Deception

By Matt Carbutt

Finding the decapitated and hacked remains of guests and staff at the remote Mozambican bush camp, rugged mercenary Captain Will Grant and his small team have no idea of the evil and deception they were about to uncover in one man’s attempt to control the riches of the Cabo Delgado gas fields. From the golden beaches of Clifton Cape Town to the deadly diamond rich jungles of Sierra Leone they follow the trail, culminating in the idyllic Seychelles. No one was expecting the triple cross.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matt Carbutt
• Release date: Dec 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005893613

Matt Carbutt

Matt Carbutt is an author of adult thrillers, Deception being his second novel. He was born in England and immigrated to South Africa at a very young age.Matt lives in Noordhoek, Cape Town, South Africa with his wife, young daughter and Justice the family Timber Wolf. “If he bites you, justice has been served!” Over the years, due to his business commitments in the security industry, Matt has travelled extensively throughout Africa, gaining invaluable knowledge and experiences from the mysterious African continent.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Bloody hell you smell that? the thick Scottish brogue of my second in command rasped softly in my ear, transmitted over our encrypted comms circuit.

Now there’s a smell we haven’t smelt in a while Pete added casually.

Being downwind it took a couple more seconds for the stench being carried on the slightest of breezes to reach me. When it did, I understood what they were saying. It was a putrid smell that made my olfactory nerves burn and twitch with revulsion. It also gripped my attention, alerting me that evil was afoot. Settling the sling of my R4 assault rifle into a more comfortable position over my right shoulder, I depressed the small transmit button of the encrypted comms circuit and spoke softly into my throat microphone, Fuck it guys you’re right. Eben you’ve got point, let’s go find the source.

Copy boss.

Switching off the handheld Garmin GPS whose flashing electronic icon we had been following I slipped it back into my combat webbing holding the spare 35 round magazines for my assault rifle.

With Eben on point it took us just over an hour, cutting a trail through the humid dense green tropical bush before we found the source of the gut-wrenching stench. Stopping a distance away, we dropped our backpacks and slowly leopard crawled the last hundred metres or so on our stomachs, crawling through the tropical foliage, the dark green, brown and black abstract patches of our camouflage uniforms blending in with our surroundings, making us invisible to anyone still in the bush camp, the apparent source of the smell.

The stench was now at its strongest. It was a smell that would make most men with weak constitutions immediately eject whatever was in their stomachs, the end result being not wanting to face food, and in particular red meat for a while. It was however, a smell we knew well. The smell of human flesh rotting. The smell of the dead left to lie and bake in the hot sun of the battlefield. As I watched from the thick green undergrowth, the sweat constantly trickling down my forehead into my eyes, I quickly reminded myself that this wasn’t a battlefield and the putrid gut-wrenching stench of dead bodies certainly wasn’t coming from dead enemy combatants. I just hoped like hell the smell wasn’t coming from the guests in the bush camp. My nose however suggested otherwise.

In front of us was a clearing that had been hacked out of the thick green tropical bush, leaving behind a number of majestically tall palm trees under which the tents of the small remote bush camp had been erected, offering a panoramic view of the Rovuma River. It was the perfect luxuriously appointed setting to be at one with nature, where one could observe the wild animals as they came down to the water’s edge to quench their thirst in the early mornings and late afternoons.

When I say remote, I mean really remote. One first has to endure a 250-kilometre trip by helicopter flying over the green almost impenetrable canopy of the bush veld, part of the Cabo Delgado region of Northern Mozambique that borders on Tanzania. The Rovuma River is the border, a dividing watery line separating the two countries. The nearest town is on the Tanzanian side of the river around 85 clicks away,

On landing at the small landing pad that had also been hacked out of the green wilderness, one had another 30-minute drive by 4x4 through the hot humid tropical bush to reach the shaded enchantment of the exclusive bush camp nestling on the southern bank of the Rovuma River. That is of course if we had flown in. The chopper flights were reserved for the wealthy who could afford the exorbitant fees of the bush camp. No. Myself and my small elite team of battle-hardened men were walking a patrol in the bush. We had been in the bush for a couple of days now, part of an attempt to track down jihadist insurgents who were using the vast game reserve as a stepping off point to gain access to the Cabo Delgado region of Northern Mozambique and beyond in order to sow chaos and mayhem.

