Free Bonfire by Mark Arundel

a few hours. I swallowed three painkillers and hoped they would quickly take effect.
    After driving fast through the city for several miles, Mick found a secure place that seemed deserted. He stopped behind an unused warehouse.
    All three of us looked at the dead body of our friend. He must have died from cardiac arrest caused by the massive blood loss. The flying object that struck his neck had obviously severed an artery. Without immediate medical treatment by a surgeon or a doctor who knew how to stop the bleeding Banksy was never going to survive. We had all seen comrades die. I had seen many. For a while, none of us spoke. Cakes broke the silence.
    ‘As covert missions go this one stinks,’ he said. He was right. ‘Who set us up?’ None of us knew the answer.
    ‘I’ll call London,’ I said.
    ‘Yes, call London,’ Cakes said and then gave a personal message that he wanted me to pass on. He voiced how we each felt.
    Jerry Lombroso answered the call in his confident, dependable manner. I fought to keep my temper.
    ‘Suleiman Al Bousefi didn’t show,’ I said, ‘but twenty guys with assault rifles did.’
    ‘What happened?’ Jerry asked.
    ‘We got away, but Banks is dead,’ I said. Jerry took a deep breath and then fell silent. ‘You told me the intelligence was good and that the operation was secured.’
    ‘Yes, that was my belief,’ he said. ‘Through our Libyan network, their connections assured us…’ I interrupted him.
    ‘Well, assurances or not something went wrong,’ I said.
    ‘Yes, so it would seem. It’s unfortunate. We really wanted the “Al Bousefi” problem to go away.’ Jerry paused. ‘I’m sorry about Banks,’ he said.
    ‘We’re going to bring him back with us,’ I said.
    ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Jerry replied.
    ‘We can rendezvous with the helicopter at the agreed point in forty-five minutes,’ I said. ‘Can you have it there in forty-five minutes?’
    ‘The Wildcat is sitting on the ship awaiting instructions,’ Jerry said. ‘Forty-five minutes is not a problem.’
    ‘We’ll collect Magda on the way,’ I said.
    ‘At least that part of the mission was a success,’ Jerry said. I ended the call.
    ‘It’s all set. Let’s get Magda and then get to the rendezvous point,’ I said.
    Mick continued to drive. Cakes sat in the front and navigated. Banksy and I were together in the back. It gave me a chance to remember and to say goodbye. It gave me time, also, to question whether I could have seen the man with the RPG sooner. Could I have prevented him from firing? Conjecture, I realised, was pointless. It always is. So, too, is remorse.
    I began to wonder how Suleiman Al Bousefi had found out about us. Someone must have told him. I wondered who that someone was. As the mission was over and that in under an hour a Wildcat helicopter would be flying us over the Med away from Libya to an awaiting ship I decided not to think any more about it.
    ‘How far out are we?’ I said.
    ‘…less than a mile,’ Cakes said.
    ‘Hayes, even though we didn’t get this Al Bousefi character we still get paid, right?’ Mick asked.
    ‘…right. Provided we returned Moha alive to his father and got Magda to her father’s house the deal was payment with or without killing Al Bousefi.’
    ‘Good,’ Cakes said and then paused. ‘What happens to Banksy’s share?’
    ‘You know the code,’ I said. ‘We divide his share equally between the three of us.’
    ‘What are we going to do with his body?’
    ‘We’ll take it with us to the ship. They’ll give him a naval burial-at-sea,’ I said.
    ‘This is the street,’ Mick said. It was easy to recognise from the trees and the walls. They had a distinctive North African charm. Mick pulled up outside the house.
    ‘Wait here while I get her,’ I said.
    Nobody inside the house responded to the intercom buzzer on the wall and then I noticed the heavy wooden gate was ajar. Mick and Cakes were watching me through the open driver’s