by Chris Ryan
Spud and Caitlin were there. It was clear that they had undergone the same treatment as Danny. Their faces were a mess of bruises, cuts and swellings. They were kneeling on the floor, shoulders hunched. Each of them had an armed guard pointing a rifle directly at their head. Caitlin had been stripped down to her tight grey vest. The wound on her arm was exposed. It looked like the guards had been beating it. It was bleeding, puffed up and pus-filled. Her face was drained white, and she was sweating badly.
Danny clocked the unit’s packs and weapons, piled up along the right-hand wall of the room. Next to them, still tied to the post by her metal collar, was the slave girl. She wore the same flimsy clothes, and the same expression of helpless despair. Her eyes flickered towards Danny as he entered, but really all her attention was elsewhere.
Sitting between Spud and Caitlin and the slave girl, in a low, comfortable chair, and wearing a plain white dishdash with white socks and comfortable leather sandals, was a short man, slightly plump, with a long black beard that was turning grey at the tips. He had an iPad on his lap, and his face glowed slightly from the light of the screen. He was an unremarkable-looking man, but clearly the boss. Danny instinctively knew that this must be Dhul Faqar. He remembered what Hammond had said about this arsehole not wanting anyone to look him in the eye, and it was true that nobody else in the room seemed to be making eye contact.
Fuck that, he thought, and he stared directly at him.
Dhul Faqar watched with flat, expressionless eyes as Danny was forced to his knees a metre to the right of Spud. Danny felt the hard metal of a Kalashnikov barrel against the back of his head. He stared at Dhul Faqar and waited for him to speak. Dhul Faqar looked at the screen on his lap, then directly at Danny.
‘Danny Black,’ he said, in stuttering but serviceable English. ‘British special forces. Mother deceased. One father, one brother.’ He cleared his throat. ‘One daughter. Name, Rose Black. Mother’s name, Clara Macleod. Place of residence, Hereford.’ He pronounced it ‘Hear-ford’.
Danny felt his blood turn to liquid fear. It was all he could do to control his breathing. He could feel Spud and Caitlin’s eyes on him.
Dhul Faqar looked up and smiled. His lips glistened in the candlelight. The woman with almond eyes stepped up to him and whispered something in his ear. Dhul Faqar nodded gently. ‘If he tried to deny it, he is more of a fool than he looks,’ Dhul Faqar said. He held up the iPad. ‘Your CIA file, Black. It makes very interesting reading. You are a hero, although I’m not sure that is quite how they see you.’
Danny didn’t reply. He was too busy trying to master the dread, so that he could make sense of what Dhul Faqar had just told him. His CIA file? How the hell did an IS kingpin have that in his possession?
A memory clicked in his head. Ray Hammond, their ops officer, briefing them before they went after the migrant boat in the Med. The Yanks seem to think Santa and Rudolph might have terrorist intentions on UK soil, so why they haven’t shared this with us is anyone’s guess.
And later, while they were being briefed in the Hercules before their drop into Turkey. All I know is the Americans are holding back from attacking certain targets.
‘There is something else I want to show you,’ Dhul Faqar said. He stood up from his low chair and carried the iPad towards Danny. When he was standing right in front of him, he tapped the screen, then turned the iPad round and held it at the height of Danny’s face.
There was some video footage playing. Shaky, close-up of a man’s face, Middle Eastern. Hard to make out his features, because the camera was so close. He was talking in Arabic. As he spoke, the footage panned out. Danny saw that this man had a very distinctive scar across the entire width of his throat. The camera panned to the right to show the rest of the room. Danny knew what he was going to see, even before it appeared.
Clara was sitting on a stool. Her eyes were puffy and red. She had clearly been crying. She was wearing a dressing gown and cradling a bundle in her arms. The camera moved closer. A hand appeared and roughly grabbed the blanket that was covering the baby. The child started to cry. Danny saw a glimpse of his daughter. She had a cut under her left eye. It was bleeding. Like she was weeping blood. The camera moved away and returned to the close-up face of the man with the scar at his throat. He continued talking in Arabic.
Dhul Faqar stopped the video footage. He walked back to his chair. Danny followed him with cold, hard eyes. He felt like stone. All he wanted to do was kill the man in front of him. His limbs twitched. But the gun was still pressed hard against the back of his skull. He could do nothing.
