by Tim Heath
After about thirty seconds, most guns were now empty of any remaining bullets, the shooting subsided. The bloodied, mangled corpse was all that was left of Jianguo. The Commander went over and kicked the body, nudging it as close to the fire as he could.
“A little more wood, I think. Then we’ll drink!” he ordered, men coming and placing extra logs on the body, the flames lapping up, the fire growing in intensity. Bottles of some form of soft drinks were shared around. Songs of previous battles got sung, and the men joined in––in a new way, a primitive way. Most were veterans of the Afghan war with the Russians, men who should have been a lot closer relationally than they were, now once more brought together, in Africa of all places. The fire continued to burn, the remains of the former Chinese ambassador cremated before their eyes.
From his tree, Gudu had seen everything. He had recognised the man they’d killed, had known him personally though because of his battered state; it was not entirely possible to know for sure. He’d made that assumption. He’d been male, for sure––which meant Elizabeth had not been involved. Were they now about to kill the prisoners? Had something similar already happened to her? These were questions running through his mind.
He climbed down from the tree, happy at least to have come across the camp, though the coordinates had been quite specific. He’d left the car some distance away, the risk of his approach being heard not worth taking, and he jogged back towards it, wary of what might be out there in the darkness around him at that moment, predators of all sorts out hunting for food.
In the car, he had a few extra supplies, though there wasn’t a lot. He still had his knife on him, and could kill just about anything with it should the need arise. Not much help against a crowd of armed men, but he took it with him anyway. It gave him something, at least.
He dressed quickly, covering himself in an all-black combat outfit, hat and night vision goggles, which would at least give him as much awareness of any wildlife he might encounter on the way, plus a particular advantage in the camp.
He’d noticed security was very light. They weren’t naturally expecting any trouble, and though they were all fighters who’d have their weapons ready in a moment, there didn’t apparently appear to be active teams circling the perimeter. It was possible he hadn’t seen them, though that was highly unlikely, given his training. It was possible that they would have some presence through the night, however. Even if just to ward off any wandering lions, or the like.
He ate the food he had, which wasn’t an excessive amount, but it would do more inside his body than left in the car, especially if he’d need it over the next twenty-four hours and wasn’t able to get back to the car before then.
He drank the remains of one bottle of water, dropping another unopened one into his trouser pocket, zipping it up after.
It was gone nine when he locked the car, deciding to leave the keys high in a tree that stood nearby, no need for the extra item to be on his person. He adjusted his goggles to get used to the darkness, which happened quickly. There was no artificial light, and the sky was quite clear anyway, a crescent moon shining above. The stars seemed to come alive.
All around he could hear various animal calls, though nothing alarming nor too close. He was very much playing on their turf, however, and wouldn’t take anything for granted. It was twenty past nine when he made it back to the tree he’d used before to watch the camp. The fire was still very much glowing, the songs even in good voice. If anything, there were more people gathered, though that might not have been accurate. He hadn’t counted before, either, but estimated at least sixty people were around the fire, another dozen or so seen walking between tents or talking in groups off to one side.
Based on his guess that there’d be somewhere around one hundred people there, it still left a high number of people who he couldn’t place, assuming many would be in the compound he wanted to check out. He would need to wait until it was a lot later for that to be possible. The party would break at some point, and he’d then get a glimpse as to what kind of security measures they would be using during the night.
For now, he’d have to stay there and just watch. He was an expert at picking the right moment to strike, the optimum time of least resistance. It’s what made him so useful. He never sought out a fight, preferred to be invisible, but he could handle himself in any one-on-one situation he felt he might face. Especially in unarmed combat, for which he’d been undefeated during his months of training with the Chinese Secret Service.
It was several hours before the last of the fireside group finally left the fading embers and ambled back across to the tents. Alert, Gudu had not missed a thing. He began to lower himself out of the tree.
32
London, England
In London, the Security Service had been meeting that night, aware of the impending operation by the Americans, a source close to them giving them a discreet heads up. They’d not informed the government about it yet.
Communications around the world, and especially in Nigeria, were being monitored, but nothing was coming out from anyone linked to Boko Haram to suggest they were onto anything. No further news yet, either, of any more information being leaked.
The five British informants who’d been killed had created a sizeable political mess, not to mention a hole in Britain’s intelligence gathering ability. The five were currently irreplaceable, and a solution to that problem would have to be found at some point.
For now, they were just waiting. Waiting and hoping that the Americans were able to pull this one off. A triple strike to wipe away the information before it got passed on to others, to severely damage the leadership structures of some of the most feared terrorist organisations currently in operation, and to hit back at the Chinese, though this last part was highly uncertain. Most probably, Elizabeth would be killed. There had been no information regarding her capture, no videotapes of her paraded in front of a camera, made to read a statement condemning her country’s actions. No videos, yet, of a masked man holding a sword to her neck. They’d save the terrorists the honour of actually killing her. She’d betrayed the West and was deserving of everything about to come to her.
