* * *
“I don’t understand,” said Ethan with a strange, quietly disconcerted voice. He was staring at a delicious looking sliced melon and nothing around him seemed even remotely possible a few minutes ago. Andy exchanged a few looks with Nicole who kept her own council. Her eyes remained fixed on every little nuance on Ethan’s face. Andy smiled and sipped some of his Earl Gray tea as if he’d been saying nothing out of the ordinary.
“I don’t think I can understand,” continued Ethan while his gaze wandered for a few moments to the peaceful river, the lush mangroves and the thick bushes surrounding the little mansion. It was almost idyllic, aside from the fact that the single largest store of ammunition and weaponry on Biafran soil was comfortably hidden away beneath. Andy took a slice of melon in hand and bit into the ripe insides, juices running down his well-trimmed beard. He talked with his mouth full. He was trying to chew, swallow and wipe his mouth at the same time:
“You see… It’s easy if you do think about it… It’s all about, well… Money, really.”
Ethan had his arms crossed and sported an incredulous-looking face when he pointed at Andy and asked, near the point of laughter: “You’re telling me, you’re working for the French?”
“Have been for some time, actually,” replied Andy and had another sip of tea. Nicole was laying back on her chair, barely making a noise but looking at both men intently, having a cigarette. Ethan’s eyes widened and he sat upright, agitated. He sounded urgent and troubled when he asked Andy:
“How? I mean… Since bloody when?”
“Ever since medical school,” he replied flatly, looking at his brother with a peremptory glance. Ethan erupted into shouts and struck the table with one hand.
“Fucking hell! For God’s sake Andy, money? That’s it?”
Andy shook his head and told Ethan before cracking a smile: “Not really, no. A shitload of money. Makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t bloody well believe my ears! My own little brother, a fucking spy for the Frenchies. I can’t see why it happened, but I’m damn sure that cunt was involved right from the start. And I do mean involved. Right, love?” said Ethan staring Nicole with an angry, hard disdain. She shot him a cool, neutral look and simply went on smoking.
“She did recruit me, true enough. But not in bed Ethan,” Andy replied with a hint of exasperation.
“Street corner then?” said Ethan with sharp vehemence. Andy waved a finger at Ethan and got up. He started to pace about and talk vibrantly, making excited hand gestures.
“This isn’t at all about us, Ethan. There’s a big picture here that you’re simply failing to see.”
Ethan’s reply sounded morose. His eyes looked sad beyond doubt. He told Andy: “Aye. All I see is my brother has pissed on everything I thought he stood for ’cause of a French cunt and a bag full of promises.”
Andy closed his eyes and barely cocked his head sideways. It took some effort to maintain his coolness, but there was strain in his voice when he told Ethan:
“Please stop calling my wife - whom I may remind you is your sister-in-law - a cunt.”
Ethan put on a mocking smile and said with an unusually mellow, low-keyed voice, “Well I’m not all that happy about the two of you, don’t mind me saying.”
He paused to look at Nicole and Andy who were focused on his words, before adding with mounding aggravation, “This isn’t exactly a gentleman’s club, so let’s dispense with the fucking pleasantries already! Why the fuck are you telling me all this now?”
Andy shot him an accusing glance before telling him sternly:
“I thought you might want to know. If you had, you might not have dragged your ass alongside hers all through the stupid war, the bloody jungle and the dead bodies now, would you?”
“I thought you might still be alive! And bugger me, I was too bloody right for comfort!”
“Jesus Christ Ethan, you could’ve buried me and walked away without having to step into this fucking operation!”
“You could’ve told me for fuck’s sake! We’re brothers!” shouted Ethan, causing a few of the guards to momentarily focus their attention to the three of them. Nicole waved at them to not take notice, but her face gave her away; she was glued to every word, her cigarette having turned into ashes.
“Could I now? Just pick up a phone and tell you I’m a French spy? That’s plain stupid in so many ways,” said Andy, shaking his head.