‘You will all die, of course,’ Dhul Faqar said. ‘Eventually, and at a time of my own choosing. We will hang you from our cranes as a warning to anyone else who wishes to trespass on our territory. But not before you have served a very useful purpose to us. Three members of the famous British SAS. If we celebrated Christmas, I could not ask for a better gift. After our attack in the UK, this will be . . . what is the phrase you use? The icing on the cake. The footage of three soldiers suffering all the humiliations that the Qur’an demands we inflict upon the infidel will be a fitting follow-up to our Christmas celebrations. You will be what I believe they call a “publicity coup”.’ Dhul Faqar fixed Danny with his piercing gaze again. ‘So far you and your Kurdish friends have killed eleven of my men,’ he said. ‘Not to mention my Turkish business associates whose deaths are, I will admit, a difficulty.’
Danny forced himself to count carefully. The guy at the checkpoint had said there were seventeen men in the compound, including Dhul Faqar. Eleven down left six. Two guys in the observation tower outside. Three guards in here plus Dhul Faqar. The women were probably extras the guard hadn’t taken into account. Dhul Faqar had made a big mistake giving them this information, because now they knew how many hostiles they were dealing with.
‘Ordinarily I would expect to exact payment in return,’ Dhul Faqar said, oblivious to the calculations whirring in Danny’s brain. ‘Your child and her mother would seem a good place to start.’ He turned to the woman in Western clothes. ‘Don’t you agree, Malinka my dear?’
‘Yes, Dhul Faqar,’ Malinka purred. ‘It would be a very good place to start.’ She looked hungry as she walked up to stand beside him, and put one arm round his shoulders. ‘The baby first.’
Dhul Faqar raised one hand. ‘I am a reasonable man,’ he said. ‘Your family will remain safe, so long as you do not try to escape. When you are finally dead, Sergeant Black, they will be released. But if you cause us any trouble . . .’ He gave a regretful gesture. ‘Our friend Mujahid, he with the . . .’ He traced a finger across his neck to indicate the scar of the man in the video. ‘He will be very happy to be distracted from his Christmas Day plans to travel west and put an end to your child’s life. He will document the process, of course.’ An exaggerated shadow fell across Dhul Faqar’s face. ‘I imagine you would find it a trial to watch such a scene, so I beg you not to force us all into a situation we would rather avoid.’
Danny forced himself to show no emotion. His body was trembling with frustration and fury. He concentrated on calming himself.
‘Shall I return them to their cells?’ Malinka asked.
‘Just one minute, my love,’ Dhul Faqar said. ‘We have another matter to discuss. Haven’t you wondered why these three are here in the first place?’ It was strange, the way they spoke to each other in English. Danny could only think that it was for the unit’s benefit.
Malinka frowned, but she didn’t reply.
‘Isn’t it clear that the British have found out something about our forthcoming plans? My guess is that they do not know enough to stop it, and so they have sent these soldiers to find me. But how did they know the strategy was mine in the first place? How did they know to find me here?’ He looked up, and Danny realised he was staring at the three men who had the individual members of the unit at gunpoint. ‘How else,’ he said quietly, ‘unless we have a traitor among us.’
A thick, nerv
ous silence descended on the room. Dhul Faqar stood again. He turned to Malinka. ‘Call the others in, my dear,’ he said.
Malinka nodded and left the room. Dhul Faqar walked towards the unit, but his eyes were still on the guards who kept them at gunpoint. Danny looked straight ahead. He didn’t want to give any indication of how hard he was concentrating, waiting for the split second of chaos that might occur if Dhul Faqar was foolish enough to reveal one of their guards as a traitor right in front of them.
Malinka returned with the two remaining guards from the observation towers. It was clear that they understood what was happening, because they looked terrified. They took up position on either side of the door.
‘Do not look so worried, everybody,’ Dhul Faqar said quietly. ‘I know which one of you is a traitor. If you have done nothing wrong, you have nothing to worry about.’
Why is he speaking in English, Danny thought. Whose benefit is that for?
