Darkness

by David Fletcher

  It was when he got to this “so far” aspect of his thinking that Dan decided his time would be better used by abandoning his puzzle over the past and instead turning his attention to the present and, more importantly, to the immediate future. What was going to happen to him now? What should he prepare himself for?

  To answer those questions, Dan thought it might be useful if he got off this bed and undertook a little investigation of his immediate surroundings. It was only then that he realised he was naked and that to his left, suspended from a coat hook on the wall, was a saline drip that was plugged into a vein in his arm. Whoever had found him and brought him to this room had attended to his needs and presumably wanted to keep him alive. Not only had they made him comfortable by putting him on this bed after removing his dirty clothes, but there had also been a recognition of his need for rehydration – in the form of the drip. This was encouraging. It also made Dan decide to stay where he was. When somebody appeared – as was bound to happen – it wouldn’t be to do him any immediate harm but instead to see to his further needs. In all probability, it would also involve the provision of some food. Even though he still wasn’t in the least bit hungry…

  So for more than half an hour he just remained on the bed – and he conducted a little assessment.

  To start with, he counted the number of abrasions, cuts and bites on his naked body. There were more than he could count even on the bits of his body he could see. From what he could feel, there were quite a few more on his back and his backside. He really hadn’t been taking care of himself over the past few days. However, it wasn’t the damage to his skin that was the source of most of his pain. That was inside his body – and it was now everywhere inside his body, all the way down from his head to his two aching feet. He was a carpet of pain. And that was to ignore the shivers and the sweats.

  It was time to abandon the review of his body and take in a little more of his situation. What more could he deduce from his present confinement, other than that it was some sort of lodge cabin?

  Well, his first deduction was no more than a confirmation that this place had definitely served as some sort of accommodation for a lodge. It was too simple to be a stand-alone home of any sort, and that meant there were probably similar cabins that were not visible from his bed. Whether they were as moribund as his own cabin, he could not tell. But in all probability he was currently housed in part of an abandoned jungle lodge, which, if it was the right abandoned jungle lodge, was precisely where he wanted to be. He had made it.

  With this fact established more or less beyond doubt, he then started to examine the detail of his accommodation, and in particular that large grille that made up the front elevation of the cabin. How did it open, he wondered, and was it now locked? Had his hosts simply provided him with some security against the potential dangers of the forest or was he now confined in his own personal jail? He strained to see how the grille was constructed and how it might move – and whether there was a padlock in place anywhere along its length – but he could tell nothing from his position on the bed. It was time to change his mind and leave the bed. In fact, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t done this before. After all, there was nothing to stop him – all he needed to do was disconnect himself from the drip. And it was just as he was finally setting about the catheter in his arm that he became aware of somebody approaching the cabin. There were light footfalls to the cabin’s left.

  Dan immediately cancelled his plans concerning the catheter and instead concentrated on the cabin’s front. Just who might appear there?

  He had to wait only a matter of seconds to find out. It was a man wearing jeans and a red tee-shirt and holding in his hands a small tray, on which there was a bowl and a bottle. The man leant down and placed the tray on the concrete terrace beyond the grille and then, as he was straightening up, he pulled a keyring from his pocket. From this he chose the requisite key and used it to unlock a large padlock towards one end of the grille that until now had been obscured from Dan’s view. Then he pushed part of the grille to one side – along a track at its base, and just enough to let himself in – and when he’d picked up the tray, he walked into Dan’s cabin. He had yet to look at his patient on the bed. When he did, he proffered a greeting – of sorts – in English.

  ‘Ah. You have not died,’ he said. And then he followed up his greeting with a question. ‘What is your name?’

  His English was clear but it was delivered with a foreign accent. Dan thought he was definitely Middle Eastern and, with his olive-skinned complexion and his heavy-browed features, he could be nothing else. Then Dan thought he should answer his visitor’s question.

  ‘I’m Dan. What’s yours?’

  The man hesitated. He was clearly unsure whether divulging his name – or any name – was a very good idea. Finally he spoke.

  ‘I’m Jack.’

  Like hell you are, thought Dan. But there again, he thought, if this guy wanted to be called Jack, that was quite OK by him. After all, this was the guy who had probably saved his life. In fact, he decided, it might be politic to acknowledge this. There was never any harm in offering thanks. So while “Jack” was still evaluating whether he should have provided any sort of name at all, Dan formulated a suitable “thank you” and lost no time in delivering it.

  ‘You saved my life. You must have. And for that I can’t thank you enough. And now you seem to be looking after me, for which, again, I am very, very grateful. I only hope I might be able to repay you in some way…’

  Jack looked uncomfortable and said nothing in reply. Instead, he placed the tray on a shelf next to Dan’s bed and furnished him with some practical information.

  ‘There’s some soup in the bowl and there’s water there as well. And I think you can take the drip out when you want to. Just pull out the… erhh… the needle thing.’

  Then he pointed towards the wash basin.

