Pirate - Duncan Falconer [6]
But Stratton never felt completely comfortable operating alongside men like Hopper because they brought their families with them. Hopper was always thinking about them or talking about them in conversation. He seemed unable to disconnect while away on ops. Hopper never saw it as a disadvantage being a family man as well as an SBS operative. He regarded himself as pure special forces. He only talked to civilians beyond casual exchanges if he had to. He viewed them as potential security leaks. All of his friends were serving or former military personnel.
All of which meant several things to Stratton. Hopper would be fine and he would do the job well enough. But he would have preferred it if Hopper had not been chosen for this operation. He was better suited to large-scale ops. But at the end of the day Hopper had a reputation for being reliable, for being steady, and Stratton had no doubt he would do well.
‘We weren’t talking the day I left for here,’ Hopper went on. ‘Had a bit of a row. Not the best thing when you’re off on an op. By the time I get home it will all have blown over. Helen doesn’t hold on to things like that for long. You’ve met Helen before, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Course you have. That last service family barbeque. I never associate you with those kinds of bashes.’
‘I think I got back from somewhere that day and just happened to be there.’
‘That would explain it.’
‘We’re getting close to the RV,’ Stratton said. He wasn’t concerned about being overheard. They were still a long way from the village. But the family chat was getting him out of the right frame of mind. It didn’t feel right to be talking about Hopper’s family life. It was precisely the reason why he didn’t like working with married fads.
They came to a broader track that connected the coastal highway with the village. A short distance further along they hit a track junction, the other route leading way up into the hills.
A narrow wadi ran alongside the track and through the junction at that point. Stratton stepped down into it. Hopper joined him.
‘This is ideal,’ Hopper said. ‘Far enough away from the village and the highway.’
The air was still. Both men heard the quiet sound of boots on loose stones and they looked along the track that led up into the hills to see a figure approaching along it. The man was short and solid-looking and carrying a small backpack. He stopped on the edge of the wadi and squatted on his haunches with an economy of energy.
‘Ram ram, Prabhu,’ Stratton said, by way of greeting.
‘Hajur, sab,’ Prabhu replied.
‘Sabai tic cha?’ Stratton asked. It was more of a formality than anything else because Prabhu would have warned him as soon as something was not OK.
‘Tic cha,’ Prabhu replied in his calm, easy manner, a hint of a smile on his lips. He had a flat, ageless face, short dark hair. He was a former British Gurkha officer and had completed twenty-four years in the battalion, rising through the ranks to major, one of the few who did. ‘Ramlal is waiting in the vehicle around the other side of the hill,’ he said.
‘Good man. Take this pack back with you. We’ll do the snatch here as planned. Soon as it goes off, you drive down and pick us up.’
‘No problem, saheb,’ Prabhu said, exchanging packs with Stratton.
‘Don’t forget your gas masks,’ Stratton said with a smile. He had a soft spot for the Gurkha soldier but especially for Prabhu who he had worked with before in Afghanistan and Iraq.
‘Don’t worry. We won’t forget.’
The ex-major set off back the way he had come and Stratton pulled a gas mask from the pack and handed it to Hopper, who stuffed it into one of the large pockets in his coat. Stratton took another mask