Stephen Leather: The Hunting

They then checked their weapons. They all had folding stocks which meant they could be placed in the backpacks.

The men had booked two rooms with a connecting door, and once the work was done they took it in turns to wash themselves in the bathrooms and change into fresh T-shirts and shorts. Then they gathered in one room, faced Mecca, and prayed for the next ten minutes.

Four of the men were from England, two were Somalians with Dutch passports, one was Finnish, and one was from Pakistan but with a Belgian passport. All had trained in Afghanistan before fighting for ISIS in Syria. All had neatly trimmed beards and were battle fit, with barely an ounce of spare fat on them. They were warriors and had been carefully chosen for their mission.

After they had finished praying they embraced each other, shouldered their backpacks and headed out.

CHAPTER 3

Laura Van der Sandt’s phone buzzed on the table next to her sun lounger and she picked it up. She pushed her Gucci sunglasses onto the top of her head and squinted at the screen, smiling when she realised it was her husband calling on FaceTime. She took the call and waved when she saw him grinning at her. ‘Soaking up the sun?’ he asked.

‘Factor fifty, so I’m good,’ she said.

‘How is it?’

‘Lovely,’ said Laura. ‘What about you? Is everything okay?’

‘Perfect,’ said Van der Sandt. ‘Shot a seven-ton elephant this afternoon with tusks that must have been eight feet long.’

Laura’s face tightened and her husband was quick to pick up on it. ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said.

‘Like what?’

‘You know like what. Like I was doing something wrong.’

Laura sighed. ‘Honey, you’re killing an animal for sport.’

‘And there’s nothing you like more than a rare fillet steak with all the trimmings.’

‘But you’re not eating the elephant, are you?’

‘It’s pest control,’ said her husband. ‘There’s a drought here in Botswana and the elephants are destroying crops and damaging property as if there was no tomorrow.’

‘They’re trying to survive,’ said Laura.

‘And so are the people here,’ said Van der Sandt. ‘That’s why they’re issuing licences to kill them. I’m doing them a favour. And the people here do eat elephants, honey. The one I killed will literally feed a hundred people.’

Laura sighed. It was an argument she and her husband had had many times and one that she had never won. ‘Honey, so long as you’re having fun, that’s all that matters,’ she said.

‘And the kids are good?’

‘Glued to their phones as always. But they’ve been sailing and waveboarding and Karl seems to have found himself a girlfriend.’

Van der Sandt laughed. ‘He’s seven.’

‘He’s starting young, like his dad.’

Van der Sandt roared with laughter and blew her a kiss. ‘So I’ll leave here tomorrow morning and see you tomorrow evening, right? I’ll fly in and pick you up and then we’ll have a few days in London before heading back to the States.’

‘You said we could visit Paris?’

‘Really? You want to go back there?’

‘I love Paris, honey.’

‘It’s a shithole these days. And the kids are never happy there.’

‘We can take them to Disneyland.’

‘We can do that in the States. And they can see the real thing and not just a French copy.’

‘Please, honey. Just two days.’ She pouted and saw immediately from the look in his eyes that she had won.

He laughed. ‘Okay, you didn’t complain about my Botswana trip so the least I can do is let you have a couple of days in Paris. I’ll book the hotel you like. The Lancaster.’ He blew her a kiss. ‘Love you.’

Laura laughed. ‘Love you more.’

He ended the call and she put down her phone. Off to her right, two jet skis were heading towards the beach. She shaded her eyes with her hand to get a better look. Jet skis had been barred from coming too close to the shore as they were a danger to swimmers and snorkelers. Karl had been pestering her to take him jet skiing but that would have meant leaving the resort and she preferred to stay put. The resort was five star and her every whim was catered for, but outside there were areas that looked less than safe.

‘Mum, can I have chicken wings?’ asked Sophie. The ten-year-old was lying on the sun lounger next to Laura’s. She was wearing a yellow bathing suit and a large floppy hat that provided shade for her phone.

‘We’ll be having dinner soon,’ said Laura.

‘How soon is soon? I think you mean sooooooon.’

Laura laughed. ‘A couple of hours,’ she said.

‘I’m hungry now.’

‘How can you be hungry? You had all that spaghetti for lunch. And I seem to remember a chocolate lava cake. With vanilla ice cream. And strawberries.’

‘I’m still growing,’ said Sophie seriously, then she pouted. Laura laughed as she realised it was the exact same facial expression that she had used on her husband. ‘What?’ said Sophie.

‘Nothing,’ said Laura. She looked around for a waiter. ‘And an iced tea,’ said Sophie. ‘Peach.’

Laura smiled to herself.

‘Mum, they’ve got jet skis,’ said Karl. He was sitting up on the sun lounger on the other side of Sophie, peering out to sea.

‘I don’t think they’re from the resort,’ said Laura. She shaded her eyes again. ‘Can you see Lucy?’

Fifteen-year-old Lucy had her eyes on a group of Italian teenage boys and whenever they went into the sea she followed them. She was wearing a white bikini which made her easy to spot. Laura waved at her and called her name but was pointedly ignored. The Italian boys were throwing a basketball around and Lucy was clearly hoping it would go in her direction. ‘Lucy!’ she shouted.

The jet skis were close enough to hear now, buzzing like flies. There were water spouts at the back of each craft. There were four of them now, she realised, with two people on each, and they were heading directly to the beach. ‘What are they playing at?’ she muttered to herself.

Sophie looked to see what Laura was squinting at. ‘What are they doing wrong Mummy?’ she asked.

‘They’re being stupid,’ she said. ‘They could easily run over a swimmer. Someone could get hurt.’

‘The jet skis you mean?’

‘Yes. The jet skis.’ She waved at Lucy. ‘Lucy, come out of the water!’ she shouted.

‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’ asked Karl.

‘I want Lucy out of the water while those idiots are playing with those jet skis,’ said Laura.

‘They look fun,’ said Karl.

‘They’re not fun,’ said Laura. ‘They’re dangerous and the people on them are just being stupid. Someone could get hurt.’

The jet skis were fanning out now, aiming at different parts of the beach. The engines accelerated and that made no sense because they were getting closer to the shore. Laura swung her legs off the sun lounger and shouted for her daughter. She had the basketball now and was waving it above her head, teasing one of the Italian boys.

The nearest jet ski was only a dozen metres from Lucy, but she was so involved with the boys that she didn’t seem to be aware of it. It roared through the surf and up onto the beach. ‘Stupid show-off,’ said Laura, standing with her hands on her hips.

The driver of the jet ski and the passenger were Asian, young men with beards wearing T-shirts and shorts. Laura shook her head. They definitely weren’t the sort to be staying at the resort. She looked around, wondering where the resort security people were. The men shouldn’t be on the beach, it was for resort residents only.

The two men walked away from the beached jet ski, then knelt down and took off their backpacks. Laura gasped as they took out guns. ‘Sophie, Karl, come here,’ she said. Then she shouted at her daughter at the top of her voice. As she did she heard a series of loud bangs further down the beach, to her left. She turned and her stomach lurched when she saw two men shooting at holidaymakers on the beach. The realisation of what was happening hit her like a blow to the chest. She grabbed her son who was staring in horror at the gunmen. Sophie had dropped to her knees and was crouched behind the sun lounger. ‘Sophie, come on,’ she said, reaching for her.