ROUGH DIAMONDS

By Stephen Leather

***

SIERRA LEONE. October1997.

‘Penny for them?’ growled Jock McIntyre. Jock was a hard-bitten Glaswegian whose rough, no-nonsense ways concealed a keen intelligence. Had ‘intellectual’ not been something of an insult where Jock came from, he might even have admitted to the title, for the SAS rumour mill claimed that he could read the Iliad in the original Greek.

Shepherd realised that the question was directed at him. ‘Penny for what?’ he said. He took a long pull on his glass of Jamesons whiskey. It was Jock who had introduced him to the brand and he had developed a taste for it, albeit mixed with soda water and a few ice cubes thrown in for good measure. They were billeted at the Tradewinds Hotel, overlooking Lumley Beach, west of the Sierra Leonean capital. In different circumstances it would have been an idyllic location with palm-fringed, white sand beaches fringing the turquoise sea, but decades of rampant corruption, military coups, insurrection and civil war had left the country destitute, and as violent and lawless as anywhere on earth.

‘You know what,’ said James “Jimbo” Shortt. ‘You keep drifting off in your own little world.’

‘Probably because you keep boring the pants off him,’ said Jock. ‘He’s missing his wife and kid, that’s what it is.’

Jimbo  raised his beer to Shepherd. ‘I know the feeling. I miss my missus and would much rather be back at home than stuck in this mosquito-ridden hell-hole.’

‘At least Sierra Leone is sunny,’ said Geordie Mitchell, the fourth man at the table.

‘Sunny? You call this sunny?’ said Jimbo. ‘It’s hell on earth, that’s what it is.’

‘I’m just saying, give me a hot country over a cold one, every time,’ said Geordie. ‘At least when it’s hot you can drink a cold beverage.’ He nodded at the ice cubes in Shepherd’s glass. ‘Not that I’d be tempted to touch the ice here.’

‘He deserves whatever he gets for adulterating a perfectly good whiskey,’ said Jock.

Shepherd grinned. ‘There’s a machine in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘I checked. There’s a filter on it so it’s all good.’

‘You hope,’ said Geordie. ‘I’ll stick with the beer. No one ever got the runs from beer.’

‘You still haven’t answered the question,’ said Jock. ‘What’s on your mind?’

Shepherd grinned. ‘I was just thinking of all the shit I’ve been through over the last few days,’ he said. He took another long pull on his whiskey. ‘I’ve helped to usher a rapacious bunch of South African mercenaries into Sierra Leone, been forced to trek seventy miles through the bush with no food and no water, witnessed some of the worst atrocities I’ve ever seen, been pursued through the jungle by a group of drug-crazed boy soldiers who were not even in their teens. And I’ve had to put up with Jimbo’s boring stories. I’m not sure how much I can take.’

‘At least we’re never short of excitement in the SAS,’ said Geordie. ‘Unless Jimbo’s telling us a tale, of course.’

‘Fuck you very much,’ said Jimbo.

‘Seriously though, this God-forsaken country is getting me down,’ said Shepherd. ‘I mean, how the hell are we supposed to deal with what goes on here?’ He took a long pull on his drink. ‘I’ve seen Sierra Leonean girls as young as eight who’ve been raped, and boys not even in their teens who’ve been forced to murder their own parents. Kids kept high on a lethal cocktail of amphetamines, cocaine and gunpowder, so that they can be used as killing machines and cannon fodder.’

‘That’s Africa for you,’ said Jock.

‘It doesn’t matter where it’s happening,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s wrong. It’s just plain wrong. I keep wondering how I’d feel if it was my boy being treated like that.’

‘Liam’s still in nappies,’ said Jimbo. ‘And England’ll never go that way.’

‘You say that, but look at Yugoslavia,’ said Shepherd. ‘That was only a few years ago and they were carrying out ethnic cleansing like there was no tomorrow. Snipers were shooting pregnant women and kids in Sarajevo. And Sarajevo is just a hop, skip and a jump from London.’

‘Yugoslavia’s different,’ said Jock. ‘It was never a real country anyway. Like Jimbo said, it’ll never happen in England.’ He grinned. ‘And once we’ve rebuilt Hadrian’s Wall and thrown out the English, we’ll be as happy as Larry north of the border.’

‘You know that the English built Hadrian’s Wall to keep the Scots out?’ said Jimbo.

Jock shook his head. ‘Nah, you Sassenachs rewrote the history on that. We built it because we couldn’t stand the sight of you.’

Geordie raised his glass. ‘At least we’re here,’ he said.

‘The cavalry has arrived?’ said Shepherd sourly. ‘I don’t think so, Geordie. Looks to me like we’re doing more harm than good. What’s the first thing we did on arriving here? They get us to organise a beach landing for an unnamed invasion force that turned out to be a bunch of South African mercenaries that the spooks had armed and recruited. What was the first thing the Mercs do when they landed? They ignored the job they’d been hired for – ie to engage the rebels – and instead the went rogue  and made straight for the diamond fields. There they drove the rebels out of the diamond fields and grabbed the stocks of diamonds for themselves.’

‘Aye, you can’t get decent help these days,’ growled Jock.

‘It’s not funny,’ said Shepherd.

‘It’s the way of the world, Spider,’ said Jock. ‘Mercenaries fight for money, that’s the nature of the beast. If they can see a way of getting more cash from a situation, they’ll take it.’

‘So that’s why you were so deep in thought?’ said Geordie.

‘I want to do something to help, I just don’t know what,’ said Shepherd.

‘That’s because we’re soldiers, we follow orders,’ said Jock. ‘Someone else does the thinking, we do the fighting.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Jimbo, and he banged his glass against Geordie’s.

‘There must be something we can do to help the poor sods who live in this godforsaken country,’ said Shepherd.

‘Better men than us haven’t managed to find a way to sort out the problems of this shithole,’ said Jimbo.

‘We’re the Pilgrims,’ said Geordie. ‘There are no better men than us.’ He was only a couple of years older than Shepherd and Jimbo, but the stress lines around his eyes and across his forehead made him seem much more than that. He paused, giving Shepherd a calculating look. ‘So spit it out then, Spider. Where has all your deep thought got you to so far?’

‘The reasons for some of the things that have happened here are now pretty obvious,’ he said.  ‘Fact One: We’ve come across a lot of obnoxious shits in our line of work - it goes with the turf - but the rebels here are the worst I’ve ever encountered: torturers, child rapists, child murderers and thieves, stripping Sierra Leone of the resources needed to rebuild the country and give children like the ones we met some sort of hope for the future. Fact Two: The people we helped to bring ashore are now making the country’s problems even worse.  They’ve gone straight from the landing beach to the diamond fields and are plundering the diamonds which could and should be used for the good of the Sierra Leonean people. This is one of the poorest nations on earth but once more the people are being robbed of their rightful inheritance and pushed ever deeper into poverty.’

‘So cut to the chase,’ Jimbo said. ‘We agree: it’s shit and shouldn’t be happening, but we could read that in a Guardian editorial. The question is: what do you want to do about it?’

‘Hang fire a minute,’ Geordie said as Shepherd was about to speak. ‘Incoming slime.’

‘I thought I could smell something,’ Jock said, following his gaze.

As Shepherd looked round, he saw a man approaching. He was wearing a linen suit, an MCC tie and a Panama hat, and couldn’t have looked more typically “an Englishman abroad” if he’d been wearing a bowler hat and carrying a furled umbrella. Jonathan Parker had claimed to be a businessman when they’d first met him in the hotel bar two weeks before, but everything about him had told them from the start that he was a spook. He had later admitted that he was with MI6 and, using intelligence his agency had gathered, he supplied them with the location of the rebel arms dump that they had then destroyed.

