by Attila Orosz
He felt strong enough now to run for his life. He had seen the opportunity, and he had turned back to see if the soldier was suspecting anything. Then he had seen the soldier raise his gun high, and point it at the other man’s head. That must have been his plan then, to kill them quickly and silently, while they were not looking. But no, not him, not Jumaane, he would not be giving it easy. He ran for it, disappearing in the shadows, out of the circle of light as fast as his diminishing strength would allow him.
He reached some trees and there he slowed down a bit. I made it, he thought. But then he caught some movement between the trees. Soon four figures emerged, slow and timid shapes in the darkness. He saw two ladies, and two children.
“Oh no, not here,” he said half aloud.
“Who are you?” he heard a lady’s voice say in his own language. “Can you help us?”
***
Alex was stumbling in the darkness, which felt somehow thinner than before. He could see shapes a little more clearly now, and he found his way about even without the help of the torch. Peter was trying to light his path, but as he passed through some bushes the torch was of no more help. He had wanted to take the gun, or at least the light, but he did not think Peter would give it up. Anyway, it was better that Peter stayed as a signpost. Once he had found the African, he needed to find his way back. Where is that black, anyway? The fucker was there one moment and gone the next. He could not have gone far, yet Alex saw no trace of him. Probably he was hiding in the bushes somewhere. Why would he want to get away from those who tried to help him? His stupidity was getting on Alex’s nerves.
He heard a rustling from behind the tree-like shapes in front. He picked up his pace, careful not to make too much noise. He reached the trees; between them it was even darker. He saw nothing, but heard some hushed voices, some of them sounding like those of a woman. He closed his eyes and kept them tightly shut while he counted to fifteen. When he opened them again he was more accustomed to the deeper darkness and he could make out shapes once again. Then he followed the direction from where the voices were still coming.
“Hapana, lazima si tutumie mbali,” said a female voice. It sounded like she was crying.
“Huwezi kuwa hivyo ubinafsi!”
The voice that answered was like that of the African. Alex had not heard much of it, but it had a distinct sound, being deep and somewhat hoarse. There was no mistake, it was him.
“Kwenda mbali sasa! Kuchukua watoto kwa usalama!” The man was almost shouting now.
Alex heard him beat the trunk of a tree. He caught a glimpse of four figures, two women and two small children running away. His anger rose instantaneously. The fuck! What is he doing there, chasing the others away? The man was good for nothing and had proven to be a real bastard too, denying the others help even though they needed it just as much! Besides, taking in four more transits would have earned Alex enough to knock himself out for a month! No risky assignments, just take it easy. That would have been like a holiday. Not going to happen now. He reached the African, took him by the shoulder, and shook the unresisting man.
“What the fuck did think you were doing there?” he yelled where he saw the contour of the head. “Why did you send the others away? We must get them back now!”
He started after the group where he had seen, or thought to have seen, them disappear, but he felt a hand grabbing his arm. It was bony and weak, but it held him back.
“Waache kwenda!” he heard the African say. “Tafadhali waache kwenda!”
Alex was shocked. None of the arrivals had ever dared touch him before. He felt a sudden itch where the man grabbed him, and a slight disgust at the thought of having been touched. He wanted to start after the group again but changed his mind. Those others must have been gone by now. The risk was too great to pursue them; it was much safer to bring just one transit in. He cursed to himself, grabbed the African and, pulling him by the upper arm, he dragged him back to where they had come from. The man followed silently.
***
Jumaane let the white man drag him along. He did not understand his motives. He was a captive too, the soldier was about to shoot him too, he had seen it with his own eyes, yet the man was taking Jumaane back to captivity. Perhaps he was mad. He had seen men going mad with fear, or as a result of severe torture. Jumaane had seen many things, but he knew that all that would not help him now.
In a short time, he found himself back where he had escaped from. The soldier was there, waiting. He said something to the other, who replied in the same tongue he could not understand, then they began to walk again. The soldier kept a keen eye on him all the time now, the muzzle of his weapon constantly prodding his back.
They walked a long way. It was cold, but the horizon was getting lighter. Soon it will be daylight, he thought. The last time he would get to see the sun. He missed the sun. In Africa, there was a lot of sun. He liked its warmth, he knew it gave life. Now he would get to see it for one last time. He was grateful to God for this last chance of seeing another day, and now he only wished he could die in peace.
They reached a concealed trapdoor. It looked just like the one they had passed through a little while ago. The soldier was saying things he could not understand and glanced around himself, looking nervous. Then the other white man climbed down the ladder and beckoned to him. Jumaane followed. It was the tunnels, the same badly lit concrete corridors, where they had been before. So this is it, a tomb. He did not understand why all the fuss was necessary. Why would the soldier drag them from one place of execution to another? Why would he not just shoot them? The soldier behaved like a madman. Madmen were unaccountable, and this one had two captives now. He could kill them any time.
