‘How’s he going to do that, with no tongue?’
Masango looked stern in the torchlight. ‘Lock him up,’ he ordered Promise. Promise pulled open the cage door, grabbed Jude and shoved him inside. The heavy door shut with a final-sounding hollow clang that Jude didn’t like at all. Promise slid home the four bolts that fastened it, and clicked a padlock through each in turn. He rattled them to test they were secure, then stepped away.
Jude clasped the bars. They were cold and dreadfully rigid-feeling. ‘Let me tell you something, Masango,’ he said in a calm, serious tone. ‘You people are making the biggest mistake of your lives if you think this whole thing isn’t going to backfire on you. I’m getting out of here, and when I do, you’re in deep shit.’
‘Goodbye, White Meat,’ Masango said. Khosa had called him by the same name. They’d obviously been talking about him, which wasn’t a comforting thought. Masango walked out of the hut, followed by Promise, and Jude was left alone in the darkness. He heard the hasp close and the snick of the outer padlock. As if it was even necessary.
Jude stood clutching the bars, listening. Footsteps on the stony ground; Masango speaking to someone, either Promise or the driver, in Swahili. Then the car door slamming; the smooth engine revving, tyres crunching as it rolled away.
Then all that remained was absolute silence, except for the thudding of Jude’s heart.
He stood there for a long time afterwards, until finally he groped his way across the cage and lay down on the damp-smelling mattress. He closed his eyes. He wondered whether Promise had gone with Masango or stayed behind, and then wondered what the other three huts were for. If Promise had stayed behind, maybe one hut was the guard house. Were there other captives inside the other two?
Jude sighed, trying to relax. He let his mind wander. For some reason, the next person to drift into his thoughts was Helen. He fingered the little name bead bracelet he still wore around his left wrist, even though they’d split up months ago, and tried to picture her pretty, elfin face. He wondered what she’d been doing since then, and where she was at this moment. Somewhere safe and cosy, he hoped. Not locked in a cage in the middle of Africa, that was for sure.
Then he replayed his cocky parting shot to Masango. What a thing to say. How cool was that? It made him chuckle for a moment, but only a moment.
‘Who are you trying to kid?’ he muttered to himself out loud. ‘You’re the one in deep shit.’
Ben and the other three spent their first night in Khosa City in a poky fourth-floor room of the hotel that had been fitted with makeshift bunks, like a dorm for soldiers to kip in, and a far cry from the opulence of the General’s suite high above them. The windows had been nailed shut and barred on the outside, presumably to prevent certain guests from escaping. At least it had a bathroom of its own, with a hot shower that actually worked and felt like a small piece of heaven as they took turns cleaning themselves up after the long, hot, and dusty journey. All except Gerber, who shuffled wordlessly to the nearest bunk and clambered in fully dressed with his boots on and his back to the room, ignoring all attempts to rouse him.
‘He’s got to snap out of this state,’ Jeff whispered to Ben. ‘You know what’s going to happen if he doesn’t.’
Ben did know. Either Gerber would spiral into a depression from which he might never resurface, or Khosa would simply decide he was of no use to him, and sign the death warrant.
The next morning at six, the door was unlocked and a pair of Khosa’s militia infantrymen marched into the room, accompanied by an older man in his mid or late thirties whose authoritative demeanour, if not his uniform, marked him as their superior officer.
Ben had already been awake for an hour by then. He’d managed to chase the blackness of his mood away by forcing a hundred press-ups out of himself, followed by a hundred sit-ups and a thorough inspection of their room and the view from the window. He’d taken another long, hot shower, then changed into the clean khaki T-shirt and combat trousers from the pile of clothing that had been left for them. Tuesday had just finished in the bathroom and Jeff was lounging on his bunk with his hands clasped behind his head and a whimsical look on his face. Gerber appeared to be asleep, in the same position he’d curled into the night before. Ben had in fact checked earlier to make sure he wasn’t dead.
‘I am Captain Xulu!’ the officer barked at them. The troopers stood either side of him, holding their AKs in a sloppy rendition of the high-ready position that would have been something to rectify, if Ben had had any real intention of helping to train Khosa’s army. The last thing the world needed was an effective fighting force with a rabid psychopath like Khosa at its helm.
Ben stepped towards Xulu and faced him up close. Xulu was an inch shorter, at around five-ten, and paunchy. He was like a smaller, fatter version of his general, without the ferocious facial scarring but doing his best to make up for it by acting tough.
Ben eyed him coldly and said, ‘Doesn’t this army teach you to salute a superior officer? You’re talking to a major.’
Xulu returned the stare with a nasty grin. Every second or third tooth in his mouth was capped with gold. ‘You are not in my chain of command, soldier. I take my orders from General Khosa, Colonel Dizolele, and nobody else.’ He pursed his lips and added, ‘The General thinks you are a great warrior. Me, I think you are just another muzungu bastard who thinks he can deceive us. I do not salute muzungu shit.’
Ben and Jeff had known each other a long time and could communicate on a level that wasn’t quite telepathic, but not far off it. Might just have to kill this one, Ben knew Jeff was thinking from the set of his jaw.
Soon, Ben’s return glance told Jeff.
Jeff twitched one eyebrow and gave a tiny jerk of his chin, indicating as clearly as if he’d spoken it out loud, Why wait? Let’s pitch the fucker out of the window, snap the necks of these worthless two, take their weapons, and storm the building. You know you want to.
Ben gave a half-smile. The idea had merit. Its time might come, but that time wasn’t now.
The silent conversation between the two men wasn’t lost on Tuesday Fletcher, but it went straight over the head of Xulu, who planted his hands on his hips and glared around the room. His disapproving eye settled on Gerber. ‘You! Old man! You should stand up when I speak to you!’
‘He isn’t well,’ Ben said. ‘Leave him alone.’
‘Is he drunk?’ Xulu demanded. ‘Is he sick? What is wrong with him?’ He reached out to grab Gerber’s arm and yank him off the bunk.
‘He has the simian herpes genitalis virus,’ Ben said. ‘Caught it from a macaque in Addis Ababa. Very contagious.’
‘Makes your bollocks shrivel up and drop off,’ Jeff said, pointing downwards. ‘And everything else down there with them, if you’re really unlucky.’
‘Pretty grim,’ Tuesday added, pulling a face. ‘You can get it just by touching an infected person.’
‘We’re all vaccinated against it,’ Ben said. ‘If you’re not, I wouldn’t get too close.’
‘But