Ever since large deposits of natural gas reserves had been found just offshore from Cabo Delgado and the international oil companies moved in to tap into this vast natural reserve, the region had become a magnet for radical Islam and in particular ISIS. It was a natural progression for ISIS to move down south from Tanzania, converting and gaining followers as they went, murdering those along the way who resisted their fucked up Islamic religious advances.

Alpha 2 and 6 you have the best views, what do you see? I asked softly over the encrypted comms as I wiped away the constant river of sweat running down my face. In front of us were ten large Bedouin style tents erected in a semi half circle, five on either side of a much larger tent that I assumed was the kitchen and dining facilities, with a smaller ablution facility off to one side, all facing out towards the river a short distance away. Off towards my left-hand side were another couple of more conventional looking tents. These were smaller and I assumed that they were the staff quarters. The bush camp was quiet. The usual muted sounds of the camp generator missing, the only noises we could hear was the sound of the river a hundred or so metres away along with the comforting daytime sounds of the bush.

In our current position, Alpha 2 and Alpha 6 had the best views looking into the front of the bush camp from either side of our horseshoe shaped approach.

Alpha 1, Alpha 2, I see no movement, out the thick Scottish brogue of Ian McDonald my second in command briskly confirmed. Ian was a short stocky Scotsman. As the saying goes, dynamite comes in small packages. This was an apt way of summing up Ian. He was on our far-left flank.

Alpha 1, Alpha 6, stand by. the deep guttural Afrikaaner voice of Eben Viljoen came over loud and clear. He was currently on the far-right flank. Uh Alpha 1, I have visual of bodies on the ground over.

Copy that I replied softly, my worst fears confirmed. Okay boys let’s go earn our pay

Slowly standing up, the butt of my R4 assault rifle tucked firmly into my right shoulder, I stared intently over my rifle sights into the clearing and the rear of the large Bedouin tents beyond, while my trigger finger lightly caressed the curved metal trigger ready to squeeze it and in doing so unleash a fury of 5.56mm copper jacket rounds at the slightest provocation. I slowly panned my rifle from right to left through my arc of fire, the assault rifle becoming an extension of myself. Seeing no movement, I started walking slowly forward towards the tents, the putrid gut-wrenching stench getting stronger the closer we approached. In the periphery of my vision on both my left and right I saw the camouflaged shapes of my small team following my example. As we closed in, we started to hear a muted buzzing sound that got louder the closer we approached.

To my relief no one jumped out at us with guns blazing shouting surprise!

We had found the source of the smell. It was a slaughter house of psychopathic proportions. Eben came across the first victims. Oh my god! he rasped loudly in his guttural Afrikaans accent, keying his microphone and unintentionally puking at the same time while trying to hold his breath from the vile smell, Captain you better get over here. The remains of the guests; it looked like a family of four were laying just outside the front of one of the large Bedouin tents. All four had been decapitated and their bodies hacked to pieces, the headless limbless torsos looking surprising like mannequins, just the blood and gore giving the game away. The once green fertile grass was now splashed and smeared black with dried blood, body parts and entrails, while thousands of black flies buzzed around gorging merrily on the sick putrid feast.

Were their stomachs slashed open before they were decapitated or afterwards? Jimmy asked curiously to no one in particular as he stood gazing at the slaughter around him while pulling deeply on a cigarette. The surreal scene reminded me of Apocalypse Now. All we needed was some mist, green face paint and a couple of caps of LSD.

‘I wonder who the fuck’s gone rogue?’ I silently asked myself taking in the slaughter, realising that the gruesome scene would be burnt in my mind for a long time to come; the look of sheer terror etched on the faces of the decapitated heads. We soon found the balance of the guests and camp staff all in various forms of decomposition, all having met the same gruesome fate.

Turning to David our Ops Medic, I rasped how long ago do you reckon they were killed?

Taking a moment to have a closer look at the grisly remains he replied don’t hold me to it, but I would judge just over twenty-four hours. It doesn’t take long in this heat for a body to start decomposing and smelling.

Okay, thanks, what a way to die. Sombrely David nodded his shaven head in agreement with me.

Taking another look at the macabre scene around me I said to him, The Colonel is going to want to see this, you better get some video footage and stand by to upload it.

Confirmed he replied and pulled out the small camcorder we had been issued at the beginning of the patrol. The rest of the team were looking at me expectantly, waiting for my orders.

Ian, Jimmy, Pete, search the camp. See if the killers left any evidence Turning to Eben who had regained his composure I instructed, find the spoor, we’re following, no one deserves to die like this, as a cold involuntary shudder ran down my spine. Eben was also our tracker.

