Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

“Five more minutes, sir. The tide is still high enough that she can sail as soon as they have secured the load.”

“Very well. Waste no time.”

Verkatt turned to his left and began to walk to the wharf to retrieve his truck. Evans turned to Weston and questioned him in a whisper. “Well, what now? Do we tail him or do we keep going?”

“We don’t do anything. Get back to the office and call this in to the duty officer. Tell him the name of the ship. Give me the camera. I’m going to see if I can’t tail him for a bit, get a shot of him and the truck.”

“Why bother? We’ve got enough to go to the South African government to get a conviction.”

“A conviction for what? You can be sure the man has covered his tracks. No, we call this in and let the boys in Pretoria figure it all out.” A heavy truck engine throbbed to life by the ship. Weston gave his partner’s shoulder a small push. “Go on, I’ll be fine.”

Evans headed back to the office at a quick jog. Weston moved quickly around the circle of light until he was just to the right of the exit of the wharf, hidden beside the road behind some conveniently stacked crates. If Verkatt was as cagey as Weston thought, he would leave the truck’s lights off until he was a good distance away from the warehouse. His observation proved correct. A minute later, a late-model Mercedes six by six truck pulled slowly onto the street from the wharf, its lights off. As the truck turned and went by his position, Weston moved out of hiding, grabbed the tailgate and swung himself up onto the heavy bumper. He changed hands and drew the silenced automatic out of his coat pocket. With the hammer cocked, he used the barrel of the gun to pull aside the canvas gate hanging down over the back of the vehicle.

Verkatt’s helper was startled when the rear flap was drawn back by Weston, but not so startled that he did not try to get rid of the watcher. He grabbed for an ugly-looking knife in a scabbard at his hip. Weston shot the man twice in the chest, a difficult maneuver, holding on one handed from the tailgate of a moving truck. The grinding gears of the motor drowned out the twin pops. The African dropped his knife and fell forward onto the floor. Blood began to pool in a spreading dark stain under the body.

“That tears it, stupid bugger.” Weston pulled himself into the back of the truck and looked down at the dead man. He rolled the corpse over. The face was unfamiliar to him. A quick search of the man’s pockets revealed little in the way of money or identification. The only information on the man at all was a tattered slip of paper with a prefix that Weston recognized as a Pretorian phone number, most probably Verkatt’s. The scrap went into a coat pocket for further scrutiny by the lab. He took another look out of the back of the truck. They were almost at the outskirts of Cape Town. There were too few houses to offer any cover and the truck was moving too fast for Weston to jump off safely. At the city limits, the driver slowed the truck and stopped. Weston heard the passenger door open and someone get out. He brought the pistol to bear on the tail of the truck. The cab door slammed shut and the truck started to lurch around in a tight turn, heading back into town. Weston moved to the back and pulled back the canvas flap. He could see Verkatt standing by the road waiting for something. Seconds later, a helicopter dropped like a locust out of the sky and picked the arms dealer up. Weston brought the camera, all but forgotten, up to his eye and got off a rapid series of shots at the aircraft as it rose quickly and took off in the direction of Pretoria, following the N1 highway. A rough plan formed in the agent’s mind. It was all very illegal, but then the best plans always were.

The freighter slipped her berth and headed into the dark Indian Ocean. Park stood at his window and watched the ship’s rust-seamed bulk move slowly away, until distance overwhelmed her dim navigation lights. Park stood at the window a long time, staring at the dark sea. The world had just changed once again. He had been there to see and feel it move under his feet.

The truck pulled to a stop. Weston waited by the tailgate. He heard the driver’s door open and a name, followed by a string of commands in Afrikaans. He waited. The name was repeated, this time followed by a string of abuse. Over the idling engine, Weston could just hear footsteps on gravel walking up the driver’s side towards the rear of the truck. The rear flap was pulled back hard and the driver stuck his head in to give his partner hell for falling asleep on the drive back. The words died on his lips as he saw the body lying on the floor of the truck. Weston put the barrel of his gun against the frozen man’s temple.

“That’s right, don’t you move. We have a lot to talk about, you and me.”

Sean felt his heart sink in his chest. He and Harris had been thrown cold into this mess. Not all that unusual; he was required to adapt to any situation. The regiment prided itself for that ability. Lack of intelligence was a way of life. But HQ had omitted a major fact this time. The team leader was a woman and the Captain’s bars on the lapels of her uniform were new. This operation was being led by a Lieutenant with brand new Captain’s bars.

Sean and Bill were dressed in well-worn Russian camouflage battledress. The two men looked no different from any other Soviet soldier on the base, though a closer look would reveal no insignia or rank bars on their uniform. Even Captain Yevgeny Alexandrov had mistaken the two for Sturmovic’s bodyguards.

Gayle stopped in front of Sturmovic’s desk and saluted the base Commander. “Captain Gayle Ecevit, United States Air Force. I am the NEST team leader.” She looked at the two SAS soldiers standing behind Sturmovic. “You are Sergeants Addison and Harris?” Both men nodded. “I want to make it clear from the start, this is my show. You gentlemen are only observers.”

Sean looked her in the eye. “Of course we are.”

Gayle sucked air back through clenched teeth. “I’m not sure I care for your tone, Sergeant.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

Harris stabbed a thumb in Sean’s back to shut him up. “Sergeant Bill Harris. You’ll have to excuse him. We only let him out of his cage when there’s a particularly nasty bit of work to be done.”

Yevgeny stepped up to cool things down. “Please, it was a long flight. We are all tired and under the situation, not ourselves. I am Captain Yevgeny Alexandrov of the GRU. Your SAS is similar to our Spetsnaz units.”

Sean and Harris shook his hand, eager to put their brief skirmish behind them. Sean answered. “Essentially, yes.”

The GRU Captain introduced the two remaining team members. “Lieutenant Griegory Valotsin, GRU. Lieutenant Valerie Borodin, GRU. You will be hard pressed to find as exemplary officers anywhere.”

Gayle’s voice cut into the proceedings. “We should compare notes. Every second puts more distance between us and the warheads.” She turned to Sturmovic. “I understand, Commander, you have a suspect you are interrogating. I will need to see the man and, if needs be, interrogate him again.”

Sturmovic looked at the two British soldiers. “Will you tell them or shall I?”

Gayle’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me what?”

Sean was matter of fact. “We let him go.”

“You what? He was our only witness and you let him go?”