  ‘Over there you’ll find a… umh, a robe. You can use that until you get your clothes back.’

  Dan nodded in thanks.

  ‘I suppose my clothes were in a bit of a mess.’

  ‘They were filthy. And they were soaked in sweat. I didn’t like taking them off.’

  Dan felt a surge of pleasure. That reference to sweat was just what he wanted to hear. However, he showed no sign of this pleasure. On the contrary, he adopted a contrite expression and offered up an apology.

  ‘I’m sorry. It must have been horrible for you.’

  Again, Jack looked uncomfortable and gave no response to Dan’s expression of regret. So Dan asked him a question.

  ‘Are you here on your own?’

  At this, Jack’s expression changed. It went from uncomfortable to hostile in a second. Then he spoke.

  ‘You will stay here and I will come back with your clothes. Soon.’

  ‘What’s the time, Jack?’

  Jack’s expression of hostility became one of surprise and then of irritation.

  ‘It’s just that you seem to have taken my watch and I’ve no idea what the time is. It feels like the afternoon.’

  Jack bristled, but then he consulted his own watch.

  ‘It’s two hours past noon,’ he reported. ‘And now I go.’

  Dan was just about to ask him again whether he was on his own here but thought that might not be wise. Instead he chose to confirm something else he already knew. Even if it provoked another hostile response.

  ‘Are you going to lock me in, Jack?’

  This time, Jack smiled.

  ‘You have a fever. You might become delirious again. It’s for your own safety.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ acknowledged Dan. ‘I just thought I’d ask.’

  ‘Of course,’ responded Jack. ‘I would… I would have done the same.’

  He then exchanged a clearly counterfeit smile with his prisoner and provided him with a sort of farewell.

/>   ‘Have a rest. I will come back.’

  Then he turned and walked towards the grille, and when he’d closed it behind him he padlocked it quickly before scuttling away. Dan was left to his thoughts and to a contemplation of the little he had learnt and what it might mean. He was also left to consume that bowl of soup. It proved to be tomato soup, a concoction he detested even when he was well. With a painful sore throat it was a great deal worse.

  However, he did drink it. He knew he needed to. He had some work to do and he could not afford to collapse again. And certainly not before he had met Jack’s unacknowledged companions.

  thirty-three

  They arrived just twenty minutes after Jack had left. Dan was not surprised. After all, Jack had not asked Dan what he was doing here, and Jack’s companions would, he was sure, be more than eager to find out.

  There were two of them. One was very like Jack himself in his appearance. He was about the same age – probably somewhere in his thirties – and he had the same slim build and the same swarthy Middle Eastern features. He was carrying a plastic bag and what looked to be Dan’s shirt and trousers. The other guy was a little older, a little less slim and he had the face of a brute. That was what registered in Dan’s mind first, even before it registered that it was the face of another son of the Middle East. It had to be the man he’d come for. There was no doubt about it.

  Dan, who had been sitting on his bed, stood to receive his new visitors. His heart had started to race and he was finding it difficult to retain his composure. He hoped that this wasn’t too apparent and that all the two of them could see was a dishevelled old man in a threadbare robe with a convincing-enough smile on his face. He also hoped that they would both be amenable to a traditional English greeting.

  They had now entered the room. The brute had unlocked the grille and pushed it aside and was now walking towards Dan with his literal bag carrier just behind him.

  Dan stepped towards them and before either of them had spoken, he invited a handshake from his principal target by holding out his right hand and announcing with an almost theatrical level of exuberance, ‘I’m Dan, and I’m delighted to meet you.’

  It worked. The brute looked shocked but responded with a reflex reaction by offering his own hand. Dan shook it firmly and added a meaningless ‘Splendid!’ to the greeting. He then disengaged and assaulted the bag carrier in the same ridiculously affable way. This chap seemed almost flattered to be getting the same treatment and switched the clothes he was carrying in his right hand to his left in order to make it available for another firm shake. It was just as Dan was disengaging from this one that the brute then spoke.

  ‘Your hand is sticky. What…’

  Dan let out a dramatic gasp.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry…’

  The brute looked outraged and confused at the same time. The bag carrier just looked puzzled – as he inspected his own right hand.

  ‘It’s probably blood…’

  ‘Blood!’ roared the brute.

  ‘Yes. I took the drip out…’

  Here Dan pointed towards the saline drip still hanging from the coat hook.

  ‘…and, well, it bled. My arm, that is. And then I got blood on my hands and I haven’t been able to wash it off. The water isn’t working…’

  ‘Disgusting,’ snorted the brute. And then he turned to his minion. ‘Fadi! I—’

  Fadi initiated his defence.

  ‘There’s a break. Shafeek’s on it now. It’ll be fixed soon. Really soon. No problem.’

  Dan thought he’d probably just heard Jack’s real name. So before the brute’s interrogation got underway, he thought he’d just check this – as part of a little exercise in sycophantic regret.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m really sorry about the blood. And if I’d thought about it, I would have checked with Shafeek when he came. You know, that the taps were working and that I could clean myself up. It’s just that…’

  ‘Forget it,’ interrupted the brute. ‘We’ll get it sorted. Soon.’

