The first puzzle – how he had swapped his bath for a bed – he found impossible to resolve. He had no memory of doing this and only a hazy memory of how he had first gone to sleep in the bath – with the help of Ghassan’s fists. Maybe, he thought, there was some primitive part of his brain that swung into action when his body was under threat or when it just needed some assistance to prevent it from shutting down entirely; like the provision of a mattress in place of a hard tiled floor covered in water. Anyway, it was futile to devote any more time to this mystery, and Dan just felt grateful that he still had a remnant of his prehistoric past that may have saved his life – for just a little while at least.
It was when he arrived at that “a little while at least” thought that Dan moved on to the next puzzle. Why was he still alive, notwithstanding the assistance of a decidedly lumpy mattress? After all, not only did he still feel dreadful, but he had not eaten for hours, he had not drunk anything like enough water for hours, and he had the taste of blood in his mouth. It was unmistakable, and Dan knew what it meant: that he was beginning to bleed internally. Not enough to cause him to cough blood, but just enough to give him an advance warning that he soon would be.
When he stopped to consider this new feature of his condition properly, he began to realise that it provided an answer to that second puzzle. He wasn’t dead because, whilst he was definitely on his way to oblivion, he wasn’t yet there. He still had more of that downward path to pursue. He could tick off muscle and joint pains, a headache, a sore throat, a loss of appetite, feebleness, fever, vomiting and now a hint of internal bleeding, but he still had no chest pains, no shortness of breath and no actual coughing up of blood. Indeed, he realised, it could still take days for his body to succumb entirely, even if he neglected it further by not eating or drinking. Maybe that primitive part of his brain wasn’t necessarily always the good guy. Maybe sometimes it could maintain life in its corporeal container long after the higher sentient parts of the brain would have chosen to bail out, to call it a day and spare a terribly tormented body any more needless torment.
It was enough of a resolution to that second puzzle to allow Dan to sink into a much-welcome torpor. He closed his eyes and, with only the minimum of effort, wrapped himself in some comforting thoughts. He completely enveloped himself in thoughts about Kim, in thoughts about their early days together, about their experiences together, and about their gradually merging into one entity, into one unit that was indivisible and indissoluble. It helped him immensely and ultimately it helped him fall fast asleep. He only woke again when Ghassan began to shake him while, at the same time, demanding his attention. Immediately.
Dan blinked into consciousness, and was soon conscious enough to respond to his reveille with an improbably large smile and a few well-chosen words.
‘God,’ he started. ‘You’ve been thinking again, haven’t you? I thought I’d warned you against that.’
Ghassan raised his right hand and it became a fist. Then he clearly thought that this might not be the best course of action to take, and instead he resorted to a verbal assault.
‘You are a pig,’ he announced. ‘You are a worthless pig that was fathered by a dog and shat out by a whore mother. You are nothing.’
Dan decided he had little to lose but that he could still antagonise this bastard above him.
‘Make your mind up. I can’t be a pig and nothing. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to be a pig. They are particularly nice – and intelligent – creatures, and probably exceptionally so if they’ve had the good fortune to be fathered by a canine. Because dogs are particularly nice and intelligent creatures as well.’
Ghassan just didn’t seem to know how to react, and Dan was at a loss to work out how, in his advanced state of deterioration, he was still able to put sentences together, let alone an effective put-down of a bully. Albeit it was a fairly short-lived put-down. Soon the bully was back with a vengeance.
‘We don’t have any emeralds here,’ he sneered. ‘But I suppose you’ve already worked that out.’
‘I already knew it,’ responded Dan icily.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean,’ said Dan very slowly, ‘that before I arrived here, I knew all about all three of you – and why all three of you are here.’
Ghassan performed a classic intake of breath. Then he found his voice again.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he shouted.
‘I am the husband of a woman you killed in Morocco. When you were still learning your trade. When you hadn’t honed it to the point where you could guarantee you’d kill a whole bus full and not just one or two people who happened to be close by.’
Ghassan’s eyes widened. He was obviously having difficulty in assimilating what he was being told: that a middle-aged relative of one of his many victims had been able to track him down to this jungle retreat and confront him in this way. Then, within that muddle of incomprehension, something must have occurred to him. That this idiot pig before him hadn’t come all this way to confront him – but that he’d come here to try to kill him, and presumably Shafeek and Fadi as well! With this realisation, he burst out laughing. It looked as though he’d already forgotten the condemnation he’d just received and was now thinking about the absurdity of a weak, defenceless Englishman arriving in his redoubt with the intention of doing all three of them some serious harm. This was nothing less than preposterous, and he no doubt thought he should convey this fact to this poor misguided fool.
‘Are you telling me that you came here to seek revenge? That you came here to kill me? And have you any idea of how ridiculous that is? You turning up half dead and defenceless to take out all three of us?’
‘So you admit to murdering my wife?’ was Dan’s response.
