by Frank Coles
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart. We nearly lost everything there didn’t we? But don’t worry the bad guy has been taken into custody by Dubai’s finest and he won’t be able to harm us anymore, or, more importantly, anyone else.’
He left that thought hanging for the crowd who all turned to scowl with rabid malice. A room full of hatred and all of it directed at me.
‘Get me out of here,’ I drawled at Khadim using swollen lips that would barely open.
‘No,’ he said.
Khadim waited for the boos to begin, the lowing of investor cattle ‘You should have taken my uncle’s generous offer; you could have been a rich and powerful man,’ he whispered. ‘Now, tell me, what is left for you here?’
I recoiled at the room of hate filled faces.
‘Was it worth it?’
When I finally hung my head with shame he walked me out of the room.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Lawrence began, ‘please forget about him. We must not let evil men detract from our actions, not only did he try to hurt a young girl last week…I stopped him then…but he tried to hurt you. Tried to stop you making money simply because he wanted to get back at me. Well damn it I’m just not going to let that happen. Our skipper assures me the boat will be moving again in no time at all, so let us get back to why we are here…let’s make some money!’
I could hear him talking, selling, to appreciative cat calls and whoops as we left the main room and the door closed behind us.
Orsa sneered. ‘Very well done Captain. It appears that you have saved the day. I am sure we will be very grateful,’ he said.
‘It is my pleasure, I warned this man what would happen.’
‘Did you tell him about tonight?’
‘No that will be a surprise for him.’
‘Faisal has arranged it?’
‘It is…an ongoing arrangement. We will take him there now. Would you like to join us, or come later?’
‘Later,’ he said, ‘I have some business here to take care of.’
Khadim nodded and started walking me towards the landing deck.
‘Hey journalist,’ Orsa said. He slammed his fist quickly and repeatedly into my face opening each barely healed wound and breaking open a few more. He explained in a growl, ‘You were looking far too fucking pretty. Khadim get this soon to be dead bitch out of my sight.’
Chapter Thirty
The sudden change in road surface and the sensation of sitting at the lip of a steep incline roused me from an exhausted stupor. The beatings had taken their toll. I was lifeless as soon as they threw me in the back of Khadim’s police 4x4.
The vehicle crested a dune, paused for a moment and then lurched down its steep sand face at a controlled crawl. Unbuckled, I slammed into the seat in front of me. Khadim and an Indian driver sat up front. They said something in Arabic and then released the brake, the sudden speed made me want to vomit. I almost did as we hit the bottom.
I buckled myself in and hung onto the handle embedded in the 4x4’s roof. The two men sniggered at me and cracked jokes I couldn’t understand. The driver aimed for the biggest dunes and we went through the same stomach churning routine for the next hour.
We drove further into the desert than I had ever been before. My previous excursions had been limited to quad biking and camel rides within sight of the highways. I had no idea where we were. Dunes stretched in every direction in a desolate panoramic arc. Gone were the sweet yellows and whites of the coast, where the sand was diluted with salt crystals. Out there the sand was corpse red and burnt orange from the iron in the Hajar mountain range as it slowly crumbled from rock into dust on the distant Omani border.
There were no sounds apart from the engine whirring through the ascent and descent of low ratio gears. The men in front barely spoke, silenced by the barren but beautiful landscape as the car labored through it.
There was no way I could sleep, no matter how much I needed to. The nausea slowly subsided as I found my dune legs only to be replaced by a dull terror.
What were they going to do to me?
If I told Khadim that his uncle was probably dead by Orsa’s hand would they let me go? As I’d set it up I figured I’d best keep my mouth shut.
The car finally came to a stop on the crest of another shallow dune that looked much like any other. Ahead of us I saw a weathered, off white and well used Bedu tent. It had two sections, one smaller canopy sat adjacent to a larger man size marquee, the main living space.
The tents were closed off to the elements, door flaps down, a sign that they were out of use. Whatever was stored inside would be safe; there were rarely thieves this far into the desert.
