Читать книгу Last Light - Alex Scarrow - Страница 20

5 a.m. local time Road leading to Al-Bayji, Iraq

Andy was aware he was dreaming, no, not dreaming - replaying that memory, as he dozed on the front seat.

A gentle tap on the door. And then it opens. A man enters the hotel room. Andy can only see his silhouette. As per the instructions they sent him, the main light in the room is turned out, the thick velvet curtains are drawn. The man closes the door, and now the room is lit only by the pale ambient glow of daylight stealing in beneath the curtains.

‘I advise you to look away as well, Dr Sutherland. If we are certain you can’t identify us, then we shall all feel happier.’

Andy does as he’s told, turning in his seat to face away from the man.

‘The report’s on the end of the bed,’ he says.

‘One copy only? Handwritten?’

‘Yes.’

Andy hears the rustle of movement and paper as the man picks it up. The flicker of a pen light. A few moments of silence, as the man inspects the first pages.

‘Whilst I can’t tell you who commissioned this report, I can say that your work will certainly help make the world a safer place. They are grateful.’

‘I wasn’t aware of quite how . . . fragile the world was until I started working on that,’ Andy says.

‘Yes it is fragile.’

‘I hope what’s in there will convince somebody at the top - whoever - that we need to come off our oil dependency before it’s too late,’ Andy adds. ‘Something like that is going to happen one day.’

The man says nothing at first. ‘Perhaps it will.’

Andy wonders about that response. Or something will convince someone? Or something like that is going to happen one day?

He hears the man moving towards the door, then, he stops before opening it.

‘The balance will be transferred this morning to the account you specified.’

‘Thank you.’

‘A final reminder. You are not to talk about the contents of this report to anyone, ever. We will trust you on this, but also . . . we will be listening.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Andy smiles nervously, ‘you’ve spooked me enough already.’

He hears a gentle laugh. ‘Good.’

A pause. The man is still there.

‘You know, I did this for the money at first,’ says Andy quickly. ‘But having written it . . . you know, it’s scary stuff. I really hope it makes a difference.’

‘It will.’

Another silence, just a few moments.

‘Please remain here for ten minutes before leaving your room. Do you understand?’

Andy nods. ‘Yes.’

‘Goodbye.’ Andy hears the door open, and light from the corridor floods in, then it’s dark, and he hears it click shut behind the man.

It’s silent, except for the muted rumble of traffic and bustle outside. Several minutes pass, he wishes he’d set his stopwatch to countdown ten minutes, just to be sure.

Then he hears a knocking on the door . . .

The persistent knocking roused Andy from the past.

He opened his eyes and saw Sergeant Bolton rapping his knuckles heavily on the passenger-side window. Andy lowered the window letting in a cool blast of air.

‘Wakey, wakey little lambkins, we’re moving out in five minutes, ’ muttered the NCO quietly, a small plume of steamy breath quickly dispersing in the chilly early morning air. He casually rapped once more on the roof of their Cruiser and then headed over to the second one to wake up Farid and the two drivers.

Andy blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he watched the occasional flicker of torchlight illuminate the soldiers climbing aboard five of the six Land Rovers. The army Rover that had broken down had been stripped of anything useful.

It was still dark outside, although the sky was just beginning to lighten. He wondered if Lieutenant Carter had left things just a little bit late. They still had about another two hours’ drive time to get them back to the battalion headquarters beyond Al-Bayji. It would be approaching seven in the morning as they rumbled through the narrow streets of the town. It would be broad daylight, and there was no knowing if those streets were going to be obstructed with the results of last night’s anarchy. He guessed Carter was banking on the people in Al-Bayji stirring later than normal after such a busy night.

Andy leaned over the back of his seat to give the others a prod. ‘Wake up guys, we’re on the move.’

Mike, Erich and Ustov stirred silently, as Andy opened the door and stepped out into the cool early morning to stretch his legs.

He realised for the first time how nervous he was. This wasn’t the normal, ever-present always-check-over-your-shoulder wariness that one experienced as a westerner in Iraq.

This was a whole new order of scary.

Their only way back to the relative safety of a friendly camp was over a bridge and through a town that, only a few hours ago, had been tearing itself apart - a majority of Sunnis versus a minority of Shi’as. If that was still going on, any white faces turning up were going to be a viable target for both sides. He hoped to God things had died down and they were all tucked up in their homes getting some sleep as Carter’s recon platoon rolled discreetly through.

What was most frustrating for him, though, was knowing so little about what was happening on a wider scale. The situation in Saudi had stirred things up in Iraq, but then to be fair, it didn’t take a lot to agitate the constant state of civil war in this country. But had it spread? Or had it run its course?

Lieutenant Carter approached Andy with a friendly nod. ‘A couple of my boys are going to need a lift in your vehicles. We’re down one Rover as you know.’

Andy nodded. ‘That’s okay. We’ve got space enough for another two at a pinch, in each car.’

‘Good. I’d like at least one armed effective in each vehicle. It might help if you and your colleagues also armed yourselves with those AKs we took off your drivers.’

‘I uh . . . I’ve never held a gun. I’d probably end up shooting myself in the foot.’

Carter looked surprised. ‘Didn’t your employer provide you with some kind of basic firearms training?’

‘No.’

‘Oh great. What about the others?’

‘I don’t know. But I’d guess Mike probably has.’

‘The American?’

Andy nodded.

