by Adam Hamdy
For Amy
Contents
Part One Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Part Two Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Part Three Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
Part One
Chapter 1
Hell had a name.
In Arabic it was Al Aqarab. In English, Scorpion, one of the most notorious prisons in the Arab world. Elroy Lang had been in the sweltering hole for seven hours, during which he’d been tested for Covid-19, stripped of his clothes, given a drab grey tunic and matching trousers, plastic shoes, and an orientation that would have bewildered most people. He’d been served his evening meal in a huge cafeteria and had felt the eyes of four hundred inmates on him, all imagining ways they could exploit the new arrival. Elroy had eaten the rancid prison slop calmly, confident no one would make a move under the nose of the grim-faced, armed Egyptian prison guards who patrolled the vast hall.
After their meal, they’d been led to their cells. Elroy had been allotted a communal cell with seventy other men, all roasting in the August heat, cooled by nothing more than the faintest breath of desert air coming through three barred windows. Elroy lay on a low bunk in the darkest corner of the cell, furthest from the door. It was a place for victims, a spot easily encircled by a crowd of bodies to block the view from the door. Elroy was happy to be there because the man he was looking for was lying on the bunk next to him. The ends of their beds met in the apex of the dark corner. The bribes Elroy had paid to get into Al Aqarab on the relatively minor charge of outraging public decency, the money that had changed hands to ensure the correct cell assignment, had all been worth it. Here was the broken man he’d come to see; Ziad Malek.
Born and raised in America to Egyptian immigrant parents, Ziad had once been a confident, handsome minor-league villain who’d been arrested in Cairo on a drug smuggling charge, and was now thirteen months through a seven-year sentence. His wavy brown hair was lank and matted, his once handsome, tanned face now marred by a broken nose and scars, and his wrist and ankle bones bulged through too little flesh. His uniform hung off his emaciated six-foot frame, and was stained with filth. He oozed the sour stench of sweat and urine. But it was his sunken eyes that gave the greatest hint of his suffering in this cruel place. They were hollow and dead, and looked blankly at Elroy with all the hope of a corpse. Elroy held the man’s gaze across the small patch of rough concrete that separated their bunks.
‘Homa hi igi delwati,’ Ziad said in the flat tone of the damned. They will come now.
‘Good,’ Elroy replied. ‘You’ve suffered enough.’
Despair held Ziad too tightly – he didn’t react to Elroy’s words, and simply responded with the same blank stare.
Time ticked by slowly and with each passing moment the air thickened with the odours of so many bodies. The rhythmic sound of heavy breathing and loud snores almost drowned out the toots and hum of distant traffic.
Elroy sensed movement on the other side of the cell, and looked across the large space to see four shadows rise. As they stepped away from their bunks, they murmured conspiratorial words to each other. They picked their way past the beds that were haphazardly packed into the baking room. For every man that was asleep another was awake, and Elroy could see the glint of eyes watching, some with relief as the shadows passed, some with perverse anticipation of what was to come. The cell crackled with expectation and anticipation as the four figures drew near.
When they were a few paces away, they took proper form and shape, and Elroy could distinguish their features from the darkness. All four were well-nourished, muscular and had the cruel, hungry faces of predators. The man at the head of the group was the block bey, or boss, a triple murderer named Magdi who’d killed his wife and in-laws for an inheritance. Elroy had been warned that he was a ruthless, sadistic man who led the gang of psychopaths who ruled the block. Why they’d chosen to brutalize Ziad Malek was a mystery. Maybe he’d angered them, or perhaps they knew he wouldn’t fight back. Elroy glanced at Ziad, and saw the man was frozen with terror. Tears glistened as they rolled down his face and soaked into the filthy mattress beneath him.
‘Amrekani,’ Magdi whispered to Ziad, using the Arabic word for American. ‘Her
tha waat al madrassa.’ It’s time for school.
Magdi’s words left little doubt as to his violent intention. Elroy didn’t like the odds of a brawl. Four against one with his back to the corner left far too much to chance. Much better to send a message, one that would be felt throughout Scorpion prison.
Elroy lay still until Magdi was a couple of paces from Ziad’s bunk, and then he got to his feet. He sensed hesitation from the big block boss. The man wasn’t used to being challenged.
‘Na’ame, ya ghabi. Hi’etla sahala le’ek,’ Magdi said menacingly. Sleep, you fool, it will go easier for you.
Elroy stood his ground and saw Magdi’s face twist into a sneer.
‘Tiyab. Hertha tariq helwa cammaan,’ he snarled. OK, this way is also nice.