He swept off his hat and gave an exaggerated bow to them. ‘Gentlemen, I believe congratulations are in order. Surveillance imagery is showing a large, blackened crater where the rebel arms dump used to be. And as a nice bonus there were quite a few corpses around it too. Two the price of one - that’s what I like to see.’ Without invitation, he sat down, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and putting the tips of his fingers together. ‘Seriously lads, job well done. You gave the rebels a well-deserved bloody nose.’

‘And Spider here nearly died,’ said Geordie.

Parker managed to fake a look of concern. ‘Really?’

‘It was a bit rough, yeah,’ said Shepherd. ‘But all’s well that ends well.’

‘He’s going to do a McNab and write a bestseller,’ said Jimbo. ‘Short And Curlies – how I was chased through the jungle by a group of twelve-year-olds with Kalashnikovs,’

Shepherd pulled an ice cube from his glass and tossed it at Jimbo.

‘You’re okay though?’ asked Parker, and his concern seemed more genuine.

Shepherd shrugged. ‘I had a rough few days in the jungle, but I’m back on form.’

‘Good to hear, because there another problem you might be able to help me with.’ He waved over a waiter and asked for a coffee.

‘Let me guess,’ Shepherd said once the waiter had gone. ‘It’s your pet mercenaries.’

‘Indeed. As you know, they have ignored their orders and instead of fighting the rebels, they’re plundering diamonds from the Kono fields. We have intelligence that they’ve secured a large cache of uncut diamonds - several million pounds worth - and are planning to make a run for the Liberian border. If they succeed, they’ll not only be able to sell the diamonds there but the Liberians will also buy or otherwise obtain their armoured vehicles and heavy weapons, and we cannot afford that to happen.’

‘Pity you didn’t think of that before you supplied the mercenaries, isn’t it?’ Jock said.

Parker gave Jock a wintry smile. ‘To be fair now, that particular decision was taken way above my pay grade,’ he said. ‘And as my old grandmother used to say, there’s no use crying over spilled milk.’ His coffee arrived and he helped himself to three spoons of sugar before continuing. ‘At the moment the Liberians are already using their ex-Soviet helicopter-gunships in cross-border raids in support of the rebels here. Not much we can do about that. But the Liberians can’t give the rebels armoured vehicles and heavy weapons without endangering their own security because the Liberian regime’s grip on power in its own country is by no means secure. They just don’t have the resources.  But if the rebels can get their hands on the mercenaries’ vehicles and heavy weapons that could well tip the balance here. And that one thing that HMG most definitely doesn’t want is for the present government to be overthrown.’

‘Because it’s doing such a great job of running the country?’ said Shepherd, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

Parker flashed him a tight smile as he stirred his coffee. ‘Believe me, it could get a lot worse.’

‘So what is it you want?’

‘I was hoping that perhaps you might be able to make sure that the vehicles and weapons don’t fall into rebel hands.’

Shepherd’s jaw dropped. ‘You want us to intercept the mercs before they can reach the border?’ he said. ‘Four lightly armed men against an armoured column - what could possibly go wrong? And where does your intelligence about their movements come from anyway? I hope it’s more reliable than the mercenaries you recruit.’

Parker’s fixed smile wavered. ‘We’re not as naive as you sometimes like to think, you know. We’ve had a trusted source inside the mercenaries from the very start.’

‘Well maybe he should stop the column for you then,’ Jock said.

‘And if he’s such a good source, why he didn’t he tell you what they had planned?’ asked Shepherd.

‘I think that it’s a pay grade thing again,’ said Parker. ‘Only the guys running the show knew that the diamonds fields were going to be seized.’

Shepherd fell silent, deep in thought. ‘There may be a way to take out the mercs and at the same time, discourage the Liberians from supporting the rebels.’

Parker shot him a guarded look. ‘HMG cannot be seen to be carrying out or openly supporting attacks on Liberian territory.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Shepherd said. ‘It won’t be traceable and we may even be able to put your mercs to good use after all.’

‘In what way?’ He smiled as he answered his own question. ‘Make them the scapegoats, you mean?’ Parker’s smile was now back in place. ‘I like the way you think, Shepherd. You think like a spook.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment, actually,’  Shepherd said.

Jock burst out laughing at the expression on Parker’s face as he stood up. ‘I’ll give you a dossier of the intelligence we have, and I’ll make sure you have the full cooperation of the Boss of the Operational Squadron, within the constraints of the available resources obviously.’

‘Which means there won’t be any,’ Geordie said.

‘And you’ll have to move fast,’ Parker said imperturbably. ‘Our source believes the mercenaries will be pulling out within 48 hours, and it will then take no more than another 48 hours for them to reach the Liberian border.’  He paused. ‘Oh, and you do realise that any diamonds you might happen to retrieve in the course of this operation, will automatically become the property of Her Majesty’s Government?’

‘And as Her Majesty’s representative, no doubt you’ll be wanting to take charge of them personally?’ Jock said.

‘I don’t care for the implication behind that,’ said Parker archly.

Jock smiled without warmth. ‘And I don’t care whether you like it or not.’

‘Come on now girls, we’re all on the same side here,’ said Shepherd. He looked up at Parker. ‘Give us the intelligence dossier and while we’re studying that there are some things that we’ll need and with all your contacts, you should find it easy enough to get hold of.’

‘I’m listening,’ said the MI6 man.

‘We need at least one South African army uniform and it has to be at least five years old,’ Shepherd said. ‘We’ll also need a number of other things that will help to build up a convincing legend so that the guy we are going to leave behind really seems to be the professional merc we’re trying to portray him as.  It’s the little bits and pieces and the tools of the trade that must be convincing.  So we’ll need a set of webbing and belt kit, and it must be well worn and look comfortable.  Don’t forget, this guy would have worn it on campaigns all over southern Africa, so it won’t have come off a shelf in the stores last month.   On the belt we will need a bush knife of some description because these guys tend to get their fresh rations on the hoof.’

Parker nodded. ‘No problem.’

‘The next thing we want are a few items to go into the belt kit.  First we’ll need a comprehensive weapon cleaning and maintenance kit.   These would be bits and pieces he had acquired over the years, so there could be bits of Cuban, Angolan, Russian and South African kit - brushes, rods and screwdrivers, and so on.  He wouldn’t just use the kit to keep his weapon clean, he would also have been constantly adjusting, repairing and re-zeroing his weapon as necessary, so once more, they’d be well worn and scratched.  Stick some biltong - wind-dried meat - into one of the pouches too, because he would use that to stem his hunger pangs between the irregular meals he would be used to.  Then to round it off, tape a couple of Russian grenades to the ammo pouches for effect.  That should just about do it for the webbing and belt kit.’

Parker took out a small black notepad from his pocket and a gold pen and began to scribble in it.

