Terrorist: Three Book Boxed Set

by Phillip Strang

  I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;

  Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

  Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

  Thou anointest my head with oil;

  My cup runneth over.

  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:

  And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

  He repeated the psalm, his voice quivering with terror as the flames came ever closer.

  ‘I must be with Zebediah,’ the devoted Mary shouted. ‘Let me go.’ With almost superhuman strength, she shook herself free of her captors and made a dash to the chapel and her husband. ‘My life is with you, Zebediah,’ she cried out. ‘I will not stay here without you.’

  She reached the entrance to the fiery building and made the only decision possible.

  Rushing through the door, she grabbed hold of him and hugged him tightly. The reciting of the psalm, interspersed with screams of agony echoed throughout the compound for at least another sixty seconds. Even the attackers were moved by the poignancy of the moment.

  To Helen, they had been like parents and as much as she loved her birth parents back in England, the relationship with Zebediah and Mary had somehow been more. She cried silently, but otherwise remained impassive. She would mourn another time.

  Kate, in severe shock and denial, unable to comprehend, cocooned into herself.

  ‘The dark-haired one is for me,’ Abacha said, pointing to Helen. He had decided that she would suffice as his reward. She was Christian, older than normal, yet she had a look that appealed to him. The fair-haired female, he knew was not for him. The slave trader would always pay well for a beautiful virgin. If any harm came to her, he would be answerable to Mohammad Murtada, the Boko Haram supreme leader.

  Murtada, the fundamentalist leader and Abacha had no feelings of compassion towards a woman, no matter how white and beautiful she was; it was purely commercial. To wage their religious war, they needed money and weapons; the slave trader could supply both.

  ‘The one with the light hair is not to be touched. There is a buyer for her,’ Abacha shouted.

  He needed her in pristine condition. He had to ensure she remained unmarked, untouched and unharmed. His soldiers, after the burning of the chapel, had returned to their pawing of the two women.

  ‘Get you filthy hands off her! She is not a stupid village woman,’ Helen screamed. Molested as well, she had already retreated mentally to a place where, whatever they did to her physically, would not affect her.

  Kate, not capable of anything more, wriggled to free herself from her shackles and her captors, but it was in vain. She was close to unconsciousness, reduced to no more than a rag doll.

  ‘Leave the women alone. They are not for you,’ Abacha screamed. ‘If you do not stop, I will kill all of you.’

  One of the soldiers, another unpleasant and unattractive character of no education and no willpower, was oblivious to the warning. He was overly excited, caressing Kate’s breasts and trying to rip her dress off; he had not heard. As he attempted to open his trousers and press his erect member up against her, Abacha took his pistol out of its holster.

  ‘I have warned you,’ he shouted one more time. Realising that it was hopeless, he levelled his weapon at the head of the disobedient fighter and pulled the trigger.

  ‘I told you I would not allow them to be harmed.’

  Kate collapsed on the floor, splattered with blood from the dead fighter. She had fainted. The ardour of the other soldiers diminished in an instant.

  ‘Kate, stand up,’ shouted Helen. ‘Don’t let them see your fear. You must not give them the satisfaction of knowing they have subjugated us.’ Hearing her words, Kate revived sufficiently after a few minutes.

  ‘They have killed Duncan, and Zebediah and Mary,’ Kate bleated. ‘What are they going to do to us?’ Tears rolled down her face and she was shaking like a leaf.

  Helen did not want to tell her the obvious, and Kate must have realised what their fate would have been had the leader of the attackers not intervened. In her torn dress, she lifted herself up and sat on the steps leading up to the main building. Her hands were still tied at the front, but somehow she managed.

  ‘You must stay strong and calm,’ continued Helen. ‘If you show weakness, it will only be worse.’

  ‘Were they going to rape me?’

  ‘Probably, but they were stopped. They are keeping us alive for a reason. Screaming and shouting will not help. These are violent people, and you are something they have not seen before. It is because we are young and female that we are not dead on the ground.’

