Free Hellfire by Chris Ryan Page B

started off again.
    Ripley was obviously struggling to keep his cool with Tony. Danny decided to divert his attention from the arsehole in the back. ‘How old are your kids again, mucker?’
    Ripley shot Danny a sharp look. On an op like this, family discussion were normally off-limits – an unspoken agreement that nobody wanted to be reminded of their loved ones when they were tooled up and moving into a combat situation. But beneath his gruff exterior, Ripley was a family man who never gave up an opportunity to talk about them. Now his face lightened. ‘Eleven and nine. The oldest just got his first skateboard,’ he said. ‘Took him to a halfpipe the other day.’ He looked into the rear-view mirror. Danny did too, and saw that Tony had his eyes closed. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Ripley said. ‘I can deal with him.’
    They headed relentlessly north.
    Dawn hit half an hour later. It brought with it an improvement in the weather conditions, but Danny knew it would make other aspects of the journey more difficult. Sure enough, within fifteen minutes they saw, through the grey, early morning light, men in the road a hundred metres up ahead. ‘Road block,’ he said tensely, and he sensed Tony and Caitlin loosening their sidearms in their holsters. Four white guys with assault rifles stashed the length of the vehicle would cause a stir, no question.
    Fifty metres. There were no other vehicles at the road block. ‘Six men,’ Danny counted. ‘Three with weapons. AK-47.’ They wore army fatigues that looked grey in the half light, but he noticed that the three armed guards had painted parts of their weapons in bright, vibrant colours – one had a yellow barrel, another a red stock – like they were children’s toys.
    ‘I’d say they’re regular army,’ Caitlin said quietly.
    ‘Stop about ten metres from the first guard,’ Danny said.
    Ripley came to a gradual halt. Danny found himself automatically calculating the distances between them and the guards: ten metres to the guy with the yellow barrel, five more metres to the two other armed guards, and another ten metres to the remaining three, who were in a little group smoking cigarettes. The red tips of their fags stood out like fireflies in the grey dawn. They all had confident, almost arrogant looks on their faces, as if their brightly coloured weapons made them untouchable. They had no idea that at a single word from Danny, the unit would have them down in less than five seconds.
    But dead bodies would make people ask questions, and they couldn’t afford to be slowed down by anyone trailing them. Danny looked back at Caitlin and Tony. ‘We only fight if we can’t buy our way through,’ he instructed.
    ‘It’ll be too late by then,’ Tony said, his voice taut. Danny ignored him. But he was aware of both Tony and Caitlin winding down their windows, ready to engage with their weapons if the situation required it.
    ‘Keep the engine running,’ he told Ripley. He nodded, his hands still gripping the wheel, ready to move if necessary.
    Danny removed the full wallet the military attaché had supplied them with before they left, removed half the notes, then stepped outside the car. He raised his hands to show he was holding nothing but the wallet, and smiled broadly.
    The guy with the yellow AK barrel stepped casually forward. He had an arrogant expression, but Danny noticed that his eyes kept flickering towards the wallet.
    ‘Hey,’ the guard called. ‘White man, what you doing here?’
    Danny kept walking. ‘Passing through,’ he called. ‘Heading into Niger.’
    The guard gave an unpleasant grin, as if heading into Niger was a sure way to run into trouble. ‘Three men, one woman? What is it, gangbang?’
    Danny just gave him a broader grin. ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘Hey, your job looks like thirsty work. You’d rather be having a beer than standing here talking to me, right?’
    ‘Beer is expensive, white man.’ The guard rubbed