For now, there was little they could do. The silence seemed to fill the room more than chatter, an unusual thing for people generally with so much to say. Jugs of coffee sat keeping warm on their heaters. They would be refilled many times before the night was over.
Northern Nigeria
Elizabeth had regained a little strength. It had been hours since Jianguo was dragged out of her cell, and his failure to return could only have meant one thing: he wasn’t coming back. Maybe they would now keep them apart, though he’d not been brought back into that part of the compound at all, the three cells seemingly the only place they held the prisoners.
One guard stood inside her room, gun by his side, looking bored out of his mind. It was a different guard than before, a change apparently taking place at least once while she had slept. She had no idea what the time was, though it was dark outside, the one little-barred window high up on the wall telling her that much. The day had been a living nightmare, and her body shattered because of it. The thought of what the next day, let alone the ones after that, would bring didn't bear thinking.
The guard was watching her. She tried not to catch his eye, but she could see that much. She didn’t know if he’d been one of the ones who’d raped her earlier, they all looked very similar––menacing and angry––and besides, she’d kept her eyes shut for as much of it all as possible. It wasn’t an image she wanted to live with, yet the whole reality of what had happened, let alone what might, was already more than she could bear. She needed a way out. She wouldn’t be their prisoner. She couldn’t allow that to continue.
Getting to her feet, which wasn’t easy, every ounce of energy and concentration needed just to do that, and she made out she was stretching. The guard at the door just stood there, though he’d noticeably moved on the spot as she rose, apparently
unsure of what he should do. He was nervous––she would use that.
She started to vomit, something she couldn’t control, but at the moment knew she could use it. She motioned for the bin, which was on the floor next to his right leg. He picked it up, coming over a little, holding it at arm’s length, barely looking at her, repulsed by what was happening. She deliberately couldn’t reach, only moving her hand up so much. He came nearer. This time she made a move, putting everything into one action. Taking hold of the arm he was carrying the gun in, she clasped her hands around it while getting her shoulder under his chest, swivelling her body and thrusting him forward so that he came flying over the top of her as she lowered herself to the ground. He hit the floor hard, his arm twisted back, gun dropping free.
She reached for it, drawing it up towards him as he lay there, dazed and injured, but not unconscious.
Gudu circled the camp first, keeping about three hundred metres between him and it at all times, getting a clearer idea as to what was there. On the other side, once he’d passed the brick compound, there was the only access road he found.
The building wasn’t as substantial as he’d thought, but it was possible there were some barracks in there as well. That might prove a problem. The roof was his most likely access point, though until he got up there, he didn’t know what he’d find. He hadn’t noticed any watchtowers of any sort, meaning if he could get higher up they most probably wouldn’t be able to see him, increasing his chances of remaining undetected.
Completing about eighty per cent of the circuit, he could once more make out the tree in the distance where he’d started from, the camp not altogether huge, and he decided to turn around and head back towards the brick building.
A few men were standing around outside some of the tents, presumably standing guard, the odd flicker of light as a cigarette got lit. Apart from these men, little sound or movement was coming from the camp. No one was guarding the building’s entrance on the outside, though that didn’t mean there were not any men on the inside. That said, the overall feel of the place was that they apparently had a false sense of security, perhaps switched off to the fact that anyone might come for them, their dominance in the area making them arrogant––cocky even. He would undoubtedly capitalise on that shortcoming. He would only get one go at it.
Gudu stayed about twenty metres to the side of the one road he’d found, jogging parallel with it as he approached the brick building, keeping as low possible as he moved, a skill Gudu had perfected over the years. Gudu remained in the darkness and deep shadows, created in the shallow dips in the earth, or around trees and along the edges of the building as he got closer. It was his domain. He tried a drain pipe, but it wouldn’t have held his weight, its rusted condition likely to crumble to his touch. That knowledge gave him some concerns about the roof above, and he would have to pick his steps carefully.
A short way along the wall, in a small sheltered part, the wall going in three feet before coming out again, he found another drain pipe, this one in far better shape, its isolated position meaning it was shielded from the elements a lot more. Using his feet to propel him, it took little effort for him to climb up the pipe the twenty or so feet it took to get to the edge of the mostly flat roof. A section to the right of him, back the way he’d come, had a pointed roof, maybe involving a shutter he had passed. The rest was flat, and he paused at the edge, confident he was on the wall, as he assessed the quality and condition of the surface. It was mainly concrete, instead of metal, which was good. Cement could not rust.
He’d used the roof of a hospital he’d once entered more than five years ago in London. That had been a more modern roof, with heating vents and various other options. He’d walked quickly across that. Today, he’d take his time. Plus, there were no obvious entry points, which initially bothered him. It seemed one huge slab, though with three buildings noted, it was possible that would change as he moved around.
