Strike Back (29 page)

Asad snapped the camera shut, and switched off the light. The small room was suddenly dark and silent: only the sound of Katie sobbing gently broke the stillness.

‘Thank you,’ said Hassad. ‘Your words have served a noble purpose.’

Katie snivelled. The tears had blocked up her nose and her throat. The lash of the whip would still be stinging, Porter reckoned: the pain from where the hose had cut into his own skin was still burning through him, and he knew it would be hours before it started to subside.

‘I don’t care about that,’ Katie stuttered. ‘I just want to die.’

‘Soon enough,’ said Hassad. ‘There are less than twenty hours for you to wait now.’

‘I want to die now,’ Katie screamed. There was a sudden energy and violence in her voice, as if she had suddenly found some strength from somewhere.

‘I’ve told you to wait.’

‘Now,’ said Katie, gasping for breath. ‘I’ve had enough. If you’re going to do it, just fucking get it over with.’

‘The deadline has been set,’ snapped Hassad.

‘Film it now, do whatever you want, I just can’t take this any more.’

There were tears streaming down her face and Porter could see in her eyes that the will to live had abandoned her. It happened sometimes to men on the battlefield: once their spirits were broken, they’d just march straight into the line of fire. When they knew they were going to die anyway, they just wanted to get it over with. It was the waiting they couldn’t stand.

His eyes met hers, and suddenly he saw a spark of anger flicker within her. She wants to know why I haven’t saved her yet. And it’s a bloody good question.

‘Tonight at eight, precisely,’ said Hassad. ‘We’re expecting a huge global audience. We don’t want to disappoint them.’

Katie fell silent. The moment of hysteria had passed. Now she just looked sad and bitter, as if she was reflecting on the life that was about to be snatched away from her. ‘Leave me alone with the Englishman,’ she said quietly.

‘What?’ asked Hassad.

‘I want to be alone with one of my own people.’

Porter listened closely. Has she got a plan? he wondered.

Katie was looking up now. ‘You said you weren’t cruel men,’ she said. ‘Well then, you’ll grant a woman one simple request before you kill her.’

Hassad looked at her, then at Porter. ‘No tricks,’ he said.

Porter nodded.

‘A man will be posted at the door,’ said Hassad. ‘Five minutes, that’s all. Then we’re taking you out of here.’

He walked from the room, the others following behind him. The door slammed shut. For a couple of seconds, Porter remained silent. He reckoned he knew something of what she was going through. Only a day earlier, the bastards who captured him told him he was about to be beheaded, and he’d believed them. He’d sensed the fear, the dread, the
expectation of the pain, and the challenge of dying alone and miserable in a strange and hostile place.

‘Do you think they’ll really do it?’ asked Katie.

Porter nodded. There was no point in trying to kid her. That wasn’t going to do any good now.

‘They’re bastards,’ he muttered. ‘They’ll do anything.’

Katie started to speak, but she choked on the first word. Maybe some small part of her had hoped through the past week that it was just a bluff, that when the moment came, they’d call it off. Lock her up instead. He’d heard that men on death row often thought that. It was the only way they could handle the pressure. If so, he’d punctured that now. The flat certainty with which he delivered the answer had extinguished what hope remained as surely as a closed fist will extinguish the flame on a candle.

‘It won’t be so bad,’ he said. ‘It’ll be quick. And …’

He paused, trying to complete the sentence, but it was hopeless. It wasn’t going to be quick, and she knew it. That was why she was so afraid.

‘Kill me now,’ she said.

Porter could hear the desperation in her voice.

‘At least it will be over,’ she continued.

‘There’s still hope,’ he persisted. ‘That’s one thing you learn in the army. While you’re still alive, there’s still a chance. Something may turn up.’

‘Have you negotiated?’ asked Katie, her voice pale and frightened.

Porter shrugged. ‘They’re not interested.’

‘Did they … did they give you anything to offer?’