  ‘I am so frightened,’ Kate nervously spoke, her voice quivering.

  ‘So am I, but I have experienced violence before. I will not allow them to control my mind. What they do to my body is transient.’

  ‘Do they intend to rape us?’ Kate asked again.

  ‘You need to separate yourself physically and mentally. I will try and help you if we are given a chance.’

  ‘My father will come for us.’ Kate maintained confidence in her devoted father’s resolve to rescue her.

  ‘I hope you are correct. In the meantime, we must survive.’

  ‘We leave,’ Abacha commanded. ‘Put the women on the back seat in my vehicle. Make sure they are secured, do not touch them.’ His soldiers were temporarily subdued after the shooting. ‘Take any vehicles that you can start.’

  They attempted to start the old Bedford truck but were unsuccessful. Duncan had a skill that no one in the compound had ever mastered successfully. The two vehicles that Kate’s father had given, started and driven out through the main gate.

  ‘Get in the vehicle.’ Abacha gestured to the women, pawing Helen at the same time.

  ‘Do not touch me.’ She attempted to pull away from him.

  I look forward to taking her. She will fight me with a passion, he thought. It would be his first white woman.

  ‘Come on, Kate,’ said Helen. ‘Stand up straight and walk to the vehicle.’

  ‘I will not go.’

  ‘We have no choice. If we resist and cause too much trouble, they will rape and kill us before they leave. If we go, there is a chance.’

  Kate realised there was no alternative and walked slowly to the vehicle, supported by Helen. They climbed into the back seat of the Land Cruiser, a fighter pinning them in on either side.

  ‘Burn whatever you can,’ shouted Abacha. ‘We must leave an example to others who feel that they can come here and preach their infidel religion.’

  The compound was well alight as the vehicles headed north out of the town. Abacha, the Boko Haram leader at the attack was pleased with their night’s activities.

  Chapter 6

  The security team from Counter Insurgencies did not relish their fortnightly visit to the Mission. The insurgents had become more brazen in recent months and the risk of attack, a distinct possibility. Steve Case, the CEO of Counter Insurgencies, had agreed with Bob McDonald to keep an eye on his daughter, Kate, and to pull her out at the first sign of trouble. To Aluko, the head of the team, the time to pull her out had long passed. He did not know it, but Steve had already told Kate’s father that it was no longer safe. Bob McDonald had given in to his daughter’s request to stay.

  It had been two days since the attack, and their visit was on schedule. They were prepared for an overnight stay, check everyone was okay and then commence the arduous trip back down south. What they found on arrival was unexpected.

  ‘The compound has been attacked.’ Aluko called on the satellite phone he carried.

  ‘When did this happen?’ Steve Case asked, distressed at the news.

  ‘There’s no one alive. It’s all gone.’

  ‘I need you to calm down. We need the facts.

  ‘We arrived about ten minutes ago. They have attacked the local police station. The locals shouted at us to get out of the city quickly, but we had to check the Pas
tor and his people first.’

  What have you found? Steve asked. ‘After many years in Afghanistan, and in recent years as the CEO of Counter Insurgencies, he knew an emotional reaction from him would serve no purpose.

  In his mid-forties, he had set up the company some years previous. Based in Washington DC, he had grown up in Rock Hill, South Carolina. The company specialised in the recovery of Western expatriates hijacked by fundamentalist or gangster organisations around the world.

  He realised instantly that he would have to break his promise to Megan, his Australian-born wife; they had met twelve years earlier in Afghanistan when she had been working for a non-governmental organisation in Kabul. His position of communications engineer proved to be an ideal cover for an active CIA operative.

  He did not like breaking promises to her. She had been there for him in the years following Afghanistan and the treatment that he had received from Hassani, the educated Taliban torturer. She had been there when he suffered from guilt over the senseless deaths of Andy Scott and Phillip Tenant, his fellow housemates at the company house they shared in Kabul. The Taliban were after him, but they ended up with their throats cut in a ditch.