A tense pause. ‘I gave each of you a name,’ he said. He pointed to Caitlin’s guard. ‘You,’ he said, ‘I gave the name Jacob Hakim.’ Spud’s guard. ‘You, I gave the name Aslan Hossein.’ Danny’s guard. ‘And you, I gave the name Kailash McCaffrey. I told you all that I was giving you the identity of a person who is important to us. I’m afraid I lied. Those three individuals are of no importance to us whatsoever. They are entirely disposable.’
Danny looked at Malinka. She was looking at each guard in turn, her almond eyes narrowed nastily. He wished he could see through those eyes. If one of their guards was a traitor, right now he was their best friend. And if he was nervous, Danny would be able to see it in his face . . .
‘News has just reached me,’ Dhul Faqar said, ‘that one of these men has gone missing. He is probably dead at the hands of the British security services. Or he is being tortured.’ He waved his hand as though swatting a fly. ‘That doesn’t matter, of course. He knows nothing, and we all serve Allah in whatever way we can. But the only reason he has been killed is because his identity was passed on by one of you.’ Another smile. ‘You are probably wondering who it is.’ Dhul Faqar looked at Caitlin’s guard. ‘It was not Jacob Hakim,’ he said. ‘Jacob is alive and well.’
Malinka’s eyes flickered between Spud’s guy and Danny’s. Danny focussed on the sensation of the gunmetal at the back of his head. Was it wavering? No. It was solid.
Dhul Faqar turned to Spud’s guard. ‘It was not Aslan Hossein,’ he said.
A pause. Dhul Faqar turned to Danny’s guard.
‘It was McCaffrey. Poor Kailash McCaffrey. I wonder what happened to him.’
Malinka stood up. She pointed towards Danny’s guard and looked over at the two men by the door. She barked some instructions in Arabic. One of the door guards strode towards Danny, weapon pointed directly at his head. The other bore down on Danny’s guy. There was a scuffle behind him, but Danny couldn’t take advantage: he was still at gunpoint.
‘And now,’ Dhul Faqar announced, ‘we shall see what happens to traitors.’
Danny’s guy started jabbering in Arabic. Danny didn’t understand the words, but he could hear the terror in his voice, and sense the tension among the other guards. Dhul Faqar listened with a bland look on his face. Then he recovered his iPad from where he was sitting. He approached Danny again, tapping the screen. Danny heard the familiar sound of a Skype ringtone. Dhul Faqar turned the iPad so that Danny – and the guards behind him – could see the screen.
The ringtone stopped. Video footage appeared.
There was an old lady in a dark room, strapped to a chair. She was Middle Eastern. Wrinkled, leathery skin. A rag stuffed in her mouth. Unbelievably frail.
Danny’s guy let out a gasp. ‘His mother,’ Dhul Faqar explained pleasantly to Danny. ‘I will explain to him that if he does not confess, we shall have to watch her die. You would do well to watch, Danny Black, because this is what your own family can expect, if you cause me any more trouble.’ He looked over Danny’s head at the guard, and spoke in Arabic. The guard replied. Dhul Faqar inclined his head. Then he raised the iPad slightly and spoke an instruction clearly intended for whoever was at the other end of the Skype call.
The reaction was immediate. A figure in a black balaclava appeared to the side of the old woman and thumped her hard on the side of the face. Danny’s guy shouted out again. The old woman’s eyes rolled and blood trickled from her nose. The figure struck her again. She started to cry.
Dhul Faqar was staring intently over Danny’s head at his suspect. The IS leader had a strange expression all of a sudden. Uncertain.
He spoke another word in Arabic. On the screen, the man in the balaclava stood behind the old lady’s chair, grabbed her hair with one hand and pressed a knife against her throat.
‘Confess,’ Dhul Faqar said quietly, ‘and she lives.’
There was a horrible silence in the room, broken only by the frightened mewing of the old lady on the screen.
Dhul Faqar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Confess,’ he repeated.
Danny’s guard replied in Arabic. His voice, suddenly, was strangely calm. Danny didn’t understand the words he spoke, but he thought he got their meaning. He was denying Dhul Faqar’s accusation.
Malinka was at Dhul Faqar’s shoulder. She breathed something into his ear, but Dhul Faqar shook his head. He issued an instruction in Arabic. Danny had time to see the man on the screen lower his knife from the old lady’s throat before Dhul Faqar turned the iPad round.