Walking a couple of metres away from the insanity of the camp towards the tranquillity of the slow-moving river I pulled out the sat phone and made the call. The Colonels snooty aide answered, Sorry Captain, the Colonels’ busy at the moment, can he get back to you?

No, you snotty little cunt, tell the Colonel we’ve stumbled across what looks like an ISIS massacre at the Bush Camp, they’re all dead.

What! the Colonels aide cried out in surprise, what, what are you doing at the bush camp? You heard me, they’re all dead, they’ve been disembowelled and decapitated, not too sure which happened first I growled back over the satellite link. I had taken an instant disliking to the Colonels aide when I first met him a couple of weeks ago; I saw right through the little prick. There was a scuffling sound in the earpiece and then Colonel Schneider barked down the line.

Dead! Dead did you say?!

Confirmed Sir, decapitated, disembowelled, hacked to death, we’re standing by to upload live images of the scene to you now. I love the 21st century and the advances man has made in technology. Using a small hand-held video camera, David slaved the video camera via blue tooth to the satellite phone and the gruesome images of the slaughter were soon being viewed by the Colonel and his team 250 kilometres away.

Bastards the Colonel snarled out loudly, my god, they’re inhuman, just like the village attack only far more vicious.

Yes sir I agreed, thinking back to an ISIS attack a week ago where all the villagers had been decapitated and the village raised to the ground.

This was the latest scourge to rise up and infect the Southern African continent; radical Islam and its followers.

Fuck it the Russians are going to be pissed off, they were apparently high-profile Russian guests staying at the camp the Colonel then informed me.

Russian guests! That’s news to me I replied, silently thinking, ‘all dead bodies smell the same.’

Are you sure they’re all dead, no hostages were taken? Colonel Schneiders then snapped across the satellite link.

Standby sir, I’ll get back to you, we’ll count the heads. Ending the call, I depressed the transmit button on my radio, Alpha 3, you gotta count heads, we need to confirm if anyone was taken alive. The Colonels’ confirmed a total of fourteen guests and six staff in camp. Due to the number of hacked body pieces, counting the decapitated heads would be a far easier way of confirming if anyone had been left alive and kidnapped.

While waiting for the head count, I stood looking out over the peaceful running waters and thought back to the turn of events that put my team and myself in this shit hole place with Islamic religious maniacs running wildly around the countryside chopping up civilians and tourists with impervious impunity. It was the African version of the wild west with an Islamic twist.

It all started a month ago. Four weeks ago, basically to the day. I had been lounging in a deck chair on the stern sugar scoop of Ma Bell Ami, my 60-foot aluminium sailing sloop which was currently moored in Simonstown, suntanning and putting back ice-cold beer in the warm Cape Town sun thinking that it was soon time to start looking for work again when my iPhone rang. Recognising the International prefix and number, I answered, Hi Bernie, I was just thinking about you, you’ve been quiet for a while.

Bernie Nimrud was both my agent and friend. Like most professions, agents and middle men are a basic necessity in order to do business, bringing buyers and sellers together. In our game it was vital. The difference being that in our game we dealt in life and death, more death than life, but from time to time we were asked to do close protection work and keep people alive.

Shalom to you to my friend. It’s been quiet, so I’ve been quiet Bernie replied in his thick Brooklyn Yiddish accent.

Hearing him suck deeply on his cigarette I scolded him saying, one day those cancer sticks are going kill you, old friend.

Ha Bernie replied chuckling loudly down the telephone, they’ve got to stand in line and take their chance like everyone else. He was ex-Mossad and had been very good at what he did and, in the process not only making lots of contacts but lots of enemies as well. Taking a deep breath, he got down to business and explained the reason for his call, I’ve got a job for you and your team of misfits if you’re interested.

Grinning I replied always interested. You vetted the client?

Of course, he was recommended via another happy client.

Okay send me the details.

The meet was arranged for the next day, 10H00 in a small obscure coffee shop in the city centre. Catching the first available train into Cape Town after the mad morning office rush I wandered up St Georges Mall from the train station and at the stroke of 10H00 walked into the coffee shop.