‘Now for the boots,’ said Shepherd. ‘The guy who said an army marches on its stomach got it wrong. Armies march on their feet. The only guys in the modern army who wear standard-issue army boots are the REMF’s - the Rear Echelon Mother Fuckers - because they only ever march from the canteen to the billet and back.  Guys in the field know their lives depend on being able to march 24/7. And I’ll tell you one thing for sure – I probably spend more on my boots than you do on your Savile Row suits.  On ops we try not to take our boots off all the time we are in the field.  This means they must fit like gloves, be supple and extremely comfortable.  The boots we need will have been worn by this guy for years.  He will probably have worn them for gardening and hiking around South Africa after he left the regular army and before he signed up to the mercenary game.  They’ll be clean but not polished and will have had insect and leech repellent applied to them for years.  The soles will be worn but not too worn - he will have climbed on and jumped down from a thousand different vehicles over the lifetime of his boots.  There will be traces of petrol and oil, and several different soils in the tread pattern. They will feel like kid glove leather and if you find an authentic pair, then one of us is quite likely to keep them. If you can get us those things, we’ll see what we can do. Oh, and as you were just saying to me, you’ll have to move fast.’ He winked at the others.

‘Is all this detail strictly necessary?’ Parker said. ‘Feels to me like you’re using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. The Liberians are hardly going to be subjecting this kit to Scotland Yard-style forensic examination.’

‘It’s necessary,’ Jock growled. ‘If the Liberians are not convinced and start making allegations that British troops are behind a breach of their sovereign territory then the diplomatic shit will hit the fan big time, at which point your future promotion prospects may not be looking too rosy. So, you know what? Just do as Spider says and get the fucking kit we need.’

Parker flushed with anger and opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and with a curt nod, he turned and hurried away, sliding his pen and notepad into his pocket as he went.

Jock waited until the SIS man was out of earshot before speaking.  ‘So what have you got in mind, Spider? You’ve obviously been hatching a plan, because I could hear the cogs whirring.’

‘I’ll tell you, but before I do, I just want you to know that I’m going to do it anyway.   If any or all of you want to come along for the ride, then fine, but if not, there’ll be no hard feelings from me.’

His three patrol mates looked affronted. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Jimbo said. ‘Of course we’re in with you. We’re mates aren’t we?’ The other two nodded in agreement.

‘We’re the three and a half musketeers,’ said Jock. ‘All for one and one for all.’

‘Who’s the half?’ asked Jimbo, frowning.

‘If you’ve got to ask,’ said Geordie, and he laughed.

‘That’s just offensive,’ said Jimbo, crossing his arms and scowling.

‘Great,’ Shepherd said, ignoring the banter. ‘Though you may not be quite so keen when you hear the plan. Whatever we might think about their fighting qualities, we’re not going to defeat an armoured column of mercs with AK-47s, and since the Boss isn’t going give us any resources, we’re going to have to find someone else who will.’

A slow smile spread across Jock’s face. ‘Go on, though I think I’ve already guessed where this is heading.’

When Shepherd had finished outlining his plan to them, there was a stunned silence for a few seconds, before Geordie found his voice. ‘What? You want us to invade a whole country? Are you off your head?’

‘It’s not an invasion. Just a brief incursion. And who dares wins, right? We’re the SAS, the best of the best. They’re just a half-trained rabble. All we need is one of their Russian Hind helicopters.’

‘Oh, that’s all we need?’ said Jimbo. ‘Spider, we’re probably short of everything we need for this op. But even if we can manage to sort all that out somehow, and assuming we can get ourselves a Hind, then who the hell is going to fly it for us because the last time I checked none of us has a pilot’s licence.’

‘The pilot’s the least of our problems,’ said Shepherd. ‘Providing our Czech friend Jerzy is still around.’

‘He flies a Hoplite, remember?’ said Jimbo.

‘Maybe so,’ Jock said. ‘But as an old Cold Warrior, I can tell you that the Mi 2, Mi 8 and Mi 24 - the Hoplite, Hip and Hind as we call them - were all manufactured by the same Russian company. Apart from the weapons systems on the Hind, they’re pretty similar mechanically. The engines may be bigger but the controls are much the same, so in theory if you can fly one, you should be able to fly any of them. And though most Soviet kit is rubbish, the Hind is a real quality chopper. It’s faster than any equivalent Western helicopter and more manoeuvrable - I’ve even heard you can do barrel rolls in them, though I’d pay good money to see that. Their armour’s good too - anything smaller than a 23 millimetre round bounces off - and though the muj I trained shot a lot of them down with Stinger missiles in Afghanistan, the armour’s now been upgraded enough that they’ve even been known to survive impacts from Stingers.’

‘But even if Jerzy can fly a Hind, he’s a civilian now,’ said Jimbo. ‘Why would he want to risk his life for us?’

‘Because we’ll make it worth his while,’ Shepherd said. ‘Jimbo, mate, you need to stop with the negativity.’

‘I’m just playing devil’s avocado,’ said Jimbo.

‘Advocate,’ said Geordie.

‘I was joking,’ said Jimbo, flashing him a tight smile.

‘Hard to tell with you,’ said Geordie. ‘But I’m with Jock. I reckon Jerzy will do it for money. He’s a merc when you get down to it.’

‘To be fair, we get paid for what we do as well,’ said Jock.

‘We’re professional soldiers,’ said Shepherd. ‘We fight for queen and country, there’s a hell of a difference between us and mercenaries. Right, we need to get moving. I’ll drop you guys at the base so you can get to work on the detailed planning and grab some kit, while I find Jerzy and put a deal to him.’

They piled into their Landcruiser with Shepherd at the wheel. He dropped them at the compound the SAS had requisitioned within the Sierra Leone Air Force headquarters compound near the head of Aberdeen Creek, then drove on to the civilian airport at Lungi to find Jerzy. In a decision that defied all logic, Lungi, the country’s only international airport had been sited on the far bank of the Sierra Leone River from the capital, Freetown so that the only way to reach it was by an inland detour that added several hours to the journey, or by using one of the rust-bucket ferries across the river. Shepherd took the latter option. He drove down to the waterfront at Kissy and inched his way onto the ferry among hordes of foot passengers making the crossing. The ferry was so packed there was not a single inch of deck space unoccupied when the ferry set off with a mournful note from its siren.

The water seemed to be lapping dangerously close to the gunwales of the overloaded ferry, but Shepherd’s fellow passengers didn’t seem to be concerned and the ferry duly clanked and wheezed its way across to the far bank.

Once the human tide pouring off the ferry had ebbed to a trickle, Shepherd drove on to Lungi. There was very little other traffic making for the airport. The tourist trade had died when the Civil War had started in 1991.

Shepherd found Jerzy in the crew room of the civilian helicopter company that employed him. A Czech national, Jerzy had been a military helicopter pilot with the Soviet Pact forces but since the end of the Cold War he’d been ferrying passengers between Freetown and Lungi airport in a tiny Hoplite helicopter. Business wasn’t good and he spent most of his time drinking beer in front of a whirring fan in the crew room.  He sipped his beer and listened as Shepherd outlined what he wanted him to do. He was shaking his head even before Shepherd had finished speaking. ‘I’ve never flown a Hind and I’d struggle enough with that, without trying to fire the weapons systems as well.’

‘You fly it and I’ll take care of the weapons systems,’ said Shepherd ‘It’s a gamble, I know, but if it comes off I’ll make sure that you’re handsomely paid - in diamonds, if you like.’ He paused. ‘So, what do you think? Can you fly a Hind gunship?’

Jerzy thought long and hard, then gave a shrug of his shoulders. ‘I can fly a Hoplite and I can fly a Hip. I’ve never sat in a Hind but I suppose that the only difference  is the fact that the Hind goes faster and is a bit more complicated. Yeah, I can probably do it. Might be a bumpy ride, but what is it you say, buggers can’t be choosy.’

Shepherd grinned.  ‘Beggars,’ he said. ‘Beggars can’t be choosy. But then again you might be right the first time.’