When Khadim turned off the engine a humid stillness closed over us. The two men spoke briefly. Khadim’s man opened up the smaller of the tents and pulled me toward it.
‘What’s happening?’ I tried to say.
The Indian said something to Khadim. The captain pulled something out of the car and trudged towards me through the slippery surface of the sand.
‘Please don’t hurt me,’ I said pathetically.
He grabbed the back of my head and poured an entire bottle of water into my mouth. I drank as much as I could, but mostly it spilled over my face and down my neck, mixing with the taste of dried blood.
‘I told you what would happen if you insisted on making a nuisance of yourself. As a journalist your life is now finished, your name is dirt. But don’t worry,’ he said, slapping me playfully on the face, ‘all this will be over soon.’
He waved a hand and the Indian man hauled me into the small tent and dropped me to the floor. I curled up in a fetal position, whatever was about to happen to me was not going to be good.
I was going to die.
I shivered despite the heat, cold with fear. The tears came and with no one around I sobbed uncontrollably and wretchedly like a forgotten child. I remembered the first time I cried like that. The day I realized I wasn’t going to live forever. Eight years old, sat in yet another bedroom, looking out over the grimy window of another new city, an alien environment. New smells, new sounds, new food, new people…it wouldn’t be the last move. I began to wonder how many more rooms I would live in. More than twenty since I was born, how many would that be in a lifetime? I knew that one day there would be a final room, the place where I would die, where everything would come to an end.
The evening lights had shimmered magically on the reflective surfaces of wet rooftops. The pools of blackness between the reflections drew me in to their dark hearts and out of myself, out of my room. At that moment I realized that one day, everything I knew would be gone, everyone that I ever cared about would die. I cried at the brutal insight, at the empty dread of nothingness, the loss of a universe, the loss of my experience of it.
I cried that night like I cried in that tent.
Lost in despair, on the verge of unconsciousness, precious liquid streamed down my cheeks, I remembered that after my childish tears I had begun to laugh. I couldn’t remember why.
I opened my miserable swollen eyelids and, like a blow to the stomach, what I saw took my breath away. A humdrum shaft of light, the kind I ignored every day in my car, on the beach, on my balcony, jutted through the crooked seam of the tent flap like a burning sword thrust into the sandy floor. Dust particles floated inside it, swirling in their own small lighted world, the Brownian collisions of chaotic chance.
A small croak escaped my lips. It could have been laughter. It was a liberating moment, probably my last. I savored it. The light was so achingly beautiful.
I remembered how my childhood fear of the empty void had been replaced by the wonder of the universe in front of my eyes. Look at it! Who could ever imagine such a thing? Who could ever take that for granted? We were so easily side-tracked by the mundane; hoodwinked by the artificial necessity of advertising, religion, politics, money, self importance. We exchanged a universe of possibility for the magic beans of animal desire: the
right kind of clothes, the right car, the right job, the right family, the right kind of sex…and for what? We were adult children who never knew what we wanted, who listened to the men in suits, the men in uniforms, the men in costume as they pretended to know all the answers. We strived to be anyone but ourselves, to do anything rather than feel the fear.
As past and present merged I giggled uncontrollably, noisily, as if an invisible hand tickled me. I had lived a flawed but honest life and I was ready for the end.
Khadim pushed his head through the flap.
‘Silence!’ he said. ‘What are you laughing at?’ That set me off again. ‘Shut up, you crazy idiot, don’t you realize you are going to die?’
Confirmation. I laughed some more just for the hell of it.
‘Yup,’ I said, ‘oblivion. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘God have mercy on your soul,’ he said seriously.
‘God? If I ever meet that juvenile prick I’m going to kick some sense in to him. He can beg me for mercy.’
‘How dare you?’
‘Because you’re about to kill me, and if I didn’t I’d be dead already. You are nothing more than Faisal’s bitch and Orsa’s lackey – so tell me something, how dare you?’
