Recoil - Andy McNab [54]
He sighed. ‘They’ve been like that since I brought Crucial in on the job. It started out with just the four of us, and they don’t like our cosy little white set-up being disturbed. They didn’t even mind the church at first. It actually helped recruitment – a lot of the guys already have religion.
‘But when Standish had to start staying back here to do the bean counting, someone else had to be brought in for the patrols and camp protection. They wanted one of their RLI cronies. I chose Crucial. He’s completely professional, speaks nearly every language going – and we’ve got Rwandans, Congolese, Ugandans, you name it. Tooley and Bateman can barely speak English.’
‘He’s just the wrong shade for them, right?’
He shrugged. ‘They live in the old world.’
8
Sam pulled out a sat phone and pushed it towards me. ‘Go on, give yourself a treat . . .’
The offer was too good to miss, but not because I wanted to whisper sweet nothings to her; I wanted to warn her about the threat from the north, and get her to move to the mine right away.
Sam picked up his gear. ‘I’ll see you outside on the strip.’
I scrolled the phone’s menu to find how to block the outgoing number. I didn’t want Silky seeing twelve digits and wondering why I was suddenly on a sat phone instead of my cell. If she thought I was in-country, it might push her even further away.
These things had come a long way since the eighties, when Standish had had to set up a dish to make contact. This one was small enough to fit into my pocket. The sat phone’s number had been written down its side with a permanent marker so the team always knew which phone was which.
I didn’t have that problem with Tim’s number – I’d memorized it. I tapped in the first few digits. ‘Who is this?’ He sounded English, middle-class and very abrupt. ‘Tim? It’s Nick, Silky’s friend. Can I speak to her?’
‘She’s not here until this evening. Étienne told me you want her to call, and she will. Please don’t use this phone for social calls. It’s emergency use only.’
‘Tim, you’ve got to—’
Too late. The phone was dead.
Shit. Maybe her mobile had a signal. I tried it, but got nothing. I connected with my mobile’s voicemail. The automated response told me I’d received no calls.
Fuck it. I called Tim’s number again.
Straight to voicemail. I told him about the LRA, and advised him to move to the mine. Then I hung up. There was nothing more I could do. I wiped both numbers off the history, picked up my party gear and headed out of the tent.
9
Sweat poured off me. The Deet I’d only just applied was already running into my eyes and mouth. It tasted incredibly bitter and stung like hell. I’d doused every bit of exposed skin with the stuff, as well as my hair and clothes. Malaria still killed more people than Aids around here, and even the LRA couldn’t compete.
The airstrip had become a parade ground, and two squads shimmered in the heat haze. As we approached them, Crucial shouted a command in French and they roared some kind of greeting at Sam.
I’d hung a two-foot gollock from my belt with a length of para cord. I’d also anchored the old prismatic compass in my pocket. Survival in the jungle is down to cutting and navigating, and if you lose the means to do either, you’re well and truly fucked. I wouldn’t have minded tucking away Sam’s sat nav for good measure. With the longs and lats for the strip and the mine already set, I’d be able to get to Silky on my own if the shit hit the fan.
I’d swapped my jeans for a pair of Sam’s OGs (olive greens) and tucked a long-sleeved thick cotton vest well into them. I’d even tied off the bottom of both trouser legs as part of my anti-malaria campaign.
I could hear a low rumble in the distance. A storm was brewing away to the west. Invisible birds called from high up in the canopy. One sounded like a slowed-down heart monitor. I hoped it wasn’t an omen.
Sam addressed the two squads in a loud,