Ben suggested they get some rest. They seemed safe where they were because they were well hidden but they should take it in turns to keep guard. He offered to take the first watch.
Amie studied the trees in the grove and, grabbing one of the blankets, she chose the largest and started to climb it.
“Watcha doing?”
“I’ve got quite good at sleeping in trees” Amie snapped back. She was seething. She didn’t like Shalima, she was not Amie’s kind of person, and now she was suggesting they go haring off to a war-torn Arab country to look for Jonathon. Even if they got that far, then what? Bust him and Charles out of jail with a screwdriver and hijack a passing cruise liner off the coast and sail happily into the sunset? The girl was mad with her stupid ideas. There was nothing they could do, and she’d have to accept it. The best plan was to make for Apatu, and if they got there in one piece, she’d … she’d … what would she do? Try to get back home to England? Did she have any other options? It was not what she wanted to do, but life didn’t always give you what you wanted. On that thought, she fell fast asleep.
The night passed without incident, no sign of people or wildlife, and Amie was beginning to wonder how few animals there were in this National Park that Togodo had planned, or were they back in Ruanga now? It was impossible to tell.
After they’d finished most of the food, they tried to pack the contents of the two small cases into one, but that didn’t work, so they kept both of them, along with the remainder of the food and water.
Watching the sunrise, Ben reckoned that if they struck out east, they should come to the road which linked Apatu with the Ruangan border. It wasn’t going to be practical to walk the whole way, so their best bet was to thumb a lift to the capital.
By the time they finally stumbled onto the tar road their stomachs were empty and their throats were parched. They’d slogged non-stop for most of the morning and were all suffering badly from the heat. They stopped on the hot tarmac and peered hopefully in both directions, but there was nothing in sight.
Shalima slumped to the ground and put her head in her hands. “How d’you put up wiv this bloody heat all the time?” she asked.
Ben raised his eyebrows. Amie didn’t bother to reply.
To the distressed travellers it seemed an age until the first shimmering in the distance indicated a car was approaching and heading north. By now, Amie would’ve accepted any lift, even if it was going south, back to Ruanga. She didn’t think she could last much longer.
As it got closer, they could make out it was an old pick-up truck with two goats in the back and two men in the front. Ben dashed into the road to flag them down.
The girls couldn’t understand what was being said, but there was a lot of haggling and negotiating, which wasn’t looking too hopeful until Ben pulled out a couple of American dollars courtesy of the late Edward Simmonds. All of a sudden, their attitudes changed and the three of them scrambled up to join the goats in the back.
The goats weren’t happy to be squashed in with the humans and were at great pains to show it. After only a couple of miles Amie reckoned they’d have been better off on foot, after receiving a couple of head butts in the ribs. Then one of the bad-tempered goats gave her a hefty kick in the stomach.
Much to their relief, the driver stopped at one of the rare roadside fuel stops that also had a small spaza or tuck shop, and they were able to buy more bottled water and packets of crisps and biscuits, once again courtesy of Edward’s stash.
Shalima eyed the sandwiches and hamburgers on sale, but Amie warned her it was much safer to buy pre-packed food. There was always the risk of cholera and they didn’t need any more problems. Shalima glared at her, and unseen by either Amie or Ben, purchased a sandwich and gobbled it down secretly in the shade behind the building.
“Where do we go when we get to Apatu, Ben?” Amie asked him under her breath when they were back on the road.
For a few moments he didn’t reply and she wondered if he’d heard her, the wind was whistling around them in the back of the truck.
“I still have friends in Apatu.”
“Yes, of course.” Amie hadn’t been thinking. Ben was going home, but that wasn’t true for her or Shalima. Was there a British representative in the city? And even if there was, she doubted Shalima would voluntarily walk inside the embassy, knowing they were planning to send her back to her parents. Amie could only guess what might happen to her. An arranged marriage, whisked back to her father’s country to be united with some old man she didn’t know. What future did Shalima have? Even though there was little love lost between them, Amie couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. But there was nothing Amie could do to change things for either of them.
