by Tim Heath
Travelling north through the centre of Togo, it was about four hundred kilometres to the smaller city of Kara. He hoped to make it there by nightfall, where he’d stop, getting some sleep which would probably just be in the car, before heading off early the next morning, this time heading east and the relatively short distance to the Benin border. Beyond that the city of Djougou was situated and, if he had not been able to do so before, he hoped that from there he would be able to pick up a strong enough signal to monitor how far Elizabeth was from him and where they were heading.
Given the barrenness of the lands he was passing through, it was only the cities that offered the better chance of a decent signal, because while calls to his phone used satellites, the tracking software needed an internet connection for it to work correctly, without notifying the Chinese as to what he was doing. And he didn’t want them to know just yet what he was up to until he understood himself the scale of the problem. Therefore, either that night in Kara or the following morning in the larger city of Djougou, he would be able to assess what needed to happen in the next stage of his journey.
That evening, as Gudu was making the stop for the night and darkness was quickly gathering in, Elizabeth was being driven towards the northeastern corner of Benin from which they would be able to cross the river Niger and enter Nigeria the following day. They were, therefore, one day’s travel further along the road than Gudu was, always ahead and moving steadily. Her convoy, too, was stopping for the night, though because she was heavily drugged, she was oblivious to it all. She was still in the back of the van, hidden from view from any would-be onlooker. Three of the guys had gone to get supplies, returning to see the fourth climbing out of the back of the van, closing the sliding door behind him, while doing up his belt.
“You are a sick man!” exclaimed the driver.
“What, she’s asleep, doesn’t know anything.”
“It’s still disgusting, may Allah bring shame on you!”
“Shut up you religious idiot. I’ll do what I want to do, and don’t care what you have to say.”
The driver and leader of the group then pulled a knife from his pocket, going over to the man as calmly as seemed possible in the situation. He put the blade to the man’s groin.
“Shall I cut it off for you then? It might be what I want to do and probably what she would do to you if she could when she comes around?” The man who’d just raped Elizabeth looked down, knife pressing into his groin, and let out a shriek.
“Who are you people?” he said.
“We’re not savages!” is all the leader replied, the last thing the rapist heard before the leader raised his arm suddenly, slitting his throat in one smooth action. The guy groped at his neck, unable to make a sound, blood oozing through his fingers, eyes fixed on no place in particular. Wherever he was going, it wasn’t going to be good for him. He lay on the floor, blood soaking the ground around him. After a minute, he wasn’t moving.
“Get rid of this guy, would you!” their leader demanded, cleaning his knife by plunging it into the soft ground on the hill beside him, a line of trees leading to a forest beyond. “Take him up there,” he said, pointing towards the trees. “Dig a grave beyond the tree line, four or five feet down so that it doesn’t attract wildlife. Be quick!”
There was a flurry of movement as the other two men dragged the body up the bank and over the top, dropping a little on the other side which took them out of view of the van, and presumably anyone that might have been able to see them. The truth was, no one was around them at that moment. The leader opened the back of the van to check on Elizabeth, who was still unconscious. She’d been moved so that she was lying across two seats, left arm still handcuffed to the base of the chair. The bottom of the burka had been lifted up a little, though again covered her knees. There were drops of blood visible on her thighs. He pulled her burka down around her ankles and put a blanket back over her, as temperatures were dropping with nighttime fast approaching, and they might have to stay there the night.
It was one full hour before the other two arrived back, their leader had made a pot of tea on a camping stove, the kettle warming gently over the gas fire.
“Drink some tea,” he offered as they returned to the van, placing their two shovels in the back of the vehicle, alongside the other tools they housed there. Neither took any notice of Elizabeth, who was still dead to the world. She was just cargo, something to trade for money once they’d crossed the border. Something to bring them favour from men more powerful and influential than they were. Getting her to their market was merely a matter of time, and for anyone to threaten that, as shown by their leader and the man they’d just dug a grave for, the consequences would be severe.
Sitting by the stove, the leader of this now three-man group of militia tapped out a message for Boko Haram in Nigeria; We have a package for you, a very rare cargo. We’ll meet you in Jega tomorrow just after evening prayers are finished. Happy to do business with you. ABQ.
ABQ was a code they used in messages like this one to confirm who they were. The leader knew the communication would be taken seriously, and by choosing the small town of Jega just across the border in Nigeria as the meeting point, it would give Boko Haram plenty of opportunity to meet them, served as it was with roads from several directions. The militia had no idea where Boko Haram was mainly located, though they were dominant in the north of the country. He just hoped there would be someone there to meet them, someone to give them an excellent price for a cargo they’d been fortunate to have got themselves. It wasn’t every day they got their hands on a British spy, and while Morocco held no real market for her, outside of prostitution, he knew the price would be much higher with the radicals in Nigeria.
