As the SBS operatives passed one end of a broad street that ran through the town, the team stopped and crouched on one knee in all round defence. Downs stepped into the centre and the other team leaders closed in for a brief confab.
Stratton remained standing and looking down the street, realising where he was exactly. It was Lotto’s street.
Downs finished his brief and the team leaders took a moment to confirm the next phase with their own men. Then they got to their feet and continued down towards the bottom of the town and their respective objectives. They divided up, some going into the town while others went towards the brightly lit cargo ships anchored off the shoreline. Everyone knew what they had to do and focused on it like automatons.
Stratton looked at a porch halfway along the street. Lotto’s porch. With a light on inside.
The interpreter had joined Downs’s team for this next phase of the operation and they were about to set off when Downs realised Stratton wouldn’t be joining them.
‘More unfinished business?’ he asked his friend as he walked over to him.
Stratton’s bloodlust had ended with Sabarak but he had other things he wanted to know about. ‘Just some loose ends,’ he said.
‘Be careful, my friend. And I don’t mean with what you’re about to do, whatever that is.’
‘It’s OK. I just have to find out something.’ He looked back at Downs and smiled at him. ‘I’m not mad. Least I don’t think I am.’
‘I hope not. I’ll miss you if you are.’ Downs returned the smile and joined his men and they walked down the side of the town.
Stratton waited, then headed along the middle of the street, his Colt held easily in his hands.
Downs led the way to the corner of a street, where his team spread to cover both sides of the entrance. It was the street where the hostages were being held. He wondered if news had reached the pirates that an attack had taken place against the jihadist camp. If so, they had two main scenarios to deal with. The pirates would either take to their heels and run or they would try to defend their stolen property. Since the Somalis had no idea of the size of the force that they might encounter, Downs hoped they would take the wiser option and flee.
The first two of his men moved forward to probe the possible enemy positions. Downs’s main concern was their safety and it dictated his tactics. If the pirates were determined to defend their town, it could turn out bloody for the hostages, as well as for the pirates. His other fears, if the pirates had chosen to flee, were that they had tried to take the hostages with them or killed them before leaving.
The team spread out along both sides of the track in a staggered formation and advanced quietly along it. There was little sign of life other than the occasional sound from inside a dwelling. If word had spread that Westerners were coming, the local populace would probably hide in their houses until it was all over.
Downs’s lead pair stopped a short way along the street. A small Somali boy was standing in a doorway looking at the lead guy. The operative waved. The boy shyly returned it. His mother snatched him inside and closed the door. The lead pair eased forward. They had seen men with rifles up ahead through their night-vision sights. The men didn’t look like jihadists so were probably pirates. It looked like they hadn’t heard about the attack on the camp because they hung around the street, smoking and chatting easily.
This and any other option had been discussed during the operational brief. The aim was for minimal casualties so the strategy had been adjusted to allow for this. The lead pair had suppressors attached to the barrels of their weapons and they both lifted the carbines, aimed them using the thermal sights and fired in quick succession. Fifty metres away four pirates died where they stood or sat and fell to the ground.
The team quickly advanced to clear the area of any other pirates who might be out of sight. The last thing they wanted was a panicked Somali firing in all directions. They got about halfway when a guy carrying an AK-47 did step into the street. He saw the bodies and as he grabbed his weapon off his shoulder silent bullets ripped into him and he joined them.
The team took up fire positions while Downs and Milton, still with the camera on his head, went to the front door of the prison hut. Downs drew the bolt across and opened the door. He looked inside and saw the hostages Stratton had shared the room with, minus the Dutch crew who had been released with their ship. Those who were awake looked startled at the new visitors but didn’t move at first in disbelief.
Downs stepped inside with Milton and the interpreter and they set about keeping the hostages calm and telling them that they were about to be freed. When the hostages in the other building had been liberated, they were formed into a single group and led as quietly as possible to the outskirts of the town and down towards the cargo ships.
As Stratton walked along Lotto’s street he breathed in deep to help bring down his heart rate after the jog from the jihadists’ camp. His concentration remained at a peak, his Colt at the ready to respond to anyone who might challenge him. The rain had stopped but the roofs still dripped water on to the muddy ground. The potholes that covered the street were filled with water, which he avoided to reduce the noise he made. Apart from occasional lights in the houses, the place seemed to be deserted. He wondered if that was because the word had spread that the jihadists’ camp had been attacked. It was possible the townsfolk didn’t know. The rain, thunder and the distance would have done a lot to mask the explosions.
He came to the front of Lotto’s house and stopped across the street to look at it. The dim light was on inside. He turned around in a circle. He could see no sign of any guards anywhere.
He turned back to the house, walked towards it and stepped gently on to the wooden porch. He stopped at the door. He could hear a soft voice inside. Followed by deep, gentle laughter. A man’s laughter. Lotto’s laughter.
Stratton slung his Colt and pulled his Sig Sauer pistol from its holster. He held it easily at his side. He was going to enjoy this immensely. Every time he had met Lotto in the last few days the Somali had had the guns, the manpower, the control. Now it was Stratton’s turn.
Stratton still did not feel any great animosity towards the man, which was possibly strange considering the number of times Lotto had tried to kill him. The explanation was understandable enough, though. Lotto hadn’t had any particular hatred for Stratton. His aggression hadn’t been personal. Stratton had simply begun as a commodity to the pirate commander and later turned into a threat to the rest of his assets.
Stratton reached for the doorknob. More gentle laughter came from behind the door. This time he thought he heard a lighter tone mixed in with Lotto’s. A woman’s.
Stratton turned the handle of the door slowly, pushed it open and stepped inside, moving away from the opening. The big pirate commander sat across the room from him with a glass in his hand and looking very relaxed. Right up until the moment he recognised Stratton. He almost let go of the glass he was so astonished. He looked hard at Stratton, from his boots to his face. His eyes locked on to Stratton’s cold eyes for a long time. But then his qualities as an old fighter came through and he regained control of himself.
Stratton looked from the Somali to his companion.
It was the Chinese girl.
Her smile faded as she looked up at the Englishman. She didn’t have quite the same control as Lotto and lost the liquid in the fine crystal glass she was holding.
All three remained silent for what seemed a long time.
Lotto’s eyes went to his pistol, within arm’s reach on a side table next to the single lamp that illuminated the room and the open bottle of whisky beside it. Then he looked at Stratton. The operative kept looking at the girl but was way ahead of the Somali.