On the riverside of promise (23 page)

“Damn you woman, look at me!” said Ethan and
grabbed her chin, forcing her to turn around. Nicole was staring at
him with a cold, icy gaze fit to petrify a man. It was calculated
anger; a precisely tuned show of hate.

“Do I look that much of a fool? Do I?”
shouted Ethan, his bottled up anger and frustration finally welling
up.

Nicole didn’t make a sound. She continued to
look at him as if he were a mildly irritating curiosity, feeding
his anger.

“I’m just waiting to spring whatever trap
your friends have put in place. Then maybe we can arrange some sort
of swap.”

“With Andy? You think, he’s my captive? ’Our’
captive?” she said sniggering on the brink of uncontrollable
laughter. Ethan pulled out his knife and put the blade against her
nose. His voice was somehow deformed, barely recognisable when he
said with a strangely glazed look:

“Do you know of the Sharia?”

“Islamic law,” replied Nicole, unfazed.

“I’ve heard some Fulani men talk about it. Do
you know what they do to women who shame their family up in the
north?”

“Oh, now I’m family? How kind of you,” she
said mockingly. Ethan grabbed her mouth and while still holding up
the knife near her face, trembling from the effort to control
himself, he told her:

“They cut their fucking noses off and stone
them to death.”

“Go on then, have your way with me! Isn’t
that what you’d like?” she said with a taunting, yet venomous
voice.

“Dear God, I just might!” cried Ethan and
threw her down on the wet, mushy ground.

“I didn’t think you were such an ignorant,
stupid brute until now.”

“Well, it never occurred to me you’d be such
a double-crossing little cunt, but that’s just how things are!”

“I was just following orders. You’re a
soldier, you should know better.”

“We’ll see when we get there. Up on your
feet,” said Ethan and pulled on the rope wrapped around her waist.
She planted her feet and managed to stand upright. She looked at
Ethan through a lock of ruffled hair, soaked in sweat and said
shaking her head:

“Like a fucking mule, huh?”

“I should’ve taped that mouth of yours. Now
walk. I hope we’re not late for the festivities.”

“Always the English gentleman. It’s right
over that bluff. I told you-”

“Right. Now shut up and start walking because
I can be very unkind when I have to. I’ve done it before, I’ll do
it again.”

“For Queen and Country?” she said smiling in
front of him. He then closed his eyes and a moment later punched
her in the stomach. Nicole let out a grumbling sound and bent down
on her knees before she threw up her dinner from the night before.
Ethan yanked the rope and she grudgingly obliged, starting to walk
after she gave him a wary, almost curious lopsided look.

“For you, I’d do it for the fucking laughs.
Move,” said Ethan and rattled his jaw before starting to walk right
behind her, the rope on one hand and the knife on the other.

The bluff up ahead was rather steep. The rain
from the night before had turned the dirt into slippery, thin mud.
Nicole could find little purchase using solely her feet. She
grunted as she fought to stand upright and walk at the same time.
She almost fell down a couple of times but Ethan was right behind
her, holding her steady whenever the need arose, for no other
simpler reason than she would drag him down the slope with her if
she fell.

The sun came right above the horizon when
they settled on the top of the bluff to catch their breath for a
moment. As they both drew in deep breaths, Ethan looked at Nicole
derisively and said:

“That’s not a bluff. That is a proper bloody
hill.”

Nicole gave him a rudimentary nod and
squatted, trying to flex the aching muscles on her back and her
legs. From where they stood, a gleam of light came off a thin
strand of murky water that flowed lazily to the southwest. Ethan’s
gaze followed the course of the water for a moment and then started
surveying the brown and green mass of vegetation in front of him.
Most of the land was covered in mangroves and oil palms.

There were small groves of flat, brownish
ground that dotted the landscape. His eyes caught a glimpse of one
such grove where he saw what he’d been searching for so long: a
large tent, with a red cross inside a white roundel painted on top.
Around it lay scattered crates and sacks. A Land Rover lay near the
estuary, burned to a crisp, all the way down to the chassis.

He suddenly felt his hopes rising and his
fears subsiding. When he asked Nicole though, it was with reticence
in his voice:

“Is that it? Was that Andy’s caravan? Out
here, right next to that muddy river?”

“That was the one. That’s the Orashi, one of
Niger’s streams.”

“Come on then. Let’s see whether your people
are going to be here on time. I just might get my hands on
something useful first.”

“You’ve turned paranoid.”

“Better than turn up dead. Move,” he said and
Nicole complied. The slope on the other side of the bluff wasn’t as
big and going downhill was a lot easier. The sun was already
shining above the treetops and the heat was building up fast. Ethan
wiped his forehead and asked Nicole, while she navigated through
the thick, swampy bushes:

“Their caravan was hit on the Biafran
side.”

“Yes,” she replied with a flat, indifferent
tone.

Ethan looked at her with a deep-seated frown,
before he almost spat the words:

“What the fuck was a Red Cross caravan doing
this far down the River in Biafra? There’s not a fucking soul
around!”

“There is Okumu, down south. About 3 miles
from here,” she said, roughly pointing to the south with her head.
They kept moving towards the grove, the morning sounds of the
jungle echoing their every step.

“There’s a road for Okumu. What the bloody
hell where they doing in the middle of this god-awful jungle?”

“You still don't get it, do you?” said Nicole
and swung her head around, gazing at the surrounding trees as if
they were on a sightseeing jungle trek. She let out a small, polite
laugh before she added with a lilting, unusually fresh-sounding
voice:

“Can’t you smell it?”

“Smells like a rotten jungle alright. What’s
to like?”