‘Shit. Of course I fucking do. And dozens more besides. I could hardly call myself a proficient bomb-maker if I didn’t. And who cares? When the cause requires it, people have to die. And as far as I’m concerned, there are a lot more to die yet…’
‘Got a bit hot for you though, didn’t it?’ interrupted Dan. ‘You had to decamp to this place. And I reckon you’re planning to stay here for some time yet, a place which is hardly convenient for a bomb-maker with your credentials. You must be getting a bit pissed off…’
Ghassan stiffened.
‘How do you know all this?’ he asked. ‘And how did you know how to get here?’
‘A pig’s intelligence and a dog’s nose for tracking.’
‘What the hell do you mean?’
‘I mean I’m not going to tell you. You’ll just have to work it out for yourself.’
This time, both of Ghassan’s hands tightened into fists.
‘You’re mad,’ he exclaimed.
‘And you’re worried.’
‘Worried?’ shouted Ghassan. ‘Worried about you and what you may or may not know? I suppose you’re going to tell me next that you’re still a threat. That you’ve got an AK-47 stuffed up your arse and you’re planning to spray us all with bullets…’
‘If only,’ sighed Dan. ‘But unfortunately I even managed to lose my hunting knife in those damn rapids. So any chance of slitting your filthy throats disappeared along with all my kit and most of my health. And all I was left with was some grade-one resolve…’
‘Grade-one resolve! Shit, you’re more stupid than I thought. What were you going to do? Come here and insult us to death? Or maybe assassinate us with an overload of English wit? Well, my friend, I think you’ll need something more deadly than that. Particularly as you seem to be on the point of death yourself. I wouldn’t give you more than a few hours.’
‘So you’re not going to kill me? You’re not going to snuff out yet another life?’
‘Why would I? Why would I want to kill a man who was dying – a man who is clearly suffering and will suffer a great deal more by my just leaving him alone? You see, y
ou make the mistake that many of your kind make: that we have any regard for you, let alone any of what you call compassion. You are nothing to us, only something to be removed to allow us to realise our destiny. And we will remove you. Have no doubt about it…’ And then Ghassan laughed. ‘…only in your case we’ll just leave you where you are. We will show you… compassion. And bear in mind that this is compassion for somebody who came here to kill us…’
Then he started to laugh again.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he chortled. ‘You actually thought you could come here and kill us – with a fucking hunting knife. Shit, losing your wife must have sent you mental. You’re out of your fucking mind…’
Dan smiled again. Then he asked Ghassan a question.
‘Are Fadi and Shafeek both well?’
Ghassan looked surprised – and he’d been taken by surprise. So much so that he answered Dan’s question without a pause.
‘Fadi’s not feeling too well. The little squirt says he’s got flu. That or some other fucking thing he’s picked up in this fucking jungle…’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ offered Dan. ‘And I do hope it doesn’t last too long. I mean, the last thing you’ll want is for one of your minions to be out of action. Especially with all your comms kit on the blink…’
Ghassan glared at Dan. He clearly regretted his answering Dan’s question, just as clearly as he seemed not to be in control. That, it appeared, was in the hands of this hollow-cheeked atheist on the bed.
Ghassan dealt with this situation in the only way he could. He spat on the floor and left Dan to his fate. He would no doubt come back tomorrow to confirm that this scraggy mongrel was dead. Just as dead as some anonymous woman he’d disposed of some time ago. Before he had perfected his art.
So, Dan again found himself on his own, and this time he wrapped himself in some different thoughts. These concerned the evil that lurked in the hearts of men, and how Ghassan was special in this respect. How he clearly had within him an incomparable heart of darkness – and one that might very soon be erased…
thirty-seven
Dan greeted the new morning by coughing up some blood. It surprised him that it wasn’t particularly painful. It was just like coughing up water after a misjudged plunge into a pool. Only, of course, coughing up water doesn’t leave an unpleasant red-brown stain on one’s shirt. And coughing up water doesn’t presage one’s demise.
Dan knew this only too well, and he also knew he felt very different. He didn’t now feel just wracked with pain – and feverish and extremely weak – but he felt he was “emptying”. There was something tangible that was draining out of him, and he had little problem admitting to himself what it was. It was his life. There was simply no question in his mind. He had woken up to his last morning, and before the day ended – maybe long before the day ended – he would be dead. He would be an inert lump of meat that felt no pain, no fever, no weakness – and no regret. He just hoped that before he became this inanimate object he could confirm what he had now come to believe: that he had achieved what he had set out to do, and could therefore savour an early taste of that “no regret” aspect of oblivion along with an abundance of well-earned satisfaction.
As it transpired, he would not have to wait long to receive this confirmation – because a little after nine, Ghassan was unlocking the padlock on the grille and soon after this he was standing above Dan’s prostrate form on the bed.
Dan was delighted to find that he could still treat his visitor to a beaming smile, and no less than thrilled to realise that he could still think – very clearly – and that he could probably still talk. He then lost no time at all in putting this latter facility to the test.
‘What took you all this time?’ he began.
‘Eh?’