“You’d think the difficult part was breaking it to me,” replied Ethan, a rare look of hurt in his eyes. Andy sat down once more, took a few breaths and told his brother in earnest:
“You haven’t written or called ever since the funeral, Ethan. And that was a long time ago, or were you too bloody drunk to care?”
Ethan’s face twisted into a weird grin, before he put his palms on his face and sighed. He then told Andy, even though he was looking at the floor between the two of them:
“You don’t know what it’s like, Andy. You don’t fucking know.”
“You’d be surprised, chum,” replied Andy in all seriousness.
“I bloody well am already, mate,” said Ethan as he looked up to face his brother.
“You should’ve stuck to your ideals, Ethan; don’t give a flying fuck. And I gave you chances mate, I bloody well did,” he said as he shook his head. Ethan’s voice became suddenly inquisitive:
“You mean that poor bastard’s body?”
“The body. Adu as well. The fucking priest, for crying out loud!” said Andy angrily as he tried to cut another piece of melon.
Nicole then suddenly looked at Andy as if she’d been shocked by electricity. She didn’t bother to keep her voice calm when she spoke next:
“Adu? You told Adu to flip the bargain without telling me about it?”
“Well I’d thought you’d improvise!” said Andy in an equally high-toned fashion.
“Improvise? I had to put a hole in his head! All this for what, Andy? A family reunion?” she said, leaning forward from her chair and gesturing at all three of them. Her eyes though remained fixed on Ethan who was wearing a surprised frown.
“Well I had to stop him now, didn’t I?” said Andy almost apologetically.
“Why not just let him be then? Get lost in the jungle, mugged, get shot at? Why did I have to baby-sit your older brother?”
“It was part of the contingency planning. He’s not as daft as you make it look, actually.”
“Well he’s certainly not a shining example either,” she said and lit another cigarette.
“It’s good to feel appreciated, really,” interrupted Ethan with a look that could stab a man in the heart.
“The point I’m trying to make is you’re a persistent bastard and you wouldn’t give up,” Andy said while he turned and looked at Nicole before telling her, waving his arms about him:
“With all this bad timing, I thought it was a blessing in disguise that you simply ran onto him.”
“Until I had to shoot Adu,” she said with a look of ice cold anger in her eyes, openly using her French accent.
“The situation is still salvageable,” said Andy and exchanged a few knowing glances with Nicole. After some quiet deliberation she finally yielded and nodded, throwing her hands in the air. Andy looked at Ethan with a frowned, sombre gaze.
“You wouldn’t give up. She would, but not you.” He then half-grinned and asked Ethan:
“How would you like to work for the French Intelligence?”
“You’ve gone barmy, haven’t you?” said Ethan in a stunned, almost childish voice:
“I’m not joking Ethan.”
“How can you possibly ask me such a thing?” he said and shrugged uncomfortably.
“I told you this wouldn’t work,” said Nicole with a scoff.
“That’s only because you’re not privy to some matters,” replied Andy and beckoned Ethan with a hand: “Let’s go inside.”
“Andy. Non,” said Nicole with emphasis as a c
loud of smoke escaped her nostrils violently.
“I’m sure he’ll understand,” replied Andy, nodding.
“I love you Andy, I really do, but I can’t understand what the hell it is you’ve turned into,” said Ethan with a quavering voice.
“Please, indulge me.”
Ethan breathed deeply before he got up and Andy led the way into the mansion, while Nicole followed silently behind, her face a wary frown.
The inside of the mansion was decorated in classic early-colonial French style, naturally including an oversized chandelier. Intricate, expensive looking vases and crystal glassware showcases could be seen on either side of a large hallway. Louis XV furniture and large portraits of family members filled in the living room; every corner was designed to instill a sense of luxury, and money. Even the floors were made of high-quality spotless wooden planks, polished and flaring even in the evening light. The tapestry was an odd mix of geometric shapes and fleurs-de-lis.
