Pirate - Duncan Falconer [56]
‘Do you think we’re ten kilometres from the beach?’ she said.
He looked back at the ocean to be sure. ‘I’d say so.’
‘Then this must be the right place.’
‘They might have sentries on the high ground,’ he said, looking along the ridge and beyond. But he would be surprised if there were any. In fact he would have been impressed.
‘What now?’ she asked.
He could tell she was uncomfortable being there and wanted to get it over with. ‘I need to get a closer look. We should move in now before it gets any lighter, see if we can find somewhere to observe from. If we can’t find anywhere, we’ll have time to get back.’
They heard a cry of some sort from the camp. It had a rhythm to it, like a chant. He recognised it. The Muslim call to prayer just before dawn.
‘Do everything I say. If I go to ground, if I stop, you do the same and without a noise or a word,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I will.’
He gripped the rifle and, keeping as low to the ground as he could, stepped over the crest and down the other side. The girl moved as he moved, her eyes either on him or the camp.
Stratton stepped slowly and quietly towards a jumble of rocks halfway down the incline and a stone’s throw from the first line of trees that formed the outer perimeter of the camp.
They crouched against the rocks and waited, listening. The voices became louder but he could not understand a word.
‘I don’t like this position,’ he said quietly, looking around them. ‘It will be exposed when the sun comes up.’ He spotted a rocky outcrop further along the plateau with more of an overlook to the camp.
He set off, keeping low, careful not to disturb the loose ground. If he could hear them, they would be able to hear him. The girl followed a short distance behind.
A loud voice suddenly cut through the encampment and Stratton and the girl dropped to the ground. Stratton’s first thought was that they had been seen. They waited but they heard only the distant voice rising and falling. He guessed it was the cleric exhorting his congregation. They crept to the rock formation using their hands to climb. Once there, Stratton felt satisfied with the cover. The boulders pretty much provided all-round protection from view if they kept well down. They waited again, on edge. If anyone had seen them, the action would soon follow. The minutes creaked by. Stratton felt happy enough that they hadn’t been seen.
As the wind shifted a strange whirring sound became apparent. It was faint but constant. After checking around, he decided it was coming from a dip further along the slope. As he looked he thought he could just about see a rhythmic movement beyond the ridge-line, like something spinning. To get a proper look at it, he’d have to expose himself in the open so he decided not to, focusing instead on the camp.
He could see several long, low wooden huts, a single mud one with a sloping roof and dozens of makeshift shelters scattered through the trees, the ground littered with trash. Further inside he saw half a dozen Toyota pick-ups and a couple of large flatbed trucks.
As the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon the insistent beats of the spinning, whirring object seemed to get louder. He still couldn’t make it out and he decided to risk stretching his head a little above the rocks. As soon as he did so he knew what it was and ducked back down. The camp had a portable radar system, dispelling any possibility of it being inhabited by a bunch of nomads.
These people were not small players to be operating that kind of hardware. And they obviously had reason to fear an air attack. And if they were prepared to be alerted to an air attack, there was every chance that they had some level of air defence system beyond rifles and pistols.
As he examined the camp, several men carrying rifles and supplies of some kind emerged from the wood and began to walk up the incline towards the radar installation. Stratton