Tusker

by Dougie Arnold

  “Stop, stop! Michael make them stop.” He was distantly aware of Ana’s voice as he felt his knees buckle. The grip behind him loosened and he fell crumpled to the floor.

  The Somali’s voice registered no emotion. “Welcome Harry. I’ve so been looking forward to seeing you again. The little boy who’s desperately trying to find out where he belongs in this world. But you know the good thing is that you aren’t going to need to worry about that for much longer. I wonder if you can work out why.”

  Harry head swam, “You bastard,” he croaked.

  “Oh I think you’ll find that’s you. Never knew your mother did you, shame. A bit of a whore I’m told. Your father could have been any one of hundreds of men in those Nairobi bars. Oh yes Harry I know all about you and you too of course Ana but we’ll save that for later.” His coughing laugh grated across their ears as brown spittle ran down his chin.

  Ana held Michael’s gaze, “What’s happening here?”

  He smiled and she realised that he was actually enjoying what was unfolding. When he spoke though, his voice was as impassive as ever. “Oh, you Westerners, you think yourselves so superior to everyone. Well the world is changing. Your old decadent, liberal ways have made you soft. The days of you setting the rules for the rest of the world will soon be over. All your bleating about saving your precious animals and their habitats will end up in the dustbin of history. We are ready for a new world order and China will take the lead and with our African cousins we will justifiably take what this planet provides us with, just as you did for hundreds of years. But enough of that for now. Abdul make sure these two are securely locked up. We’ll deal with them later. We have more important things to occupy us now.”

  Two more Somalis, who would easily have passed for Abdul’s brothers, appeared at the door. As they were dragged out Harry looked across at Ana, “Don’t worry we’ll find a way out of this. They are bound to come looking for us once we don’t return.” Even as he spoke the words he realised their futility. By the time any help came they would be gone one way or another. As he looked back into the room the Somali and Michael were deep in conversation, almost as though the last few minutes had never happened.

  The strength of the arm lock made him realise the futility of trying to break free. As they passed a doorway on the left he glanced in to see Ana sprawled on the floor, a leering guard standing over her. He tried to make eye contact but her face was expressionless, her eyes almost unseeing and then she was gone as he was half dragged, half marched out of the building and down towards the original hut. Inside a door was opened into a tiny, stuffy, windowless room that wasn’t much more than a cupboard. He heard the locking bolt being drawn across and as the guard’s footsteps receded absolute silence and darkness closed in on him.

  For the first time he really felt the pain in his face where he had been struck and he tentatively moved his fingers over the skin. He was conscious of swellings already beginning under both eyes.

  His mind raced away with thoughts of what would happen next and the Somali’s sinister words repeated themselves over and over again in his head. He realised that whatever his fate was to be it would happen fairly quickly. Even the Kenyan authorities would have to act reasonably swiftly with the disappearance of two British citizens and Jim was a determined man. However, if Inspector Mwitu gained access to the place, it was a huge area to search and Harry had no doubt that he would not be left conveniently in a hut to be rescued.

  Time seeped by and he assumed because of the chill the sun must already have set. Although he strained his ears he heard nothing except the muffled passing of a vehicle. Despite the darkness he didn’t even try to sleep, his mind was too active. The hopelessness of his situation beat against his brain almost drowning out clear thought.

  He had to focus so he sat as still as he could and tried to empty his head. If he didn’t think clearly and as positively as he could there would be no hope and of course the hope wasn’t just for him but for Ana too. Somehow it was that thought and the last image of her face that brought his mind into focus. Michael and the Somalis were overbearingly self-assured and just somehow that might provide a small glimmer of hope.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harry was woken by footsteps in the corridor. As his hands moved to wipe the sleep from his eyes he winced at the pain in his face and the events of the previous day were brought back with stark suddenness.