‘He passes the test,’ Dhul Faqar said quietly, his eyes on Danny.
Malinka was looking warily at Danny’s guard. ‘My love,’ she breathed. ‘You are in danger.’
‘Danger?’ Dhul Faqar said. ‘Certainly. But not from him.’
‘Dhul Faqar, you must be careful—’
‘There was another person in the room when I revealed that name to our friend here,’ Dhul Faqar interrupted.
Malinka turned to look at the slave girl tied to the post. The girl’s eyes were wide and frightened, but she clearly had no idea what was going on.
‘Her?’ Dhul Faqar said. ‘You think I have anything to fear from a pathetic creature like that? No.’ He turned to look at Malinka. ‘I am talking about you, my dear. You are the traitor.’
Danny knew, in an instant, that Dhul Faqar was right. It was the momentary tightening around her eyes, and the way she glanced quickly towards the exit.
It was as if the whole room was holding its breath. Total silence. Total stillness.
Malinka put on a slightly forced smile. ‘My love. What are you saying?’
‘I think I have been very clear.’
‘But my love, I have been by your side for years.’
‘Which makes your treachery all the more disappointing.’ Dhul Faqar looked towards the guards at the door and clicked his fingers. It was clear what he meant, and it was also clear that the guards took great pleasure in advancing towards Malinka and seizing her by both arms. Dhul Faqar stepped up to her and held her by the chin. ‘I think you are either British or American,’ he said. ‘Not British, now I think about it. If you were British, our guests would have known about you. American, then.’ He nodded to himself and murmured, ‘Never trust an American.’ For the first time, their eyes met. ‘I won’t kill you yet,’ he breathed. ‘My men will have their fun first. Then, when you are no more use to them, when you are just an empty, raped husk, then I will put you out of your misery, you pig-faced American whore.’
Danny’s head was spinning. Everything was moving too quickly. He still felt the debilitating nausea from seeing the footage of Clara and his little girl. He was totally confused about the scene unfolding in front of him. Was Dhul Faqar right? Was Malinka really an American agent? He knew they should take advantage of that confusion, but he couldn’t even think straight . . .
‘You’re probably wondering how I came across your CIA file, Danny Black,’ Dhul Faqar announced. ‘Would it surprise you to learn that it was from the CIA themselves?’ His eyes shone with triumph.
‘A gift, from one ally to another. But real allies do not spy on each other, as it seems the Americans have been doing. With one hand they give . . .’ He held up the iPad. ‘With the other, they take away . . .’ He indicated Malinka.
‘My love,’ Malinka breathed again.
Dhul Faqar took a step towards her. With a sudden, brutal swipe he hit her cheek with the back of his hand. There was a hiss of surprise from the assembled guards, and Danny saw a bead of blood trickle from her right nostril. ‘You know what’s coming, American whore,’ Dhul Faqar said very quietly. ‘Do not make it worse for yourself.’ He stepped towards the unit members. His face was contorted with hate. ‘I have a little something waiting for you, back in the cells. I hope you enjoy it.’ He addressed his guards, and now he no longer bothered speaking in English. His instructions were curt and aggressively delivered. The guards acted on them immediately.
The three members of the unit were forced out of the room at gunpoint. So was Malinka. There was no escaping. They were ushered across the open ground by the reservoir back towards the incarceration unit. Danny noticed that the guards were back in their observation towers. The bundle on the ground was no longer there.
At the door to the incarceration unit, they were told to line up in single file. Danny was at the front. He noticed a noise coming from inside that hadn’t been there before. A low, constant, monotonous buzzing. The nausea in his gut grew stronger. He knew what that sound was, and what it would mean.
One of the guards barked at him to enter the incarceration unit. Danny stepped in. He saw the source of the buzzing immediately.
A body was strung up at the front of the two cage cells, about a metre off the ground. Its arms were spread wide, so the hands were just above the doors of each cell. The body was female, and naked. The stomach had been split horizontally with a knife, and its contents had spilled out. The buzzing was caused by the hundreds of flies that were crawling over the glistening offal. Blood had dripped on to the ground. And tied to the front of the cells, on a very short rope, was a mongrel dog, licking at the blood.
