Pirate - Duncan Falconer [94]
‘I’m fine,’ she said, picking up the handset.
‘Catch you later.’
‘Hey.’
Stratton paused in the doorway to look back at her.
‘Thanks. For everything. You’re an unusual man … that’s as in great.’
‘Needs must, that’s all.’
‘And all the rest,’ she said.
Stratton closed the door and headed down the stairs.
When he got to the bottom, he found two of the private security lads hanging around in the corridor outside the galley.
‘Anything I can do for you, sir?’ one of them asked.
‘You could steer me towards a bunk, if that’s OK. Anything will do.’
‘No probs,’ the young man said. ‘Name’s Andy.’
‘Good to meet you.’
‘This is Spike.’
Stratton nodded a hello.
‘Follow me,’ Andy said.
He briskly led the way back up the stairs to the first floor and along a short corridor. He opened a door and stepped back to allow Stratton entry. The small space looked homely. The bed had been freshly made and a man’s personal effects, including several pictures of the same woman in sexy clothing, adorned a mirror and built-in dresser.
‘You sure this is OK?’ Stratton asked.
‘He volunteered it, sir. No probs.’
Stratton nodded as his eyes fell on the clean white sheets of the narrow cot. It was calling to him.
‘Shower and heads are in there,’ the security lad said, pointing to a slender door in the corner. ‘’Elp yourself to anything – shampoo, the lot. He’ll have some spare clean overalls in that cupboard you can use.’
‘That’s very kind. Thank him for me please.’
‘I will. You have a good kip, sir. You need anything else, just ask for Andy and I’ll sort you out.’
Andy closed the door, a smirk on his face, Spike at the top of the steps looking at him. ‘Does the first officer know you’ve put ’im in ’is room?’
Andy stepped over with a conspiratorial grin. ‘No, but he’s a wanker anyway. And SAS-man needs it more than ’e does.’
‘Nice one,’ Spike said, chuckling.
‘What’s he gonna do? Kick the SAS out of bed?’
The two men laughed heartily as they descended.
Stratton looked in on the coffin-sized shower room and turned on the water. Within seconds steam filled the room. He pulled off all of his damp clothes and immersed himself in the hot water. The wound on his back stung a little. Several minutes later he pulled on a clean pair of overalls he had found in the cupboard.
He looked down on the bed. On the one hand he wanted to fall on to it. On the other he felt like he should be doing something to speed up the next phase of the operation. Someone had to go back into Somalia and sort out those missiles. Bombing them was his first thought. But it wouldn’t be clinical enough. They had to be sure the weapons got destroyed.
He felt his eyes growing heavy. He lay down on the bed. Within seconds of closing his eyes, he fell into a deep sleep.
16
He walked in a dark and distant place, wandering through black, cold-looking hills but finding sanctuary among the gloom. Rain had soaked his straggly hair, his unshaven face. He pulled the thick coat he wore about him. He could hear a distant banging. It just kept on and on. Reached right into his subconscious. It began to irritate him and he looked back over his shoulder at the clouds rolling towards him. He stopped and turned to face them, certain he could see a figure hidden within their broiling plumes. Stratton controlled his fear, as always, and turned it into aggressive calculation. He took his hands from the deep pockets of the trench coat and squared up to the oncoming mystery.
As the cloud came on, a figure inside revealed itself. It was black, from head to toe, a man, his shiny skin taut, his head bald, his limbs and torso powerful. In his raised hand a whip several metres long. Lotto the pirate commander bore down on the operative, menace in his eyes. The whip lashed in the air. Stratton stood his ground, clenched his fists and teeth, eyes darting in search of an advantage. He could see none to hand.
He took a step forward. Lotto, who was twice as tall as him now, reached out a powerful hand to grab him and lifted the whip to strike him. As the commander