It was a full three-quarter of an hour until he’d safely navigated the total roof area. The only vent of any kind was some form of air-conditioning outlet, nothing he could use to access the top floor, only of use if a chemical or explosive entry was needed, the kind of thing a team of special forces soldiers would attempt.
The only option that remained was a window high up in the raised roof, the area above the shuttered door, which he assumed would give access to a delivery bay or garage. If he could remove the pane of glass, he would be able to get into the space below and assuming there was no one there, lower himself down using a rope. An escape via that same route was an option, though it Elizabeth were with him, especially if his presence became known, it would be challenging. It was, however, the only option he had. The night was pressing on.
At various stages of any such mission like this, there would be moments of pausing, merely staying silent, hiding oneself from a particular threat, until it moved away. That meant Gudu had no idea how long he would need once in the building. He didn’t fancy his chances once it got light, there would be no escape from the area as they’d see him with little effort. So he had at most six hours, probably less, to get away. Six hours and his Elizabeth would be safe with him once more. Six hours and his service to his country would be over.
He climbed up onto the raised roof, a tile coming loose as he did. The screws in the window frame were visible, but a long time beyond their useful life. It made removing them, one by one, painstaking work. He got to the task at hand straight away.
Elizabeth was using everything she had to remain focused, though the adrenaline had kicked in, giving her something of a boost. She knew it wouldn’t last her long, her body severely undernourished, dangerously dehydrated.
The guard rolled over, eyes catching her eyes, before spotting the gun, his movement slowing. Still, neither of them said anything. He got to his feet, about two metres in front of her. She knew that was too far for him to make a move without her reacting, though she had no idea what her reflex would be now she was so tired. She motioned him to stop.
There was still no sound coming from either of them, no noise from the corridor outside either. It had been two minutes already; clearly, no hidden cameras were watching them, why would there have been? It was a run-down complex that they were holding her in, in the middle of nowhere. They apparently didn’t keep their foremost prisoners here; she’d been a particular case, as had Jianguo, who she now feared she’d got killed by insisting he end her life. Now things had changed somewhat.
The guard took one step forward, almost encouraging her to take the shot. A shot which would undoubtedly raise the alarm, assuming there were people around. He would risk his life to inform the others. Maybe he knew he was a dead man anyway, for letting her disarm him. She took a step back, keeping the gap between them, motioning with her hands for him to stay where he was, which slowed him, but not entirely. Still, he edged forward.
She didn’t have that far to walk back, and the door was less than a foot behind her. It was locked, as she’d thought. She motioned for keys, to which he just opened his hands. They were four feet apart. Still, he didn’t stop. She raised the gun to his head, while he continued to approach, the weapon now pressing into his forehead. She was trapped, either way, there was no escape, unless he did have keys on him. Even if he did, she couldn’t escape the feeling of being trapped. They would catch her, and she would be imprisoned again. Right now, she controlled her fate. Right now, her destiny was in her left hand. She smashed the barrel of the gun into his forehead, knocking him to the ground, hitting him once more for good measure as he lay there, apparently unconscious. She would comb him in case he had been lying about the keys.
Gudu was making slow progress with the window. He could have taken the clumsy approach and just smashed the glass out. With the pane just then falling all the way to the floor, gravity doing its thing, it would have risked alerting someone. It was a risk not worth taking at that moment.
After a couple of hours, he’d removed the ten screws tha
t had held the frame in place, and taking hold of the unit, he gave it a gentle tug, and it came loose, the whole piece coming away in one go. He moved down the sloping roof gently and placed the window on the concrete, no sound made whatsoever. He then climbed back up to the hole where the window had been, taking a glance in for the first time.
His goggles showed no sign of movement anywhere. It was a garage area as he’d guessed, though there were no vehicles inside. The way the weeds seemed to be growing outside the shutter suggested it wasn’t something used anymore, maybe even predating the terrorists’ time in the facility altogether. There were some shelves, however, with items that suggested the room still held some function. It, therefore, had at least one other access point, a doorway that would also give him access to the rest of the compound.
Pulling a rope from his bag, he tied it off at his end, securing it around the edge of the roof where another drain pipe ran, testing it a few times to make sure it would hold. He dropped it through the gap, the rope falling into the space and a few feet hitting the floor with a gentle, barely audible, thud. It alerted nobody, and Gudu was through the hole and down the rope within seconds, his small frame not giving a sense of the strength he had in his upper body and arms.
He left the rope where it was, there was nothing else he could do with it, and until he knew otherwise, was his only realistic exit point.
Two doors led, presumably, into the compound from the musty space in which he now stood. Gudu chose the less obvious one, tucked away a little. It led into a corridor, a toilet off the first door, some showers in the next. Some form of a sleeping facility was nearby, maybe a dormitory of some sort. Everything was still tranquil. There were no cameras on the walls, no security systems of any type that he could make out. Still, they had the human resources and firepower to stop him if he gave them a chance.