“Pretty posh, isn’t it? It used to belong to some French trader from Port Harcourt,” said Andy casually.
“So now you’re into real estate? My God, Andy! Us, working for the French!” cried Ethan incredulously, flapping his arms about him.
“It’s not as bad as working for the British,” replied Andy without emotion.
“I can’t bloody believe we are having this discussion. Especially in front of someone who tried to kill me. Did you order her to do it?”
Nicole promptly cut in and said with a cool professional voice: “I simply tried to shoot you in the leg. If we had wanted you dead…” she let her voice trail off, shrugged and smiled disconcertingly.
“That’s true enough. You’ll soon see for yourself, Ethan. Nicole, if you please,” said Andy and motioned vaguely towards a nearby wall.
Nicole stood idle for a moment and looked at Andy with anxious exasperation, her eyes glistening with intensity.
“Please,” said Andy and for a moment there he looked like a vulnerable, fragile man. Nicole sighed and moved towards a small library case. She deftly reached behind it with one hand, while she pressed on the wall with the other. A faint clicking sound was heard and a small section of wall turned into a door suddenly. A cement staircase appeared which led to a badly lit basement; Nicole ushered them in with an expressionless face.
“Apres vous,” she said flatly.
Andy once again led the way down, with Nicole always on the back. As they descended the air became more damp and cold. Ethan noticed it wasn’t stale, which meant this place was in regular use. At the bottom of the stairs they reached a wide basement with a low ceiling. Andy turned the lights on and the shadowy walls transformed into a maze of maps, notes, and reports. The rest of the basement was filled with neatly stacked crates. On the far wall there were two large radio sets and a large map of the Delta, complete with cloth-connected pins and photos.
“This is our center of operations in Biafra. It’s not much to look at, but it gets the job done. Well, almost.”
“One of our centers of operations,” added Nicole coldly.
“Well, yes. Certainly. Never put your eggs in one basket, right?”
“Why are you doing this, Andy? In my mind, you were out here keeping people from getting killed,” said Ethan with a voice full of sadness, soft yet crackling. He shook his head and searched for Andy’s eyes. When they met, Andy smiled disarmingly and said:
“But I am. I’m trying to end this war. End the suffering.”
“In favor of the French, no less. Do they have you thinking you’re Robin Hood or something?”
“That’s one distorted, romantic view of things. What do you really know about this war, Ethan?”
“It’s not that different from the rest now, is it? All I need to know is I got sent down here in the first place because Her Majesty thought all this messy affair is bad for business.”
“Which is exactly what it has to look like. Because it’s actually pure gold in business terms. Never mind about the ethnic, racial, and religious differences; people might have been throwing sticks and stones at each other over that crap but it was always some greedy bastard behind it all.”
“I saw the mass tombs up north. That was no bullshit, I can assure you.”
“One always needs some kind of scenery; props to put on a show. Why did the Biafrans so eagerly and radically demand to become independent all of a sudden?”
“Because they’re a completely different people. I’ve trained Yoruba and Fulani men, and they all look down on the Igbo as slaves, underlings, the lowliest of the low. They’ve been doing that since before we even came to Nigeria.”
“So how come the slave, the one who is being constantly beaten down and trodden - the one who’s been conditioned to a life of misery,poverty and bad luck out here in the southeast - how the fuck does he chin-up and gives everyone the finger?”
“Because the Brits are gone and he’s had enough.”
“No, Ethan. Because the French whisper in their ear and show them the money lying underground. Because there’s still large fields that haven’t even been drilled, much less taken real advantage of. Because there’s still a lot of pipe-lining to do in these blasted swamps and rainforests. Because the Delta is like a bloody sponge soaked in oil, waiting for someone to suck it dry. And with a little help, lots of cries and propaganda, some bloodshed and a bit of luck, the French government could secure what might possibly prove to be the largest supply of oil in Africa. Without all that crap in Algiers.”