‘Right, well we’ll issue him with one I suppose, and you can decide amongst you who’ll have the other one.’

‘All right.’

Andy noticed the young officer nervously balling his trembling hands into fists. ‘How long have you been out here?’

Carter looked at him and smiled. ‘It shows does it?’

‘Just a little,’ Andy lied.

‘I only got commissioned this year, and they sent me out here last month. The lads lost their platoon commander a few weeks ago. I think he was caught out by a mortar attack. Those bastards are getting more and more accurate with those damned things.’ The Lieutenant put his idle hands to use and tightened the straps of his webbing. ‘So anyway, that sort of makes me the new boy, as it were.’

Andy offered a wan smile.

Wonderful.

The convoy rolled along the road, heading south-west. They passed through a small village in the dark without incident. Making good progress, they reached the outskirts of Al-Bayji at about ten to seven in the morning. Lieutenant Carter was in the front Rover, on top cover, standing up in the back of the vehicle between the bars of the roll cage with another soldier, both of them holding their SA80 assault rifles ready and cocked. The soldier on top cover in the following Rover had the platoon’s Minimi, a belt-fed light machine-gun, mounted on a barrel-fitted bipod. Following that, were the two Toyota Land Cruisers.

Andy was in the first, with Mike, Farid, the young driver Amal, and a chatty lance corporal from Newcastle who just wouldn’t shut up, called Tim Westley. Mike was holding Amal’s AK. Andy noticed the young Iraqi casting a resentful glance over his shoulder at the American. Apparently, the two young drivers actually owned these weapons. Farid explained that possessing their own assault rifle had been one of the prerequisites for the job; as well as being able to drive, that is. Andy could understand the lad’s rancour, an AK cost a month’s salary.

In the following Cruiser was Erich carrying the other AK, Ustov the Ukrainian contractor, the second driver Salim, and two more men from Carter’s platoon. Bringing up the rear were the other three Land Rovers, with Sergeant Bolton on top cover in the last of them.

Lance Corporal Westley was in full flow, as he had been pretty much since they set off at five that morning.

‘—and the other fuckin’ idiots in second platoon like, was wearin’ them shemaghs thinkin’ they was right ally with it man,’ continued Tim Westley’s stream-of-consciousness one-way conversation. Mike listened and nodded politely at all the right moments, but from his expression Andy could see the Texan couldn’t understand a single word he was hearing.

‘—an’ it’s right naff, man. Aye, was all right first time round, like - Desert Storm an’ all, but right fuckin’ daft now, mind. Only the TA scallys wear ’em now. You can spot those soft wallys a mile off . . .’

The convoy slowed down to a halt, and with that, Lance Corporal Westley finally shut up as he wound down the window and stuck his head out to take a look-see.

Up front, Andy could see Lieutenant Carter had raised his hand; a gesture to his platoon to hold up there for a moment. Beyond the leading Rover he could see a swathe of coarse grass and reeds leading down a shallow slope towards the River Tigris, and over this a single-lane bridge that led across the small fertile river valley into the town of Al-Bayji beyond. On the far side of the bridge, some 500 metres away, he could see the first dusty, low, whitewashed buildings topped with drab corrugated iron roofs. Beyond them, taller two and three-storey, flat-roofed buildings clustered and bisected randomly with the sporadic bristling of TV aerials, satellite dishes and phone masts along the rooftops.

With his bare eyes he could see no movement except for a mangy-looking, tan dog that was wandering slowly across the bridge into the town, and several goats grazing on the meagre pickings of refuse, dumped in a mouldering pile that had slewed down the far slope of the small valley into the river. He spotted several dozen pillars of smoke, dotted across the town skyline, snaking lazily up into the pallid dawn sky. The columns of smoke seemed to be more densely grouped towards the centre of the town.

‘It looks like they had a lot of fun last night,’ muttered Mike.

Andy could see Lieutenant Carter had pulled out some bin-oculars and was slowly scanning the scene ahead.

‘We should just go for it,’ said Mike quickly checking his watch. ‘It’s almost seven already.’

Andy nodded in agreement. Through the town was the only way, flanked as it was by fields lined with deep and impassable irrigation ditches.

If they put their foot down and just went full tilt, they’d be out the far side and heading down open road towards the British encampment before anyone could do anything about it.

Come on, come on.

But then, what if there was an obstruction, a burned-out vehicle, or a deliberately constructed roadblock? They’d find themselves stuck. Andy decided, on reflection, that the young officer’s caution was well-placed. But time was against them, the sun was breaching the horizon now, and even from this side of the bridge, he could sense Al-Bayji was beginning to stir, perhaps readying itself to face a second day of sectarian carnage.

Lieutenant Carter raised his arm once again, balled his fist and stuck a thumb upwards.

‘All clear ahead,’ said Westley, translating the hand signal for them.

And then the officer patted the top of his helmet with the palm of his gloved hand.

‘Follow me.’

Carter’s vehicle lurched gently forward with a puff of exhaust, off down the pitted tarmac road towards the bridge, and one by one the convoy of vehicles revved up and followed on.

‘Here goes,’ said Mike, winding his window down and racking his AK, ready for action. The American looked comfortable with the assault rifle in both hands. But then, Andy reflected, Mike was probably the kind of guy that had a display-case back home in Texas full of interesting firearms.

Andy noticed a look of unease, perhaps anger, flashing across the face of Amal, and a subtle gesture from Farid, placing a calming hand on the lad’s arm.