  The guard strode in and yanked him up by the collar, propelling him through the doorway. In the hours of darkness with nothing else to do Harry had decided on a plan, well you could hardly call it that, more of a strategy. He had made up his mind to be as docile and non-aggressive as possible. He thought that by doing that the Somalis might just drop their guard and allow him some sort of chance to get away. It wasn’t very original but it was all he could come up with.

  He was marched round to the line of containers and there waiting for him was a small group of men and in amongst them was Ana. She was deathly pale and looked as though she hadn’t slept a wink during the night. Her body almost seemed to have shrunk and the same far away expression sat on her face, her eyes appearing to lack all focus.

  Before he had time to even greet her he was taken to the front of a dirty looking, once purple container where the words Ching Pang were stencilled in white on the side. Michael was standing by the doors, half a smile on his face. “Good morning Harry. I would hate you to have come all this way for nothing so I thought before we part company for good, I would show you what you have been looking for.”

  He signalled to a couple of the Somalis who opened the large rusting doors allowing the morning light to display the horror of what lay inside. “Oh my God,” Harry couldn’t contain himself. “How many elephants had to die for you to amass this much ivory?”

  In front of him, neatly stacked were row upon row of elephant tusks. Some huge and yellowing, others stained almost black in places and yet others clean and white, particularly the smaller ones from elephants that were perhaps only four or five years old.

  He could feel the warm tears running down his cheeks. He lunged at Michael, not a thought for the consequences of his actions, wanting only some sort of revenge for all the misery and pain that was shouting at him from the container. A hammer blow to his back sent him sprawling in the dirt and dust. Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him upright. Michael’s expression remained unchanged. “You have much to learn about life Harry but unfortunately no time in which to do it.”

  There was a smattering of laughter from the guards which quietened as soon as the Somali stepped forward. “You see my little bastard today is your last pointless day on this planet of ours. We’re doing you a favour really. It must be terrible never to fit in anywhere. Well, we’ve found just the spot for you so you’ll never have to worry again.”

  Words started to form in his head but the butt of an AK-47 in his stomach left him on his knees gasping for breath.

  “Bring the whore forward.” Ana was almost dragged to the spot where Harry was curled up on the ground. “Stay down there where you belong.” The Somali aimed a kick at his head but he managed to move enough so that it only glanced off his brow.

  “I gather this slut is almost as precious to you as the ivory so it seems to make sense to keep all those valuable things together, don’t you think. Throw her in.”

  Ana started to struggle desperately, the glazed expression gone, her eyes wide and staring as they pulled her towards the jaws of the container. The scream when it came, cut through all his pain. “No please I beg you. Not in there! Harry help me!”

  “Oh, there is nothing this boy can do for you. I doubt there ever was. We have been very thoughtful though. There is food and water in that box in there. I thought it would be interesting for you. Keep yourself alive and wonder what delights will meet you at the other end or curl up and die. It will be seriously hot in there I should imagine. This container is heading for Mombasa port tonight.” The smile disappeared from his face. �
��Shut and bolt those doors now.”

  “Believe in you. Never give in!” shouted Harry as he watched the giant doors close slowly on the small figure pushing valiantly but hopelessly against them from the darkness.

  Even when she was gone he could hear the frantic banging of her fists against the unforgiving steel. He was hauled to his feet and Michael, face expressionless once again turned in his direction, “Bit out of your league all this Harry, rather a shame really I thought we got on quite well on your first visit. My uncle will be sad never to have had the chance to meet you.” The mouth smiled but the eyes showed no emotion. “I’m going to leave you with my Somali friends now.” He turned on his heels and walked briskly away.

  “They’ll get you for this. That precious Chinese luck you treasure will run out and when it does we’ll see what sort of a man you are.” The departing figure just kept walking, there was no break in his stride; it was as though he had never even heard the words.

  “Get this boy into the back of that pick up. I’m tired of listening to his nonsense.” The Somali limped into the cab and the old diesel grunted into life, belching fumes into the clean morning air.