A slow smile spread across Jerzy’s face. ‘Who knows? I may even enjoy it. I was sitting here the other day, thinking that this civilian life really isn’t for me. I miss the comradeship of the military, but most of all I miss the adrenaline and yes, even the danger. You know what, Spider? Count me in. And not only can I fly your Hind when you find it, but I can get my compatriot, Piotr, to fly the five of us up to the Liberian border in one of the company’s Hip cargo choppers - they’ve got much more range and payload than the Hoplite.’

‘How much will he want?’

‘I’ll pay him out of my share,’ said Jerzy. ‘But I’ll be wanting diamond.’

‘You’ll have them,’ said Shepherd. He shook the pilot’s hand. ‘But we have to move fast. Can you and Piotr be ready to go in twenty-four hours?’

‘I can be ready in two, if that’s what you want.’

Shepherd grinned. ‘Twenty-four will be fine.  We’ll lift up from the base at 0100 hours local tomorrow night.’

* * *

The SAS men spent the evening and the next day fine tuning their plans and assembling the equipment, weapons and ammunition they’d need. They opted to take AK-47’s to match the Russian weapons being used by the enemy.  This allowed them to cut down on the amount of small arms ammo they would have to carry themselves as they were confident they would be able to obtain resupplies from enemy stockpiles. As usual, they had cleared the op with the Operational Squadron’s Boss, and as usual, as soon as he had established that they would not be depriving him of any of his own air assets or other precious resources, he nodded distractedly and waved them away. They were planning a fast, in and out operation, so took minimum rations and water, but maximum ammunition.

Parker appeared in the late afternoon and laid a bundle of kit, including a bush-knife, a weapon cleaning kit and a pair of worn, but expensive looking hiking boots on the table in front of them. He then added to Russian grenades to the pile. Shepherd checked the kit over. ‘It’s not perfect,’ he said, ‘and there’s certainly no danger of any of us nicking these boots, but I suppose it will have to do.’

‘Thanks for your gratitude,’ Parker said, with heavy sarcasm. ‘I had agents in half a dozen different countries, scanning the shops and bazaars for bits of kit and getting it all back here from all over the place was a complete logistical nightmare.’

‘I know,’ Jock said. ‘And all us ungrateful bastards have to do now is go off and risk our lives taking on first the Liberian armed forces, and then a bunch of battle-hardened mercenaries armed with heavy weapons supplied by our new best friend. Life just isn’t fair sometimes, is it, Parker?’

Parker ignored Jock and instead looked at Shepherd. ‘Can I have a word?’ he said. ‘In private.’

‘You can say anything you need to say in front of my mates,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’d rather not,’ said Parker. ‘This is for your ears only.’

He walked over to the bar and stood there on his own, waiting for Shepherd to join him. ‘Go on,’ said Jock. ‘You can always tell us what he says afterwards – assuming he doesn’t make you sign the Official Secrets Act.’

Shepherd ambled over to Parker who had taken out a pack of small cigars. He offered the pack to Shepherd but he shook his head. Parker slid a cigar between his lips and lit it with a Swan Vesta match. He blew smoke before he started to talk. ‘You’ve got your head screwed on all right,’ said Parker. ‘You’re not your typical squaddie.’

‘We’re SAS,’ said Shepherd. ‘Typical doesn’t make it through Selection.’

Parker nodded. ‘Like I said earlier, you don’t think like a soldier, you think like a spook.’

‘And like I said, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.’

Parker smiled thinly. ‘What I’m saying is that unlike most of your colleagues, you clearly have options.’

‘Options?’

‘Outside of the SAS. Jumping out of planes with your guns blazing is all well and good when you’re young, but you don’t stay young forever and the time will come when you’re looking for alternative work.’

‘I’m happy doing what I’m doing,’ said Shepherd. ‘I worked bloody hard to get into the SAS, I’m in no hurry to leave.’

‘You have a wife and a young son,’ said Parker. ‘Family’s can make you reassess your priorities.’

Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know about my family?’

Parker chuckled. ‘I’m MI6, Shepherd. I can pretty much find out anything about anybody. I could tell you a few things about your pal Jock that would change your whole perception of him, for instance.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m not interested.’

‘The point I’m making is that you’re special, Shepherd. You’re a good soldier but that trick memory of yours and the way that your mind works sets you apart from the rest. MI6 could use you. Or MI5 if you’d rather stay at home. But long term, you should think about making the move. You’re a natural.’

‘How do you know about my memory?’ asked Shepherd. His memory was near-photographic but he tended to keep quiet about his talent.

‘I like your suspicious nature, that’ll come in handy, too.’  He patted Shepherd on the shoulder. ‘I’ve seen your Army record. I know everything there is to know about you, and everything I know tells me that you’ll make the perfect intelligence operative.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ said Shepherd.

Parker took out a brown leather wallet that had turned shiny from use and flicked it open. He slid out a business card and handed it to Shepherd. ‘Circumstances change,’ he said. ‘If they do, call me.’

Parker left the bar and Shepherd went back to join the others. ‘What did he say?’ asked Jock.

‘It was weird,’ said Shepherd. He handed Parker’s business card to him. ‘Said he really fancied you and wanted to blow you if you were up for it. Said you were to give him a call.’

Jock’s jaw fell and it was a second or two before he realised that Shepherd was joking. ‘Bastard,’ he growled. ‘You had me going there.’

* * *

Shepherd, Jock, Geordie and Jimbo assembled on the hard standing inside the SAS section of the airbase at 00:50 the next morning and five minutes later they heard the chop of rotors as the Hip helicopter appeared out of the darkness and landed in a storm of dust. The cargo door slid open and Jerzy gave them a thumbs up.   He helped them load their bergens and weapons before moving aside to let them climb in while the rotors continued to turn slowly above their heads. Within five minutes they were airborne again and heading east-south-east towards the Liberian border.

Flying at low-level and without lights, the Czech pilot, Piotr, flew over the bush putting grazing animals into panic-stricken flight. The helicopter passed well wide of the remote village of Buedu and flew on to within a couple of miles of the border, before finding a clearing in the bush where they could land. The SAS patrol and Jerzy jumped down and unloaded their kit before the helicopter rose back into the air. The downwash lashed the scrub around them as it turned and flew off to the West. The patrol had gone into all-round defence at once and they remained motionless for several minutes as the sound of the helicopter faded into the distance. Only when they were satisfied that they were alone in the bush did they move off.

Dawn was already streaking the eastern sky as they made their way across the unmarked border and into Liberia. The terrain was a mixture of open scrubland and thick forest and they moved deeper into the country undetected, giving a wide berth to the handful of scattered villages they passed.

They were in silent routine, pausing for ten minutes in every hour to watch, listen and scent the air before moving on. They had been going for four hours when Shepherd at last called a halt at the edge of a clearing on an east facing slope of the hills that they had been crossing. ‘This will do for now,’ he said. ‘We’ll set up a temporary OP here and move on once we know where we’re heading.’ The SAS men took off their bergens and lay up in cover, two on watch, while the others rested.

Jerzy, puzzled, whispered to Shepherd ‘So where is the base we’re making for?’

‘We’re going to find out.’

‘You don’t know where it is?’

‘No, but the pilots flying the Liberian Hinds do and they’re going to lead us to it. All we have to do is track them as they come and go.’

For a while there was no sound but the chorus of birds and insects from the forest. Then, faintly at first but growing steadily louder, they heard the noise of an aircraft engine. As it moved closer they could pick up the staccato beat of rotors. The Hind passed within three or four miles of them, heading north-west as it made for the border with Sierra Leone. The patrol moved out at once and were in position under its flight path as the Hind returned from its mission an hour or so later. They took a bearing from its course and tracked it almost due south. Several hours later they cleared a forested ridge and in the distance, through a gap in the trees, they could see the airfield from which the Hinds were operating.

