Chapter 7

It was almost dawn. They were walking slowly, Nicole leading the way while a few feet behind her Ethan traced the tiny path in front of them, mindful of his surroundings. His eyes darted this way and that with a nervousness compounded by the lack of sleep. Each tree, bush and grove ahead seemed to him a perfect place for an ambush, but none carried the tell-tale signs. Nature all around them continued to be ever present; the plentiful cries of small monkeys and night-birds mingled with the brushing up of leaves from small rodents and the occasional snake or lizard.

The wet ground teemed with rotting vegetation; it was the rain season after all. It made walking an unpleasant experience, since the earth below one's feet shifted, the feeling of mushy undergrowth around one's ankles weighing on every step. Ethan had learned his way around such marshy terrain but that did not make it agreeable at all.

A distinctive shrieking cry pierced the air around them and Ethan felt a sudden swoosh of air. His eyes barely caught the glimpse of a bird sweeping up and away into the rosy red sky with some small prey wriggling in its feet.

"Bloody thing caught me off guard," said Ethan mostly to himself.

"That's a harrier," said Nicole

"A what?"

"A kind of hawk. Weird though; that was an African marsh harrier."

"This is a swamp," said Ethan and gestured around them, prodding Nicole with one hand to keep moving, while all the while he kept looking around, as if waiting for more of the damnable birds, or perhaps something really dangerous to make an appearance.

"It's a forest," said Nicole as she minded her steps through a thick, rustling brush. "Obofia forest, actually. It's more of a swamp, granted, but it's not a marsh. Marshes don't have trees," she said, with evident enmity in her voice.

"I'm not interested in natural science. You've kept your mouth shut about Andy, so all you're useful for is getting me to this rendezvous of yours."

"What rendezvous?" she asked in a provocatively nonchalant manner, as if they were taking a stroll through the woods.

Ethan paused for a moment and yanked the rope that bound Nicole's hands behind her back, signaling her to stop.

"Look at me!" he said hoarsely, his voice rife with indignation. She did not comply, but rather stood there, trying to straighten out her back, sore from all the walking with her hands tied so uncomfortably.

"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-"

"For God's sake, just stand up and let me unlock the shackles."

"I thought these were meant for me," said Ethan with an expression of mock naivety, shaking his head and raising his brow.

"That was just protocol," replied Nicole as she bent down with the key in hand.

"So I'm not a prisoner?"

"That will depend," said Nicole standing upright again and tossing the shackles away.

"On what exactly?"

"On your answer," she replied flatly. The cold, calculating stare on her eyes was hint enough that she was dead serious about whatever the question was. Ethan stood on his heels and stretched. He felt his blood circulating more freely and flexed his arms and legs. The guard then made a sudden motion towards him that was only interrupted by Nicole's outstretched palm. The look on the Igbo guard told Ethan that he should stick to simply walking for the time being.

"What is the question?"

"Let's have dinner first, shall we? We need to talk some things over."

"What about Andy? Are we talking about him?" he asked, rather miffed. Nicole's answer came with a thin, gracious smile.

"Him too, I assure you. Your boots are right outside," she said and nodded while the guard cast his eyes on Ethan like a bird of prey.

Ethan went outside to put on his boots. There he saw another two men standing guard on a small corridor to the left. One was having a smoke, while the other one was chewing on some leaves. Both wore a mix and match of fatigues and loose shirts, green-hued and quite appropriate for the jungle. These men looked like irregulars but they had the air of a trained soldier.

While Ethan put on his boots, Nicole gave the men a nod and made a hand signal. They both nodded, took a last look on Ethan, turned the other way and left. Behind Ethan stood the Igbo, safely a couple of paces away.

None of Nicole's men had spoken a word or asked a question. That meant they'd been together for some time. Whatever these people were, they didn't seem like a rag-tag crew of rebels on the run, looking for some quick, hard exchange. They looked like a unit; a cohesive, well-disciplined military unit.

"After you," said Nicole and pushed him gently down the corridor. Ethan started walking towards what appeared to be daylight coming down through a shaft. It seemed like they were inside a small underground complex. He walked past two corridors that seemed to turn after a few yards. He knew that every piece of detail might save his life later on, even if Nicole was trying to convince him all this looked like some sort of terrible misunderstanding.

She didn't seem to care though about using a mask or hood so as not to divulge sensitive info about their facility. Whether or not they knew he was trying to put every detail in memory, they were either too sloppy or just overconfident. And these were both qualities that never paid off.