He swung a heavy fist at Elroy and was surprised when the lithe, athletic American reacted like lightning. Elroy raised his elbow to block the blow and popped a jab at Magdi’s nose. It wasn’t designed to floor the man, just disorientate him, and it did exactly that. He stumbled back, clutching his face, and Elroy saw Magdi’s three accomplices rush forward. He didn’t have much time. He punched the block boss in the throat and when the man’s hands went down to instinctively soothe the pain, Elroy grabbed Magdi’s left wrist, twisted it and pulled the man into a choke hold. The message had to deter Magdi’s accomplices and would have to be heard throughout Scorpion prison, but it had to be felt most powerfully by Ziad Malek, who was watching the fight in utter amazement.
Elroy grabbed hold of Magdi’s skull and drove his index and middle fingers into the man’s eye sockets. Magdi screamed and clawed at Elroy’s hands, but Elroy ignored the pain and resisted his efforts. The three henchmen rushed forward as Magdi let out a soul-shredding howl. Elroy felt cloying warm blood run over his fingers and, satisfied the job was done, he pushed the screaming, blinded man towards his horrified accomplices.
‘Come closer, and you all die,’ Elroy said.
The three men took hold of their wailing leader, and hesitated as the cell filled with the sounds of people waking up and the shouts of approaching guards. Blood formed dark pools where Magdi’s eyes should have been, and spilled down his anguished face. The horror was too much for his men, and Elroy stared them down as they dragged the mutilated man towards the door.
When they were nothing more than shadows in the darkness on the other side of the cell, Elroy looked down at Ziad and was pleased to see a broad, almost hysterical smile on the man’s tearful face.
‘You don’t have to be afraid anymore,’ Elroy assured him. ‘You’re with me now. The dark days are done.’
Chapter 2
Ziad woke the following morning afraid the events of the previous night had been a dream, but the bloodstains on the floor by his bunk were real enough. The American, who’d only arrived in Al Aqarab the previous day, brimming with quiet confidence, had been hauled off by prison guards after his fight with Magdi. But he must have been returned in the early hours while Ziad enjoyed his first unbroken night’s sleep in months, because he was lying on his bunk now, watching Ziad with his piercing blue eyes.
Ziad had been confident and cocksure once. He experienced something approaching grief when he recalled the way he’d once swaggered through life. That man had died the day he’d come to Al Aqarab, and his body had been taken over by a pitiful wretch. To begin with, in the early hours of each night, immediately after Magdi and his men had brutally beaten him, Ziad would lie in his bunk picturing the revenge he’d take on all the people who’d sent him to this place. He’d imagined their cries of anguish as they suffered at his hand. But after a while the dreams of vengeance were swept away like wisps of smoke on a cruel wind of despair, and instead his sleepless nights were spent planning his own end. His thoughts were black with the bleak acceptance that one day, when he could no longer take the torment of the place, his life would end by his own hand.
But all that had changed, and now, for the first time in months, he’d slept untroubled by nightmares, and the man responsible for his new-found peace seemed nothing less than a shining hero.
‘Thank you,’ Ziad said, but before he could say anything else, the cell came alive with commotion as the guards entered with their customary shouts of, ‘Yala, yala, ya hayawanaat!’
Come on, come on, you animals.
Ziad got to his feet and joined the line of inmates shuffling towards the door. Seventy serious criminals walked silently through the cell block towards the cafeteria, while Muqtada, the head guard, explained the prison was on special measures after the violence of the previous night. The men of each cell would take their meals separately, there would be no exercise and the prison would be on lockdown until the deputy governor felt certain the incident would not be repeated. There were mutterings of discontent, and Ziad glanced back to see the American being jostled by those around him. Up ahead, Magdi’s three goons, Basha, Tawfik and Riaz, eyed the American angrily.
The vast cafeteria was strangely quiet when Ziad and his cellmates entered. Normally alive with the squabbles, boasting and complaints of hundreds of men, the only other people in the room were the armed guards, who seemed particularly attentive. Ziad grabbed a plastic tray and joined the line to receive his allotted meal of fool and ta’amaya; fava bean stew and a falafel made of the same bean. Ziad went to an empty table and sat alone. He’d lost weight since his conviction, largely thanks to Magdi’s theft of most of his food at every meal.