‘Just the bollocks you’d expect,’ said Porter. He sighed. ‘Some half-arsed peace talks. Some money. That’s not what they want though, is it? They want our boys out of Iraq. And we’re not going to give them that.’

A tear was falling down the side of Katie’s cheek. ‘Did … did Perry get involved?’

‘Collinson?’ said Porter.

Then he remembered. She’d been tied to this miserable stake for the past week. She had no idea what was going on at home.

‘We were …’

‘I know,’ growled Porter.

There’s no need for her to know the history between us. It will only make things worse. If that was possible. ‘He’s meant to be heading up the effort to rescue you,’ said Porter. ‘I saw the latest broadcast. He’s been in Beirut today, and he might be in Israel by tomorrow.

‘If there’s a way, he’ll find me,’ sniffed Katie.

Dream on, girl, Porter reflected bitterly. If he can find a TV camera, he’ll pose for it. The bastard would have trouble finding his own arse and elbow. And if he did, he wouldn’t know how to get them in the right order.

‘You have to hold on in there,’ he said grimly. ‘If they have any idea where we are, they’ll come tonight.’

‘But you don’t think there’s any hope?’

Porter shrugged. He’d thought about it ever since he’d been here. He’d done hostage raids himself, he’d been trained for it, and there was no more difficult military operation, particularly if you wanted to get the hostage out alive. Even when it was on open ground, you had to get in quickly enough and take out enough of the opposition to secure control of the area before they killed the hostage. To stand much of a chance, you needed detailed maps, and you needed an access point where you could get a lot of men in fast. They didn’t have either. If they did get the location, they might try pumping some kind of nerve gas down into the mine to paralyse everyone down below: officially, those kinds of chemical weapons didn’t exist, but he’d heard rumours in the Regiment they were stockpiled somewhere for an emergency. They were meant to be sodding dangerous – unstable, rarely tested, and with
potentially carcinogenic side effects – but that was all just hearsay. It was something they needed to be prepared for, though. If they had them, they’d surely use them tonight.

‘This place is bloody hard to find, and even if you get the location, it is going to be a bastard to break into, even for the Regiment.’

‘Stand closer to me,’ said Katie. ‘I’m scared.’

No point in telling Katie about the possibility of a chemical attack, Porter thought. It will only make her even more frightened. And I’m not sure there is much more terror she can handle.

‘Are you religious?’

Christ, no. The last thing I need right now is a lot of mumbo-jumbo. Porter shook his head. ‘Not really.’

‘I’m a Catholic.’ She stifled another tear. ‘At least, at school. I’m not really a churchgoer or anything.’ She steadied herself, trying to stop her lips from trembling. ‘But I would like you to read me the last rites.’

‘I …’ Porter hesitated, unsure what to say. ‘I don’t think I know them.’

She leant her head forward, and whispered two short sentences.

‘I’m not a priest,’ said Porter, and immediately felt stupid for such a weak and pointless remark.

Katie attempted a smile. His lips were too battered, however, to turn up more than a couple of millimetres. ‘I’ll call one then, maybe.’

She looked at Porter. ‘You’re the only person here.’

Porter took a step closer. He was standing just inches away from her. The stench was unbearable: a suffocating mixture of rotting excrement, sweat and blood. Like a cross between an abattoir and a boghouse, he decided bitterly. With his right hand, he crossed himself, then closed his eyes so they were half shut. ‘Through this holy anointing, may the Lord
in His love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit,’ he said softly.

‘The rest,’ said Katie weakly. ‘Please.’

‘May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.’

‘Hold me,’ said Katie.

Porter leant into her, and wrapped his arms around her body. She was thin, wasting away, and he could feel the cuts and fractures and bruises that covered her skin. She was dry, like an piece of old fruit, and her limbs seemed to be rotting away. ‘I’m so scared,’ she whimpered.