  ‘Well, that’s really kind of you… erhh, I’m afraid I don’t know your name…’

  The brute managed to blend a scowl with a grin.

  ‘My name is Ghassan,’ he said. ‘Which I think, as you English say, concludes the formalities. We all now know each other’s names. And so we can now get on to some other business…’

  Dan jumped in.

  ‘Ah, well, I don’t wish to be rude, but any Englishman worth his salt…’

  ‘Worth his what…?’ interrupted Ghassan.

  ‘Sorry,’ responded Dan. ‘A silly turn of phrase. Forgive me. But what I’m trying to say is that any Englishman – with manners – would not allow matters to proceed before offering his thanks. You – and Fadi and… Shafeek – you saved my life. For which I will be eternally grateful. I mean, I just cannot thank you enough. Really.’

  Dan knew he was sounding like a halfwit from some Bertie Wooster novel, but it didn’t matter. The more confusion he sowed in Ghassan’s mind, the better. The more Ghassan was left guessing about the true nature of his uninvited guest, the more likely it was that he would end up undone. That said, no amount of polite play-acting was going to dissuade Ghassan from asking some pointed questions indefinitely. And the first of these came within a second of Dan’s effusive thank you.

  ‘What are you doing here… Dan?’

  ‘Butterflies.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Butterflies. I’m an entomologist, and I’m here in Gabon looking for new butterfly species. It’s a very poorly researched area, you see.’

  Ghassan looked perplexed.

  ‘What is an edomol…?’

  ‘Entomologist,’ assisted Dan. ‘It’s someone who studies insects. And that’s me. And my speciality is butterflies. Or, more accurately, the butterflies of sub-Saharan Africa. I’ve produced quite a lot of papers on the subject, and I’m actually responsible for finding three new species. Two in the DRC and one in the Central African Republic.’

  Dan maintained a happy smiling face as he waited for this announcement to sink into Ghassan’s brain. But within his own mind there was turmoil. He felt weaker and more feverish than ever and he had no idea how long he could continue with this charade. But he also knew that the charade had reached a critical point. Ghassan might have swallowed this nonsense, or at least decided to chew it over a bit, or he might be on the point of spitting it out into Dan’s face. He might have sussed that it was all a load of nonsense and Dan might now be invited, not that politely, to admit to what he was actually doing in this remote part of Gabon and how, whatever he was doing, he had been delivered into the hands of his “hosts”.

  It was OK. Ghassan didn’t spit. Instead he asked a reasonable question.

  ‘So what happened? Why aren’t you still looking for… butterflies?’

  ‘The plan was to canoe down the Lodié…’

  ‘That’s the river to the south,’ assisted Fadi. ‘It…’

  ‘I know,’ snapped Ghassan. ‘Let… Dan… continue.’

  Dan looked suitably sheepish, and then he did continue.

  ‘Well, you see, I came over the border from the Congo – from the Odzala-Kokoua National Park – and I set off down the Lodié. I’d organised a canoe, you see, and the idea was to paddle downstream, stopping off wherever I could. But then I came to these rapids. And, well, I suppose I was too engrossed in my butterflies and just too inattentive… And well, I screwed up big time. I mean, I lost my canoe and all my equipment – including my satellite phone – and all my supplies. I was in a real mess.’

  ‘And?’ questioned Ghassan.

  ‘Well, of course, I had no way of getting help, and I knew that I couldn’t get back to the Congo. It was just too far. But I remembered – or I thought I remembered – that there was a town to the north. So when I found this
brook that seemed to lead north, I took it, and…’

  ‘Added to your problems by contracting malaria,’ finished Ghassan.

  ‘Erhh, yes. I must confess that I went from bad to worse. And I know just how lucky I am… you know, that Fadi found me…’

  ‘It was Shafeek,’ corrected Ghassan.

  ‘Oh, right. I shouldn’t have assumed…’

  ‘And you shouldn’t have set off into the middle of nowhere on your own,’ observed Ghassan. ‘Or did you have somebody with you?’

  ‘Oh no. It was entirely a one-man expedition. Although I should soon be missed. When I don’t arrive in Makokou – you know, the regional capital place. At which point I expect they’ll come and try to find me…’

  ‘They?’

  ‘The Zoological Society of London. My sponsors. Although, of course, it won’t be them as such. It’ll be whatever agency they recruit in Gabon. Maybe even the military. They do have quite a lot of pull.’

  Ghassan suddenly looked tired. Or was that exasperation showing through? Dan couldn’t quite tell.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘we can expect a visit from the military? We should start to make preparations for a contingent of Gabonese regulars?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I really don’t. I mean, if you can let the Society know – and then get me out of here – I don’t imagine you’ll ever see a soldier. And you can just carry on doing… well, whatever it is that you are doing here…’

  Ghassan now looked clearly exasperated.