Read an extract from My Friend the Mercenary - Bookhugger

shake hands with the devil 23
‘Yes, but not immediately. We can’t take weapons in from
here. Well, we could – but people might get the wrong idea, hey? I
expect I’ll get an AK from the rebels when we get in. I don’t think
it will be a problem.’
Nick looked over my shoulder as the beers arrived at the
table and we lapsed into silence. A chalk-white tourist edged
away from the safety of his lounger and dropped into the pool.
I fanned myself with a lunch menu, and accepted what he said. I
wanted him to be armed, and I wanted to know what he thought
he would be armed for. As the ripples dissipated, he explained
how the AK might be used.
‘If there is a problem,’ he continued, ‘I’ll make enough space
for us to get clear – just that. If necessary, we can walk out.’
My mind drew a blank: walk out of where? To where? I
imagined the forest I’d seen in Sierra Leone, Nick emptying his
rifle into the faceless enemy, while I ran, scared, into the trees.
‘I like the “we” bit,’ I said. ‘I haven’t done anything like this
before.’
The words hung between us. Cobus cut across the silence.
‘Don’t worry. You’re going to have to take in a big crew. You can
be sure that they don’t know jack-shit about filming, but the more
people you’re in charge of, the more they’re going to be impressed
by you.’
Nick was smiling in agreement. I was writing furiously.
‘Take big cameras, too, so you look like a proper news crew.
They’ll love that.’
I noted the implication that we wouldn’t really be a proper
news crew at all: I couldn’t fault him on that. We agreed that
Nick would acquire a comprehensive medical kit and procure our
supplies. The production company would put together the crew,
and I would draw up the necessary paperwork.
‘How are we going to get there, exactly? If we go into
Conakry directly . . . that’s going to be bloody tricky.’