“You’re saying the whole war’s been staged?”
“I’m saying that when your eyes and ears are open, you can learn a lot about people. And then you can put a few ideas in their heads, make some promises, show a little bit of good faith and you can start working with them.”
“Is that how they got to you?”
“You’re thinking I’ve been fooled, haven’t you? Ethan, when this is over and done for, I’ll have a five per-cent share on SAFRAP and a seat on the board of directors. That’s one hundred and fifty thousand quid a year, plus shares that will be worth tens of millions of pounds in ten years time, Ethan. We’ll be fucking filthy rich.”
“You mean you two? You admit you’re a French spy and married to that harlot?”
“I do. And I want you to come along. Listen, Ethan and listen real hard for just this once. You’ve been in the Royal Marines for what now?”
“Sixteen bloody fucking years. Ever since Suez.”
“Mother almost died of grief back then and father only hoped for a commission. And when that commission finally came?”
“Kenya. What does this have to do with everything?”
“You’re wasting yourself, Ethan. You’re my brother and I know if you keep drinking like that you’ll end up an alcoholic. You should’ve been a Major by now, isn’t that right?”
“I hadn’t thought you kept your eye on me.”
“I had to, it was part of my job.”
“In other words, you wouldn’t normally piss on me even if I’d caught on fire, would you now?”
“Even if you had me cut off, I still knew your life was going down the drain.”
“Whereas you’re coming up in the world, aren’t you Andy? Your own oil company.”
“Our own oil company. Think of the legacy to our grandchildren. And their own grandchildren. This is not just a once in a lifetime opportunity, Ethan. It’s a historic opportunity.”
“We haven’t really talked like this, face to face I mean, in what? Five, six years? I suppose people change over time and six years is a lot. But I’d never thought you can turn into the opposite like that.”
“This hasn’t got to do with us, don’t you understand?”
“Of course it’s got everything to do with us! This is why I’m here in the first place, because you’re all I’ve got left! Dammit!”
Ethan’s face broke down from the tension. He was trembling visibly, breathing heavily, his eyes shimmering with forming tears. His voice wa
s quavering:
“I don’t know where you get your information from, but I’ve had it with lying in bed alone. I still haven’t found a bottle of cure-all and believe me I’ve done a thorough search. My friends are either dead and gone or too busy with their families that we haven’t spoken in years. So you see Andy, you’re all I've got. It’s just that it’s not you anymore.”
“It is me, Ethan. It’s just that the world around us keeps changing. Maybe you have a hard time following it, but I’ve found my way. So come with me. Come with us.”
“And do what?”
Andy pointed to the map before replying:
“You were training men from the 3rd Marine Commando Division. That’s the unit that took over Onitsha and Port Harcourt, and they’re now aiming their sights towards Owerri.”
“I knew as much when I set out. What are you trying to get at?”
“The federal government rarely has complete control and a proper knowledge of the tactical situation. We know that from our sources within. Onitsha and Port Harcourt might have fallen, but everything in between is not under the control of the 3rd Division. Technically, you could call it contested territory, but in reality we are as active and unhindered as ever.”
“Why is that?”
“Total disregard for securing their flanks. Solely advancing through the main roads, which is practically one main route into the Delta. They’re even superstitious about night operations. All our scouting activity is done under the cover of night; it’s like going for a romantic hike. No patrols to speak of, no light and noise emission control; it’s as if they don’t care and that’s because they really don’t.”
“That doesn’t sound like anything I’ve been teaching them.”
“Whatever kind of job you’ve done, the men you train never become trainers themselves. They form core squads for scouting and penetration missions, but in reality they’re used like a bodyguard for the commander-in-chief.”
“Either way, nothing about what they were trained for.”