Soon familiar suburbs came into view, sprawling shanty towns with informal houses made from any materials their owners could find. Some were built of old packing cases, while others had stone walls, the rough shapes stuck together with mud. Most had corrugated metal roofs, held in place by old truck tyres and Amie could see women sweeping the areas around them with the handmade brooms that were for sale on every street corner. She remembered the brushes seldom lasted longer than a month before falling apart.
While the women kept the areas close to the houses spotless, the same could not be said of the outer areas where rubbish was piled high. She watched in dismay as young children played among the detritus, throwing handfuls of discarded waste at each other.
Closer to town, small bungalows lined the road on either side, and as they drove into the centre of town Amie recognized the main streets, that were looking a lot more dilapidated since her last visit. The presidential palace was about the only monument that looked smart and bullet holes were still visible in the walls of the Grand Hotel.
The building that had once housed the British Embassy was still in ruins, except it looked as if several squatters had moved in and lit fires on the balconies. The once-pretty gardens were now wildly overgrown.
Suddenly the truck veered to the left and pulled up sharply at the edge of the meat market.
“I’ve always loved animals, and I thought goats were cute and cuddly, but I’m never travelling with one again,” Amie hissed at the nearest goat. It gave her a filthy look back, bleated at her, and jumped around even more, hooves digging painfully into her legs as it fought against being offloaded by the driver.
Stiffly, the three passengers struggled to climb over the tailgate, which didn’t appear to drop down and, nodding to the driver, they walked away.
“Ben, I can’t see another white face around here,” Amie said. “In fact, I’ve not seen one white face since we drove into town. And the driver and his friend were giving us some very suspicious looks.”
“Yes. We must cover you both,” Ben answered. “Stay here behind this wall and I’ll see what I can do.”
Amie and Shalima hunkered down and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. A few pedestrians gave them curious stares but no one bothered them as they hunched forwards pretending to be invisible.
It seemed an age until Ben returned, carrying two of the dreaded burqas. They groaned.
“I know,” said Ben, “it must be hot wearing these, but it is the best way to hide you.” He’d also thought to purchase a tin of brown shoe polish to rub over the backs of their hands and round their eyes. These burqas covered their faces and only left a small slit for their eyes, and even that space was covered with a dark, see-through veil of material.
“They should teach their bloody sons to keep their trousers zipped up,” hissed Amie and giggled at the thought. When she was ready, she was sure no one would give her a second glance or believe she came from Caucasian stock.
“We need to find somewhere with a power source where we won’t be disturbed,” Amie said. “I think we need to find out more about the stuff on this laptop.” Despite the long trip into town they had protected the laptop from harm. “And we must have a serious talk about what we’re going to do.”
Ben n
odded. “A hotel room would be the best. Maybe the Grand is the only place with good wifi.”
Amie groaned. Her memories of staying in the Grand Hotel when she had first arrived in Togodo, were not among her best, but she could understand Ben’s suggestion.
“Yeah,” agreed Shalima. “Let’s go live it up on British government money and try out a bit of luxury for a change. We deserve it.”
Amie sighed, not that Shalima would be aware of it from under the black clothing. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could put up with the girl, she was just too much.
It wasn’t very far to walk to the Grand Hotel, and the women hung back while Ben approached the reception desk and booked a room.
“How many rooms?” asked Amie as they all crowded into the one and only tiny lift, along with the blankets and the two small cases.
“One. For me and my harem,” replied Ben with a rare burst of humour. “They expect me to share.”
Amie could see the sense in that, but she wondered what was going to happen at bedtime. When they walked into the room, she was relieved to see one large double bed and a single. At least that solves one problem she thought.
Ben had also ordered food and drink to be sent to the room, but the first thing Shalima did was to raid the bar fridge and pour herself a stiff drink.