  Harry had one man on each side of him, squeezed so tightly his shoulders were actually pushed inwards. Their army issue trousers were filthy and both wore flip flops rather than boots but their rifles, lying casually on their laps, were spotless.

  They drove down the steep slope past small groups of workers who kept their gaze fixed on the ground.

  He couldn’t get Ana out of his mind and he doubted he could even imagine the nightmare that was playing out in her head. Strangely his own predicament seemed almost of secondary importance but as they finally reached the bottom of the ravine and the river itself, thoughts, all of them grim in the extreme, bombarded his consciousness. Why had they taken him right down here and what did they intend to do with him?

  Finally they came to a halt, the tyres skidding noisily in protest. Harry was hauled out of the back, the two guards glued to either side of him. An animated discussion followed between them and the Somali and he didn’t even like to guess what was being said.

  For the first time his eyes were drawn to the monstrous dam construction to his right. It rose up through the narrow ravine gully to a height it was hard to fathom. As he crooked his neck upwards he reckoned it must be at least two hundred meters high. Yet it seemed so out of place with its surroundings, the smooth lines of concrete blocks rising towards the sky in stark contrast to the ancient rock sides of the ravine.

  Down here in the shade of so-called progress he could sense an evil as old as time itself. The Somali had just got off his phone and seemed impatient. He gestured to the guards and led the way towards some buildings where there were few workers, indeed this part of the project, in contrast to almost everywhere else, seemed almost deserted.

  They stopped by what appeared to be some freshly dug foundations and the Somali’s lips twisted up in what might have passed for a grin. “I’m afraid I’ve got more important business so can’t spend time with you but I just wanted the pleasure of showing you your final resting place. At the end of the day a large concrete lorry will make its way down here to lay the first layer of foundations for this pumping station. Unfortunately you will have fallen into this deep area right here and they will not see your body. You will still be conscious of course; I wouldn’t want you to miss the fun. They will bind and gag you and leave you under this ledge, probably a few hours before the lorry arrives so that you have a good amount of time to wonder what it will be like to be buried alive.”

  Harry felt faint, his breathing coming in short breaths. Life was worth so little to men like this and he knew the futility of pleading. Looking up from beside his grave he held the Somali’s stare. “All this death and destruction in the name of Allah but you and I know it is only for greed and power. That’s all scum like you understand. What I am sure of is that when your Judgement Day comes, and it will, the evil that defines you will consign you to a hell worse than anything you could ever dream of.”

  Rage was etched across the Somali’s face and he launched himself at Harry, kicking and punching in a frenzy of blows but as Harry hit the ground, on the verge of unconsciousness, he strangely felt only pleasure that at last his words had got to this man and he had somehow reversed the tables in a small way on someone who had simply wanted to gloat about his death.

  When he came to, he found himself curled up on a dirt floor. He only seemed to be able to open one eye and as he tried to move he let out an involuntary groan. Every part of his body was in pain, the like of which he had never known. He felt the open wounds on his face, and hoped the damage wasn’t too bad. And then he realised how pointless that thought was. Before the day was done he would be a few metres under fast drying concrete.

  He tried to focus on his surroundings. This must be some sort of store shed. Cracks between the wood that made up the walls let in some light to reveal an odd jumble of tools in the corner but nothing else. He got gingerly to his feet and limped to the door. It was obviously bolted firmly on the outside, it barely even moved when he put his shoulder against it.

  He flopped back down on the floor, dejected. Despite the battering he had just been given it didn’t actually feel as though any bones had been broken. He forced himself up again, this was no time for self-pity. Unless he did something and quickly his day was only going to end one way. Squinting out of the cracks in the wall he couldn’t see anyone about.

  He took a few steps over to the corner where the discarded tools were stacked by an upturned wheelbarrow that didn’t even have a wheel. There were shovels with broken shafts and a few badly damaged rakes but that was about all. Then as he was about to turn away, tucked in behind everything else, he saw the outline of a pickaxe. He pulled it out, the other tools clattering to the floor. The wooden handle was broken but only half way up, just perhaps it might be useable.

