The New Enemy

by Andy McNab

  A narrow track, carved out in the main by tyres, led off from the clearing, and around it sat a number of structures. Liam counted six, all built from staves cut from the surrounding trees, with corrugated iron roofs. It was into these that Liam and the rest of the section were shoved with little care and a not inconsiderable amount of glee, once their kit had been removed.

  Inside, the soldiers had their first chance to speak to one another. Not that there was much to say, or that could be said.

  In the corner of the shack, Liam found Waterman and Biggs, with Carter lying on the ground. The floor was dirt and there was no matting to rest on or keep away the cold that was seeping up from the earth to chill them all.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘God knows how he’s still alive,’ said Waterman. ‘Must be a stubborn bastard, that’s all I can say.’

  Liam knelt down beside them. Carter was barely breathing. His face was pale and clammy with sweat, and his eyes were sunk deep into his skull. Liam looked up at Biggs. ‘Is there nothing more we can do?’

  ‘Make sure he’s comfortable, and that’s about it,’ said Biggs. ‘Those bastards have our medical supplies now, so I can’t even clean the wound again.’ There was anger and compassion in Biggs’s voice. He wanted to do something, but was wholly helpless. They all were.

  Liam leaned against the side of the shack. Around him the rest of the lads did the same. Eight men, including Carter, utterly exhausted. Whatever hell they were now in, he knew beyond doubt that it was going to get a whole lot worse.

  Closing his eyes, he talked himself out of giving in to fear. It was a struggle. This was the most terrifying position he’d been in his entire life. If he thought about all the things that could possibly happen, he knew he’d go mad and be of no use to anyone.

  He had to hold it together: they all did . . .

  Liam was woken by a kick in his side, but was more shocked by the fact that exhaustion had taken over and made him fall asleep. As he struggled to rouse himself, he was dragged up and out of the shack. The same was happening to them all. Once outside, they were led off individually into the surrounding trees by Al Shabaab men.

  Only one thought was in Liam’s mind now: he was about to be executed. Why else would this be happening? What other reason could there be?

  He thought fast. He had to make a break for it. There was no other option. Perhaps, if he overpowered the two men with him, he would have a chance? He could take one, of that he was confident, but he would have to be quick to take them both, and luck would need to play its part. Then if he was successful, he would be armed. Heading back, he could take out the other terrorists, release his friends—

  ‘Stop!’

  The voice hooked Liam away from his thoughts. What had they stopped him for? Was this it? Was he about to get slotted? He had to act now. This was his last chance!

  The butt of an AK47 crashed into his back. As the pain burst through him, another strike buckled his legs. Before he could react and stop himself from tumbling, a boot was in his back, hoofing him forward.

  Liam fell, air rushing past as darkness swallowed him. He made a blind grab for anything, but there was nothing solid until he landed hard, face first, mouth filling with muck and grit. He forced himself up onto his knees, winded. Initially he thought the fall had blinded him. He could see nothing at all. Then his eyes focused and he realized he was at the bottom of a deep hole. He looked up, expecting to see his two guards readying their rifles for the coup de grâce. But instead they were laughing and waving.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ Liam shouted.

  ‘Have a nice stay!’ said one of the men, then they both waved as they dropped a makeshift wooden cage door over the top of the hole and walked off.

  Liam stood up to get some bearings on his new prison. Pain coursed through him; his joints were stiff and every bit of him was sore. The hole, he guessed, was at least three metres deep. He tried to jump and grab onto the cage door, but all his fingers did was glance off it before he fell back down. He checked the walls, looking for some way of climbing out, but the sides were slick with grime and utterly impossible to scale. He jumped again and touched the door blocking his exit, but it didn’t budge; it was clearly weighed down. The bottom of the hole was about one and a half metres square. Liam tried to lie diagonally across it, but his legs were still bent.

  Had they left him here to die? Why hadn’t they just shot him and got it over and done with?

