Subconsciously I knew that even the silenced pistol had made two heavy thuds, enough to have alerted anyone on the upper storey, but our immediate need was to snap some pictures of the dead man so that Western intelligence chiefs got absolute proof he'd been eliminated.
For a couple of seconds I sat on Khadduri's legs to stop that mad thrashing. Then, as the nerve-responses faded, I stood up, and in a pre-arranged move Tony bolstered his pistol and grabbed the body under the armpits. The hands and arms were still twitching as he dragged it a couple of steps backwards and propped it against the door. By the time he had it in position I'd got my Instamatic camera lined up, the torch beam giving enough light to aim the lens, and I knew the automatic flash vOould do the rest.
'For Pete's sake get a move on,' Tony gasped. 'The bastard's bleeding all over me. I hope to hell he hasn't got AIDS.'
'Tip his head back a bit,' I hissed. 'Up! Up! Get him by the hair… That's it. Wipe the blood off his nose.
There — hold him there. Now turn his head sideways for a profile.'
I fired off six frames, three full-face, three profile, then pouched the camera and turned to go. In a couple of seconds we were at the top of the stairs, but shouts and a rush of feet in the lower corridor halted us on the top landing.
Men were yelling 'Misabeeh! Misabeeh!'
'Lights,' whispered Tony, 'they're shouting for lights.' Then, voicing my own thoughts, he said, 'They'll find the body on the stairs. That'll stop them.
Use the window. It's only a ten or twelve foot drop.'
We ran back to Khadduri's door, stepped over his huddled body, turned the handle and went in. On impulse I reached back, felt for a soft, still warm hand, grabbed it, dragged the body into the room and shut the door behind it.
The room was slightly less dark than the corridor, lit by enough moonlight to make out the pieces of furniture. As Tony picked his way through them to the window I felt for the key and turned it in the lock.
Then he hissed, 'Shit!'
'What's the matter?'
'Can't shift the window. Must be locked.'
I knew from our observation during the day that the casements were made of heavy-duty metal. I came up beside Tony, grabbed the lever-handle and heaved downwards. No movement whatever. Bringing out my Browning, I slammed the butt against the glass — but although the pane buckled it didn't break. Against the moonlight I peered closely and saw that it was reinforced with wire mesh.
I whipped back to the door and opened it slightly to listen. They'd found the body on the stairs and were jabbering like monkeys. There was no way we'd get down past them. We were trapped on the upper storey.
I locked the door again and got on the radio. 'All stations. The bird is down. P,epeat, the bird is down.
But we've been compromised. We need immediate distractions. Pat, are you hearing me?'
'Loud and clear.'
'Get an IPG into the right-hand end of our building. Upper floor, your right-hand end. Now.
Then fire your distraction charge soonest. After that, if it's still on, have a crack at the satellite dish.
'Whinger?'
'Hello.'
'Once the rocket's gone, get rounds down into the area of the guardroom. Are there any lights on in the camp? Over.'
'No lights, Geordie. The whole system's gone down.'
'OK. Let me know if anything comes on. We're in the bird's nest itself. We're stuck for the moment. But it's no sweat. When we can, we're coming out through the window that was lit.'
In one of the pouches of my belt-kit I had two small demolition charges, ready made up. It took only a few seconds to mould them on to the window fastening. Tll wait for the RPG to hit,' I told Tony. 'Then I'll blow it. Block your ears.'
We both lay flat on the floor at the base of the outer wall, heads away from the window, thumbs over ears.
Seconds crawled past. I held the clacker between my knees, willing Pat to let drive. Then, without warning, there came a thunderbolt, an immense roar, and a concussion that shook the entire building. In its aftermath, the boom of our little charge was tiny, but still enough to leave our ears ringing.
Tony and I leapt up. The window had swung open.
With my shamag in a bundle I swept the sill back and forth to clear any broken glass and went out feet-first.
The barrel of my AK-47 caught on the top of the frame, and I had to wriggle my torso violently to free it. Then I hung down, flexed my knees and let go.
The landing was hard but OK. Just as Tony thumped down beside me, a huge sheet of flame split the night from along by the gate, instantly followed by the boom of another explosion. Good on yet, Pat, I thought.
On the radio I called, 'Norm, we're out front and coming round the corner towards you. Are you there?'
'Roger. Ready and waiting.'
We scuttled to the corner of the building, felt rather than saw Norm in front of us, and all three headed fast for the gap in the wire. By then rounds were going down in every direction. Short bursts were coming in from Pat and Whinger, but from several points inside the wire tracer was flying out into the desert, most of it in the direction of the gate, where the explosion had started a small fire.
As we reached the wire I heard the whoosh of another rocket coming in. Turning, I saw the streak of it heading for the comms dish. Automatically I began counting: one, two, three… By four I kne it had missed.
Fractionally later came a boom as it self-destructed.
Fuck the dish, I thought. We're not risking our lives for that.
We wriggled through the gap in the wire, ran until we were well clear of the fence, and dropped into a hollow. I was panting and sweating in the hot outside air, but on a high, boosted by a mixture of fear and elation. I felt neither tired nor hungry, not even thirsty just great. 'Stew,' I called. 'Have you onpassed to the head-shed that the bird is down?'
'Roger. Message passed and acknowledged. The heli's on its way.'
'Brilliant. Let's go.'
We fell in with Whinger easily enough. 'Fucking missed!' he went.
'No sweat,' I told him. 'Where's the launcher?'
'I binned it.'
'OK, let's leave it. We've got problems enough already.'
Little did I know the validity of what I was saying.
When we reached the OP — our first EP, V — there was no sign of Pat. He should have been there by then.
'Pat,' I called over the radio, 'EP, V One, now.'
No answer. I called again, and waited with anxiety mounting fast. Then at last came an answer.
It was Pat all right, but not the jaunty, cortfident response we were used to hearing. His voice sounded weak and slow. 'Problem,' he slurred, 'I've been hit.
Can't move.'
'Jesus!' I cried. 'Where are you?'
'Main gate. Five o'clock, two hundred metres.'
'Hang on there. We're coming.'
We started running in his direction, parallel with the wire, a couple of hundred metres out. Bursts of automatic fire came cracking out over our heads, with the odd red tracer round looping past to show us it wasn't all that high. Whinger kept yelling 'FUCKIN' AISEHOLES!' like a lunatic. I nearly shouted at him to shut up, but decided he'd pay no attention.