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.Luckily they got bored after ten minutes and moved on, giving Jack a clear run at it.He picked the lock in less than a minute.Inside it was pitch-black.Jack was glad of Siobhan’s torch.The red filter lit up the place without wrecking his night vision and he found what he wanted in no time at all.A pile of cash and enough drugs to put a hundred girls like Lily in the ground.That was what Siobhan had said he’d find and she wasn’t wrong.To Jack it had all the hallmarks of an emergency stash, a place O’Callaghan could go when the shit hit the fan to supply himself with weaponry, cash and a means of making more.Jack ignored the guns and the drugs.All he wanted was the cash.He helped himself to two bundles of money – three or four G, he reckoned – and stuffed it in his pocket.In Jack’s experience, no one did anything for nothing.On overt or covert ops, he could expect to be given whatever funds he needed to grease whichever palms came his way.But this was different.Personal.Nobody was going to give him cash for such a trip, so it seemed only right that O’Callaghan should foot the bill.Jack clutched the M66 as he stepped outside and locked the garage again.A moment of doubt.Perhaps he should just alert the authorities, tell them about Siobhan.But what would they do? She’d travelled to Djibouti.That wasn’t a crime.And start feeding them her fears about Habib Khan and he’d be laughed out of town.No.This was his call.He ran back to Siobhan’s car and headed towards the airport.As he neared the perimeter, he dialled Lew Miller again.His American friend was curt as he read out a number with a Kenyan prefix.‘You didn’t get it from me, Jack.You got that?’‘Yeah, I got it.’Once Lew was off the line, Jack thought of the furrowed face again, and heard his laid-back, southern American accent almost as clearly as if the guy was standing next to him.Markus Heller.Formerly of A Squadron, Delta Force, now plying his trade in Africa.Would he help? Jack snorted.For a price, Markus Heller would help anyone.Jack dialled the number.A low African voice answered.‘Rainbow Safaris.’‘Listen to me carefully,’ Jack said.‘I need to speak to Markus Heller.Tell him it’s Jack Harker and I need a favour.’And he continued to drive towards the airport as he waited for his old friend to come on the line.Habib Khan was not a fool.He would not be making this phone call from his flat; he wouldn’t even be making it from the vicinity of his flat, preferring instead to take the pay-as-you-go mobile phone that he had bought under an assumed name to a quiet car park in the east of London, well away from any masts that would track the location of the call to his house.As he travelled there, he thought of O’Callaghan, who was similarly distrustful of telephones.Khan didn’t like the man, didn’t like his avarice.Everything O’Callaghan did, he did for money.Still, at least it meant he was loyal to something.Cormac O’Callaghan might be loathsome, but he had his uses.In the days to come, Khan knew he would prove to be invaluable, even though Cormac himself didn’t realise it.Other people were invaluable too, like the person he was about to call.It pleased him that this person was not a slave to money.That their loyalties to his cause had more reliable, solid foundations.That they believed.The voice was curt when it answered the phone.‘Yes?’ It was a woman’s voice.‘Is everything ready?’ Khan asked.A pause.‘I suppose so.’‘You don’t sound sure.’‘I’m sure.’Khan nodded in the darkness of his vehicle.‘Good.I fly to Paris tonight.The United Nations plane will drop me in Mogadishu tomorrow afternoon.’‘I don’t see why I can’t be on the same flight.It would be safer.’‘If you think about it,’ Khan replied, ‘as I’m sure you have, you will understand why.I will have to spend time with journalists when I arrive.If they see you there, they will want to know why.It is much better that you join me later.’‘And a lot more dangerous.’‘You will have security.It is already arranged.And besides, our objective is important.If we must endure hardship, it is of no importance.You understand that?’A pause.‘Yes,’ the voice replied.‘I understand that.You’re sure nobody knows what you’re doing?’‘Of course not,’ Khan replied mildly.‘I know how people think.The bigger the lie you tell them, the more they are likely to believe it.I will be waiting for you in two nights’ time at the Trust Hotel in Mogadishu.Until then, Allahu Akbar.’‘Allahu Akbar,’ came the reply.Khan smiled, hung up the phone and drove away.He needed to be at the airport in a couple of hours, and there were still preparations to make.3 JULY1407.30 hrs, local time.The sun was already fierce and Siobhan Byrne was wet with sweat.She had arrived in Djibouti just after nine the previous evening.On the plane from Paris she had locked herself in the toilet the moment the seatbelt lights had gone off.There she had inserted her brown contact lenses and smeared her face with fake tan that she’d bought at Charles de Gaulle and decanted into a small pot to get round the safety restrictions.By the time she’d got to Djibouti her eyes and skin were dark.The airport was practically deserted, and the first thing she’d done was walk up to the Daallo Airlines counter.She knew from her research that this was the only airline operating to Somalia.The man at the desk was elderly, his curly hair short and grey.He wore thick spectacles and, to Siobhan’s surprise, a Manchester United football shirt.He spoke no English, but they managed to converse using Siobhan’s schoolgirl French.‘Le vol prochain à Mogadishu?’The man had raised an eyebrow at her.‘Vous y allez toute seule?’She nodded.‘Oui.’‘Ça n’est pas une bonne idée.’ Not a good idea? Siobhan was getting tired of people telling her that.‘Le vol prochain?’ she repeated
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