The realisation came to him as suddenly as the sun appeared over the horizon, its light bringing a new dawn to the land, a faint ray of which still reached Jumaane’s face before the soldier closed the trapdoor after himself: The soldier was a slaver too! He was not to be killed, he was to be sold! White men are slavers back in Africa, they must be slavers here too! Jumaane felt his anger rise. No, they will not make me a slave! I die as a man! I will be nobody’s slave!
Chapter Eleven
The Colonel stretched his legs under his heavy wooden desk. He was lost in thought, his mind hundreds of miles away, and the forceful knocking on his office door startled him. He pulled himself up and cleared his throat to answer it, but then the door flew open. The Captain rushed in, not waiting for his call. The Colonel collected himself, got up and organised his uniform. He knew that he was not in the state he was expected to be found on duty. He watched the Captain’s face for any sign of recognition, but he could not detect anything. He wondered if his own emotional state could be read. He liked to think he could keep up appearances in the harshest of situations, but emotional turmoil was not something he was usually prepared for.
The Captain stood there, cold and unmoved, saying nothing. The Colonel reminded himself what was expected of him and reproached the Captain in a firm voice, “This is quite unacceptable! To storm into your superior’s office like that.”
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” said the Captain, but there was no trace of regret in his voice.
“You’d better have a very good reason!”
“I do, Sir. I bring important intel. The trio has moved down the tunnels. This is rather unusual, the trafficker was at first leading them off the course we would have expected him to take, only to return now.”
“Did you get any contact?”
“No, Sir, and nothing is known of his intentions.”
“Isn’t he one of those who operate underground?”
“Yes, Sir, but in the present situation, he most likely took a chance on the surface, rather than giving away vital underground HUM routes so easily. This is, of course, an unprecedented situation, so we cannot be sure how he would react, but it stands to logic that he would try and cover his tracks. Also, they already made a detour, then suddenly turned back towards the tunnels. His movements a
re becoming more unpredictable with every minute.”
“He has a patrolman with him. That would probably account for this sudden change,” chanced the Colonel.
“Former patrolman, Sir. He is a deserter!”
“Still, in his eyes it might just be another guard and, as such, he might not want to lead him to his resistance HQ,” said the Colonel. “This is perfectly logical, however, it is against our own interests. Make sure there is no sign of the surveillance and no engagement from any unit.
“Let the regular units know about it as well, it is a general order to stand down. Tell them we want the trio to lead us to their command. Tell them how important it is to get that intel. Tell them whatever you need, so that they will not question this decision. I want them alive, and I don’t care what you need to use to deliver them to me!”
“But, Colonel—”
“Now!” yelled the Colonel.
“Yes, Sir!”
The Captain snapped to attention and left the office with long and powerful strides.
***
He stormed out of the Colonel’s office furious and cursing under his breath. To hell with the old bastard! The Colonel reminded him of his late father, who he hated from the depths of his guts, but whom he could never oppose. His mother had married the man for a better prospect. She had thought she would be able to leave the borderlands at the side of an inlands officer, but that was not to be. His father had died, leaving her a military widow and him a young cadet, without a choice or the slightest chance to do anything else but pursue a military career. And if it was to be so, he would make the best out of it. His sudden rise through the ranks was in great part warranted by this determination.
He had always thought he would show him. His father was a Lt. Colonel when he died. He had decided, long before his father’s death, that he would rise above him in rank. It would have been the ultimate humiliation to a man for whom rank, control, and order were everything, even inside the family home. His mother was hurt so much, both physically and emotionally. His father always looked down on her, generally regarded her just another border-dweller. Despite her refined manners that pre-dated the separation of the inlands from the border territories, he had never considered her to be an equal. Her only retribution was to force him to speak French at home. She never learned English or, if she did, she pretended not to understand a word of it when his father spoke.
The Captain himself was practically non-existent in the family house as a child. His father would not have considered him a man of equal rights, being a ‘half-born’. To his father family only meant more subordinates, more people to command and order about. So he had decided at a very young age that he would rise above the man in rank one day, and show him. He would make the old man his inferior and humiliate him in front of everyone.
His admittance into the officers’ academy was mostly due to his father’s influence, and he drew great satisfaction from the fact that the only thing the man had ever done for him would furnish him with the weapon he could use to avenge himself and his mother. But before he could graduate, the old man died. Cardiac arrest, they said. Just like that. Dropped off one day, leaving him without a goal, without a target for his vengeance. Still, he had kept himself to the original plan. He had never given up his dream of becoming more than his father had been and had worked very hard to achieve this goal ever since.
His promotion to the rank of Major was so close now, he could smell it. And for this he had to put up with his father’s ways once again, only this time it was manifested in the Colonel. But he would do it. He would stand by it, because he could use him, he could use the old bastard to achieve his goals. The Colonel would help him, and he only needed to endure a little longer.