They moved closer, pausing constantly to look and listen and scent the air for any sign of the enemy before moving forward again. They set up an OP in a dense patch of scrub close to the airfield and settled down to watch and wait.

They heard and saw two more Hinds take off and pass almost directly overhead. The jungle camouflage paint of the choppers made them stand out vividly against the sky, and from a distance the attack pods on their stub wings, the bulbous shapes of the pilot’s and gunner’s cockpits, and the double air intakes, gave them the look of ugly flying beetles.

They also saw a huge Russian Cub transport aircraft - the same size as a Hercules but with a different engine note – land and began to unload supplies. ‘That’ll have flown in from Kiev in the Ukraine,’ Jock said, ‘It used to be the Soviets’ export hub of choice, and the Russians still use it now. The Russians play a clever game with weapons exports.  All official government to government deals are done in Moscow but they run their under-the-counter deals through the Ukraine so the Russians can show a clean pair of hands to the world.’

They remained in cover for the rest of the day and through the evening.  Activity on the airfield slowed and then ceased. Towards midnight they donned their PNG night vision goggles and Shepherd led the team through the scrub and down to the airfield.

The perimeter was secured by a steel chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire. It looked new - perhaps another gift from the Liberians’ Russian sponsors. They could see a group of soldiers illuminated by the pool of light from the guard post at the gates but they saw only one other guard, making a desultory patrol along the fence.

Shepherd decided against cutting the fence. Instead he waited for the guard to pass, then moved along until he saw the faint line of an animal track coming up to the fence and continuing beyond it. There was a hollow beneath the fence that was sufficiently large for the animal to pass through and it was the work of only a couple of minutes to enlarge it enough for the patrol to crawl under the fence. They paused to cover their tracks, pushing the dusty soil back into the hollow, smoothing it down and scattering a few dead leaves across it, then headed stealthily onto the airfield.

There were four Hip helicopters parked at the end of the runway close to the Cub transport aircraft. There were five Hind gunships in a separate wired compound away from the other aircraft; three in the open and the other two inside a hangar, its doors wide open.

There was a guard in a hut just inside the compound, but they could hear his snores as they cut the wire. As Jimbo and Jock provided cover, Shepherd crept over and used his knife to make sure that the guard would never wake up again. He stripped off the dead man’s clothes and replaced them with the South African uniform before dragging the body across to the hangar. There he laid a rifle down next to the body. He stood and admired his handiwork and then waved Jerzy over.

While Geordie searched the store shed for weapons and ammunition, Shepherd and Jerzy checked out each of the gunships in turn. They selected one on the grounds that it was already in the open, fully fuelled and had the pilot’s and gunner’s helmets in the cockpits. They also found some rocket pod reloads for the gunship in the hanger.  Shepherd hesitated. ‘Can we re-arm the helicopter if we take these?”

Jerzy shrugged carelessly. ‘Piece of biscuit,’ he said.

Shepherd frowned then he realised what the pilot meant. ‘Piece of cake,’ he said, slapping him on the back. They loaded the rocket pods and then Shepherd took a moment to familiarise himself with the weapons systems of the Hind. He was on the point of calling the others over to the helicopter-gunship when Geordie came running over. ‘Quick Spider, come and give us a lift. I’ve found a couple of AT-5’s in the hangar.  They’re the same as our Milan anti-tank rockets. Might be just the job for the bastard mercenaries.’

Shepherd went over to the hanger with Geordie. Jock and Jimbo were already lifting a box and together they loaded four boxes into the passenger compartment of the Hind. ‘Sure you’ve got enough now?’ Jimbo said with more than a touch of sarcasm.

‘You can never have too much of a good thing,’ Jock said, adding a B10 Russian sniper rifle that he had also found to the pile of weapons and equipment.

With Shepherd in the front gunner’s cockpit, Jock and Geordie in the cargo bay, and Jimbo still outside the helicopter, they waited for Jerzy to warm up the Hind. They braced themselves for the storm that was to come once the Liberians realised what was happening.

Jerzy pressed the button to start the engines and they whined and then rumbled into life. The sudden noise provoked a flurry of action among the guards at the gate. Under cover of the noise, Jimbo put a double tap into the dead guard’s head, so that even his mother could not recognise him, then sprinted for the Hind. As he dived into the cargo bay, Jock slid the door shut behind him.

Lights went on in the buildings around the airfield and within seconds the first fusillades of shots rang out of the darkness.  Rounds bounced off the armour plating of the helicopter and ricocheted away into the night.

The noise of the rounds hitting the Hind was deafening and made everyone on board flinch, but so far at least, the armour plating had held firm. Shepherd shot a glance over his shoulder at Jerzy, who was sitting in his separate cockpit behind and above him.  Jerzy’s face was a couple of shades whiter than usual, but he was managing to maintain his focus on his task, his hand hovering impatiently over the controls as he waited for the engines to come up to running speed. Rounds were still crashing against the helicopter and eventually Jock could take no more. He slid open the cargo door and began blasting away at the muzzle flashes, the dotted tracks of his tracer rounds written on the darkness like a deadly Morse code. His fast and accurate shooting suppressed a lot of the incoming fire and bought Jerzy a little extra time to get used to the controls and to get the gunship airborne.

Jerzy wound up the engines and then raised the collective. The helicopter staggered off the ground, its engines screaming as it dragged itself clear of the ground effect. A stray round struck sparks from the whirling disc of the rotors. Still familiarising himself with the controls, Jerzy steered an erratic course across the airfield and out over the perimeter fence. He was rapidly gaining confidence with the controls and brought the Hind round, gaining a little more height, in a slow turn back towards the airfield.

‘Right you bastards,’ Shepherd muttered under his breath. ‘Let’s see how you like a taste of your own medicine.’ Using the Hinds’ electronic selection and aiming system, he opened up first on the parked Hips, watching as each in turn disintegrated before his eyes when the rockets slammed home and engulfed them in flames.

He saw aircrew sprinting towards two of the Hinds. He held his fire as the crew scrambled aboard and he saw the rotors of one begin to turn slowly. Then he opened up with the wing rocket pods. The first Hind disappeared in a ball of boiling flame. The second was just beginning to lift clear of the ground as the rocket struck it. It slewed sideways, its rotors bit into the concrete and the helicopter went into a frenzied spin around its own axis before smashing into the ground and erupting as its fuel tanks ignited.

Jerzy eased the helicopter around to allow Shepherd to bring the rocket pods to bear on the remaining two Hinds in the hangar and he let loose with two more rockets, obliterating them in an instant and turning the inside of the hangar into an inferno.  Only then did he turn his attention to the guards who were still trying to bring down the Hind with ground fire.  A couple of bursts from the nose cannon quickly knocked the fight out of them and Jerzy turned the helicopter north-west on a bearing which would take them back across the border, making directly for the diamond mines in the Kono district of Sierra Leone.

They crossed the border and flew on, still at low-level. As they cleared the last ridge separating them from the Kono mining districts, Jerzy brought the Hind into a hover and landed in a clearing, where they quickly re-armed the gunship.

At the foot of the ridge, lit by the full moon, they could see the mine workings and spoil heaps that sprawled before them as far as the eye could see. As he took in the green-tinged view through his NVGs, Shepherd gasped at the scale of the devastation. The thickly forested ridges gave way instantly, as if a line had been drawn across the landscape, to a moonscape of pulverised rock, bare, torn earth and poisoned watercourses dyed a lurid, sickly-looking orange. Whole forests had been razed to the ground and the earth stripped down to the bare bedrock.

