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At this time of the year, the sun set at five thirty. It was a couple of minutes short of five and night was already devouring chunks of light. It looked like rain and the heavy cloud cover was changing from a silvery-grey blue to deepest black. Even though the Detention Centre’s lights weren’t on, the pilot had no trouble locating the target — on account of the flames soaring above one of the larger buildings. As we approached, we saw an S-64 Air-Crane, a type of helicopter used to combat bush fires, hovering over the complex. The commandos cheered as it emptied its tanks over the prison and then headed off to refill them at a nearby dam.
Our chopper was engulfed in a cloud of black smoke when we flew over the twelve-foot high perimeter fence. As the pilot began the descent, Tarrant pushed the door open and the commandos jumped to the ground, storming across the sand firing their rifles, volley after volley over the heads of a mob pelting rocks at the riot police guarding the fence.
“Get down! Get down!” the rioters screamed as the rat-a-tat of gunfire thundered off rows upon rows of corrugated iron huts inside the prison grounds. Most dropped where they stood with their hands in the air, others fled down the lanes between the rows. They were quickly overtaken and dragged back. Kid gloves didn’t figure in the commandos’ training manual. Individually they may have loved their girlfriends and been kind to their dogs, but collectively they were a hard, brutal bunch.
“Kneel down and put your hands on your heads,” Sergeant Wilson roared.
One stood his ground, staring back with pure hatred.
“Get down when you’re told,” responded Wilson and swung the stock of his rifle at him. It landed heavily on the rebel’s shoulder. He stumbled and fell. “Put your effing hands on your effing head.”
I kept out of the action, feeling distinctly uneasy. The barrage of bullets the commandos had let off was reckless considering the rioters were unharmed civilian refugees. I paid no heed to my so-called finer feelings. My priority was saving Beth’s kid sister and time was running out. As per the time displayed on my cell’s screen, we had forty-five minutes to identify the bomber.
“That was damn good shooting, subduing that mob without a single casualty,” I said to Tarrant.
“Blanks,” he said softly and winked.
I glanced anxiously at Karim in case he’d heard but the bastard was trudging along beside me like a spaced-out druggie. “I want you to walk along the rows,” I said to him when we were standing in front of the kneeling refugees. “You’re looking for Selwa Amin and Abdul Fayed. Point them out to me. Do you understand?”
Karim nodded his head.
“Get going. I’ll be two steps behind you.”
Way ahead of me Tarrant said to Wilson, “Take a couple of men and search the buildings for strays. If you come across the guards, tell them it’s safe to come out of hiding.”
“Benson, Wardle you’re with me.”
As they moved off, I yelled, “When you locate the mains, turn on the blasted flood lights.”
* * *
Karim had eyeballed three rows when I heard the unmistakable chuff-chuff of swirling rotor blades. I groaned, unable to contain my shattering dismay. Elvis, a chopper used to fight bush fires, was once more heading towards the Centre with a full tank of water. “Son of a bitch,” said Tarrant.
I looked around for our pilot and saw him shooting the breeze with a couple of commandoes. I yelled out to him, “Request the pilot to turn around.” He sprinted off. I thought he didn’t have a hope in hell of making radio contact in time.
“Do you think he’s got a shot,” said Tarrant.
“Buckley’s,” I said staring numbly at the back of the heads of the abject detainees and wondering what chance we’d have of keeping them in one spot once 2500 gallons of ice-cold water bucketed down on them.
Up above in the cockpit, the pilot completed a slow downhill turn, levelled off and reduced power. I was praying the tank door would jam when a swimming pool of water was dumped on us. The detainees screamed as the freezing water poured down. They hesitated; then they turned and ran.
Tarrant and I looked at each other. Both of us were soaked, the detainees had scattered and it was twenty-nine minutes to detonation. “Do you think we can get them back in time?”
He shook his dripping head. “We’ll sure as hell try.”