  16

  ‘What the—’

  A stone hit his skull with a stinging thump. Liam immediately covered himself with his arms and crawled as tightly as he could into a corner of the hole. Were they going to stone him now? Then something fell into the hole. It was a rope ladder. Liam glanced up to see two terrorists looking down at him, their rifles silhouetted against the early morning sun. They weren’t coming down. They wanted him to climb up.

  Once out of the hole, Liam was dropped to the ground and his hands tied behind his back. He struggled but soon gave up. There was no point wasting energy. Then he was lifted up and marched forwards, before a kidney punch dropped him and he found himself sprawled in front of Abdul Azeez and his men.

  A hand slapped him across the left side of his head so hard that he was sure his eardrum had burst. Barely conscious, his whole body exhausted from the ordeal of the last twenty-four hours, Liam was hardly able to compute what the hell was going on. The hole didn’t make sense, and neither did being dragged out of it. For a moment he’d half believed it was a nightmare, that he was trapped in a dream. Even as the ropes had been tied round his wrists, his arms trapped behind him, he had shaken his head in an attempt to wake himself up. Then the blurry image of a man he knew appeared in front of him, the slap had come, and with stars shattering his vision, reality had crashed into Liam with the force of a shotgun fired at point blank.

  ‘I would like you to tell me who you are and why you are here.’

  Liam raised his head to find Azeez smiling back at him. He had the kind of face that in any other circumstances Liam would have trusted, but his hard eyes revealed just what he was capable of.

  ‘Scott, Liam, Lance—’ he began, remembering his interrogation training.

  Another slap came in hard from the other side and Liam, unable to stop himself toppling over, crashed onto his side, knocking his shoulder. Rough hands grabbed him, had him upright again.

  ‘That is for looking into my eyes,’ said Azeez. ‘I have killed people for showing such disrespect.’

  Liam lowered his gaze.

  ‘Now, again,’ said Azeez. ‘Who are you, why are you here?’

  Liam took a breath, gave his name, rank and number, but nothing else. He readied himself for another blow. That was one thing he did remember from the video about being captured. Your captors wanted to hurt you and that was what they were going to do. But it was your mind that you had to hold onto, that more than anything else.

  ‘None of you are carrying personal items,’ said Azeez. ‘You have no wallets, no photographs, no identification documents or tags. This tells me that you are Special Forces.’

  Liam said nothing. Being in Recce Platoon carried certain risks, and capture was – as he now knew for sure – one of them. For that reason, any soldier carrying out such a role had to leave their ID behind.

  ‘So, your silence speaks volumes,’ said Azeez with a fox’s smile. ‘You are SAS, I think. The best of the best. Who dares wins, yes?’ He laughed. It was a chilling sound, like a hyena drunk on blood. ‘It seems that you dared, but that you did not win, my friend.’

  I’m not your friend, thought Liam.

  ‘So, if you are SAS, then what was your mission?’

  Liam kept his eyes low and repeated his name – as much to hear his own voice as anything.

  ‘Shall I tell you?’ said Azeez, leaning in towards Liam. ‘Yes, I think I shall. It was to capture me, I think. That’s why you were sent in with the KDF. But as you’re now aware, we knew of that mis
sion long ago. And we were glorious in our victory! They were given into our hands like lambs for the sacrifice. It was a blessing.’

  A blessing? thought Liam. How could someone think that the killing of other human beings was a blessing? Behind him, he heard cheers from the Al Shabaab henchmen.

  ‘And now,’ continued Azeez, moving to address his men, ‘we have the additional prize of Her Majesty’s SAS!’

  More cheering, but Liam wasn’t listening. He found it almost amusing that Azeez assumed they were the SAS. It showed just how important he figured himself to be for the British to send the Special Forces in to snatch him.

  Azeez moved closer to Liam. It was a deliberately slow movement, a man of self-assured importance, royalty almost, making sure his every move was noticed by his followers.

  ‘You belong to me now,’ he said. ‘Not to your queen. Not to your government. No one will come for you. No one will find you. And soon, but not quite yet, you will die. It is, I am afraid, a certainty. There is nothing you or anyone else can do about it. Are you prepared for death?’