They would set off after breakfast tomorrow, trusting that there would be little traffic and even less chance of inspection when they crossed the border into Nigeria. It was unlikely to be the case, with most focus being put along the much more volatile eastern borders of Nigeria which Boko Haram fighters were known to violate frequently. For now they just needed some rest, and the tea was allowing them to do just that. Two of them started smoking from the shisha they’d brought with them, the tobacco smoke adding a noticeable mist to the air around them. Spirits were high. The three of them had known each other for a long time, and it was only the fourth man, now lying in the ground two hundred feet into the woods, who was the new guy. He hadn’t come from their mosque, wasn’t even from their part of Morocco at all. A godless man, and now a dead one at that. None of them would mourn the loss of that common criminal, a low-life and chancer. They were much better off without him, that was for sure. A bottle of some form of vodka-based drink was passed between them––alcohol was undoubtedly permissible for them, it was just a rapist potentially devaluing their cargo where they drew the line––and their spirits were light. They’d spend the evening and into the first part of the night drinking and smoking, eating something a little later on when their hunger kicked in, before making a camp for the night and sleeping under the stars. The night was alive with animal sounds, though where the men had chosen to camp was mostly safe from anything that might cause them harm. The fire would help to keep anything away, as well as the smoke that still hung in the air. Elizabeth was dosed up through to the morning. With any luck, they’d be moving before she started to come round, no doubt disorientated, unaware of where on the vast continent of Africa she was. She would most probably be outraged, too.
26
Nigeria
At their base in northern Nigeria, the commander of the Boko Haram fighters was handed the message received some two hours previously.
“Could be a trick?” the third in command said as he read it himself once the commander had passed it to him.
“No, I got a tip off a few days ago that the militia in central Morocco had come into some good fortune. Make arrangements to meet them as suggested, and Ahmed, make sure they fully get what they deserve, okay?”
Ahmed fixed his
eyes on his commander making sure he’d read the situation correctly, before saying; “Of course. I’ll take my best men.” Turning, he went off to make preparations. They would need to make a flight that evening to be ready to meet the party the following sunset. Once landed, they would use local men as well, fellow Boko Haram fighters, familiar with the area where the pick up was due to take place.
The commander walked across to another building, from where the message would have been received––it was their communications room. He went up to a young man, a soldier he knew well, having placed him in charge of that unit, the man turning and saluting.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Any news, yet, on our visitors?”
“Two groups are already in Chad, another in northernmost Niger, where progress is harder because of the lack of decent roads. I’ve no news from the others, but I’d be expecting them all to arrive in Nigeria within the next twenty-four, forty-eight hours at the latest.”
“Good, then we are two days away from when it all needs to happen. What is the latest on the prisoner?”
The communications wing was next to where they housed their prisoners, all part of the main compound and the only brick structure in the entire camp. It had made it easy, therefore, to get their prisoner a computer with access to the outside world––albeit limited access––when he’d needed to give them the information he had. Jianguo was the only person they were holding in the cells.
“We’ve left him alone for a while, as ordered, sir. He’s provided us with this information, and for that he’s been allowed some freedom of movement, though only restricted to the cells, him being the only inmate. He’s confined to a chair, anyway, as his leg is broken. It doesn’t appear to be healing very well anyway, though I guess that’s hardly our issue.”
“No, and it limits his chance of escape.”
“He’s got nowhere to go, sir. Besides, he still believes we’ll release him soon. Ever since he got that information for us, his demeanour has changed. There is a hope in him that we thought had been extinguished.”
“And yet he still hasn’t given us the very thing for which we captured him. Let’s get back to that task, shall we? It would be good to have something more concrete to present to the brothers when they arrive. Go hard on the prisoner. Limit him back to his cell, increase the beatings. He must give us this information in the next forty-eight hours, or he might as well be dead. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” He would pass the message along, and brutality wasn’t his thing, though there were plenty of people around him, it often felt like too many, who’d be more than happy to snap his neck and have done with it.
The commander slapped his man on the back and left the building once again. In two days they’d all be here––al-Qaeda, Daesh, the Taliban. All were coming to their base, to their meeting. All were coming to meet him, to get something he had to offer, something he had to trade. The realisation sent a shiver down his spine, but he wasn’t nervous, more a raw eagerness to get it right and to have something to offer them. They already had the information, which was the reason these brothers in arms were already on their way, though he suspected they wanted more. Hopefully, he would have the girl before the first of the groups arrived, and she would offer good entertainment while the others were coming. If he could get somewhere regarding the plans for the latest power plant, then he would be in a position to dictate things, and while they wouldn’t like it, this was his party, and he would be the one calling the shots.