Now that their private operation was to be disbanded, he no longer needed the old fuck. This was the last time, this was the last delivery, he said so himself. This also meant that this was the last stupid, arrogant order he had to accept and follow without questioning. He would get there. And soon. He’d do it for Mother. Yes, Mother would appreciate that. She would see how much he loved her, she would see it then.
As he entered his command post, he pressed his lips tightly together to be able to better control his features. He knew his feelings were not showing. He had practised the expressionless eyes and unmoveable, stone-set face, in front of a mirror for a long time, and had always been able to use this ability to his advantage.
He got on the radio and ordered his special units to go clear—meaning to turn encryption off—as he would deliver a broadcast message. He changed back to broadband communication, signalled all units, and told them there was a change of plans. The new order was to keep a net of surveillance active, with zero engagement, but with immediate detailed reports about the fugitives’ movements filed directly to him in writing.
He then advised the commander of each unit separately to also report the movements of any other patrol units with which they came into direct contact, also in writing. This made everything official but also kept the unit leaders engaged and so overwhelmed with paperwork, they would still be busy well after all the traces were cleared up. The sheer amount of data the unit commanders would now file would make any investigation quite difficult, yet to clear up the traces could be as simple as the press of a button.
Any important information would be lost among meaningless reports, so it was safe to proceed in any event, unless of course someone tipped off the investigators. And that was not a possibility. Apart from himself, only the Colonel was aware of the extent of his own involvement and the old bastard would not turn on him, that much he knew.
This was definitely the best course of action. This could ensure that the trio survived, and that he would be informed of every move they made through a human surveillance network oblivious of its own existence, and without a clear clue of who or what exactly was being watched by whom. He felt the warmth of gratification fill him up. This was a master plan. Grand and large-scale. And he would see it through. He was a genius, and he knew it.
Chapter Twelve
Alex led the way inside the tunnels. He was aware of the regular movement patterns of the patrols and, even though he expected some more activity now, he was quite pleased to find that everything was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They must be looking for them up on the surface. They must have noticed the landmine go off. That would keep them on the wrong scent for a while.
He thought hard about the African’s behaviour. The man had just abandoned his fellow refugees. There seemed to be more of them alive in the Zones and he had just seen the man chase some of them away! Why would he be so cruel? What sort of a man would deny the safety he was being offered by others, from those who needed it just as much?
“What’s the time?” he asked Peter as they stopped at a corner, indicating for them to keep behind and in the shadows of the unlit corridor.
“It’s nearly 4.30, why?”
“AM, right?” he knew it was a stupid question as soon as he asked it, so he went on instead of waiting for an answer, “It is nearly time for the morning patrol then. We will wait here.”
“You really know your way around, eh?” said Peter.
His tone had changed somehow. Alex noticed this, but made no remark. It was more important to focus on getting through the corridors.
“Here they come! Keep quiet!”
A fire team of two turned the opposite corner and passed them, blinded by a bright neon light. Alex was holding his breath. He dared not even turn his head, only following the soldiers with his eyes.
When they disappeared out of sight, turning another corner some thirty paces down, he breathed out very slowly and felt the adrenalin rush through his system, making his body tremble. He looked at Peter, who seemed not to be affected in any way. Alex wondered how he did it.
“Let’s go,” he said in a hushed voice.
He was about to start, but Peter grabbed his arm.
“No. We stay. You’ll tell
me where you are taking us.”
“Not here. It’s not safe at all.”
“So find safety!”
“I’m about to. Just let go of my arm!”
Peter did.
“Come this way,” said Alex. “There’s not supposed to be another patrol for at least twenty minutes now. That’s when the night shift arrives, coming the way back.”
He led them up the corridor and into a small recess. There was a locked door. Alex produced a master key and opened it. The door turned on well-oiled hinges.
***
“I’ll be damned,” said Peter, looking around the storeroom.
Alex smiled but said nothing. He knew it must have been an impressive sight. It was a room full of supplies, like clothing and electronic equipment, right in the middle of the patrol routes.
“What did you think this door was? I mean when you passed it before?” he asked the guard, who was still looking around with his jaw dropped.
“We were told this was out of use. Nobody ever questioned why. It didn’t look important, it was just another locked door. But I’d never— all this in front of our eyes?”
Alex laughed.
“The tunnels are full of these,” he said. “In some places our paths cross each other’s. We always see you, you never see us. We know when patrols are coming, how they are moving, where to avoid them.”
“But how?”
“Guess it’s just proper surveillance and collecting information, making observations and keeping quiet. We are well organised. You would not believe.”
“Not before I saw this.” Peter sounded like someone who refused to believe what was in plain sight.
“Look,” said Alex, when they finally settled down. “We are safe here for now. Nobody will find us. But we will need to move on.”
“That’s right.”