  Liam didn’t answer.

  ‘Your silence will also be broken, my friend,’ said Azeez. ‘As easily as a butterfly’s wing.’

  And with that, Liam was grabbed by his arms and dragged over to his hole, where his hands were cut free and he was kicked down into the darkness again.

  Back in the hole, Liam tried to gather his thoughts. He traced the direction he’d followed with the stars and figured they’d ended up some ten kilometres south-east of where they had surrendered. That was something, and offered a glimmer of hope – but only if he was able to escape. And that was looking impossible. But he was still alive, though living in a hole wasn’t going to help. It offered no protection, no warmth, no comfort. A grave, waiting for him to give up and die. He wasn’t about to do that, no matter how bad the odds were.

  No food was offered, only water, which was brown with muck and dirt. He knew it was probably riddled with germs and parasites, but he would worry about that if and when he got out of this hell. For now, he had to stay alive. So he drank it, though the stench of it – a foul mix of rotting vegetation and something else he didn’t even want to guess at – made him retch. The only way to get it down was to hold his breath until the liquid reached his stomach, and even then it took all his will power not to throw it back up.

  Later, the hunger gnawing at him grew so bad that he scrabbled around looking for anything in the hole that might pass as food. All he managed to find was worms wriggling their way out of the walls. He’d eaten them before, back in basic training, but only when thrown in with other food as extra protein. They hadn’t exactly been tasty then. He’d heard the best way was to dry them out and then crumble them into water. But that wasn’t an option here. So he dug into the muck and pulled one out. It was fat and wriggled in his hand, twisting itself into knots to try and escape. Liam shoved it into his mouth and chewed. The wriggling and writhing continued, and when the worm burst, the acrid taste of the jelly inside was too much and he spat it out. Water would have to do.

  A full day and night passed by before Liam was next dragged out to be questioned. This time Azeez observed from the sidelines, like a lion watching his pack play with fresh meat. Two of the terrorists took it in turns to slap Liam around, knock him to the ground, shout at him, spit at him, force the barrels of their rifles into his mouth. Azeez called out to them to hit him harder, laughing as Liam tried his best to protect himself from the beating.

  The next interrogation came up quicker, though Liam wondered if he had simply lost track of time. He gave no more information, even though the beating was worse than ever, his right eye swelling up from a punch that made him yell. Thrown back in the hole, bruises blazed all over him and every slight movement caused him pain. The damp of the hole was slowly rotting his skin. He could now peel it off his fingers like soft dough.

  He realized then that he hadn’t seen or heard anyone from the section. Not counting Carter, there were six other men out there who were probably going through the same ordeal as him. At least, he hoped they were – the only other option was that they’d been shot, but he refused to think about that. If he was being kept alive, for whatever purpose, then surely the others were too. He held onto the thought that Azeez valued them all as prisoners and so would keep them alive, though perhaps not necessarily in one piece.

  Knowing the only way to survive was to keep his mind intact, Liam focused on all the things that made him who he was now, the person he had become. Life before the army was so distant that the images he had of it were tattered and faded and seemed to belong to another person. The army had forced him to change, to become something so startlingly different to what he had ever believed possible that the more he thought about it, the more astonished he became by his own progress and development.

  He was no longer the kid who hated school, wasted his time free running around derelict warehouses with a few mates, and couldn’t wait to leave home. A kid who had watched his best mate fall to his death when one stunt had gone terribly wrong. It had been a turning point in his life, one that had put him on the road to joining the army. Now he had a proper life, friends, skills, and a duty not just to himself, but to those he served with.

  Liam remembered the first stages of his training back in Harrogate, the shock of the regime, the fitness, the relentless barrage of information. He forced himself to revive old things he had forgotten, sifting through his brain for any pieces of information that would help him survive what he was experiencing now. He ran through the escape and evasion training, playing it out like a movie in his mind. He rehearsed his star navigation, concealment skills, hand-to-hand combat. He wondered where it would lead him if – no, when – he got out. His brief time in the army had already given him so much adventure, so many experiences.