He opened the tent flap wider and pulled the short baton from his belt. ‘I’m warning you Bryson, be quiet.’
I forced myself into a standing position. I stayed quiet but kept grinning.
‘Stop smiling,’ he said and spat at me.
I spat back in his face. The first blow hit my arm and I fell to my knees.
‘That’s it,’ I yelled at him, cackling insanely. ‘Come on Khadim, that’s it. Show me what you’ve got.’
He struck me in the ribs. I felt something crack.
‘Ooh yeah!’ I said, wincing with the pain, tears in my eyes. ‘That’s how I like it Khadim. Come on baby, harder, harder, faster, faster!’ I grimaced up at him with bloodied lips. ‘C’mon.’ I said nudging his baton with my head. He hesitated, and then lowered it.
He smiled a neat little smile, back in formal character. ‘It is going to go badly for you,’ he said and sighed deeply, ‘enjoy what you can.’
He walked out and I prayed to every god I could think of, every incredible deity I’d never believed in to save me, to give me the strength to fight back. Nobody was ever going to answer, but at least it would hide the fear and keep me good and mad until it was all over.
Chapter Thirty One
I couldn’t sleep. There was too much pain no matter which position I tried. Time passed slowly, I listened to the nuances of desert silence as the sun travelled through the sky. As day turned to night the warm air of the mountains cooled and created a breeze that blew softly through the shallow valleys between the dunes, moving the tent around me.
The Indian man came in several times to pull grills, carpets, decorations and shisha pipes from the covered recesses of the gloomy tent. I kept to the dark corners and bared my teeth every time he entered. Hours passed. I had no idea how many. The golden light had disappeared leaving me to rely on non-visual senses. I heard vehicles in the distance, the sound of their engines carried across the empty desert. They arrived. Doors opened and banged shut. I heard the laughter of men, the clank of bottles and the sullen responses of servants receiving orders, then reluctantly obeying.
The powerful smells of cooking entered the tent; flowing in through damaged nostrils, smothering the scent of my own blood and fear. Dead flesh sizzled on a grill: chicken, lamb, beef. Fruit flavored shisha burned. Glasses clinked. Voices were raised, the sounds of arguments, camaraderie and boisterous fun.
A cheer went up. Moments later two Indian men I could barely see dragged me through the sand, an elbow in each hand. The tips of my toes dragged in the dirt and then the light struck my eyes, blinding me. A champagne bucket of iced water was thrown in my face.
I blinked the grime from my eyes and gazed at those around me. Faisal wore traditional dress, out of his western work uniform. He sat directly in front of me and didn’t react to my arrival – I was beyond being considered a person. Orsa sat on his immediate left, deep in conversation with Khadim and Lawrence.
Martin sat silently on Faisal’s right. He shook his head at me, he hadn’t made it after all. Next to him was Hamza the soon to be bankrupt sheikh but still one of the gang it seemed. Beside him the adolescent girl I had tried to rescue from Lawrence.
Around them were the remains of their meal, which were being busily cleared away by a team of Indian servants. The two men pushed me to my knees and then onto my haunches, lower than the eye level of everyone else in the room.
Each man looked me over casually and then returned to their conversations. Everyone except Martin, he wouldn’t look me in the eye. Lawrence glared at me for a moment, grinning like a bride on her wedding day. Then he ignored me too.
My throat was almost too dry to speak. I swallowed a few times but there was little lubrication left. ‘Well thanks guys,’ I said as forcefully as I could. ‘My first desert safari. It’s too much. You’re all so fucking kind. You really shouldn’t have.’
I felt the blow rather than saw it. My already broken nose broke some more. When Lawrence finished I was still on bent knees, my back parallel to the floor in a mutated yoga posture. He leered down at me, one bloodied fist drawn back. When he moved out of my line of sight the chatter resumed. I held back the tears and focused.
One last time David. Come on.
I sprang back to a kneeling position with what I hoped was a wild eyed look and a porcelain white grin on my messy red face.