“No. But we’ve turned some of them and they’ve proven very resourceful and quick about their feet and wits. Small scale surveillance, pipeline sabotage, ammunition raids, motor pools. We have a few of those teams doing really precious work. We’d give you one such team to take on a mission that might change the outcome of the war.”
“I thought every kind of mission was important?”
“Not really. We want you to insert a team of scouts along with Nicole and take out the commander of the 3rd Marine Commando Division. Along with the 2nd Division, they’re trying to form a pinch and force Owerri to either capitulate, run away or fight. All three are bad. There’s little strategic depth and losing the designated capital will be interpreted as a political defeat. Fighting a prolonged siege is almost always the last resort. We’ve made plans and contingencies, but we need to stop this pincher movement from happening.”
“You want me to kill a Nigerian General?”
“Nicole is the designated shooter. You will provide scouting, insertion and extraction. All you need to do is get her within a mile of him. Once he’s gone, panic will ensue, the operation will halt. They’ll probably think the bad juju got to him or something.”
“I see. And everyone gets their money in the end.”
“Well there are people in this war who are in it for the kicks. As long as they’ve got bullets they’re happy to shoot whoever you want them to shoot.”
“Whereas you are in it for the pension, the benefits and the mademoiselle.”
“Why the bloody hell not, Ethan? What has Queen and Country ever given to you that is so precious, so irreplaceable, so worthy of it all? Why let them make all the money and sent you as an unwilling pawn? What is it you’ve been doing in Nigeria Ethan, that is crucial to the Crown? All they want is to make money all the same. The difference is this way you get to share the pie.”
“And that’s all that there is to it? What about never leaving someone behind? Like you for instance.”
“Grow up, Ethan. Fighting is simply a means, not an end. To you, maybe it’s all that has any meaning left in the world. To the world, all that matters is power. And money is a very flexible and ingenious way to store it. And it’s not just the money going into the pockets of MPs, ministers and businessmen; it’s a strategic asset. The more you control, the more you can gamble on a crisis; and the more profit you can make. It really boils down to money in the end, true enough, but some things can’t be bought at any price, at any time. Just like oil.”
“Just like loyalty. You’re trying to buy your own brother? By God, how can I trust you from hereon after Andy?”
“Trust is simply another commodity. There are ways to buy it when it is needed, and chances to sell it when it suits you.”
“You’ve never met anyone that can’t be bought? That can’t be turned into a pawn?”
“Sure. Those are the kind of people that need to disappear.”
“Like that General?”
“It would take an unrealistic amount of money to buy the ruling Nigerian elite; That’s because they want the same oil we want and they have the men and the resources to pull it off. In that sense, we’re antagonists. In every other sense, we’re simple colleagues.”
“Conspirators.”
“Men of trade. As long as you’re in a position to offset a balance in your favor, there’s no sense in not taking advantage of that. Would you see an opening, an opportunity in a firefight and not take it?”
“In a firefight you’re fighting for your life. What is this fighting for?”
“The same thing; survival.”
“Tell that to the poor bastards dying out there every day. Ordinary, simple people that are happy with their bellies full and a pint or two.”
“I think you should be seeing my point by now. They don’t get to choose; they get to be the ones that pay handsomely in every way imaginable to make their lives a little more tolerable. And make people like me, like us, a lot more rich than they could ever hope to be.”
“And why is that so bloody fucking important?”
“There are certain interests in place that don’t simply go away when you close your eyes. Money can control people, it can translate into power and leverage. And that power can grow over time. It can get you many places. Even in people’s hearts and minds.”
“Politics?”
“The only way to really change this world, is to make the people want it to change.”
“And what kind of change would that be?”
“The Empire has already crumbled down, Ethan. It’s just that the people hang on to the walls and the monuments and the crown jewels in order to shed some glittery light in their agonizing lives. I want to make sure the future holds something more than reminiscence for the glorious days of yore. I want to build something new, and that would mean I’d first have to raze it down.”