“You’ll need to keep sober if we’re going to work Shalima,” Amie told her sharply. “This isn’t a holiday. We’re in a mess and I haven’t the faintest idea how we’re going to get out of it.”
Shalima flung herself on the bed and pulled a face. She ripped off the burqa. “Stop going on. It’s all one big adventure. Chill out, will you?”
It took several attempts to get the laptop connected to the Internet. It was very reluctant to accept the password handed over by the hotel, but finally they were online and almost immediately more emails dropped into Edward’s inbox.
“Let’s start with these,” Amie said.
Once again, Shalima insisted Amie worked on the laptop while she sat ready with a pen and paper.
“Go back a few days, from when we arrived in Atari at the Mathesons,” suggested Ben, “it will give us the story from the beginning.”
“Good idea,” agreed Amie. “How many days ago was it, and what’s today’s date?”
“Why don’t you look on the laptop stupid, it’s at the bottom ain’t it?”
Amie sighed, why did the wretched girl always make her feel like an idiot? She scrolled down the list of emails, at least the dates weren’t in code, and they began the laborious task of translating the messages. The teenager flipped backwards and forwards between the pages of the book, and laboriously wrote down the words in order.
The food and drinks arrived, and they continued to log down the transcription of each coded email word by word. By the time the sun set, they’d got the whole picture.
17 STIR CRAZY
Amie looked exhausted as she called out the last group of numbers from the screen and Shalima checked out the word.
“So, what’ve we got?”
Shalima squinted at the paper and replied. “Right. Edward was to hire a plane, check out the camp with the three of us and map the co-ordinates. Then fly on to Apatu and put me and yerself on a plane for London. Huh, fat chance,” Shalima guffawed. “Then he was to return to Atari and complete the interrogation of Hussein, by whatever means possible. Torture I guess. He deserved it.”
“I can’t help feeling sorry for him,” said Amie. “He was looking to us to protect him, as if he hadn’t suffered enough already.”
“No Amie,” Ben warned. “We got to like him, but he is a fanatic and he helped to burn villages and steal women and children.”
Amie nodded. She understood what Ben was saying, but when you grew fond of someone, it was hard not to worry about him falling into the wrong hands. They had no idea why Hussein was there, what his story was, how he’d come to be recruited and taken to Africa. He didn’t behave like a fanatic who wanted to hurt others. He’d seemed a gentle sort of person. But there was nothing they could do to help him now.
“Do they mention Mrs Motswezi and Angelina?” Amie wanted to know.
“Only once and that was an order for them to be returned to Togodo, so they’ll probably end up here like us,” Shalima read from the transcript.
“Let’s look at the paper files,” said Ben, taking them out of the computer case. “They might tell us more.”
“Give me a break,” Shalima insisted, “I’m having a shower first and more food before we start again.”
It was a sensible suggestion. They’d had a tough few days, a plane crash, an uncomfortable ride into town, bruising from the head butts from the goats and they’d been staring at the laptop screen non-stop since they’d arrived at the hotel.
Although they were anxious to find out what was in the files, they were too tired to do anything after they’d had a late supper and they crashed into bed. Whatever they might learn, could wait until tomorrow.
Ben was the first to wake the following day, and by the time Amie had opened her eyes he was already sitting at the table surrounded by papers.
“How did you sleep?” she asked rubbing her eyes.
“I thought I would sleep very well,” Ben replied. “But I woke up many times. The bed was too soft.”
“I went out like a light,” Amie smiled, “though I think I kicked Shalima a few times. She was determined to take over the whole bed.”
“No I weren’t!” Shalima stretched and sat up.
“What have you got there?”
“The paper files that were tucked in the back pocket of the laptop case,” replied Ben.
“Found out anything new?”
“There’s information about their first ‘talks’, as they call them, with Hussein.”
“So, the same code works?” Amie was surprised.