“There’s more to it than the rot. It is
essentially the same though.”

“The same with what.”

“Gas. Swamp gas. Methane.”

Ethan took a moment and stood still, holding
the rope firmly. It became taut soon enough and Nicole turned
around to complain when he shushed her, the knife still firmly held
in his hand. He was sniffing the air, his gaze wandering at the
ground around his boots. His head leaned to the left and to the
right for a few more moments.

“What are you doing?” asked Nicole.

“I’m trying to use my senses,” he said calmly
in contrast to his earlier demeanor. After a few seconds, he told
her:

“They’re here, aren’t they?”

“I’m telling you, there is no rendezvous,”
she said stressing the last word with a purely French accent, while
her gaze flickered to somewhere behind him for the barest
moment.

That was enough to warn Ethan someone was
behind him. He instinctively swung around, letting go of the rope
that held Nicole and blindly aiming his knife for a low stab in the
leg. As he did so he had time enough to shout, “You cunt!” but he
wasn’t quick enough to avoid whatever it was that connected
violently with his head.

The world around him flashed intensely white
as he staggered and in the blink of an eye everything went dark as
his body met the soft ground. The last thing that went through his
mind before the lights went out was what Onko from his last scout
team had told him after their last drill: he was growing soft.

* * *

Ethan opened his eyes to a room filled with
darkness, except for a narrow slit of light seeping under the door.
The air was stale and damp; it smelled of oil and rust. Ethan’s
eyes adjusted to the dim light and looked around. He could barely
make out the rough edges of crates, vanes and pipes pouring out
from the wall next to the door. A sharp smell assaulted his senses
suddenly; cordite.

He was lying down with his back against the
wall. He flexed the sore muscles on his feet and feltsomething
weighing them down. He heard the sound of rustling chains; he was
in shackles. Whoever these people were, they weren’t taking any
chances.

The back of his head brushed against the
wall; the concrete was coarse but warm. The temperature was
tolerably hot, but the humidity felt like it could choke him.
Surprisingly enough though, he was still alive. He smiled bitterly
to himself; the thought that he had taken the risk to follow Nicole
into a trap didn’t trouble him as much as the fact that he had
actually fallen for it like an amateur. Whatever would happen next,
he felt as far away from ever finding Andy again as ever. Right
about the time when he thought he was so close. When he knew his
brother was alive.

His thoughts were then suddenly interrupted
when he heard voices from outside and the clanging sound of boots
on a metal floor. He could hear two male voices exchanging a few
words in French. He then heard the sound of a lighter, followed by
the echo of steps moving away. The guard on the door had been
changed. Whatever kind of facility he was being kept prisoner in,
there seemed to be lots of Nicole’s friends.

They had taken away his boots and naturally
his knife and the Browning. They’d been thorough enough to search
his socks and rip the pockets out of his shirt and trousers. In a
perhaps strange bout of decency, they hadn’t left him naked.

The small storage room gave away few clues
about his whereabouts; it could be underground, or in some old,
disused building. Wherever he was though, there was ample humidity
but there was nothing special about that. He could still be
somewhere near the river, or in a remote part of the jungle.
Perhaps he was being held somewhere in the Delta, further south.
Someone should bring him some food and water eventually. If they
wanted him dead, Nicole had had ample opportunities before.

His thoughts wandered then to James.
Everything suddenly seemed to rest on him at that point. When he
came looking for him and Ethan was nowhere to be found, what would
he do?

Without knowing exactly where he was and with
no clue about how long he’d been out, their prearranged landing
zone could be days away. And even if by some stroke of luck or
genius that he couldn’t really bother to believe in at that time he
did somehow escape, there was no telling whether he’d be on time.
No, he corrected himself. If they’d be there in time. Him and
Andy.

Because if he was being held captive in this
place, there was a good chance Andy would be around as well. Unless
they had a whole network of caches, outposts and storage facilities
made out of concrete, he could very well be in the next room.

Outside, he heard someone approaching once
more. The steps sounded different than before; more quiet, less
pronounced. Someone with a smaller, lighter build. Once the sound
of steps stopped, he half-expected whoever was outside to have a
talk, perhaps a routine check. He heard nothing of the sort, but
instead the sound of heavy metal locks clanging and bars lifting
could be heard. Soon the door opened and light shone through
brilliantly. The sudden contrast made Ethan flinch away.

He then blinked furiously for a while before
taking a look at the door with some reticence. A shapely shadow
obscured some of the light. When he looked up, he saw Nicole
holding a key-chain. She then pushed the door wide open to reveal
the form of the guard, an Igbo by the looks of him.

What had at first looked like a bath of shiny
and brilliant light revealed itself to be nothing more than a
sickly yellowish light bulb. Nicole simply nodded and the guard
stood behind her holding his rifle with both hands, the butt of the
stock extended, ready to smash a couple of bones if the need arose.
They were indeed handling him very carefully, even though he had no
great misconceptions about his place there and then.

They seemed to be communicating well enough
without words.

“Good. You’re finally up,” said Nicole with
heartening approval.

“How long was I out?” asked Ethan and cleared
his throat.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Captain.
Stand up now,” she said in a mildly authoritative but not unkind
way.

“Am I being held as a prisoner of war?” asked
Ethan rather dejectedly.

Nicole grinned widely as she was searching
for the right key in the chain.

“The Geneva accords?” she asked and shrugged.
“There’s no reason for that, we’re all civilized here,” she said
and looked straight at Ethan before asking him, “Aren’t we?”

Ethan repeated himself in the same monotone
voice as before:

“Am I being held-”