Scott Mariani - The Devil’s Kingdom - Part 2 of the best action adventure thriller you'll read this year!

Jude’s heart began to race at the crazy idea that nothing but Promise’s empty seat now separated him from the unlocked rear passenger door. All he had to do was make a scramble for it before Masango could stop him, fling the door open and run like hell. For the first time since Khosa had captured them on the ocean, there was a real possibility of escape. A window of opportunity that wouldn’t last more than a few seconds, forcing him to make a very quick decision. Could he manage to disappear into the darkness before Promise turned round and opened fire on him? How would he get past the rest of the gates, and the soldiers?

Ben wouldn’t be worried about the risk. Ben would go for it.

Jude was suddenly boiling with adrenalin and his muscles were winding up tight as mandolin strings. He was ready. He had to do it. One chance, now or never.

Then Jude felt something hard poke against his ribs. Masango had a small pistol pressed into his side.

‘Jean-Pierre told me you have changarawe ,’ Masango said.

It was the only word of Swahili that Jude understood. It meant ‘guts’.

‘But there is bravery, and then there is foolishness. You have already been warned once, my young friend. Do not even think about it again.’

Jude sank back into the seat, defeated and furious with himself for being so cowardly. He wished Masango would just shoot him and be done with it. In the beam of the headlights, Promise was opening the tall sheet-metal gate. The driver eased the car through it and then paused while Promise closed and relocked the gate and got back in. The Mercedes purred on. The area within the metal fence wasn’t large, maybe eighty yards across, a roughly square compound made out of beaten earth and empty apart from four green metal prefab huts that stood planted in a row a few metres apart at its centre.

The car stopped again. The driver kept the engine running. Masango climbed out, stretching his muscles after the long journey. ‘Come,’ he said to Jude. Jude got cautiously out of the car, looking around him. Promise got out from the other door, with the Uzi in one hand and a long flashlight in the other, which he shone first in Jude’s face and then at the huts.

‘This one here is yours,’ Masango said to Jude. ‘It has been specially prepared for our important new guest.’ He pointed in the direction of the torch beam at a hut on the end of the row. It was bolted together out of sections of the same galvanised sheet metal as the fence. There was a single tiny window, no glass, barred with flat aluminium bars riveted to the outside. The metal door, equipped with bolts top and bottom as well as a hasp and a thick padlock, hung ajar. The hut was pitch dark inside.

Promise took hold of Jude’s arm and pushed him into the hut, lighting the way with the torch. The compound evidently didn’t stretch to electric power. The floor was the same compacted earth and reminded Jude of the derelict building in Somalia where Khosa’s men had murdered his shipmate and friend Steve Maisky, otherwise known as Condor.

But this was no execution room, and no such gruesome fate awaited Jude here. Not yet. The hut was designed for another, very obvious, purpose. Its sheet metal sections had been assembled around an inner steel cage, a cube welded together out of tubular bars, maybe eight feet long by eight wide by eight high.

The cage was serious business, the kind of solid affair that would have served for keeping dangerous animals inside. It was probably strong enough to contain a silverback gorilla. At one side was a mattress and a chair. In the opposite corner, two buckets. One empty, to use as a toilet, the other half full of water.

‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,’ Jude said. ‘This kind of luxury is much more than I have at home.’

‘You will be brought two meals a day,’ Masango said. ‘If you cause trouble, there will be no food until you learn to behave yourself. If you are good, there will be special privileges, like a magazine to read, and a blanket.’

‘Any chance of a pool table?’ Jude said. ‘A decent laptop with Wi-Fi connection would be handy, too.’

‘Guards come and go during the day and night,’ Masango told him. ‘But Promise will be close by you at all times, and bring your meals. He will also report any instances of uncooperative behaviour back to General Khosa and myself.’

‘How’s he going to do that, with no tongue?’

Masango looked stern in the torchlight. ‘Lock him up,’ he ordered Promise. Promise pulled open the cage door, grabbed Jude and shoved him inside. The heavy door shut with a final-sounding hollow clang that Jude didn’t like at all. Promise slid home the four bolts that fastened it, and clicked a padlock through each in turn. He rattled them to test they were secure, then stepped away.

Jude clasped the bars. They were cold and dreadfully rigid-feeling. ‘Let me tell you something, Masango,’ he said in a calm, serious tone. ‘You people are making the biggest mistake of your lives if you think this whole thing isn’t going to backfire on you. I’m getting out of here, and when I do, you’re in deep shit.’

‘Goodbye, White Meat,’ Masango said. Khosa had called him by the same name. They’d obviously been talking about him, which wasn’t a comforting thought. Masango walked out of the hut, followed by Promise, and Jude was left alone in the darkness. He heard the hasp close and the snick of the outer padlock. As if it was even necessary.

Jude stood clutching the bars, listening. Footsteps on the stony ground; Masango speaking to someone, either Promise or the driver, in Swahili. Then the car door slamming; the smooth engine revving, tyres crunching as it rolled away.

Then all that remained was absolute silence, except for the thudding of Jude’s heart.

He stood there for a long time afterwards, until finally he groped his way across the cage and lay down on the damp-smelling mattress. He closed his eyes. He wondered whether Promise had gone with Masango or stayed behind, and then wondered what the other three huts were for. If Promise had stayed behind, maybe one hut was the guard house. Were there other captives inside the other two?

Jude sighed, trying to relax. He let his mind wander. For some reason, the next person to drift into his thoughts was Helen. He fingered the little name bead bracelet he still wore around his left wrist, even though they’d split up months ago, and tried to picture her pretty, elfin face. He wondered what she’d been doing since then, and where she was at this moment. Somewhere safe and cosy, he hoped. Not locked in a cage in the middle of Africa, that was for sure.

Then he replayed his cocky parting shot to Masango. What a thing to say. How cool was that? It made him chuckle for a moment, but only a moment.

‘Who are you trying to kid?’ he muttered to himself out loud. ‘You’re the one in deep shit.’

Ben and the other three spent their first night in Khosa City in a poky fourth-floor room of the hotel that had been fitted with makeshift bunks, like a dorm for soldiers to kip in, and a far cry from the opulence of the General’s suite high above them. The windows had been nailed shut and barred on the outside, presumably to prevent certain guests from escaping. At least it had a bathroom of its own, with a hot shower that actually worked and felt like a small piece of heaven as they took turns cleaning themselves up after the long, hot, and dusty journey. All except Gerber, who shuffled wordlessly to the nearest bunk and clambered in fully dressed with his boots on and his back to the room, ignoring all attempts to rouse him.

‘He’s got to snap out of this state,’ Jeff whispered to Ben. ‘You know what’s going to happen if he doesn’t.’