“You mean the monarchy, don’t you?” asked Ethan in a whisper, his expression a mix of fascination and terror.
“I mean a brand new Scotland, Ethan. A free Scotland. There are people who view such a cause with more than just sympathy,” said Andy and looked meaningfully at Nicole who raised her brow in response. Ethan remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. When he managed to speak, his voice grew from a soft whisper to an angry rumble:
“Dear God. This might sound awfully simplistic, patronising and perhaps naive, but don’t you believe in God? I’m not talking about heaven and hell. I’m not saying there’s a divine judgment waiting to fall upon you and I’m not saying there’s a pool of blood and shit waiting for you in the afterlife; although I’d die just to know that there truly is one. All I’m saying is, what kind of a filthy bastard are you?”
“Hopefully the filthy rich one, for starters. Come now, Ethan, you’re making me sound like a monster. I’m not the one behind all this misery in the world. I’m not the one that’s on top of a button that could destroy it. And I’m not the one living off that fear. I’m
not the one that puts greed into the hearts of men. I’m just someone who saw an opportunity and grabbed it. There are people in the world born into such money and power and still squander it away. There are people who fight and bleed for their place in the sun and I’ll have my place in the sun; I’ll see Scotland free. That’s who I am, Ethan.”
“I thought you were my brother.”
“I still am. And that’s the only reason you’re still alive. The only reason I’m making this offer. I could have picked someone else. We could have brought someone in from the Service. He’d actually do it more or less for free.”
“Whereas my current price is?”
“One percent of the shares from my five-percent cut. That leaves me and Nicole with two percent each.”
“Aren’t you the lovely couple.”
“We’re pragmatists. It’s time you’ve become one yourself. You have twenty four hours Ethan. These things can’t wait.”
“And then? What happens then?”
“Ask yourself just this once: who is going to miss you? The answer, I believe, will make it so much easier to decide,” said Andy condescendingly, softly, as if he really felt sorry for Ethan. Ethan remained silent for a moment before he closed his eyes and asked:
“Andy?”
“Yes?”
“Sod off, mate,” he said without bothering to open his eyes and gave him the finger. Andy didn’t smile or laugh; he put his hands around his waist and looked at his brother with a deep, concerned frown. He then told him in a hushed, nearly wavering voice:
“Think about it, Ethan. Think about Father Mulcahey. And I do mean, think.”
Ethan shook his head and Andy nodded. He then turned about and went up the staircase. Nicole stood there smiling until Ethan noticed and asked her rather dejectedly:
“What the fuck are you smiling for?”
“I rarely get this close to my marks. I’m savouring the moment,” she said with evident joy at the prospect of having Ethan in her sights.
“What if I say `yes’, and then we have to work together?” asked Ethan frustrated.
“Well then, there will be other chances,” she said, put out her cigarette on the floor and left.
All's well, that ends well
Ethan slept on and off that night, trying to digest the events of the day before with little success. At the hidden basement the night before, he had overheard some sort of loud argument about whether or not he should be bound and returned to his impromptu cell. Instead Andy had won over and Ethan was then led by two armed men to the upper floor and confined to a small bedroom.
They were going with the soft approach. Ethan smiled at the thought that Andy was trying to get on his good side. Whether it was the easy way or the hard way, in essence it made no difference to Ethan. As he lay down on the comfortable bed all he could think of was that his brother had actually told him himself he was a bloody spy for the French.
His mind was filled with all the little things they did together when they were still only children. Andy’s answers had left him wondering still. When did his brother turn into a man driven by greed and power lust? When did that shy kid he had drawn into harmless mischief so many times become such a cynical bastard?
Ethan thought it was perhaps all those years in between that grew them apart; when he had lost himself as well. Maybe these things just happened. But still that didn’t mean he had to let them be.