  He had been in Iraq, drumming up business, when he received the first call from Aluko. Within four hours, he would be on an Emirates flight down to Lagos, the crowded, bustling and seemingly chaotic megalopolis of twenty million people situated on the Gulf of Guinea. An Arik Air Boeing 737-800 would complete his journey for the short flight to Port Harcourt.

  ‘Duncan is dead,’ Aluko was saying. ‘He’s lying face down in the middle of the compound. He’s been shot multiple times.’

  ‘Are you sure it is Duncan?’ Steve needed confirmation.

  ‘It’s him.’

  ‘What about the others?’

  ‘We’ve seen no one else so far. We’re still searching.’

  ‘Keep looking. Contact me in ten minutes with an update.’

  ‘The two Toyota trucks that we brought up here have gone,’ added Aluko. ‘Duncan’s old truck is still here.’

  ‘The trucks are unimportant, the people are,’ said Steve. ‘If they’re alive then there is a chance. How we are going to get them back is another issue.’

  ‘There are two more bodies, the attackers probably. One of them has been shot in the head, the other looks as if he has had his head caved in with some large object. It seems that Duncan may have killed them.’

  ‘Conduct a full search. Ascertain what you can from the locals and then pull back for the night.’

  ‘That’s what we will do.’ Aluko did not intend to stay at the compound if there were no people to be rescued. The risks were too high.

  Steve trusted him implicitly. He had joined Counter Insurgencies some years previously down in Port Harcourt. A small, well-built man, originally from Enugu, the former capital of Biafra, the centre of a violent and bloody conflict in the 1960s. He was stocky and brave.

  Ten minutes later, he was on the phone again.

  ‘We have found the Pastor and his wife.’ He was almost in tears.

  ‘Are you sure it is them?’ Steve knew that Bob McDonald and the Pastor had a solid friendship, and that Bob would take the news badly.

  ‘There are two bodies in the chapel, unrecognisable. They must have been in there when the chapel burnt down. We found them with arms wrapped around each other. The heights of the bodies identify it as them and besides, who else could it be?’

  ‘What about Helen and Kate?’

  ‘There not here. One of the locals told us that the attackers left with two white women. God help them.’

  ‘If they’re alive, there is always a chance,’ Steve said.

  Bob McDonald had entrusted the security of his daughter, Kate while she was at the Mission to Counter Insurgencies. Regardless of the fact that he had failed to heed the advice, it remained Counter Insurgencies’ fault. Steve took his negligence in not forcing her father to comply personally.

  Regardless of errors made, advice ignored, it was his company’s responsibility to rectify.

  Aluko knew that if Helen and Kate were in the hands of the poorly educated and heavily armed fundamentalists, their position was very tenuous. He did not want to state it to Steve, but in his mind, it would have been better if they had died in the compound.

  ‘We are pulling back eighty kilometres to a Nigerian military base,’ said Aluko. ‘We can do no more here.’

  ‘Understood and agreed. Stay in position to your south. I will contact you within the next day or so. I’m on a flight to Nigeria in the next thirty minutes.’

  ‘What about the bodies in the compound?’ Aluko asked.

  ‘Are you able to move them?’

  ‘Yes, I imagine we could.’

  ‘Take them with you. We’ll get them flown out to the States in due course.’

  ‘It’s all very sad,’ said Aluko, a sentimental soul.

  ‘Focus on the living. The dead can be mourned later.’ Steve realised that all focus would need to be concentrated on the two women. ‘We need to find Helen and Kate.’

  As he sat in the departure lounge at Baghdad International Airport waiting for his flight, he had one final task, the most difficult. He had to phone Bob McDonald, Kate’s father.

  Chapter 7

  The convoy of vehicles from the compound headed to an unknown destination. The Land Cruiser of Abacha took the lead, Helen and Kate, in the back seat. Following at a close distance were the vehicles that had entered the Mission at the time of the attack as well as the two trucks that Bob McDonald had supplied. As they travelled, the vegetation became more sparse, the signs of civilisation more infrequent. Helen preferred to stay mute and calm, Kate could not.