Hassad stepped into the room. He glanced first at Katie, then at Porter. ‘It’s time for you to leave,’ he said, a soft smile twisting up his deformed lip. ‘Next time you see her, she will be dead.’

The two men walked in silence down the length of the corridor. The path was dark, and even though they were deep underground, Porter could sense the night all around them. Two guards were already in position outside the door where Katie was being held captive, and two more where the corridor hit the meeting point. They looked strong and alert, and they were well armed. Nobody’s going to try to catch a few minutes’ kip on their watch tonight, Porter decided. They know just exactly how much is at stake.

If the Regiment does try and come in tonight, it’s going to be a slaughterhouse.

Hassad turned into the next corridor, and led Porter towards his room. As he passed through the sleeping quarters, Porter could see that most of the men were resting. The lights were out and there were bodies stretched out on the floor. He could hear a couple of guys snoring. Hassad pushed the door open. There was a dim light shining from a candle in one corner of the room he had been shown into earlier. As Porter glanced around, he suddenly felt something hard stabbing into the small of his back. He knew instinctively what it was.

A gun.

He spun round. Hassad was pointing a Beretta handgun right at him.

‘What the fuck?’ spat Porter.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Hassad. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. Just as long as you do what I say.’

Porter looked at the gun, then up into the man’s eyes. There could be no doubt that he would kill him if he resisted. He nodded towards a stake driven into the ground in the far corner of the room. Porter could see precisely what was about to happen. The bastard was going to tie him up.

‘My apologies,’ said Hassad politely. ‘But you are a British soldier, and we can’t leave you roaming around here all night. And you have already attacked one of my men.’

Porter kept his eyes on the Beretta as he walked towards the stake. Inwardly, he was shuddering: maybe they’re planning to behead me as well. There was no point in arguing right now: any trouble and they would probably just whack him on the head, then tie him up anyway while he was out cold. His vengeance would come later, he felt certain. The stake was a thick piece of wood, driven deep down into the floor, with about a metre protruding from the surface. Hassad nodded to him to lie down on the straw next to it, then took a rope and started to tie his foot to the stake. Next, he took Porter’s right arm, and bound that behind his back. The ropes were rough, and cut into his skin, but he had space to move and breathe, and if he curled up, he could lie flat on his side on the straw and get some sleep.

‘I’m sorry that your journey has been a wasted one,’ said Hassad, as he slipped the last of the knots into place. ‘I might have talked … but Nasri, and the others, wouldn’t allow it.’

‘I make one last appeal to you,’ said Porter, his eyes rolling upwards so that he could look directly into Hassad’s face. ‘Put me in her place. Leave the girl alone.’

Hassad shook his head. ‘We’ve already discussed it,’ he said. ‘Nothing can change the plan. Unless your government gives us what we want, the execution will go ahead as planned.’

‘I spared your life,’ snapped Porter.

‘And now
I’m
sparing yours.’

‘She’s sodding bricking herself. She can’t deal with this. I can.’

Hassad shrugged. ‘Everyone can deal with death,’ he said, speaking with a weary sigh. ‘There’s really nothing to it.’

Porter was about to speak, but Hassad had already stood up. He was walking towards the door. He looked exhausted, Porter thought, and he probably wasn’t going to get much kip either. Nobody would, he reflected bitterly. Not in this hellhole, with a young woman’s blood waiting to be spilt.

‘Now, get some sleep, if you want to,’ said Hassad. ‘Tomorrow, after the execution, we will blindfold you so that you won’t know where you’ve been, and we’ll drive you to a safe spot, and we’ll make sure you have directions and enough money to get back to Beirut. You can report to the British Embassy, they’ll take care of you.’

Porter grunted. We’ll both be dead long before then, mate, he decided.

‘I owed you a debt for sparing my life all those years ago,’ Hassad continued. ‘That’s why I agreed that you should come out here. But after tomorrow, that debt is paid in full. We are men on different sides of a war that may last for generations, and there should be no more dealings between us.’