Andy McNab - Payback

‘Yeah,’ answered Danny nervously.

‘And anyway,’ said Fergus as the noise of the engine grew louder, ‘I never much fancied a boat trip. Always been a crap sailor. But it is a gamble, Danny – and remember, if there’s more than one person in there, we don’t get in. I go first, and if I push you away, you run, and you don’t look back.’

Fergus had a lot of experience with what they were about to do. Back in the days when he had infiltrated FARC, the drug runners had used this system to avoid government helicopter gunships as they covertly moved their processed cocaine out of Colombia.

The engine noise was coming closer and Danny couldn’t stop himself from clambering to his knees to get a first glimpse. ‘I can’t see a thing – where is it?’

Fergus reached up, grabbed Danny and pulled him to the ground, as the roar of the aircraft’s engine was suddenly just a couple of metres above them. ‘There!’ shouted Fergus. ‘Stay down!’

They felt the back blast of the propeller and then heard the tyres screech as they made contact with the tarmac. Danny still couldn’t see the aircraft as it carried on along the improvised LS. Fergus was holding onto him tightly. ‘Stay behind me!’ he yelled. ‘I don’t want you walking into that propeller.’

He’d seen it happen before. A lot of pumped-up, over-eager young men had died needlessly by running around in the dark and getting chopped to death by the unseen propeller.

The sound of the Cessna grew louder again as it taxied back along the road towards Fergus and Danny. One wing passed over their prone bodies and then the plane turned again to face into the wind. The pilot had landed into the wind; take-off had to be the same to obtain extra lift.

The back blast of the propeller sent sand and grit flying into the air. Danny felt it hit his face, making his skin sting, as his nose filled with the smell of aviation fuel. He shouted at his grandfather, ‘What’s happening? Does he know we’re here?’

Fergus ignored him and kept his eyes fixed on the aircraft. He knew the pilot was looking at them at that moment. The reason they had lain right next to the road was so that he could see them on his approach. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have landed.

A red torchlight began to flash. Fergus pulled Danny to his feet and, bending low, moved towards the light in a direct line. The pilot had opened the cockpit’s rear door. Fergus looked inside, saw that the man was alone, then pushed Danny into the aircraft and climbed in after him. He slammed the door and slapped the pilot twice on the shoulder, indicating that they were ready to go.

The engine roared, the Cessna gathered speed and within seconds they were climbing into the dark sky.

In the cockpit Danny could smell coffee and see the dull glow coming from the instrument panel. He realized why the pilot hadn’t needed landing lights: he was wearing NVGs. They looked like a pair of miniature binoculars, suspended about two centimetres in front of the pilot’s eyes by a head harness.

A green glow was coming from the NVGs. The pilot could see as well as he could in daylight; the only difference was that everything appeared like a green negative film. And Fergus knew that the plane must also be fitted with a Nitesun torch, an infra-red searchlight which, together with the NVGs, had made them – and the road – perfectly visible during the landing.

Danny peered out of a window. Far below he could see clumps of lights where there were villages or small towns. In a few places vehicle headlights cut through the darkness.

The pilot took off his NVGs and switched on the aircraft’s navigation lights. Bright flashes appeared at the end of each wing.

Fergus was looking down at the shape of the coastline, traced by the lights hugging the shore. They were heading north.

Without looking back, the pilot passed a flask over his shoulder. Fergus took it and began to pour out the hot, sweet-smelling coffee.

The aircraft climbed higher and Danny’s spirits soared with it. He was going home. At last.

Elena had never had too much to say about her dad that was good. There had been too many let-downs, disappointments and broken promises, not to mention the fact that he had long ago deserted both Elena and her mum. As far as Elena was concerned, Joey Omolodon had been unfailingly consistent as a dad – he was a disaster.

But despite everything, and no matter how hard she tried, Elena had always found it impossible to actually dislike Joey. There was too much about him that was likeable. He was charming, funny, confident, good-looking. True, he could drive you crazy one minute, but then he’d have you holding your sides and rocking with laughter the next. Joey was a one-off, a larger-than-life character. Or at least he had been, until going into Brixton prison.

As Elena sat in the taxi and watched her dad emerge from the prison gate, she was struck by the thought that Joey had suddenly become smaller. Shrunken somehow. He stood there clutching a plastic bag containing his few possessions, looking bewildered and disorientated.

Elena wound down the window and called, ‘Dad,’ and Joey gazed across the road, gave a little wave of recognition and a half smile and came shuffling towards the cab. He stepped off the kerb and immediately leaped back as a car horn sounded and a vehicle went hurtling by.

The cab driver laughed. ‘That’s not unusual when they first come out. I saw a bloke get knocked down once. One minute of freedom and he walked straight under a bus.’ He nodded towards Joey. ‘Been in long, has he?’

‘Mind your own business,’ snapped Elena as she threw open the taxi door and went hurrying across the road towards her dad.

Joey had been held in prison for four months while the prosecution case against him was prepared. Each time Elena had visited, he was sadder, more depressed and more resigned to spending many years behind bars. At first he had protested his innocence to Elena; when that didn’t work he said his so-called partner had set him up. Elena was having none of it: ‘You did it, didn’t you, Dad? You’re guilty,’ she said. And eventually Joey had just nodded.

What Joey didn’t do was say he was sorry for attempting to smuggle cocaine into the country. He was saving that for the trial because he was terrified by the thought of a long prison stretch. Joey valued freedom more than anything else in life; the freedom to come and go where he wanted whenever he wanted. He’d spent his whole life doing exactly that.

Now he was walking to freedom, thanks to his daughter, and Elena thought he’d be elated, despite those first few tentative steps. But he didn’t look elated.

‘All right, Dad?’ she asked, grabbing the plastic bag and taking Joey by the arm to lead him over to the taxi.

‘Yeah, fine, babe,’ he answered half-heartedly. ‘I’m good.’ He didn’t look good. He looked scared.

‘So you’re going home,’ said Elena brightly. ‘Back to Nigeria.’

Joey just nodded.

‘Bet you’re glad about that, eh?’ Elena suddenly realized that she was talking to her dad like he was the kid in the conversation. She was confused; this wasn’t what she’d expected.

They got into the cab and the driver pulled away. Joey stared morosely out of the window as the vehicle moved steadily through the early morning streets. ‘Someone came this morning, first thing,’ he said softly. ‘Just gave me a plane ticket and said they didn’t want to see me back in the UK.’ He turned to look at his daughter. ‘But no one told me why they were letting me go, or why there would be no trial. Do you know what’s going on?’

‘No,’ lied Elena. ‘They just said you were leaving this morning and the cab would be picking me up so I could see you off.’