“No, these reports are written by hand,” Ben continued. “It says they were hoping to take the two captives, Jonathon and Charles, to Libya, which was also in that email yesterday, and either use them to exhort money or …” Ben hesitated; Amie was not going to like this.
“Or what?”
“… or publicly execute them as a warning and a reprisal,” he paused. “Is that the right word?”
Amie shoulders slumped. “Yes, it probably is reprisal. It means to get your own back.” She rubbed the back of her neck. She’d been trying so hard not to worry about Jonathon.
Ben read on. “… in reprisal for past aggressions and a warning to the western powers not to interfere with IS activities.”
“Fat chance, Britain and America will stand by and do nuffin’!” Shalima exploded. “Wha’d they think? That everyone will ignore them lopping off heads and sit and just watch them kids being kidnapped and used to keep those dirty old men happy?”
Amie was tempted to remind the feisty teenager that until very recently she’d been one of them - party to the executions and the kidnapping. She was still wasn’t sure Shalima had had a complete change of heart. Could they trust her, even now? She imagined Shalima hadn’t measured up in some way. Instead of being a glorious freedom fighter, lobbing grenades and shooting at infidels in Syria, she’d ended up as a prostitute in a desert camp way out in the wilds of Africa. They’d yet to hear the full story from Shalima.
“So, they’re going to take Jonathon and Charles to Libya? Are you sure Hussein told them that?”
Ben looked down at the notes and nodded. “Yes, to a town called Benghazi. IS have a camp there.”
“So, we go rescue them,” stated Shalima as she made for the bathroom.
“Don’t be so ridiculous,” snapped Amie. “How are we supposed to do that? Walk in and ask them to release those nice white men? I told you yesterday what a stupid idea that was,” her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Just sayin’,” Shalima spat back over her shoulder. “If it was my bloke, I’d go get him. But if yer a wimp, then okay.” She slammed the bathroom door behind her.
> Amie seethed. How dare she! How dare that brat tell her she didn’t care for her husband! How dare she infer she was spineless!
Ben wisely went back to checking out the paper files. “They have a file for you and one for Shalima,” he said.
Amie wrapped the blanket round her shoulders and scooted off the bed. “What does it say?” She looked over his shoulder at the notes.
“Not much. She does come from Birmingham and she does have a Pakistani father, an English mother and a few brothers and sisters. It says she was always in trouble at school and was excluded more than once.” Ben raised his eyebrows.
“That means she wasn’t allowed to go to school for a while because of her bad behaviour,” said Amie, to his unspoken question. She knew it rarely happened in African schools, where education was highly valued and the children saw it as a way out of poverty and a path to a better future. They would walk miles, barefoot if necessary, to attend school, and those who might have been disruptive simply didn’t go and no one would chase them up. Many children wouldn’t even be allowed to attend school as they were often needed to look after younger siblings, or care for the animals and work on the land. She thought Ben looked a little shocked at Shalima’s behaviour, but he would be too polite to mention it.
Amie flipped through Shalima’s file and at the back there was a photocopy of a newspaper piece showing her parents making a plea on television for their daughter’s safe return. She was so engrossed she didn’t hear Shalima come out of the bathroom, walk over the carpet, and peer over her shoulder.
“They would’ve made a fuss,” she said reading the headlines. “Can see it now, famous at last! Huh! See, I can be a national celebrity too, as well as yer been,” and she dug Amie in the ribs.
“Shalima, it says your mother cries herself to sleep every night,” Amie pointed to the lines of newsprint.
“I ain’t fallin’ for that. You don’t know what it’s like, so don’t you tell me how to feel,” Shalima was on the defensive. She picked up another file. “Is this the one about you? Does it say yer a little heroine ‘cos you were brave and clever and managed to survive and had a programme on the effing telly about you? The great celebrity?” She flounced off and was about to leave the room, when Ben stopped her.
Amie in Africa Box Set 1 Page 58