‘Yesterday you asked me how I knew you were here and what you were doing here. And how I got here. And I fobbed you off. I didn’t answer. It’s barely credible really. But you didn’t demand an answer. You must be really dim. Or maybe you’re not very well…’
Dan had just registered it: Ghassan’s sweat-covered unshaven face. And he was rubbing his throat. He didn’t look very well at all. And he looked anxious. He clearly knew something was very wrong. Then he spoke.
‘Fadi’s really ill. So’s Shafeek. And I want to know what’s going on. Now! Right this minute!’
Dan felt a surge of delight. It overwhelmed all his physical suffering in a second. Then he spoke, quietly and calmly.
‘What would you like to know in particular?’
‘How the hell did you know we were here? And if you don’t tell me right now, I’ll blow your fucking brains out!’
To spell out that this was not an idle threat, Ghassan had just raised his right hand to show to Dan that it was holding a pistol. It was the first time that Dan had seen it (and certainly the first time that anyone had threatened him with a pistol), but its appearance failed to have the required effect. It didn’t scare Dan at all. Instead it just invigorated him, and more than enough to allow him to answer Ghassan’s enquiry.
‘A group of people told me you were here. They told me you were hiding away here.’
‘What people?!’
‘Oh, a group of people who have decided that far too many of your sort just seem to get away with it…’
‘My sort…?’
‘Yes. Terrorists, traffickers, tyrants, poachers, gangsters…’
‘Hey. I’m no terrorist. You can’t…’
‘Do you want me to go on?’ interrupted Dan. ‘Or do you just want to shoot me now?’
Ghassan scowled at Dan but let him continue.
‘Well, they also decided that they’d do something about this. They’d track down these monsters and obliterate them. Simple, really. And the more they obliterated, the more word would get out. And then every monster in the world would have to live with the knowledge that he might be next. Which, I admit, won’t necessarily make the world a hugely better place, but it will definitely put the shits up all these bastards – big time. They might feel safe from the CIA or the FBI or MI6, say, but they’d all know that there was always somebody out there who could turn up at any time – with a knife or a gun or even…’
‘Bullshit. You’ve been watching too many James Bond movies.’
‘How did I know you were here then?’
Ghassan hesitated before he replied.
‘You are MI6…’
Dan burst out laughing and then he spoke.
‘Do I look like MI6? Do you think MI6 is that desperate? Jesus. Isn’t it obvious? This group of people… let’s call them a freelance agency. Well, they have very few resources. But they do have some very resourceful friends: other people in… let’s call them “recognised agencies”. And these people are only too willing to help them, especially if they know that the freelance guys are going after the bad guys, all those real bastards who might very well be beyond their own reach. They might, for example, be holed up in the middle of a jungle. Let’s say, a jungle in a sovereign state that wouldn’t take too kindly to having some other state’s assassins turning up on its turf…’
Ghassan tried to say something but nothing came out of his mouth, and Dan continued.
‘Anyway, this help might come in the form of intelligence on the whereabouts of the bad guys. Or it might come as well in the form of a satellite communication system being jammed. Which is not too much of a problem if your postal address happens to be in Langley. Believe me.’
Ghassan’s gun was shaking. Dan noticed this and then noticed that it was shaking because its owner was as well. He was either shaking with rage or with fright. Or maybe with the recognition of both the plausibility of what he was being told and his impotence to do anything about it. He might just be in a very awkward situation. But then a gleam of light. He’d clearly just identified a flaw in Dan’s explanation, and it was t
ime to air it.
‘A nice story, if you like nice stories,’ he began. ‘But who in their right mind would turn up with that knife or a gun? There can’t be that many as stupid as you. And even fewer who are in any way competent. I mean, a fucking knife, and you even lose that…’
‘There are lots of us,’ responded Dan. ‘Mostly old guys, saggy middle-aged types with too many miles on the clock, but who are still mobile and…’
‘…stupid enough to get themselves killed,’ finished Ghassan.
‘Yes,’ responded Dan firmly. ‘Although I’d question whether wanting to go out swiftly rather than endure the pain and indignity that comes with a terminal illness is in any way stupid. And how about wanting an end to a life that long ago became sour – and meaningless? Maybe after the one person you cared for was taken from you by one of those monsters. But then you were presented with the opportunity to bring that monster’s life to an end as well. Shit, even you would jump at the chance to do that. Just like I did.’
Ghassan began to giggle. Dan could see that it was a manifestation of his confusion. He had to accept that there was at least some sort of truth in what he was being told, but at the same time it was all so improbable. He clearly could not reconcile Dan’s story to Dan’s total ineffectiveness, unless of course…
‘You’ve poisoned us,’ he suddenly exclaimed. ‘Fuck that knife – if there ever was a knife. You’ve come here and you’ve poisoned us…’
Dan laughed.
‘No, there never was a knife,’ he confirmed. ‘But I think the word you want is “infected”, not “poisoned”.’
Ghassan leapt back in alarm. Then he spoke – as quietly and as calmly as had Dan.
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