He almost laughed aloud when he thought about it; there he was, imprisoned by his brother, probably about to be executed unless he cooperated in an assassination for the benefit of the French Intelligence Service. And instead of at least trying to think of a way to get out of there without having to become a lackey for the French, he was contemplating ending the war singlehandedly.
He wasn’t sure if that was at all realistic, but he knew he had to try and escape. He had been keeping count of the days; James would be coming for him by nightfall, and all he knew was that he was someplace east of the River. No matter, he thought. With any luck, getting to the rendezvous point would be the least of his problems.
He felt galvanised into action all of a sudden and sprang out of bed. He took a careful look outside the window; he could still see sentries posted around the house. Late the night before they had been almost invisible. In the morning, Ethan could see they were carefully obscured behind brushes of reeds and thick mangroves.
They looked calm while keeping vigilant, their hands resting near their rifles’ safeties. They were armed with a multitude of seemingly well-maintained weapons; no-one was slacking about, smoking or chatting. He counted at least four men; he estimated about ten around the mansion and perhaps double as many underground and in the surrounding hilly areas. On top of being well-equipped and numerous, they seemed to be quite disciplined, always a very unwelcome trait in an enemy.
Daylight wouldn’t help and he couldn’t wait out for the nighttime; he cursed under his breath for being so tied up with his thoughts the night before. If there had been any good chance of trying to slip away unnoticed it was by then long gone.
He had heard footsteps outside his door at some point and they seemed to be more than one man posted. He couldn’t outrun them and he couldn’t outgun them either; all he could hope to do was outsmart them.
He looked around the room then for a few minutes. There were some clean sheets in the closet drawers, an old oil lamp sitting around the bedside table and that was just about it. He went inside the bathroom and searched the tiny cupboard; planning ahead, someone had thought it prudent to keep a full medical kit even in the mansion, aside from the typical bottle of painkillers and medical alcohol. He noticed the painkillers were of the effervescent kind and had an idea that made him grin.
He sat down on the bed, his back towards the door. He laid it down in front of his feet and counted the items; four medical gauzes, two sticks of morphine, two sticks of atropine, a sterile stitching needle, salt tabs and a small, folding double-edge serrated knife which could also pose as a saw.
He nodded to himself reassuringly and emptied the bottle of alcohol down the washing basin’s drain. He filled it with water from the faucet and went back into the room. He laid himself down on the bed, popped a mouthful of pills and then poured some water in his mouth. He felt the pills sizzle and froth. He threw the oil lamp on the floor and put the knife under his buttocks. He closed his eyes and started thrashing about, making sure he made as much noise as possible.
He then started counting silently, waiting for them to come rushing in. There was still a chance they’d alert someone else as well; he was counting on blind luck and a bit of panic to make this happen.
He had counted up to seven before he heard a key turn in the lock. They were a bit slow to make up their minds but they hadn’t started shouting. Ethan heard them talking in a panicked, low voice. One of them rushed to the bedside. As he was thrashing about, Ethan fluttered his eyes while foam flowed down his cheeks. He saw the guard kneel down to his right side and set his rifle against the wall. As he bent forward to reach Ethan’s mouth in fear of his tongue choking him, Ethan snapped into action with one fluid motion.
He pulled the knife from under his buttocks, sat suddenly upright and threw his best shot at the guard standing by the door: The knife pierced his temple right between the eyes and stuck there as he slumped down on the floor like a puppet with cut strings. Following the knife’s throw, Ethan took advantage of the other guard’s stunned surprise and knocked him, head to head. The guard lost his balance and fell flat on the floor with a muted thump.
Ethan was right on top of him in a flash, his hand against his mouth. He tried to shout, but the muffled noise was barely more than a tremor against Ethan’s hand. He bit hard against a soft spot on Ethan’s palm and punched him in the stomach. Ethan flinched and felt dizzy from the pain, but his other hand was already reaching for the rifle against the wall.
