‘Bloody hell, boys, I hear there’s a big scrap on,’ said Dan, slamming his massive fists into Steve’s back and leaving him temporarily winded. ‘Beer, sunshine, and all the AK-47 ammo you can stuff into your belt? You can’t kick off the fun without the Aussies on board.’
‘Where the hell have you been?’ said Steve.
‘Sorry, mate, I lost my mobile in a bar in Barcelona. Legless doesn’t even begin to describe it. I only just managed to get Vodafone to give me a new one and let me access my messages.’
‘Christ, we’re flying out to take on one of the most brutal regimes in the world, and one bloke can’t find the airport and another can’t find his phone,’ said Steve. ‘We’re going to need some arse and elbow lessons before we get started.’
He shook his head, but secretly he was pleased. In a fire-fight, there was no one he’d rather have standing next to him than Dan.
‘So you’re coming?’ said Ollie.
‘Batota? During the cricket season? Of course I’m sodding well coming!’
‘Then let’s go,’ said Ollie. But as he started to lead the unit towards the departure gate, he suddenly froze in his tracks. The word ‘Ollie!’ was being shouted from somewhere behind him.
‘It’s Katie,’ he muttered to Steve. ‘For God’s sake, tell her something about where we’re going. Just don’t mention Batota.’
‘You didn’t tell her?’
‘Of course not,’ Ollie said, exasperated. ‘She’d be worried sick. We’re supposed to be getting married in less than four weeks.’
Katie was hurrying towards them. She was wearing a black dress with suede boots and an overcoat wrapped around her shoulders, her auburn hair reaching down over the back of her neck. Steve didn’t like her much: she was too sharp and bitter for his tastes. But there was no denying that she was a beautiful woman. Her olive skin was as rich and subtle as a summer’s sunset and her blue eyes could pierce you like a sword. Men’s hearts would melt as she walked by: why she’d stuck by a loser like Ollie when she could have chosen any of the millionaire hedge fund managers in the City remained a mystery to Steve.
‘We’re off, babes,’ said Ollie, giving her a hug.
‘Where are you going?’ she demanded. She was looking mainly at Steve, as if she didn’t expect a straight answer from her fiancé.
‘Morocco,’ he answered blandly. ‘We’re doing some oil-rig work for a couple of weeks. Nothing more dangerous than a bit of passive smoking from the Arab oil workers.’
‘He needs to be back a week before the wedding,’ she said bossily. ‘There’s still tons to do.’
‘You can trust us,’ said Steve. ‘We’re mercenaries.’
Even Katie laughed at the joke. But then. ‘I want him back, Steve, and I’m putting you in charge of making it happen.’
‘Like a best man,’ said Steve cheerfully. ‘I think I can handle that.’ Then, turning to the group, ‘Now for Christ’s sake, let’s move, boys. It’s time to get this show on the road. We haven’t even left the airport and already it’s chaos.’
As he glanced back, he could see Ollie kissing Katie goodbye. If he can’t even tell her where he’s going, he wondered to himself, then why the hell is he marrying her?
Fifteen
THE LAND STRETCHED OUT INTO the distance across rolling, damp hills, and you could just make out the rugged shores of Loch Kinord. The manor house was fifty miles due east from Aberdeen, in the wild interior of Scotland, dominated by sprawling moors interrupted by forests of birch. Heavy rain was falling and it was already dark, obscuring the view, but the landscape still had a brooding, powerful beauty to it, and Steve could see at once why Bruce was drawn to this place. He’d bought the estate with the money he’d made from DEF, and although land was cheap in the north of Scotland compared to the rest of the country, it must still have cost a small fortune to buy and another to maintain. The old stone house had ten bedrooms, a small farm, and 1,000 acres of woodland, as well as its own shooting and fishing.
This is what he fights for, decided Steve, taking a sip of the single malt whisky from the nearby Glendronach Distillery. Just like I fight for my cars, and Ollie fights for Katie. Every man needs something he can make a home out of, even if some of us struggle to spend much time there.
‘Africa’s not like fighting anywhere else, boys,’ said Bruce, looking around the assembled unit. ‘And so I’ve asked Hugo MacAskill here to tell you what he knows.’