Ziad wasted no time, wolfing his food as he hunched over his tray with one hand coiled around it protectively. He scanned the cafeteria for Magdi’s men and saw them three tables away, but for once he wasn’t the target of their animosity. Their eyes were on the American, who was in the food line. Ziad did a double take when he saw the inmate serving the American hand over a can of Coca-Cola, a luxury unheard of in Al Aqarab. Ziad’s eyes flitted back to Magdi’s men, and he caught sight of a flash of steel beneath the table. Basha was armed with a shiv. Ziad flushed with shame. If he warned the American or told the guards, Magdi’s men would surely punish him. So, disgusted with himself, Ziad turned his back on the line and focused on finishing his meal as quickly as possible. The brash man he’d once been was long gone, supplanted by a faint shadow who lacked courage, hope or ambition.
Ziad heard movement behind him. When he turned, his stomach lurched at the sight of the American heading straight for him. Standing a little over six feet tall with a thick tuft of wavy blond hair, the man, who must have been in his mid-thirties, had the muscular frame of a boxer, and carried himself with the same easy confidence he’d exuded the previous day. He seemed untroubled by the night’s violence or the murderous looks he was getting from Magdi’s men. Ziad was aghast when the American sat beside him. The man was forcing him to choose a side, but Ziad couldn’t face the consequences and turned to finish his meal.
‘You don’t look well, Ziad,’ the American said.
Ziad glanced up to see the man’s piercing eyes locked on him.
‘My name is Elroy Lang and I came here to find you.’
‘Came here?’ Ziad scoffed at the idea anyone would venture into Al Aqarab by choice.
‘Yes,’ Elroy replied. ‘I wanted to find you because I believe we can help each other.’
Ziad couldn’t suppress a bleak smile. How could this man talk of helping each other in this place? Ziad noticed Magdi’s men whispering and gesturing towards Elroy.
‘We don’t have long,’ Elroy continued. ‘My intervention last night checked them, but they’re mustering their courage and they’ll soon come for revenge.’
‘This isn’t my fight,’ Ziad said.
‘Oh, it is. I’ve heard what those men have done to you. I’m offering you a chance.’
‘A chance for what?’ Ziad asked hesitantly.
‘For revenge,’ Elroy replied. ‘On them. On everyone who put you here. On Deni Salamov.’
Elroy’s words were like a cattle prod, and sent a jolt of life coursing through Ziad’s body. He’
d dreamed of such things, but to hear them voiced was almost too much to bear. Despair and misery had hollowed him out to such an extent, even the faintest hope strained the husk that remained.
‘You have suffered, Ziad,’ Elroy said. ‘It’s written all over your face. I’m offering you my friendship.’
Ziad’s eyes filled with tears. This was the first time anyone had spoken to him kindly in more than a year. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Magdi’s men rise from their seats. They started towards him, their intent clear. Basha’s hand was curled against his side, undoubtedly holding the blade.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Ziad asked urgently, and a faint smile of satisfaction crossed Elroy’s face.
‘I was worried you’d lost all hope,’ Elroy said. ‘We need to leave this place.’
He took the Coca-Cola can from his tray and twisted the bottom to reveal a false compartment. Inside was a small metal canister that had a ring pull. Magdi’s men were only a few feet away, and Ziad’s skin crawled with anticipation of imminent violence.
‘This is the key,’ Elroy said, as he reached into his pocket and produced two surgical masks with air filters on either side of the nasal bridge. ‘Put this on,’ he instructed, thrusting one of the masks across the table.
Elroy pulled the other mask over his face.
‘Hey,’ a guard yelled, and the cry acted as a spur to action.
Magdi’s men ran forward, and a fight broke out on the other side of the cafeteria. Ziad couldn’t tell if it was genuine or staged to cover the murder attempt, but the two men slugging it out succeeded in capturing the guards’ attention, and soon other inmates were getting involved in the scuffle.
‘Put the mask on and pull the pin,’ Elroy said. ‘It’s that simple.’
Ziad looked at the objects on the table in front of him, but he was robbed of the opportunity to take action by firm hands pulling him from his seat. Riaz and Tawfik had hold of him, and Basha was squaring up to Elroy.
As the familiar slaps and punches began, Ziad felt a fury he hadn’t experienced since his first few days in Al Aqarab, an anger so visceral it almost frightened him. He did something he hadn’t done for more than a year; he struggled, and the men holding him were surprised by his uncharacteristic resistance. He managed to lunge for the table and grabbed the canister and mask. As his two captors yanked him back, Ziad saw Elroy break Basha’s arm at the elbow, and as the big man shrieked in pain, Elroy snatched the blade and plunged it his throat. In that moment, Ziad longed for Elroy’s strength and fearlessness. He brimmed with anger at the thought of what these men and this place had done to him. Fury consumed him, and for the first time in months he wasn’t afraid.