Removing my sunglasses as I stepped out of the bright sunlight into the murky darkness of the shop, as my eyes adjusted to the gloom my senses were overwhelmed with the aromatic smells of brewing coffee. I immediately spotted the contact. He was the only customer, sitting in the rear of the small shop with his back to the wall facing the door. Observing me walk in he stood up. Immediately I sized him up, the same way he obviously sized me up. ‘Ex-military’ my mind screamed taking in the wearer of the light tropical suit in front of me. He was trim and athletic looking with broad shoulders, clean shaven with short trimmed black hair complete with a set of sunglasses placed on top of his head. I then noticed the jagged scar across his right cheek running from the corner of his eye down towards his jaw. ‘Now that must have hurt like hell’ I silently thought.

Good morning the man said offering me his right hand,’ thanks for meeting me on such short notice."

No problem I replied accepting his outstretched hand. His grip was firm and I felt hard callouses on his palm and fingers; signs of a person accustomed to either hard manual labour or a strenuous training regime.

Ivan, Ivan Delport he said to me with a slight accent that I couldn’t place.

Hi William Grant I replied, but my friends call me Will.

Please take a seat he invited me pleasantly enough sitting back down. Once seated and our coffee order taken, he got down to business.

You come highly recommended, Captain; once Bernie gave me your name, I did a bit of digging. Colonel Jones said you’d be perfect for the task.

‘Wow, okay’ I thought quickly. Colonel Jones was a name I hadn’t heard in a number of years, ever since resigning my commission as a Captain in Her Majesties Armed Forces, in particular the Royal Marines and pursuing a more lucrative career heading up a team of highly skilled private security operators in the hot spots of the world, Iraq and Afghanistan to name a few. With a slight grin I answered now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.

Waiting while the waiter set down our coffee order in front of us and retreated back into the gloom of the shop, Ivan replied ambiguously picking up a sachet of sugar and depositing it into his black coffee, yes, my employer has a life time of friends and contacts to call on when needed. Stirring his coffee and taking a sip he carried on talking, my employer heads up a multi-national corporation that has substantial interests in Mozambique, in the Cabo Delgado province to be exact where large quantities of offshore natural gas reserves have been found. They are one of a number of companies busy building facilities and infrastructure in the area to begin extracting and handling the natural gas.

I nodded my head slowly. I remembered reading an article somewhere a short while back about large deposits of natural gas being found just off shore from the Mozambique coastline, the next big find the newspapers were brandishing the find, if my memory served me well.

Carrying on Ivan explained some more. The problem is that ISIS is moving south down through Tanzania into the Cabo Delgado region wreaking havoc and damaging infrastructure as they go. Again, I nodded my head, also having heard the same. Carrying on Ivan explained some more, there are a number of security companies operating in the area. The Schneider Advisory Group is one group that has been contracted by the local Mozambican government to help curb the insurgents. The Colonel and his group of ex Selous Scouts have been quite effective, to a point.

Pausing for a second as if gathering his thoughts, he carried on, the Russian Oil Exploration Company is also heavily involved in the area and have employed the Wagner Corporation to secure their interests.

While he took another sip of coffee, I carried on for him and your bunch also want their interests looked after.

Ivan nodded his head replying, something like that. We have identified an area where the insurgents seem to be operating in, and we want to employ you and your team to move into the area and track them down. In order to get through all the red tape, you will be seconded to Colonel Schneiders group but will be looking solely after our interests.

Why not directly use the Colonel or the Russians? I asked curiously.

Colonel Schneiders has his hands full further east and the Russians are more concerned with protecting their own assets than being proactive and actively tracking down insurgents adding they’re taking the Stalingrad approach and digging in.

Taking a sip of my coffee I ventured and you think me and my small team can make a difference?

Looking me directly in the face he replied You come highly recommended, apparently you’re pretty good at what you do.

I grinned at that and raised my coffee cup to Ivan. Finishing off the really decent cup of coffee I replied, if that’s what they say, then it must be true.

Can I tell my superiors that you’re in?

One small question, what’s the pay like?

One Hundred thousand US dollars per week, for a minimum of three months’ work, one month paid up front Ivan replied with a straight face.

I smiled and replied sticking out my right hand, tell your superiors we have a deal.

My day dreaming was cut short by the urgent voice of David our medic, ‘all heads accounted for. Eben has found the spoor; says he has something to show you."

CHAPTER 2

I found Eben squatting down on his haunches on the northern side of the bush camp looking closely at the sandy ground around him. We were in luck. The various troops of wild animals making the trip down to the water’s edge over the past twenty-four hours had missed the tracks left in the sand by the attackers. If I was superstitious, I would have thought that the animals had purposely side stepped the tracks to give us a fair chance to track them down.

