big colonial-style spread with fancy iron gates. Four guys were painting them with sheets over their heads to protect them from the sun. I could see a fountain in the middle of the gravel turning area. Sam nodded. ‘That one’s Lex’s.’
No wonder, if he was charging ten grand a plane ride. This place was more Beverly Hills than Bob Geldof.
‘You said Bosnia?’
‘Aye. But he was in the South African Air Force before that, fighting their war. Then he flew Hunters for the Rhodesians during theirs. Then, well, he flew for anyone who paid him, I think. My little place is just along the way.’ Whatever the ‘private enterprise’ was, it paid well.
Sam hadn’t lost his thread. He got the talk straight back to Zaïre. ‘And you, Nick? Still hedging your bets and being Mr Agnostic? Remember what we talked about on the roof that night?’
‘Yep. Still haven’t met this imaginary friend of yours or been shouted at from burning bushes.’
‘There’s an answer to that, but I’ll spare you for the moment. So, how have you been filling your life? You obviously haven’t wasted too much of it in the kirk . . .’ He swung the cart into a wide Tarmac driveway and clocked my surprise. ‘Yeah, not bad, eh?’
He wasn’t wrong. It was the sort of thing you see on the cover of architecture magazines at airport news-stands. Acres of glass, bare wood and whitewashed rendering, with multi-pitched roofs and a big shiny pool thrown in for luck. The bishop would have approved. ‘Fuck me, Sam – tell me you’re only the butler!’
He jumped out of the wagon.
‘I mean, I’ve heard God provides, but this is ridiculous.’
‘They’re company houses, not ours.’
I followed him up to the huge double doors. His neighbour’s place looked like it had been done by the same architect but bigger, and the landscapers obviously had a fondness for razor wire.
Sam opened up and we found ourselves in a hallway the size of a departure lounge. There was excited barking, the scampering of paws on stone and two rat-like dogs hurled themselves at him. He did what dog lovers do, fussing about and getting slobber all over his clothes and hands.
He talked to them like they were his kids. He even introduced them. ‘This is Vegas, and this is Mimi.’ If he wanted me to say hello, he had another think coming. Apart from anything else, I was too busy being impressed by the décor and cheering myself up by thinking how jealous Stefan would have been.
I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Just as well you didn’t become a vicar. Their company houses aren’t a patch on this.’
‘I work as a peacemaker, Nick.’ He motioned towards Mimi and Vegas. ‘Dog collars are for dogs.’
‘You on the circuit?’
We walked along the hall and into the kitchen. He opened a huge, stainless-steel, double-doored fridge. ‘No, no, none of that rubbish. That’s Crazy Dave’s end of the market. What we do is a wee bit more sophisticated.’
He was waiting for me to fold. Fuck it, I’d held out for a while and, besides, it got us away from Zaïre. ‘Who’s “we”? I know them?’
He was happy now. ‘There are four others on the team. You know one of them for sure, and might remember another.’ He passed me a cold can of Castle. ‘Come on, then, tell all. I want to know what you’ve been getting up to.’
That was fine by me: it put more distance between us and the shit can. ‘Bit of this, bit of that. I worked for the Firm for a while, then the Yanks.’ I took a mouthful of lager.
‘You did the Iraq gigs?’
‘Madness not to. What about you? Where do you keep the peace most days?’
‘Security for a mine in DRC. We fly to the Rwanda border and conduct operations into DRC from the base camp.’ He lost the sparkle in his eyes for a moment, and I had the strange impression that his red skin had gone a shade lighter. ‘It’s a nightmare up there, Nick. The miners need protecting, the communities need protecting.’ He touched my
No wonder, if he was charging ten grand a plane ride. This place was more Beverly Hills than Bob Geldof.
‘You said Bosnia?’
‘Aye. But he was in the South African Air Force before that, fighting their war. Then he flew Hunters for the Rhodesians during theirs. Then, well, he flew for anyone who paid him, I think. My little place is just along the way.’ Whatever the ‘private enterprise’ was, it paid well.
Sam hadn’t lost his thread. He got the talk straight back to Zaïre. ‘And you, Nick? Still hedging your bets and being Mr Agnostic? Remember what we talked about on the roof that night?’
‘Yep. Still haven’t met this imaginary friend of yours or been shouted at from burning bushes.’
‘There’s an answer to that, but I’ll spare you for the moment. So, how have you been filling your life? You obviously haven’t wasted too much of it in the kirk . . .’ He swung the cart into a wide Tarmac driveway and clocked my surprise. ‘Yeah, not bad, eh?’
He wasn’t wrong. It was the sort of thing you see on the cover of architecture magazines at airport news-stands. Acres of glass, bare wood and whitewashed rendering, with multi-pitched roofs and a big shiny pool thrown in for luck. The bishop would have approved. ‘Fuck me, Sam – tell me you’re only the butler!’
He jumped out of the wagon.
‘I mean, I’ve heard God provides, but this is ridiculous.’
‘They’re company houses, not ours.’
I followed him up to the huge double doors. His neighbour’s place looked like it had been done by the same architect but bigger, and the landscapers obviously had a fondness for razor wire.
Sam opened up and we found ourselves in a hallway the size of a departure lounge. There was excited barking, the scampering of paws on stone and two rat-like dogs hurled themselves at him. He did what dog lovers do, fussing about and getting slobber all over his clothes and hands.
He talked to them like they were his kids. He even introduced them. ‘This is Vegas, and this is Mimi.’ If he wanted me to say hello, he had another think coming. Apart from anything else, I was too busy being impressed by the décor and cheering myself up by thinking how jealous Stefan would have been.
I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Just as well you didn’t become a vicar. Their company houses aren’t a patch on this.’
‘I work as a peacemaker, Nick.’ He motioned towards Mimi and Vegas. ‘Dog collars are for dogs.’
‘You on the circuit?’
We walked along the hall and into the kitchen. He opened a huge, stainless-steel, double-doored fridge. ‘No, no, none of that rubbish. That’s Crazy Dave’s end of the market. What we do is a wee bit more sophisticated.’
He was waiting for me to fold. Fuck it, I’d held out for a while and, besides, it got us away from Zaïre. ‘Who’s “we”? I know them?’
He was happy now. ‘There are four others on the team. You know one of them for sure, and might remember another.’ He passed me a cold can of Castle. ‘Come on, then, tell all. I want to know what you’ve been getting up to.’
That was fine by me: it put more distance between us and the shit can. ‘Bit of this, bit of that. I worked for the Firm for a while, then the Yanks.’ I took a mouthful of lager.
‘You did the Iraq gigs?’
‘Madness not to. What about you? Where do you keep the peace most days?’
‘Security for a mine in DRC. We fly to the Rwanda border and conduct operations into DRC from the base camp.’ He lost the sparkle in his eyes for a moment, and I had the strange impression that his red skin had gone a shade lighter. ‘It’s a nightmare up there, Nick. The miners need protecting, the communities need protecting.’ He touched my
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