The guard threw a punch with his other fist aiming for Ethan’
s face but it didn’t connect, as Ethan slid sideways just a notch and grabbed the rifle. He thrust its stock against the man’s ribs and made him try and fold in pain. Ethan then raised it above his head and brought it down with as much power as he could gather.
A cracking noise was heard and the man went suddenly limp, his eyes stuck in a deathly cold stare towards the ceiling. Blood started to ooze from his nose and ears.
Ethan took a moment for some much needed breath, not so from the exertion but because of the adrenaline rush. He needed to cool down before going into the next phase, which was creating a suitable diversion for his escape; blowing up the stores in the basement of the mansion.
He stood up and sat back on the bed, wiping the foam from his cheeks. He then heard a shallow but familiar voice:
“Fuck me, you’ve killed them both.”
It was Andy. Ethan instinctively grabbed the rifle in front of him and aimed it at his brother who was standing at the door. He flicked the safety off, and said flatly:
“Don’t make me shoot you.”
Andy smiled heartily and replied:
“Bugger me, why would I ever want to do that?”
Ethan frowned and looked blatantly confused. He was still aiming Andy though when he said:
“Look, I’m leaving through that door. Andy, for the love of God, don’t try to stop me.”
“Stop you? I’d have you killed all along from the start if I needed to stop you. Jesus, Ethan. Put down that rifle and help me drag this one inside,” said Andy as he proceeded to grab the slumped body from the armpits.
Ethan’s confounded look was exaggerated by his dumbstruck tone of voice:
“What the fuck do you mean?”
Andy looked at him with a blank expression and replied in all seriousness:
“It’s English for `put down that rifle and help me drag this one inside’.”
The attempt at humour went largely unnoticed by Ethan who lowered his weapon before asking incredulously:
“You’re helping me escape?”
Andy dragged the body a few feet inside while Ethan watched as if mesmerized. He put it down on the floor and closed the door quietly before turning to reply with a grin:
“No, not yet; you’re helping me blow this place up first.”
Ethan asked with a hint of irony, still clutching the rifle in his hands:
“Change of plans?”
Andy shook his head and replied with a tone of pride:
“This was the plan pretty much from the start.”
Ethan put down the rifle and looked at Andy with a blank expression. He sounded helpless when he said:
“I don’t understand.”
Andy looked behind him momentarily as if he had heard something and then said, looking almost smug:
“I hate to brag but you were never the brightest of the two of us.”
Ethan got up and moved towards the body with the knife still sticking out of its head. He eyed his brother warily and asked:
“Care to explain? Did your deal break down?”
Andy knelt beside the other body and checked for vital signs. He looked at Ethan and replied as if trying to explain something very complicated to a schoolkid:
“Not exactly. I infiltrated the French Secret Service in ’62 and placed myself in a position to select the assignment in Biafra. I set every part of this operation up in order to close it down when it would be most needed. I’d have waited for a few more weeks, but then you turned up. So now I’ve got to speed things up and improvise.”
“What on Earth are you saying?”, asked Ethan as he pulled out the knife, his expression a confused mix of wariness and curiosity.
Andy said flatly, “I’m MI6.”
“You?” asked Ethan with a slight shake of his head, grinning thinly.
“Who did you expect, Sean Connery?” said Andy almost indignantly and smiled reassuringly.
Ethan smiled back with some effort and asked his brother:
“It was all a show then?”
Andy looked at Ethan in a stern fashion, as if he’d been hurt and told him:
“I told you to really try and think about Father Mulcahey.”
“I thought you were being a bit remorseful,” replied Ethan in a somewhat awkward manner. Andy came right next to him and grabbed him by one arm, looked him straight in the eyes and said:
“I thought you hadn’t forgotten about what he made us promise.”
Ethan felt a weight suddenly lift from his shoulders and replied with a shake of his head:
“I haven’t, Andy. That’s why I’m here.”
Ethan nodded and said calmly:
“A blessing in disguise, because we’ve got work to do.”