Looks like there was at least eight of them Eben informed me pointing to the boot prints in the soft sand, they entered and left the camp this way.

I squatted down beside Eben and looked closely at the numerous sets of boot tracks in the sandy ground. They look like our boots I remarked straight away looking at the multiple familiar looking prints.

Ja, that’s what I wanted to show you Eben replied grimly.

Then it hit me, oh, fuck it wasn’t ISIS who slaughtered these poor souls I stated, thinking back to the last ISIS killing. All the tracks we found and followed had been made by sandals and Nike running shoes, not NATO issue military boots.

Okay, then we’re dealing with a bunch of fucking psychopathic murderers Ian growled out from behind us in his deep Scottish brogue.

Looking up I found the rest of my small team standing behind me. Standing up I slowly nodded my shaven head, while my mind flashed back to the look of utter terror on the faces of the decapitated youngsters I replied that’s putting it mildly.

They’re headed that way Eben commented, pointing with his right hand towards the green wall of vegetation encroaching on the clearing a couple of metres in front of us.

Well, what are we waiting for, let’s go catch these psychopathic mother fuckers Pete stated impatiently, eager like a hunting dog to be set loose.

Retrieving our backpacks from the far edge of the tree line where we had dropped them earlier, I said to my small team okay guys, let’s get moving, they’ve got at least a day’s head start on us, Eben you’ve got point.

Leaving the clearing, the tropical green bush seemed to swallow us up, closing in around us as we followed the spoor into the African wilderness.

Open the spacing I instructed softly into my throat mic a short while later as we started to bunch up, the dense bush slowing the pace right down. Losing the spoor, it took Eben a while to find it again, hacking his way through the dense foliage with his machete. Luckily, he picked up the spoor again on an old elephant trail that wound its way through the thick green bush. Soon both the gap opened up and the pace quickened.

Following the tracks, we headed deeper into the unknown, the green canopy of trees and bush closing in around us, enveloping us in a steamy bath of humidity. For the first couple of hours the spoor took us in a north westerly direction, basically following the course of the river about 500 metres away to our right. All around us the day time sounds of the bush were a welcoming background noise. The multitude of birds in the green tree canopy above us making a cacophony of sound, while monkeys competed for attention, jabbering away with abandoned glee in the branches just above our heads. Somewhere in the distance a lion roared out, his call reverberating loudly through the thick bush. With every step we took it seemed as if we were getting closer to the gates of hell, as it got hotter and the humidity caused even the fittest of us to perspire profusely.

Alpha 6 let’s take five and hydrate I instructed over the radio circuit at around 13H30. Eben responded back with two brief clicks of the transmit button, not one for using words unnecessarily. A short while later he found us a small natural defendable clearing where we could take a breather, at the same time facing outwards in order to defend ourselves in the event of being attacked by our prey. It wouldn’t be the first time that the hunter has become the hunted!

While taking a five-minute breather I had some time to reflect on the guys I called my brothers in arms. We had been together for a while now ever since Bernie introduced us. Due to fucked up circumstances we only met up for the first time at the Baghdad airport in war torn Iraq. It was about fifteen minutes later after introducing ourselves to each other while driving in convoy down the deadliest stretch of tarmac in the world; the 6 mile stretch of road from the airport to the American controlled Green Zone in Baghdad that we proved to each other and our American counterparts that we were a security team to be reckoned with.

Ever since that defining moment at the 3-mile marker of the scarred and scorched tarred road; the evidence of previous bloody attacks. A car with a solitary driver drove past us. The car then suddenly exploded, a large orange fireball and concussive blast enveloping the lead Humvee. Then, all hell broke loose as gunfire erupted from both sides of the scorched road. Ambush! someone shouted loudly, their voice lost in the loud chattering noise of automatic weapons.

‘Cool heads’ I thought to myself, ‘far too cool.’ Alpha Two, was my right-hand man, Sergeant Ian MacDonald a short stocky Scotsman who had also spent some time in both the SADF and then the Royal Marines, the same path I had chosen, being of British descent and not knowing what the fuck he wanted to do with his life. Alpha Three was our Ops Medic David Gray, a former SA Reconnaissance operator who always seemed cool, calm and collected. I wondered at first if he was using his own medication but I was assured he wasn’t.

"He’s