Northwest Benin
It was six in the morning the following day, and Gudu was already in Djougou, having taken the short journey before dawn into Benin. Getting an internet signal, he managed to finally pick up a weak response to the tracker he’d placed on Elizabeth, indicating that they were also still in Benin, but about three hundred and fifty kilometres north. They’d most probably stopped there for the night, as it wasn’t possible to tell actual real-time movement, especially when travelling by car. The distance bothered him, they were a good few hours ahead of him, though if he could move fast enough, he might be able to close that gap.
Benin did have speed limits, signs posted occasionally indicating what that was, and while he would be using one of the leading and therefore fastest and better-paved roads in the country, the police did little to enforce them. Not only did they not have radar devices to monitor what speeds were being driven, but they also didn’t have vehicles fast enough to catch any obviously speeding drivers either. That resulted in a lot of accidents, and cars often left wrecked on the side of the road as a testament to the fact, as the cost of moving the vehicle was just more than most people could manage. He had little fear, therefore, of drawing too much attention to himself by driving fast––most vehicles with the ability to do so did just that anyway––but he would have to operate in such a way as to not put his own life in danger while navigating through the sometimes busy roads.
He packed his few belongings away, having picked up some food and six bottles of water the night before, and got into the driver’s seat. He’d have to head east for nearly a hundred kilometres before meeting the main northbound road, but there was no getting around it. With any luck, the convoy would not be leaving for several hours themselves, placing him right on their tail by the time they did start moving. Once he’d laid eyes on the convoy, he’d know his plan of attack. Until that moment, his girl was vulnerable.
West Africa
It was in fact shortly after seven that the three militia, with their prisoner, started moving once more. The camp had been packed away, a light breakfast eaten and another pot of rich Moroccan tea enjoyed.
Elizabeth had shown some signs of waking, though was still apparently unconscious when the van pulled away again. They had set her up in her seat, a seat belt put in place around her, head resting against the side of the van on a pillow, just another sleepy passenger.
There was no issue with crossing the borders as a small ‘fee’ paid to the local official in charge that day ensured that he barely glanced at the driver’s passport, let alone looking into the van. Once they had crossed the border into Nigeria, it was just one hundred and twenty kilometres to Jega, the town in which they had agreed to make the handover.
They would get there some time before they’d arranged to make the handover, which would give the three of them time to look around, pick a suitable spot to make the switch, and cover all the exits. Preparation in deals such as this was everything.
Having just crossed the Nigerian border, Elizabeth came awake with a start, momentarily scaring the guy sitting next to her. She looked around but knew what was happening. She didn’t say anything, just took in the scene. Now there were only three men. The terrain was different, though she was sure it was somewhere still in West Africa. She’d been drugged as they had approached the airport, but she’d seen enough to know it was a small plane they were taking, a six-seat propeller job that would have a limited range.
She was using all of her training to focus, to take in the situation around her. She moved in her seat, increasingly uncomfortable, understanding in that moment she’d been raped while unconscious. A wave of nausea came over her, but she held it together––had to keep herself together. She’d expected it to happen at some point and didn’t have a clue what was coming her way once she got to wherever they were taking her.
“Where are we?” she said after just sitting there for ten minutes, the van noticeably quiet since she came round.
“Nearly there,” was all the leader of the group replied in broken English. So whatever it was she was involved in, it was about to become apparent. It was about three hours later that they pulled up to the side of a road, having entered the town of Jega. She’d seen a few Nigerian flags flying from some of the buildings they had passed as they came to the place, so at least she knew in which country she was. And that worried her greatly.
“Stay here,” one man said, more to the guy sitting next to Elizabeth
than to her directly, as the other two got out and went out of sight. They were trying to locate a suitable premises, maybe a garage of some kind, where they could base themselves for the rest of the day. It was not yet noon.
27
Benin
By ten Gudu had made it to a town in the northeast corner of Benin, very close to the point from which Elizabeth and her captors had set off earlier that morning. He’d made a quick check on the few streets he was able to navigate, but couldn’t see any sign of the convoy. Gudu now needed an internet signal to check where they might have got to, and with this being the last major city for a while, it was his best option. He also had to be sure where they were heading, assuming they had moved on and had already in fact crossed into Nigeria.
It took him some time to find what he was looking for, but eventually, he got a signal. It was now gone half past ten, and the device showed him that they were in Nigeria. The tracker indicated them in, or just approaching, Jega. It was hard to tell from the scale exactly where it was. Gudu pulled out a map. The small town was nicely located for a drop-off. There was good access, and it wasn’t so far into the country to put anyone too much into hostile territory. He guessed that any handover was happening there. If it wasn’t, and the intended destination was much further east, there would have been little sense in landing their plane in Burkina Faso, and the distances involved made more sense instead just to fly deeper into Nigeria itself. He wasn’t going to wait around any longer, so he’d just have to see what happened.