily. Like they didn’t want anyone to see or hear them. Both were too big to be the girl. When they turned to look up the street, Stratton knew immediately who they were.
They were the two who had fought over the girl on the beach. The two Hopper and he had flattened. It looked like they were going to climb into the hut. They wanted to avoid the front. They were either coming for him and Hopper or the girl. Perhaps all three. Once inside they would discover the girl was missing and Stratton too. Hopper would take them on but that might end badly for him, especially if he hadn’t untied his hands.
One of the men reached for the sill and took his weight on his arms while his colleague crouched to give him a boost. Neither of them looked behind them. Neither saw Stratton pick up a chunk of concrete and ease himself to his feet. The one that had grabbed for the opening pulled himself up into it, the other still holding his legs.
Stratton moved at them. The man on the ground heard him coming but had little time to react. As he let go of the other Somali’s legs and reached for the knife in the waistband of his trousers, Stratton brought the rock down hard on to his head. Enough to knock