‘Yahhhh!’ I hollered and spat clotted lumps of blood at Faisal, defiling the purity of his immaculate white dishdash with my own bloody sacrament. I cackled. I had their attention finally. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. ‘Haaah!’ I yelled again and shook my head left to right blowing through my nose and spraying blood in as many directions as I could.
Faisal stood up and motioned to one of the servants who handed him a black stick about three feet long. He struck my cheek with it, smiled calmly and then pressed a button on its side. His face lit up as a miniature thunderbolt jumped between two elements to create a powerful electric circuit.
‘A 1000 volt cattle prod is lethal in the wrong hands. My friend Vladimir thought I might be able to use this on my camels. I do use it,’ he said, making its tip sizzle with electricity. ‘But not on my camels,’ he said. ‘It is time to teach you a lesson.
‘Mr. Martin, would you like to go first?’
‘Uh…No. No thank you,’ he said.
‘Too bad,’ Faisal said. He turned and jabbed the pole into Martin’s throat. His head jerked back with the shock. ‘You will take your turn before the night is out, I promise you.’
He motioned to me. ‘Hold him down,’ he ordered the editor; he zapped him again before he could shake his head. ‘Do it now. Lawrence, help him.’
They both grabbed me by an arm. I resisted but it was hopeless.
‘I’m so sorry David,’ Martin said.
‘Shut up cunt or you’re next,’ Lawrence spat at him.
They pushed me face down on the floor and pulled my legs out behind me. My head was level with the girl. She watched in quiet fascination. I felt Martin’s weight press on my back, and then behind me I felt something totally unexpected. Lawrence pulling my trousers down. The cool night air ruffled the hairs on the back of my legs. I looked desperately around the room for help. There was none coming. Each face watched impassively. Apart from Orsa, who grinned nastily, slapping his hands on his thighs like an excited schoolboy.
Faisal made the sparks fly and laughed again. He thrust the prod in front of him miming the actions of what he was about to do. He jousted and twisted his electric fist the same way I had to the waiter the day I met Yasmin.
The air in the tent prickled with nervous anticipation. Orsa laughed and clapped his hands. Khadim lowered his head and looked everywhere but at me. Hamza licked his lips. The young girl
smiled. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from hers. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said without knowing why.
She wore expensive baby pink trainers. To my horror she raised a petite foot and stamped on my face, once, twice and then a third time.
‘Ha ha, well done Tish,’ Faisal said, patting her head affectionately.
Looking at Faisal I finally realized what was happening. Beneath the camel prod was his own smaller rod, made of flesh, jutting through the material of his dishdash like a midget tent peg.
‘Faisal…look…look at your tiny little cock,’ I said. All eyes turned and I laughed as hard and viciously as I could with the weight of a man on my back. Faisal’s smile turned to a ferocious angry snarl.
‘Faisal,’ Lawrence gestured for the cattle prod. ‘Let’s show this fucker what we’re about shall we?’ he said losing his plummy English accent. Yelps of encouragement filled the room. Lawrence pushed hard between my legs and jammed the pole into the most unwilling part of my body. Flesh tore as he fired the first shock.
With each thrust and each squeeze of the trigger I screamed until I couldn’t scream anymore. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
Something burned inside. I knew then how the girls that ended up in Sharjah penthouses must have felt.
Martin’s tears rained on me from above while the others took their turn, then it was his.
Chapter Thirty Two
I could barely see through the pain and the tears when they shoved the cattle prod into Martin’s unwilling hands. Lawrence, Faisal and Orsa had each had their fun. Khadim refused and Hamza couldn’t wait to join in, to be one of the boys again.
Relishing their power they taunted the distraught editor, ‘Fuck him, fuck him', ‘Go on Newman, you want to live don’t you?’, ‘Do it to him or we’ll do it to you.’
I could feel him tremble above me. Faisal walked over and slapped him around the head and face. Faisal held his jaw in his hands and told him, once you’ve finished with that, then you will use your fist, I heard Martin whimper, then you will use….