There was none of the usual noise of the African bush, no choruses of croaking frogs or the sonar of bats at the threshold of hearing. There wasn’t even the whine of mosquitoes. In this desolate, lunar landscape there appeared to be almost no living thing at all.  Except for men, of course. For miles around the mine the surface of the plain was pitted with small holes and mounds of excavated gravel each casting a small dense shadow in the moonlight and the darkness was lit by hundreds of pinpricks of light as if glowworms were flitting through the night.

‘Illegal miners,’ Jerzy said. ‘As fast as the mining companies expose the gravels, ready to process them, the illegal miners move in and start digging. They work at night by lantern-or candle-light, digging out the gravel and carrying it in baskets on their heads to the nearest stream. There they sieve it and jig it for any diamonds it may contain. It’s a race against time before the guards get to them. The mining companies and their mercenaries pursue them relentlessly but every night they return. They need the money, you see.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Shepherd.

‘If they strike it lucky, then can make a fortune and take care of their families forever,’ said Jerky. ‘But if they are unlucky…’  He shrugged. ‘Then they die. And a lot of them die, my friend.’

‘It’s a God-forsaken country, that’s for sure,’ said Shepherd.

Jerzy nodded in agreement.  ‘There is no other work because the mining companies have destroyed the land. The miners used to farm during the wet season, growing enough food to last them the year, and fished the rivers for food. They would prospect for diamonds in the dry season. They grew so much food that Sierra Leone used to be self-sufficient in rice. Now almost everything is imported because there is virtually no farmland left. And even if there was farmable land, there aren’t enough able-bodied people to farm it. There are always clauses in the agreements with the mining companies requiring them to rehabilitate the land after they’ve worked it, but they’re never enforced and the companies never do.’ He nodded at the desolate landscape. ‘They leave it the way it is. Dead.’

‘And I don’t suppose the mercenaries will do any different,’ Shepherd said. ‘Speaking of which, it’s time to get airborne.’

They took off and flew on again at low level, passing over and between huge man-made mountains, the tailings from the mine workings which rose hundreds of feet into the air. The mines worked around the clock and Shepherd could see huge dredges and draglines tearing at the diamond-bearing earth, rock and gravel, ripping out tens of tons with each bite. They fed lines of dumper trucks,  their tyres twice the size of a man, which dumped the gravel onto a conveyor belt as wide as a road, running endlessly into a huge crushing mill. Three tall chimneys belched black smoke into the air, visible as three blacker columns against the star-strewn night sky. The relentless, deafening noise of crushed rock and tortured metal was audible even above the beat of the helicopter rotors.  It was a vision of hell that chilled Shepherd to the bone.

Shepherd knew the mining companies would pay whatever was necessary to keep the mines open. However much they had to pay in bribes and protection money, it would never put more than a modest dent in the huge profits they made and then extracted from the country as ruthlessly as they tore the diamonds from the Earth.

From the intelligence that Parker had provided, they knew the location of the compound where the mercs had based themselves. Shepherd told Jerzy to bring the helicopter in to land two miles from their compound. As soon as they touched down, Jimbo and Geordie disembarked, taking the AT-5s with them. The made their their way on foot through the diamond fields towards the compound. ‘Did you know the Russians treat each of these as a three-man load?’ Jimbo said, grunting under the strain of lifting one of the boxes.

‘Yeah?’ Geordie said. ‘Well we’re not fucking Russians, we’re the Pilgrims, so get on with it.’

They disappeared into the darkness. Shepherd, Jerzy and Jock waited in the helicopter as the minutes ticked by. Over half an hour had elapsed when they heard a burst of firing. At once Jerzy wound up the gunship and took off. They skimmed over a sprawling township that had grown up to service the mines, a sea of mud huts and tar-paper shacks lapping against a handful of concrete buildings. More shacks surrounded the razor-wired perimeter of the mining compound itself, and within that was a smaller and even more formidable-looking compound with chain-link fencing protected by triple coils of razor wire and blast-proof berms bulldozed out of the mine tailings. Floodlights and observation towers raised on wooden poles punctuated the fence, giving it the appearance of a Second World War PoW camp.

Within the inner fence was a circle of shipping containers, their roofs protected by sandbags. They had been arranged around a patch of trampled red earth, forming the compound’s helicopter-pad.  Scattered around the compound were ex-Soviet vehicles - BTR-60 armoured troop transports, BRDM combat reconnaissance vehicles and two tracked ZSU-23-4 radar-guided anti-aircraft guns.

The helicopter rose to clear a heap of mine-tailings then swooped down in a gut-churning plummet to the floor. Jimbo and Geordie were already engaging the mercenaries in a vicious firefight.  Shepherd saw muzzle flashes below the helicopter and tracer fire arcing up towards the Hind. Jerzy threw the helicopter into a violent turn, corkscrewing around as the tracer rounds scythed past, narrowly missing the gunship and flaring like explosions in Shepherd’s night vision goggles. His headset crackled into life as Jock spotted the source of the problem at once. ‘The ZSU-23-4s are radar controlled,’ he said. ‘They’re activating automatically as soon as you show up on their radar. Give me a moment and I’ll poke their eyes out.’

As Jerzy held the helicopter in level flight for a few seconds, Jock took aim from the doorway of the cab with the B10 Russian sniper rifle he had liberated from the Liberian airfield. He squeezed off several rounds into the Radomes, putting them out of action and reducing the 23-4s to firing by line of sight. ‘Problem solved,’ Jock said laconically. ‘Your turn now.’

Jerzy flew the Hind in towards the target in the classic Russian figure-of-eight attack pattern, giving Shepherd the opportunity to pick out targets as he needed to.  Small arms fire from the mercenaries was now cracking and banging against the armoured metal skin of the Hind as Jerzy threw the helicopter around to throw off the aim of the 23-4s.

Shepherd could hear the chatter of firing as Jock laid his sniper rifle aside and opened up with the mini-gun from the door of the cab, laying down a torrent of fire on the merc positions. There were more muzzle flashes from the mercenaries’ weapons as they returned fire. Ground fire filled the air around the helicopter with bursts of tracer rounds searing upwards, cutting through the darkness  like oxyacetylene torches. Tracer rounds always looked much larger and closer at night and in the cramped gunner’s cockpit of the Hind they looked as big as footballs to Shepherd.

There was a bigger flash as one of the 23-4s opened fire again. It seemed impossible that anything could fly through the blizzard of rounds without being hit but Jerzy managed it. As the helicopter jerked around, Shepherd heard grunts and curses from Jock who was being thrown around the cab. Rounds clipped and rattled against the fuselage, striking sparks like fireflies, and one round smashed through the Perspex windscreen only inches from Shepherd’s head, punching a second hole as it exited through the roof.

As the gunship flew on, soaring upwards for a few seconds before the next gut-churning plunge down, Shepherd got the first 23-4 in the crosshairs of his onboard cannon and took it out with an explosive roar.

On the helicopter’s next lift above the ground, emerging from the shadows of the spoil heaps, he took on the second 23-4 and put that out of action as well, using the cannon pods on the helicopter’s stub wings. The 23-4’s ammunition detonated in the blast and Shepherd could see tracer flying in all direction. Two of the mercenaries were blown away like rag dolls caught in a hurricane.

