Pirate - Duncan Falconer [51]
He walked slowly up the side of the deserted street in complete darkness. The wind had picked up. Sounds came to him from every direction: a door banged, plastic sheeting flapped, a distant generator hummed. He paused at the corner to a broader street across his front. Two houses down, one of them had lights on inside. Stratton crept up the street to get a closer look at the front. He crossed over and stood at the corner of the front wall. He listened but he could hear nothing. He carefully looked into the front window, but he could see no one, just a torn old sofa, a table and chairs. He skirted the front of the house and waited, looking down the street. Movement on the porch of a large house back across the road caught his eye.
He studied the shadows on the porch. A figure sat near the front door. He walked down a narrow alley, around the back of a house and along another gap between houses, then back to the broad street where he was diagonally opposite the big place. A small flame flared on the porch and lit a cigarette. It moved to light two more before extinguishing. The ends of the tobacco roll-ups glowed bright as the men inhaled deeply.
He had an obvious problem. The house could well be Lotto’s and he needed to confirm it. To do that he needed to get a look inside. That required neutralising the watchmen. Which might cause a disturbance and increase the risks. The burning question now, how important was the girl? Could he find the terrorist camp without her? What if she was already dead? On the face of it the risk calculation wasn’t adding up.
He leaned back against the wall of the house and looked to the skies for inspiration. How could he find Hopper on his own? It was starting to look impossible. His mind began to drift to his exit strategy. The Dutchman’s boat. Hopper kept coming to mind. He painfully pushed it aside.
The house’s front door opened. Light streamed on to the street. The watchmen got to their feet. A figure stepped into the doorway. A large man wearing a towel around his waist. Stratton couldn’t say for sure but it looked like the pirate leader. The man said something and one of the others stepped behind him into the house. A few seconds later he came out again, helping a small figure who was staggering. It looked like the girl.
The big man went back into the house and shut the door. The main light inside went out and then a lamp glowed in the window. One of the watchmen said something and the two others laughed. They helped the girl down the steps of the porch on to the street.
They took her around the end of the porch and into a broad alley illuminated by the light from a window. They let the girl go and she dropped to her knees. The three men talked in muffled voices. There was the occasional chuckle. It appeared that they were contemplating having some fun themselves.
One of them knelt down beside the girl.
Stratton took another quick review of the risk calculation. She was alive. Hopper could be found. There were three goons but they were occupied. It was dark. ‘Bollocks,’ he muttered to himself and gritted his teeth.
Stratton pulled the Kalashnikov into his shoulder, brought the end of the barrel up and strode across the street.
The two Somalis standing over the girl saw him at the same time. He pointed the barrel of the AK at them. They straightened and raised their hands, stepping back, their mouths gaping open. The one on his knees remained where he was, unaware of the intrusion. As Stratton walked, he reversed the rifle in his hands and swung it like a baseball bat at the kneeling Somali’s head. He struck him hard on the temple. He landed on top of the girl and she