Pirate - Duncan Falconer [66]
Stratton looked up at the thick, swirling clouds. He wasn’t familiar with the seasons or weather patterns of Somalia but it looked like rain was imminent.
‘I think we should stay in the water for as long as we can,’ he said. ‘You ready?’
‘Yes,’ she said softly. All she could think of was what would happen to her if they caught her. In truth, she was afraid to even move. But she was even more afraid to stay. It was a living hell. Getting to the coast unseen was only one part of the drama. The worst was yet to come. Getting back to civilisation seemed to be as impossible as getting to the moon right then.
Stratton took hold of the front of the log and pulled it into the deeper water. The girl followed, taking hold of the log, swimming within a few metres. Stratton lost touch with the bottom and he began to swim easily, one hand on the log, the other pushing the water behind him, his feet kicking gently below.
They swam the trunk soundlessly into the open water, keeping closer to the east side of the river to put as much distance as possible between them and the bank that the Somalis had patrolled.
He felt comfortable with the overall plan so far. Walking would have been quicker but it would have left them more exposed. There were risks with the waterborne option but after weighing them all, Stratton had decided it was safer than by land.
He estimated the beach to be around seven kilometres north. The town was another two or three kilometres west of where the river met the sea. He doubted they would be able to move the log more than two kilometres an hour. Add an hour to walk along the beach. If their progress wasn’t interrupted, that would bring them within sight of the cargo vessels with enough time to swim out to sea, approach the ship from the opposite side to the beach and climb on board before dawn.
As they swam, Stratton kept a wary eye in all directions. He suspected the jihadists’ efforts to contain the area would be focused on their own side of the water. But he couldn’t afford to underestimate them. The camp was even more visible from the far side of the river, illuminated by a sprinkling of electrical lights, kerosene lamps and campfires. It also looked bigger than he had estimated from the rocky slope above it, spreading much further around the side of the hill. A conservative estimate of the number of men it contained, based on the crowd that had turned out for the executions and allowing for patrols and outlying control points, had to be approximately three to four hundred. He wondered how he would attack such a place, how many men would be required and the best way to approach it. Attacking the camp was certainly something to aim for to destroy the missiles. He wondered if the Yanks or the Brits currently had the appetite for such an adventure. The political and legal ramifications would be obvious. But if they didn’t, many people would probably die. Stratton put his money on them mounting an assault – as long as he could get back to tell them what he knew.
If an attack did happen, Stratton could only hope that he would be a part of it. If so, he would make a point of finding Sabarak personally and tearing him apart.
As they progressed along the river, the dense bushes receded from the banks and the reed beds in the water became sparser. That all served to increase their exposure, which was a concern to Stratton. Because one of his contingencies on seeing signs of the enemy had been to leave the water and move into the scrub. That option appeared to be fast disappearing.
But as he thought, the dark clouds that had been thickening above them throughout the evening opened up and the rain started and came down in torrents. So heavy it looked like the water was boiling, the drops themselves like tiny pebbles hitting them.
‘At least the flies have gone,’ she called out above the noise.
And not