With the two anti-aircraft weapons out of the fight, the attack became less stressful. Shepherd calmly cannoned and rocketed the combat reconnaissance vehicles which erupted into flame, spewing out palls of oily black smoke, Jimbo and Geordie targeted the BTR-60 troop carriers with their AT-5 anti-tank missiles. Each time they fired, Shepherd could see the jet of flame lancing out behind the weapon as the missile was fired and the white hot streak it carved through the darkness. Each missile drilled through the armour plating of its target and detonated inside the vehicle.

The battle was short and sweet, lasting no more than a few minutes. But in that time they had reduced every one of the mercenaries’ vehicles to piles of flaming junk and burning rubber,  belching out clouds of black smoke into the night sky. Jerzy kept the Hind circling over the battlefield as Shepherd and Jock targeted any remaining sources of ground fire. When all firing from the ground had ceased, they still kept the helicopter in a hover, ready to offer covering fire to  Jimbo and Geordie as they moved forward, mopping up the last resistance, and methodically checking the wrecked vehicles and buildings for survivors.

One group of three or four mercenaries had remained hidden and as Jimbo and Geordie approached they put up renewed resistance, firing from a sandbagged  placement on the roof of the main compound building.

Geordie marked the site with a couple of phosphorous rounds that emitted puffs of white smoke as they struck home. Sighting on them, Shepherd then took out the target with another strike from the wing rocket pods. There was no more firing from the mercenaries after that.

Once Geordie and Jimbo had completed their sweep of the compound and given the all clear, Jerzy landed the Hind gunship close to where several of the bodies of the mercenaries were lying. He cut the engines,  Shepherd could hear the metal pinging in the cold night air as the engines cooled down.  It was only then that he noticed how battered the old craft was.  He had been so caught up in the combat that he had hardly been aware of the Hind being hit , but he now saw the scars, dents and patches of newly-exposed bright metal where the barrage of rounds had struck it.

As the adrenaline-fuelled rush of combat began to fade, Shepherd felt completely deflated and demotivated. He knew that it would soon pass and while he was getting his head in shape to plan his next move, Jock jumped down from the helicopter and ran to join Jimbo and Geordie.

They has an animated conversation and Shepherd saw Jimbo gesturing towards one of the wrecked mercenaries’ vehicles. They disappeared inside the still smoking wreckage and a couple of minutes later the re-emerged. Jock was the last to appear and as he did so, he held up a scorched leather bag in his hand, with a look of triumph on his face.

The three men ran over to Shepherd.  ‘We found this in the merc’s command vehicle,’ Jock said when he got back to the helicopter. ‘The guys inside it didn’t look like they’d have a use for it any more. Geordie told me that he was sighting the AT-5 when he spotted that one of the BTR’s had a communications rail aerial on the top. That’s always a sign that it’s a command vehicle so I thought it was worth a closer look.’ He grinned. ‘Take a look at what we found. To the victors, the spoils.’

The bag was heavy but when Shepherd peered into it he gave Jock a puzzled smile. ‘What exactly am I looking at? It looks like a load of pebbles.’

Jerzy took the bag from him, took one glance into it and then said ‘Not pebbles, my friend, something a lot more valuable than that. These are uncut diamonds, I’ve seen enough of them during my time in Freetown. I’m not an expert, but I’d say you were looking at least ten million dollars worth there, maybe a whole lot more.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Shepherd.  ‘No wonder the mercenaries were so keen to head straight here. He gestured at the bag. ‘Take as many as you want, Jerzy. You’ve earned them, fair and square. Just make sure there aren’t any complications once we get back to Freetown.’

The Czech picked out six of the diamonds and slipped them into his pocket.

‘Enough?’ Shepherd said.

He nodded. ‘More than I could make in five years flying choppers.’

‘What about the rest?’ Jock said.

‘They’re HMG’s, according to Parker,’ Shepherd said. ‘But I’m sure Her Majesty doesn’t need all of them’ He took the bag from Jerzy. ‘I can think of a much better home for them.’

* * *

Dawn was breaking as they began the flight back to Freetown. The diamond mines were continuing to operate almost as if they were fully automatic. Shepherd glanced down at the giant machines and the men who look like ants as they moved around them. ‘Unbelievable,’ he said. ‘We’ve just fought a pitched battle on their doorstep and yet they’ve all turned up and started work as if it had been nothing more than a fireworks party.’

‘Maybe they’ve seen so much fighting already that one more battle is just all part of the average working day,’ Jock said.

As they took off, they saw a crowd of ragged looking men, most carrying spades and sieves, gathering outside the main fence of the mine. Shepherd stared at them for a moment and then said ‘Let’s do the locals a favour for once. Jerzy, put us into a hover outside the fence, will you? Jock, Jimbo, Geordie, try and get those guys to move back.’

Jock slid open the cabin door and began gesturing at the men to move back. A few took a couple of steps backwards but most remained where they were, staring sullenly at the chopper. ‘I’ll just encourage them,’ Jock said, aiming his rifle. He put a few bursts into the dust between the miners and the fence and the crowd moved back. He fired another short burst into the ground and the men moved further away from the fence.

‘Be careful, mate, we don’t want them getting hurt from the ricochets,’ warned Shepherd.

The men continued to move back. There were angry shouts and some of the miners shook their fists at the helicopter as it hovered above them.

‘Okay, here goes, ‘Shepherd said. Aiming the missiles at the base of the fence, he emptied the rocket pods into it. The ground erupted in smoke, flame and dust, but when the smoke had cleared, a long stretch of fencing had been obliterated. Jock leaned out of the cab and waved the men forward again. Instead of angry shouts and raised fists, a ragged cheer now went up and as the helicopter rose into the air and began to wheel away. As the flew off, they could see hordes of illegal miners sprinting for the fence, pouring through the gap and fanning out across the diamond fields.

‘It won’t last of course,’ Shepherd said. ‘But they might get one or two good days, before the companies drive them out again. Hopefully they’ll have found a few diamonds by then.’

They dumped the Hind on the beach four miles from their hotel, with the remainder of the weapons they’d taken from the Liberian airfield still inside it. Shepherd set demolition charges and  having checked that there were no civilians in the immediate area he set the timer and  they hurried away.

‘It seems a shame to blow up a perfectly serviceable helicopter,’ Jerzy said. ‘It’s much better than anything I’ve been flying here.’

‘It has to go,’ Shepherd said. ‘Too many questions would be asked about it and it might set off a political shit-storm.’ The helicopter exploded behind them and a column of flame and smoke belched into the sky while metal fragments pattered down like raindrops onto the sand.

They all shook hands with Jerzy outside the air force base after he’d arranged a lift back to the civilian airport.  Shepherd, Jock, Jimbo and Geordie walked along the beach to their hotel. Shepherd was still carrying the bag of diamonds.

Farid, the Lebanese diamond merchant, an overweight, balding middle-aged man with a gold Rolex on his wrist, was sitting in the lobby, and as soon as he saw them, he prised his bulk out of his chair and hurried over to them. ‘My friends,’ he said, dabbing the sweat from his brow with a large silk handkerchief, ‘I am very pleased to see you.’ He turned to Shepherd. ‘Do you have anything to sell to me?’

‘Why would I?’ Shepherd said exchanging a glance with Jock. The last time they had met Farid, he had been with Parker.

‘I just thought you might have come across some diamonds somewhere,’ Farid said, with a shifty smile.

