Chapters (37)
- Cover
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Chris Ryan Readers’ Club?
- Letter from Author
- About the Author
‘The SFSG and SBS guys are en route to Libya now. Due to land at around eleven o’clock our time. They’ll link up with D Squadron and take off around midnight. Which is one o’clock their time. Looks like they’ll reach Marafeni at around six o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘Any word on the coup?’
‘Nothing yet.’
‘Have they spoken to Mike?’ asked Bowman.
Mallet shook his head slowly. ‘He’s offline.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Six reached out to him half an hour ago for another update. They’re still waiting to hear back. Once they’ve spoken to him, they’ll let us know.’
‘Might be a blackout,’ Loader suggested. ‘Power shortages are a fact of life in Karatandu. If it’s out, the mobile phone network will be down. Or maybe he’s just busy arranging the perimeter defence.’
‘Or it could mean something else,’ Bowman said.
‘The last time Six checked in with Mike, the capital was fairly quiet. We’ve got no reason to think the situation has changed.’
‘If the rebels are moving in early, Mike will be in the shit.’
‘We’ve got no proof of that,’ Mallet snapped. ‘The plan stays the same. We’ll get in, get the family and guard them until the strike force gets in. Then we can go home and celebrate. Or in Tiny’s case, get plastered and spend the night wondering what it must feel like to be over five foot tall and attractive to women.’
‘Sod off, John.’
They ascended the loading ramp and strapped themselves into the seats on either side of the cabin, their C8 rifles placed across their laps and the rucksack filled with emergency kit between Mallet’s feet. The tailgate closed, the twin engines hummed. The Skyvan taxied across the runway, catapulted forward, and suddenly they were climbing into the murky night.
No way back now.
Sixty minutes later, they landed in Karatandu.
Twenty
Twenty
A hot breath of wind hushed across the runway, thrusting through Bowman’s hair as he stepped off the loading ramp. Shortly after eleven o’clock at night in Karatandu. The western coast of Central Africa. The heat was oppressive, like being smothered in a hot towel. The air was thick with the smell of hard rain, mixing with the potent tang of jet fuel and the faint whiff of woodsmoke. Apricot lights shimmered in the impermeable darkness beyond the airport perimeter. To the north of the tarmac stand, a hundred and fifty metres away from the Skyvan, stood a decrepit terminal building. A sign was draped above the entrance: WELCOME TO KARATANDU, THE NEW HOPE OF AFRICA.