  It was much heavier than he had expected but he took it over to the wall where he had been able to peer out. The thick wooden planks it was made from were all firmly set in a concrete base which ran round the whole hut. Methodically he tested one plank after another with his weight looking for any sign of weakness. Everything seemed very solid and well-constructed. Feeling somewhat dejected he continued and then when he was almost back to his starting point there was movement, not much but it was definitely there. He leant against it again but harder this time; there was undoubtedly a creak. He knelt down examining the base and he could see thin cracks in the concrete. He pushed again, much harder and there was the sound again, that hint of weakness.

  Grabbing the pickaxe he took a blow at the base below the wood but missed completely, hitting the floor. Cursing he tried again but was still well off target. He gripped further down the handle and swung with less force. The pickaxe head hit just in front of the wood and a small chip flew up from the base. He attacked the same spot again. His breathing soon became laboured. His body ached but he kept at it again and again. The flakes of concrete became larger and the cracks began to expand.

  He rested for a minute and pushed his weight hard against the wood again. There was more movement, no doubt. Encouraged he returned to his task. Everything in him protested, his hands were already blistered and his arms leaden but he drove himself on, sheer willpower directing each stroke. Then a large piece fell away at the base, and then another! With each blow he felt his spirits rising. Harder and harder he hit the same spot, gasping now between each strike and then a piece of concrete the size of his fist rolled onto the floor and he got a glimpse of the base of the plank.

  Five minutes more and he could see the whole thing. He put the pickaxe down and leant again with all the force he could muster against the wood. It was moving. He stopped, took two steps back and slammed into it. His shoulder screamed in protest. Three steps back this time and summoning that extra strength from somewhere deep inside he hit the wall. There was a snapping wrenching noise as the wood began to sp
linter. He hit it over and over again, all pain forgotten, driven on by the widening gap and then suddenly, almost tamely the wood tore away from its mounting. Forcing it upwards he cautiously stuck his head out of the gap. Not a soul to be seen.

  Turning himself completely on his side he began to push with his feet, trying to get a grip on the dusty floor. The coarseness of the wood on either side dug into his chest and back and then suddenly, miraculously his shoulders were completely through. Now using his arms too he pulled and pushed and then with one final twist he was free.

  He stood shakily, his one good eye squinting in the sudden brightness of the light which seemed to bounce mercilessly off the rocks. He felt weak, drained of energy but knew he had to force himself on and quickly.

  He was acutely aware that he had to put as much distance between himself and the Somalis as possible and the only option was to cross the river and make his way up the far escarpment. To head back towards the main camp with its hundreds of workers was certain death. There was little cover but there was no time to worry about that, every minute was precious.

  Harry hobbled down towards the water’s edge, the few figures visible, just distant specks on the top of the dam. The water was surprisingly fast flowing and it was obvious that getting in where he was would result in being swept down to the side of the dam wall itself. He had to make his way further upstream. Half jogging and repeatedly stumbling on the uneven surface he just managed to keep his balance. After ten minutes or so the river became noticeably wider so although there was further to swim the force of the current would be easier to deal with.

  The water was colder than expected as he waded in which had a surprisingly positive effect. It was almost as though it was cleansing his body, washing away the trauma of the morning. The surface was deceptively calm as he struck out for the far bank and it was comparatively easy to reach the middle but then the swirls and eddies became suddenly stronger. He forced himself through the water but the only direction he was heading was downstream. The cold which only minutes before had seemed his ally now started to bite into his legs, sodden trousers clinging tightly to his skin slowing down his strokes. He tried to swim against the current but at best was staying in the same place. His strength began to drain. Then almost magically, just as despair started to creep in, he was through the main current, the water was peaceful again, circling in gentle ripples round his face. His mind didn’t really register the strokes; arm movements became robotic, almost as though some primitive survival instinct had taken control.