Fire Force(98)

‘All I want you to do is sign the confession,’ said Park, looking up at Ollie.

‘Piss off,’ snapped Ollie.

‘Hanging is a slow, painful death . . .’

‘I heard it was quick.’

‘Not the way we tie the noose. The rope doesn’t break your neck, so you’ll just slowly suffocate.’

‘Just get on with it.’

‘A signature, that’s all.’

‘You’re wasting your time.’

If Park was annoyed, his expression, cold and unyielding, didn’t betray it.

He drew back his leg, preparing to kick away the chair on which Ollie was standing.

Moses Atouba was a tall strong man, with friendly eyes and a broad smile. He was wearing pale khaki shorts and a grey sweatshirt. As Samantha led them towards him, Steve was glancing around suspiciously, still unsure whether she was leading them into a trap. Any sign of trouble, and they’d move out by themselves.

The African was standing next to a Hyundai Santa Fe SUV, with a decent-sized 2.4 litre engine. The vehicle had been extensively modified, with outsized wheels and tyres fitted to take it across rough terrain. The back had been remodelled to create seven seats, and there were tanks fitted to its rear to carry the extra petrol and water you might need on a long journey.

‘You can get us into Batota?’ said Steve.

The man nodded.

‘Moses is with the World Species Fund - the same outfit I do work for in London,’ said Samantha crisply. She stepped up to the vehicle, removing a small folder of papers out of the glove compartment, with the air of a woman who liked to take charge. ‘We have signed papers from the Minister of the Interior giving us access to the country.’

‘Until they spot the three white mercenaries sitting in the back,’ said Ian.

Moses opened up the Hyundai. He rolled back the seats, then pointed towards the floor. It was made of thin plywood and, when he pulled it back, it revealed a hidden compartment. It measured about eight feet by five: a tight squeeze for three blokes.

‘We’ll put you in here,’ he said, looking back towards Steve. ‘It won’t be comfortable, and I can’t promise to drive that fast, but it should be safe.’

‘If they search the car they’ll find us,’ said Steve.

‘They won’t,’ said Sam. ‘We’ll bribe the guards, and we’ll show them the papers. When you have connections with Kapembwa’s henchmen - and these papers prove that we do - they won’t want to hassle us.’

Ian was shaking his head. ‘We’ll be sitting targets,’ he said. ‘We should take our chances by ourselves.’

‘How exactly? By swimming across the lake?’

‘We’ll get a boat, then we tab our way down to Ibera.’

‘It could take days,’ argued Steve. ‘Our mates could be dead before we get halfway there.’

Ian looked towards the Hyundai. Then he glanced at both Sam and Moses. It was clear from his face he didn’t like the plan much.

Then he shrugged, and pulled open the door. ‘If I could think of any other way of getting there, I’d take it,’ he said. ‘But as I can’t, it’s Ibera next stop . . .’

Park swung his leg hard into the chair, sending it skidding across the floor.

For a second, it seemed to Ollie as if he was suspended in air. With his hands still strapped behind his back by the Plasti-Cuffs, there was nothing he could do to stop himself from falling. He muttered a silent prayer, and closed his eyes. If you’re going to go, he reminded himself, then at least do it with your head held high.

He dropped straight towards the floor. For a brief second, he could feel the noose tightening around his neck, strangling the oxygen out of his throat. He was gasping for air.

The rope snapped. Ollie opened his eyes and found that he’d already fallen to the ground, crashing hard into the stone floor. Unable to shield his fall with his arms he’d taken a nasty bruise to the chest. Sweat was pouring off him, and he was shaking with fear.

Compose yourself, man, he told himself. Don’t let the bastard know he scared you.

Ollie glanced up towards the ceiling. The noose, he realised, had been attached to the ceiling by some flimsy, twisted thread: it would obviously break as soon as it had to take the weight of a man. He’d heard of the fake hanging being part of the bullying of new recruits back in the Army. It happened in the Paras, although never in the Blues, so far as he knew.

And there was a good reason for that. Even for new squaddies, it was a brutal trick.

Park pulled Ollie up off the floor. ‘You don’t break easily, Mr Hall,’ he said smoothly. ‘But you’ll break all the same . . . they always do.’