‘There you are,’ said a voice and they turned to see Parker himself striding towards them, the trousers of his linen suit flapping behind him. ‘I’m glad to see you’re all fit and well. I hope you didn’t encounter too many unforeseen problems on that little task you were performing?’ He shifted his gaze to the leather bag that Shepherd was holding. ‘And I see you brought something back with you as well. Farid, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but on this occasion I’m afraid there’s nothing for you here.’

He waited until Farid had walked back to his chair and sat down with his back to them before continuing.   ‘I take it the South African gentlemen will not be causing us any further problems?’ he said.

‘Only for the undertakers,’ Jock said with a grim smile.

‘Excellent. Then there’s only one further matter to attend to.’ He held out his hand for the bag.

Shepherd raised an eyebrow, making no move to give the bag to him.

Parker’s lips tightened. ‘Surely I don’t need to remind you that, if those are what I think they are, they are the property of HMG and as her representative, I am authorised to take control of them.’ He paused. ‘And I am giving you a direct order to hand them over.’

He took hold of the handle of the bag, and this time Shepherd shrugged and allowed him to take it. ‘Just tell me a couple of things, though,’  said Shepherd. ‘First of all: why did you bother bringing in the mercs in the first place?  As we’ve just demonstrated, the SAS are perfectly capable of dealing with the rebels and any other enemy groups in Sierra Leone. Why did you hire a bunch of South African mercs instead of using professionals.’

‘That’s not your concern,‘ Parker said. ‘Need to know and all that.’

‘Do you know, or was it yet another decision taken above your pay grade?’

Parker smiled tightly but didn’t answer.

‘Secondly: what’s going to happen to those diamonds now?  Whose pockets are they going into, Jonathan? Perhaps some of your political friends in Downing Street are going to get a little windfall?’

‘Once more, that’s not your concern,’ Parker said.

‘Well, I’m betting it won’t be anyone in Sierra Leone anyway, because this was never about freeing the locals from tyranny, was it?  It was all about politics, money and power.’

‘You don’t know the half of it, my idealistic friend,’ Parker said. ‘But you can be sure of one thing – they’ll be put to good use.’ He smiled. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that I’m heading back to London tomorrow. So now I’ll say farewell until the next time we meet, gentlemen.’  Parker turned and walked out of the hotel and a moment later they heard his car drive off.

‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ said Geordie.  ‘Let’s get a few beers in while we’ve still got the chance.’

‘Keep mine on ice,’ Shepherd said. ‘I’ve an errand to run first. Jock, do you want to ride shotgun for me? I don’t want to be shaken down at some roadblock on the way into the city.’ He raised his voice. ‘Farid? You might want to come with us as well, it could well be worth your while.’

The Lebanese was on his feet in an instant. ‘Moves fast for such a big man, doesn’t he?’ Jock said with a grin.

‘Only if there’s money in it,’ said Shepherd.

They took the battered and bullet-holed Landcruiser that they had commandeered from the SAS base on their first day in Freetown and drove down into the city, past the now familiar landmarks of the crumbling art deco State House on Tower Hill, the Pademba Road jail, the abandoned and looted Government Book Store and the American Embassy overlooking the Cotton Tree roundabout, shaded by the huge tree that gave it its name.  They drove on across the city, past the derelict City Hall and the grey concrete bowl of the football stadium - a monument to his own vanity built by a former dictator, Siaka Stevens - and reached a once-prosperous district where every shop and office now seemed abandoned. They turned into a side-street and drove in through the iron gates and into the yard of a dingy warehouse building. A guard eyed them suspiciously but before he could challenge them, a dark haired woman came out of the building and smiled in recognition as she saw Shepherd at the wheel.

She hurried to greet him as he climbed out of the vehicle and he introduced her to the others. ‘This is Laurence Beltran,’ he said, ‘Medicaid International’s regional director, and one of the few foreigners in this country who is here for the benefit of its people and not to steal from them. How’s Abiola, Laurence?’ He turned to Jock. ‘ He’s a boy I met last time I was here,’ he said by way of explanation.

‘He’s fine,’ she said, ‘and there is someone else here you may recognise. Baraka!’

Shepherd’s patrol had rescued the boy from the rebels, along with several other traumatised children, some weeks before. Despite the children’s pleas, the SAS men had no choice other than   to leave them to defend themselves. Shepherd had gone to see Laurence to try to persuade her to rescue the children, but given the thousands of other destitute and traumatised children in Sierra Leone, he hadn’t been optimistic about Baraka’s fate. However to Shepherd’s delight, he now saw the boy emerging from the shadows at the back of the yard and breaking into a broad smile as he caught sight of the SAS men. Shepherd waved at the boy and the boy waved back.

‘My friends and I have something for you,’ Shepherd said to Laurence. ‘You will need to be discreet because it is, shall we say, an unofficial gift.’ He gestured at the Lebanese merchant. ‘But Farid here will help you with it. It should give you the resources not only to help Abiola and Baraka, but to aid and rescue many other children too.’ He reached into his top pocket and took out a handful of rough diamonds and poured them into her hands. She stared at them in disbelief as tears formed in her eyes. ‘Are these what I think they are?’

‘They are, and Farid will make sure that you get a fair price for them, because he knows that if he doesn’t, the SAS will hunt him down wherever in the world he goes and no matter how he tries to hide, we will find him, and we will make him pay. And it won’t be in dollars, Farid, it’ll be in blood.’ He smiled. ‘Isn’t that right, Farid?’

Farid, whose eyes had been glued to the rough diamonds, gave an involuntary shudder. ‘You have my word that, apart from a modest commission for myself of course - though only enough to cover my time and trouble,’ he said hastily as he saw the look in Shepherd’s eye, ‘I shall give every cent I receive to this beautiful lady.’

‘Make sure you do,’ Jock said. ‘Or else.’ He drew his finger across his throat menacingly.

They said their goodbyes to Laurence and the boys, then dropped Farid in the Lebanese quarter of the city, where he disappeared into a maze of alleys.

Jock drove back out of the city and along Lumley Beach Road to their hotel. As they got out of the Landcruiser, Jock gave a broad smile. ‘When did you sneak those diamonds out of the bag?’ he asked.

Shepherd grinned. ‘On the chopper.’

‘You did the right thing.’

‘I know that.’

‘Didn’t keep a few back for yourself and your mates, did you?’

Shepherd laughed. ‘Sorry, Jock. No.’

‘Probably best. Don’t know what I’d do with serious money.’

‘Me neither.’

They walked into the hotel together. ‘Know what, Spider? I would never have taken you for a do-gooder.’

Shepherd grinned back at him. ‘I didn’t see you objecting to me giving her the diamonds.’

‘For the kids,’ said Jock.

Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah. For the kids.’

‘Well if you’re not going to give me diamonds, I’ll settle for a few whiskies. And correct me if I’m wrong but I’ve got a feeling it’s your round.’

‘Funny how it always seems to be your round yesterday and my round today, Jock.’

The Glaswegian’s smile broadened even further. ‘You’ve still got much to learn, Grasshopper. Watch and learn from the Master, watch and learn.’

* * *

Spider Shepherd left the SAS at the end of 2002 and joined an elite police undercover unit. You can read the first of his undercover adventures in Hard Landing, where he goes undercover in a high security prison to unmask a drugs dealer who is killing off witnesses to his crimes. The Spider Shepherd series continues with Soft Target, Cold Kill, Hot Blood, Dead Men, Live Fire, Rough Justice, Fair Game, False Friends and True Colours. You can read more about Stephen Leather’s work at www.stephenleather.com

Hard Landing is available in the UK for 49p at –  http://amzn.to/xxX2YU

And in the US for less than a dollar at –  http://amzn.to/xWg1E7

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