cascading free in the breeze. He recoiled in shock and lost his grip on her. She fell, arms windmilling, her mouth opening as if she was trying to tell him something. But he could not hear her.
Chapter 3
Jed woke in a cold sweat. The glowing red numerals on the bedside clock told him it was a little after four in the morning. He was sore from the fight and his head throbbed from the combination of too much alcohol and not enough sleep. To top it all he was jetlagged and couldn’t get back to sleep.
He rose, showered, then smoked a cigarette while he shaved around the reappearing stubble.
He wiped his face and replaced the razor and shaving cream in his wash bag. As he zipped the bag closed, a shiver ran down his spine.
The wash bag.
When he had reached into his suit bag last night it had taken him a few moments to find his toiletries. He was a disciplined soldier, a creature of habit, and, like it or not, a slave to order, precision and routine. He always placed his wash bag in last, on the top right of his bag. It had not been in its usual spot after the intruder had left.
Jed unpacked his suit bag and then turned it upside down. He sorted through his underclothes, his shirts and spare pair of trousers. He upended each of his combat boots and his running shoes, but nothing fell out. He checked the zippered pockets of the bag and then ran his hands over the lining, feeling for any irregularities. He took his camera out of its case and examined it. He hadn’t loaded it with film and it was still empty. As he shifted one of his running shoes the camera case dropped from the bed onto the carpeted floor. It landed with an audible thud.
Jed was surprised by the noise. He picked up the empty case; it was heavier than usual. He took a closer look inside and found a removable divider in the bottom of the pouch, fastened to the interior with strips of Velcro. He took out the padded piece of material and turned the case upside down. A black pistol magazine filled with snub-nosed bullets slid into his hand. He examined the mag and thumbed the rounds onto the unmade bed. There were thirteen of them. The magazine was made of metal and bore no markings, but he recognised it instantly as belonging to a Browning nine-millimetre pistol.
‘Bastard,’ he said.
He scooped up the rounds and reloaded the magazine. He searched his gear again and then emptied his Alice pack on the floor. He checked and rechecked every piece of kit and every item of clothing.
Then he re-examined both the pack and the travel bag to make sure there was nothing else in there that didn’t belong to him.
The magazine was small enough to be easily concealed but there was no way it would not be discovered by an airport metal detector. It was in his carry-on bag, as well. The intruder had not planted a pistol, just the ammunition.
Jed had been set up. He would have been stopped by airport security on his way to check in for his flight to Zimbabwe, and probably taken away for questioning. The security men would have discovered from the identification card he carried that he was US Army. The fact that there was no pistol in his possession would eventually be discovered, after they had searched both his bags and his person. He could imagine the process taking a long time, maybe hours. Would he have been charged with a criminal offence? Possibly: he didn’t know. Would he have missed his flight? Definitely.
And who was the intruder? If not a thief, who did he work for? Jed had been clearly visible over the roofline when the man’s accomplice had opened fire. He had been shot at with a pistol – not an accurate weapon over any great distance, but even so the rounds had sailed harmlessly high over his head. Had the man pulling the trigger simply been trying to scare him off?
Jed had carried his passport and tickets with him down to the bar. Still, the intruder had somehow known that he would be catching another flight the next day Then there was the
Chapter 3
Jed woke in a cold sweat. The glowing red numerals on the bedside clock told him it was a little after four in the morning. He was sore from the fight and his head throbbed from the combination of too much alcohol and not enough sleep. To top it all he was jetlagged and couldn’t get back to sleep.
He rose, showered, then smoked a cigarette while he shaved around the reappearing stubble.
He wiped his face and replaced the razor and shaving cream in his wash bag. As he zipped the bag closed, a shiver ran down his spine.
The wash bag.
When he had reached into his suit bag last night it had taken him a few moments to find his toiletries. He was a disciplined soldier, a creature of habit, and, like it or not, a slave to order, precision and routine. He always placed his wash bag in last, on the top right of his bag. It had not been in its usual spot after the intruder had left.
Jed unpacked his suit bag and then turned it upside down. He sorted through his underclothes, his shirts and spare pair of trousers. He upended each of his combat boots and his running shoes, but nothing fell out. He checked the zippered pockets of the bag and then ran his hands over the lining, feeling for any irregularities. He took his camera out of its case and examined it. He hadn’t loaded it with film and it was still empty. As he shifted one of his running shoes the camera case dropped from the bed onto the carpeted floor. It landed with an audible thud.
Jed was surprised by the noise. He picked up the empty case; it was heavier than usual. He took a closer look inside and found a removable divider in the bottom of the pouch, fastened to the interior with strips of Velcro. He took out the padded piece of material and turned the case upside down. A black pistol magazine filled with snub-nosed bullets slid into his hand. He examined the mag and thumbed the rounds onto the unmade bed. There were thirteen of them. The magazine was made of metal and bore no markings, but he recognised it instantly as belonging to a Browning nine-millimetre pistol.
‘Bastard,’ he said.
He scooped up the rounds and reloaded the magazine. He searched his gear again and then emptied his Alice pack on the floor. He checked and rechecked every piece of kit and every item of clothing.
Then he re-examined both the pack and the travel bag to make sure there was nothing else in there that didn’t belong to him.
The magazine was small enough to be easily concealed but there was no way it would not be discovered by an airport metal detector. It was in his carry-on bag, as well. The intruder had not planted a pistol, just the ammunition.
Jed had been set up. He would have been stopped by airport security on his way to check in for his flight to Zimbabwe, and probably taken away for questioning. The security men would have discovered from the identification card he carried that he was US Army. The fact that there was no pistol in his possession would eventually be discovered, after they had searched both his bags and his person. He could imagine the process taking a long time, maybe hours. Would he have been charged with a criminal offence? Possibly: he didn’t know. Would he have missed his flight? Definitely.
And who was the intruder? If not a thief, who did he work for? Jed had been clearly visible over the roofline when the man’s accomplice had opened fire. He had been shot at with a pistol – not an accurate weapon over any great distance, but even so the rounds had sailed harmlessly high over his head. Had the man pulling the trigger simply been trying to scare him off?
Jed had carried his passport and tickets with him down to the bar. Still, the intruder had somehow known that he would be catching another flight the next day Then there was the
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