The corridor had a low ceiling and was wide enough for three, maybe even four people. They passed through a part of the corridor that was littered with mechanical equipment, tools, rods, and all sorts of metal boxes with screens and dials. Electronics equipment from the looks of it, probably communications but not some sort of radio he was familiar with.

As they came closer to the open hatch that led to the ground he could feel a waft of fresh air. Warm though it was against his face, it was a welcome change. As he stepped on to the ladder, he could see the guards waiting for them outside, one rifle aimed straight at Ethan and the other one searching for a threat from their perimeter.

Once he was outside and on his feet, he saw nothing other than a wide, frothing river with small isles dotted in its flow. There was an old-looking fishing hut build right on the sandy estuary and a couple of sand-blasted boats. Right behind him he heard Nicole's feet tousle the thick grass. She had taken off her shoes, holding them in one hand.

"It's this way," she said and Ethan turned to see a small two-story mansion sitting nicely between a hillock of mangroves and a small farm of oil palms. Built in early French colonial style, it looked impressively well-maintained and almost picturesque.

He noticed more guards, two on the first floor and two more on patrol around the farm. These were dressed in plain, simple peasant clothes, practical for the heat and unassuming. They didn't carry rifles, but he noticed they all had a machete sheathed across their backs. One of them carried a handgun, its large grip protruding from one of his pockets.

"Don't be shy," said Nicole and this time led the way through the front yard, where various bushes had been planted but left to grow wildly. Ethan could identify some; wild strawberries and something that looked very similar to cranberries.

A gentle breeze carried an obnoxious smell that reminded Ethan of the Obofia forest. They must've been close then, he realised.

"The Orashi," said Ethan who stopped and pointed towards the river.

"No, that's the Otamiri," said Nicole half-way on the steps leading to the front porch.

"Another stream?" asked Ethan with curiosity.

"No, that's the Niger alright," she replied with the hint of a smile in her voice.

"Why do they call it that?" asked Ethan and then heard a strange sounding voice that he hadn't heard in a long time and thought he might never hear again.

"That's Igbo for 'great water'," said the voice and when Ethan turned around he saw a tall man wearing glasses, his hair greyed out. He hadn't seen him in years, but Ethan knew it was him alright. It was Andy.

"I don't understand," said Ethan with a strange, quietly disconcerted voice. He was staring at a delicious looking sliced melon and nothing around him seemed even remotely possible a few minutes ago. Andy exchanged a few looks with Nicole who kept her own council. Her eyes remained fixed on every little nuance on Ethan's face. Andy smiled and sipped some of his Earl Gray tea as if he'd been saying nothing out of the ordinary.

"I don't think I can understand," continued Ethan while his gaze wandered for a few moments to the peaceful river, the lush mangroves and the thick bushes surrounding the little mansion. It was almost idyllic, aside from the fact that the single largest store of ammunition and weaponry on Biafran soil was comfortably hidden away beneath. Andy took a slice of melon in hand and bit into the ripe insides, juices running down his well-trimmed beard. He talked with his mouth full. He was trying to chew, swallow and wipe his mouth at the same time:

"You see ... It's easy if you do think about it ... It's all about, well ... Money, really."

Ethan had his arms crossed and sported an incredulous-looking face when he pointed at Andy and asked, near the point of laughter: "You're telling me, you're working for the French?"

"Have been for some time, actually," replied Andy and had another sip of tea. Nicole was laying back on her chair, barely making a noise but looking at both men intently, having a cigarette. Ethan's eyes widened and he sat upright, agitated. He sounded urgent and troubled when he asked Andy:

"How? I mean ... Since bloody when?"

"Ever since medical school," he replied flatly, looking at his brother with a peremptory glance. Ethan erupted into shouts and struck the table with one hand.

"Fucking hell! For God's sake Andy, money? That's it?"

Andy shook his head and told Ethan before cracking a smile: "Not really, no. A shitload of money. Makes all the difference, doesn't it?"

"I can't bloody well believe my ears! My own little brother, a fucking spy for the Frenchies. I can't see why it happened, but I'm damn sure that cunt was involved right from the start. And I do mean involved. Right, love?" said Ethan staring Nicole with an angry, hard disdain. She shot him a cool, neutral look and simply went on smoking.

"She did recruit me, true enough. But not in bed Ethan," Andy replied with a hint of exasperation.

"Street corner then?" said Ethan with sharp vehemence. Andy waved a finger at Ethan and got up. He started to pace about and talk vibrantly, making excited hand gestures.