Blood Brothers (Chris Stone Series, #3) by Graham Spence

Author:Graham Spence
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action advenure, special forces, Africa, global terrorism, Al Qaida
Publisher: WildRiver Publications
Published: 2019-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-two

AS FAR AS PRIME Atlantic beachfront real estate went, Kadar’s residential complex was about as good as it gets. Not only in Liberia, but anywhere in the world.

It wasn’t just near the beach, or close to the beach. It was on the beach. Carl and Chris could hear surf hiss up the shore just fifty yards away. They could smell the salt saturating the rich oxygenated air, clean and fresh, invigorating after the fetid fumes of downtown Monrovia.

Dressed in dark clothing and with blackened faces, he and Chris were almost invisible in the shadows. Both men packed Norincos, the Chinese-manufactured Tokarev rip-offs that Eben’s contact provided. Carl also had a twenty-foot rope, coiled like a lariat over his shoulder under his loose shirt. In his pocket was a roll of duct tape and a pack of zip ties. The strongest they could buy.

Armed guards manned the main gate, so they had parked a few roads away and crept alongside the compound’s southern ten-foot high wall with razor wire twisted on top. Gated communities such as this were not unusual. Most of the expat community lived in them, but security was not obsessive as Liberia was no longer a particularly dangerous country by West African standards.

The wall ended on the beach, perpendicularly connecting to a chain-link fence running parallel to the ocean. About thirty yards farther up, they could see the dim outline of a guard sitting on a plastic chair at a gate where residents had direct access to their private stretch of paradise. They couldn’t see if he was armed, but had to assume that at the very least he had a pistol. A yellow glow brightened every few seconds. Either a cigarette, or the pungent local weed. Carl hoped it was the latter. A transistor radio playing Afro-rock was on the ground next to his chair. Perfect. The noise drowned out any sound they would make.

“That’s the escape route,” said Carl. “If we get separated, run to the beach gate and smack the guard on the head. You might not even have to do that as he’ll probably be asleep. If he’s awake, he’ll be focused on people trying to get in, not out.”

Carl was correct. The fence was more to deter beggars and street vendors troubling the wealthy, rather than hardcore men breaking and entering.

“Give me a foot up, then I’ll toss you the rope,” said Carl.

Even though they knew where Kadar lived, courtesy of the vehicle tracker, his house would not have been hard to find. It was close to the beachfront fence in the north-western edge of the complex; a double-story, white-painted, square building surrounded by exuberant bougainvillea and Cape honeysuckle vines. The austerity of Kadar’s downtown office was a world removed once you got inside the guarded gates of Atlantic View.

A peek through the main window showed Kadar, his wife and two daughters sitting in a lounge enjoying after-dinner quality time. Carl did a quick scrutiny of the downstairs rooms. The only other person in the building was a woman in the kitchen, who appeared to be a Liberian servant.

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