Hostile Territory (A Spider Shepherd short story) Read Online Free PDF Page A

can put a word in with those agencies and charities that are still operating here; most of them fled when the rebels reached the outskirts of Freetown, but Save The Children and Medicaid International are still here.’
     ‘No offence, but I’d like to speak to them myself,’ Shepherd said. ‘Just to make sure they fully understand the seriousness of the situation.’
    ‘They’ve been here a lot longer than you or I have been,’ Parker said. ‘They don’t need any lessons from us about conditions in the country or the dangers that civilians here face, but I can provide you with an introduction to the regional director at Medicaid International, Laurence Beltran, if you like. Officially HMG has no relationship with them but unofficially we maintain contact through informal channels.’
    ‘Do that,’ Shepherd said, ‘and we’ll see what we can do to help you with your problems.’
     They agreed to meet at the SAS’s temporary base the following morning. ‘Well, it’ll keep us entertained at least,’ Jock said after Parker had left.
    ‘I don’t like the way we don’t get official backing,’ said Shepherd.
    ‘That’s the way the spooks work,’ said Jock. ‘They need what they call plausible deniability. It’ll be fine.’
    ‘But if it turns to shit, we’ll be left hanging in the wind,’ said Shepherd.
    ‘We’re professionals,’ said Jock. ‘It won’t turn to shit. And I don’t know about you but I can resist anything but a challenge.’
    * * *
    Shepherd was up with the dawn and he sat in the bar as he waited for the others, drinking a cup of coffee made in the Arab style: so strong it was almost a solid rather than a liquid, and laced with several spoons of sugar. The skies had cleared.  The torrential rains of the wet season were already giving way to the dry, dusty Harmattan wind carrying Saharan sand as fine as talc. It covered every surface, piling up in drifts on the doorsteps and sills and hanging in the air like fog. The blue of the sky had faded to a colour so pale that it was almost white and the sun, obscured by the dust, seemed little brighter than the moon. The air was full of the sound of creaks and groans as the building’s timbers dried in the arid wind.
    Shepherd was finishing his first cup of coffee when Jock, Jimbo and Geordie arrived. They drank coffee and breakfasted on croissants before heading outside. The men wrapped scarves around their faces but the fine dust penetrated everywhere and Shepherd could feel it in his nose and taste it in his mouth, gritty against his teeth, as they walked towards the Landcruiser.
    They returned to the base and at once went to see the Boss of the Operational Squadron, volunteering to go and take out the rebel ammunition dump. Offhandedly the Boss gave the go-ahead to the mission, displaying only minimal interest. ‘I must warn you that I have no resources to spare,’ he said. ‘And I doubt that your Six contact has anything in the way of equipment.’
    ‘We don’t need much, Boss,’ Shepherd said. ‘Except maybe Jerzy and his Hoplite. The rest we’ll improvise.’
     Shepherd left the other three poring over the intelligence that Parker had already supplied and drove down into Freetown to meet the contact at Medicaid International. The houses of the expatriates and richer citizens were colonial era mansions originally built by the British, ranged along the heights of the ridges of Juba Hill and Signal Hill to catch whatever sea breeze there was. They were raised on stilts and shaded by giant cotton and breadfruit trees. The houses must once have been quite splendid but the walls were now stained with damp and many appeared semi-derelict. Those that were still occupied were shielded by high walls topped with razor wire and broken glass. Even the art deco State House on Tower Hill looked decrepit, its balcony railings streaked with rust and its once-pristine white walls pocked and scarred from the rounds and grenades that had struck