Recoil - Andy McNab [38]
‘I know that too.’
‘So why do I feel so guilty?’ I paused. ‘Do you know that too?’
‘Because you can’t get the sight of those kids’ corpses out your head. I do know that, because I can’t either. That’s why my life has been here ever since. I want to make up for killing those children. I want to make sure the ones who are still alive don’t have to suffer like the ones we killed. But you don’t have to feel guilty, Nick. We didn’t know. This is just my particular way of dealing with it.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No thanks needed, son. Do you want to know what happened to the others?’
‘No,’ I lied. I’d always wanted to know about the boy.
‘Really?’
‘I know Annabel didn’t make it. Not sure I’m ready to hear the rest.’
We rounded a bend in the dirt track. ‘OK. Just let me know when you are.’ Sam tapped the wheel. ‘In the meantime, this is us.’
I could make out a cluster of breezeblock buildings, topped by a couple of antennas and a sat dish. The rest of the skyline was dominated by the massive silhouettes of two four-prop Antonov An12s.
The Russian version of our C130 Hercules, the An12 had the same shape as most tactical transport aircraft, essentially a huge tube with a ramp at the back. The only real differences were the amount of glass in the nose, which made it look like a Second World War Heinkel bomber, and the pair of 23mm cannon protruding from the rear of the fuselage – it looked like Donald Duck’s bill had been stuck on the aircraft’s arse.
The rear ramp was down on the nearest. Three or four trucks milled around, loading up what I assumed was the cargo Lex had been waiting for.
The ageing Antonovs were relics from the bad old Cold War days. They were now dotted around every ex-Communist African country you could name, and a good few you probably couldn’t. As we got closer it was clear that this faded dark green monster had come from Mother Russia: it still had a big red star on the tail fin.
Sam knew what my next question was going to be and laughed. ‘They look weird, don’t they? Lex got the pair on the cheap. One working,’ he pointed to the second aircraft, at the side of the strip, ‘and that one for spares. Low mileage, one careful lady owner. You know the sort of thing.’
We drove to the rear of the building and pulled up alongside a black 4x4 Porsche. Sam shook his head. ‘Lex’s penis extension. A bit too flash for me.’ He jumped out. The sun hadn’t cleared the treeline yet and it was still a bit chilly.
I followed him to the back of the BMW. He lifted the tailgate and pulled out his green daysack with a blue, hard-plastic wheelie suitcase, the sort that fits into overhead lockers. It was so new it still had the sale tag on the handle.
I threw my holdall over my shoulder. ‘Does he charge for excess luggage as well?’
Donald’s bill jutted out over a truck that was backed up to the ramp. The 23mms were still in place. The early-morning sun glinted off the scratched Perspex canopy and the oversized belts of brass link inside.
Lex jumped down to greet us. He shoved a sat phone into its belt carrier, rubbed his hands and inspected the sky. ‘Turned out nice again, eh?’ For people working in hot climates, it was the oldest cliché in the book, but it still made me smile.
I glanced beyond him at the long aluminium containers being stowed in the belly of the aircraft. They were offloaded on to pallet trolleys then hauled up the ramp. By the looks of it, each one weighed a ton. ‘What’s the cargo, Lex?’
‘Just food, water, that sort of stuff. General shit. It’s a fresh day for the lads. I tell you, I’ve got enough steak in the back there to open a restaurant chain.’
‘How many people work for this mining company, then?’
He turned away. ‘Don’t bore me with that stuff, man. Me, I just play with the joystick. No names, no pack drill.’
He jumped back on the ramp and disappeared. I wanted to ask Sam what was really in the containers, but thought better of it. They weren’t full of prime fillet, that was for sure.
The BMW and the Porsche were being driven away. ‘Doesn’t Lex come back here