  He wasn’t ready to quit.

  It was dark again when, having been dragged from his hole for the nth time, everything changed for Liam. Exhausted and stiff, battered and bruised, bleeding and so hungry he wanted to scream, he was once more forced to the ground in front of Abdul Azeez. Liam knew he had nothing more to say. He’d stuck with his training, given only his name, rank and number even as the beatings had grown more severe. And with each one he had survived, it was a small victory. They had broken his body but not his will.

  ‘We meet again, Liam,’ said Azeez.

  Liam kept his eyes to the ground, readied himself for the inevitable kicks and punches that would leave him dazed and bleeding. What was another bruise?

  ‘We are like old friends now, I think,’ said Azeez.

  Liam kept his mouth shut.

  ‘Now,’ said Azeez, ‘I have decided two things.’ His voice was calm, almost kind in its delivery, as though he were talking to someone he truly cared for. ‘One: I need to know from you where the rest of your men are placed, the rest of the KDF. I know that they are not at the main base you soldiers use like some holiday camp in Kenya. No, they are closer, or else they would not have been able to attack as they did.’

  Liam would never give away that location. Not a chance. Nothing could make him betray the others.

  ‘The second thing I have decided is this . . .’ Azeez paused then, and Liam, his blood running cold, saw him close up as he leaned in to whisper in his ear, ‘I think we have been going about this all wrong, Liam. That is what I think. And I’ve come up with a new approach to see if I can make you talk. It’s a good idea, yes?’

  Christ, thought Liam, the fucker sounds almost pleased with himself. He wondered just what else they could do, what other possible tortures they had in mind.

  A dragging sound from his left caught Liam’s attention. Risking a look, he saw two of Azeez’s men hauling a soldier towards them. It was Carter. And he was still alive.

  ‘Your friend here,’ said Azeez, ‘is strong, it seems. I don’t know how he hasn’t yet died. But as you can see for yourself, he is conscious. Who knows – perhaps he could make it through anot
her few days, maybe longer?’

  Liam went cold. What did Azeez want with Carter? Why had they dragged him out here?

  Carter was dropped just about a metre from where Liam was kneeling in the mud. He looked terrible, but his eyes were open and he was staring up at Liam. His lips moved, muttered something, but Liam couldn’t hear it, couldn’t understand. In an attempt to comfort him, Liam forced a smile, but he knew it was a hollow gesture.

  ‘Now,’ said Azeez, ‘I am going to give you something, Liam. That’s the kind of person I am. Generous! Yes, I am going to give you the most precious thing in the world!’

  Whatever it was, Liam didn’t want it. He carried on staring at Carter, whose eyes were glassy and unfocused. Hang on, he thought, silently willing his mate to cling onto life, to not give in. Hang on . . .

  ‘A life!’ said Azeez. ‘That is my gift to you, Liam. The life of your friend here. It’s yours! What a great and wondrous gift, yes?’

  A sickness took root in Liam’s stomach. It grew and grew, twisting through his body, making him dizzy.

  ‘You see,’ said Azeez. ‘Now that you have your friend’s life, it is yours to do with as you will! You can throw it away, or you can save it! Such power does not come to all men, my friend. So, you are truly blessed at this moment.’

  The sickness turned into cold barbs of steel, piercing Liam with the agony of what was unfolding.

  ‘So, will you save it, Liam? That’s the question, is it not? Will you save your friend if I give you that chance? For I am willing to do that right now! All you have to do is tell me where the rest of your soldiers are. See? It’s simple! Just answer my question truthfully, and he lives. For how long I cannot say, but you will have given him that extra time, and in exchange for so small a thing.’

  Helpless, Liam watched as Azeez stood up and walked over to Carter, kneeling down beside him. With a tenderness that struck Liam as disturbing, he then reached out and ever so gently rested Carter’s head in his lap, stroking his pale, damp forehead.