  ‘Where are they taking us?’ Kate wedged tightly in the vehicle asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Helen replied. ‘It appears to be north.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask? Tell them we are only trying to help their people. Let them know that my father will pay them well for our return.’

  ‘Kate, you’re naïve. You saw what happened to Pastor Zebediah and Mary. You saw how they killed Duncan.’ She saw survival as their primary interest, not the destination.

  Both of the foot soldiers that they were wedged between kept rubbing up close to Kate and Helen, inadvertently grabbing their breasts, ensuring that their hands slipped down between their legs. The one on the left was particularly aggressive. His excitement was making him lose control. He slipped his hand up inside Helen’s blouse and grabbed her bare breast.

  ‘Take your filthy hands off me, you perverted degenerate.’ She had lost her patience. She had experienced similar abuse on the streets down by the docks in Liverpool, and her reaction had been instinctive. ‘If you do that one more time, you’ll regret it.’

  There had been countless unwarranted abuses and unwanted men pawing her body over the years. This one was no worse or no better than most of them.

  Abacha, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned around on hearing the raised voice of Helen. His reaction was immediate.

  ‘I told you to leave them alone. You saw what happened at the compound. I killed one of your friends because he could not leave the light-haired one alone. Now I will have to kill you. Stop the vehicle!’

  As soon as the driver had pulled to a stop, Abacha quickly ran round to the rear left-hand door. He grabbed the excitable soldier by the scruff of his collar and dragged him out, pushing him roughly to the ground.

  ‘Please, I was wrong,’ he cried. ‘I will not do it again. Please, let me live.’

  ‘You do not deserve to live,’ shouted Abacha. ‘You have disobeyed my command. I am going to kill you.’

  ‘I am your best fighter. You have told me many times, and you have always given me one of the captive girls on our previous raids. The dark-haired one is so desirable. It will not happen again.’

  ‘It will not because you will be dead.’ Abacha knew that the forlorn and repentant individual was one of his most accompl
ished, most vicious fighters. He would not kill him, but he would make sure that he did not transgress again.

  ‘Beat me, but don’t kill me. I deserve to be beaten.’ The now repentant, hand wanderer realised that there would be a punishment, severe probably, for failing to adhere to his leader’s orders. Better a savage beating, than a bullet to the head he had thought.

  ‘You know that the dark-haired one is for me. The fair-haired beauty is for the slave trader. Any more violation of these women and I will kill all of you.’

  All the vehicles had stopped by the side of the dusty road, and the soldiers were crowded around Abacha to see what he would do. He had to be violent in his actions, but he no longer had the will or the anger to kill the man. He raised his rifle and, with its butt, commenced to hit him repeatedly. The beating lasted for five minutes and when he ran out of energy, others replaced him. At the conclusion of the beating, the soldier covered in blood, his left leg, right arm and four, possibly five ribs, broken. He would live, but he would always remember Abacha.

  ‘Throw him in the back of one of the trucks. He will live,’ Abacha commanded. ‘We still have a long way to go.’

  The vehicles continued to trundle north – at least Helen thought it was north. It was more northeast and the border with Chad.

  ‘Helen, what is to happen to us?’ asked Kate quietly.

  ‘Stay calm, stay quiet and do not annoy them. You’ve just seen what they did to the gunman that was pawing me.’

  ‘Their leader is protecting us. Perhaps we will come to no harm?’ Kate said.

  ‘He is not protecting us to maintain our virtue. He is keeping us pure for another reason.’

  ‘They intend to rape us?’ Kate looked for assurances that Helen could not give.

  ‘You need to calm down. If they intend to rape us, they will, and they will do it whether we resist or not. They are not adverse to violence. Women are no more than chattel to them, traded and abused as per their dictates. They do not care about us or our feelings.’

  ‘I am frightened.’

  ‘So I am, but this is the reality. It will not help if you continue to believe in fairy tales. You have heard the stories in the north of the female schools attacked, what happened to the women. You may wish to think it’s not true, but it is.’