Stephen Leather - The Hunting

‘It’s dawn,’ said Raj. ‘Time to move.’

Erol sat up and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Have we got anything to drink?’ he asked.

‘Room service is closed,’ said Raj. ‘Wake Mo up.’

Raj went over to the larger shelter. Sid was already sitting up and rubbing his eyes. ‘What time is it?’ he asked.

‘Time to start moving,’ said Raj.

Sid shook his head. ‘Salat al Fajr,’ he said. ‘Morning prayers.’

‘There’s a man with a gun who wants us all dead,’ said Raj. ‘We need to move now.’

Sid rolled out of the shelter and got to his feet. The Glock was still tucked into his belt. ‘Good Muslims pray five times a day,’ he said.

Raj took a deep breath. It was time to set the record straight. ‘Mate, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not a Muslim and I don’t want your religion putting us in the firing line. We need to go, now.’

Sid’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean, you’re not a Muslim?’

‘What do you think I mean? You see an Asian guy with a beard and you automatically assume he’s a Muslim?’

‘But you were out in Syria, helping Muslims in the hospital?’

‘I was helping anyone who needed help.’

‘So what are you then?’

‘What am I? What sort of question is that? I’m British, mate. If you want to define me by race then I’d accept British Asian. But so far as religion goes, I’m not interested. I go to the temple now and again but that’s only to make my parents happy. I’ve seen too much evil in the world to believe in God. Any God.’

‘Temple? So what are you, a Sikh?’

‘No, I’m a Hindu if I’m anything. Are you happy now you can slap a label on me?’

Sid held up his hands. ‘Bruv, there’s no need to get pissed off. I was just asking.’

‘The only good Hindu is a dead Hindu, that’s what you’re thinking. I’m a kafir so I’m lower than the shit on your shoes, is that what’s going through your mind?’ The carbine was swinging from its sling and Raj put a hand on it to keep it steady.

Sid’s eyes widened. ‘Hey, bruv, don’t take me the wrong way!’ he said quickly.

Raj let his hand fall away from the weapon. ‘It’s your religion that’s got me into this mess, so just keep it to yourself and we’ll get along fine.’

‘I hear you, bruv, but the guys are going to want to pray,’ Sid said. ‘They’re not going to take no for an answer.’

‘Then pray,’ said Raj. ‘But it won’t be Allah who gets us out of this hole.’

CHAPTER 28

Something buzzed by Sal’s ear and he swatted it away. ‘I fucking hate insects,’ he muttered. ‘What time is it do you think?’

Abdullah frowned. ‘Six. Seven maybe? No way of knowing.’

Sal crawled out of their makeshift bed, keeping low to avoid the thicker tree roots, then winced as he straightened up. His knees cracked and his right arm had gone numb. He waved it around, trying to restore the circulation. Abdullah joined him, grunting. ‘I’m fucking starving,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Sal. ‘But what the fuck can we do?’

‘There has to be something to eat, right? There are birds and animals so they must eat something.’

‘Berries maybe,’ said Sal, looking around. ‘Insects.’

‘Insects?’

‘Flies. Spiders. Beetles. It’s all protein.’

Abdullah laughed harshly. ‘I’ll be fucked if I’m gonna eat a bug. Anyway, are bugs halal?’

‘An imam once told me that most insects are forbidden but that grasshoppers are halal.’

‘Fuck me, I ain’t gonna eat no grasshopper. What about potatoes and carrots and shit? They grow in the ground, right?’

‘On farms, yeah, not in the forest.’ Sal looked up through the trees. Dawn was breaking and there was a reddish tinge to the sky to their left. He pointed at the reddening sky. ‘So the sun rises in the east, right? And sets in the west?’

‘Sure.’ Abdullah stood up, shivering. ‘I am so fucking cold.’

Sal got to his feet. ‘When they flew us here, did we fly north or south?’

‘How the fuck would I know that?’

‘We can work it out, can’t we? It was afternoon so the sun was going down which means it would be going to the west. So if we could remember if it was on the right or the left of the helicopter then we’d know if they flew us north or south.’

‘Why the fuck does that matter, bruv?’

‘We need a plan, right? And the best plan as I see it is to get to a road or something. Then get help.’

‘Help?’ said Abdullah. ‘Who’s going to help us?’

‘Anyone. Everyone. We haven’t done anything wrong, have we? Not here. Not in this country. They’ve got cops here and the cops will help us.’

‘And we tell them what? We’re fucking ISIS fighters, bruv, they’ll put us in Guantanamo Bay in orange jumpsuits.’

Sal shook his head. ‘No, bruv. We tell them we were working for an NGO in Syria and we were kidnapped by that nutter. There’s no way they can prove we were with ISIS.’

‘Do you think?’

‘He’s hunting us like we’re animals. He’s the fucking criminal here and they’ll see that. How the fuck else did we end up in the woods?’

Abdullah nodded. ‘Yeah, okay, that makes sense.’

‘Course it does. So we don’t wanna be heading back towards the house because that’s where the guy is. We need a road and we need to find someone with a phone.’

‘I didn’t see any roads when we flew here, did you?’

‘No bruv, I didn’t,’ said Sal. He took the radio from his pocket and looked at it. There was a stubby flexible aerial and two knobs. One was an on–off and volume switch, the other was to change the frequency. ‘I don’t suppose you know what frequency the cops use do you?’

‘It’s nine-one-one, innit?’

‘That’s for the phone, bruv. These are frequencies.’ He switched on the radio and turned the volume switch halfway. There was a button on the side. He squeezed it. ‘Yeah, anybody there? Anybody listening?’ He let go of the button. ‘Nothing,’ he said.

‘Try another frequency.’

‘There’s hundreds,’ said Sal.

‘We’ve got nothing to lose.’

‘No, but we’ll drain the battery.’

‘Just try a few.’

Sal began turning the frequency knob slowly. The first few clicks produced nothing but on the sixth they heard static. He pressed the side button again and asked if there was anyone there. There was only static. ‘It’s a piece of shit,’ said Sal.

‘Maybe there are too many trees,’ said Abdullah.

‘Trees?’

‘Yeah, maybe they’re blocking the signal. And we’re in a valley. We need to be higher.’ He gestured up the slope. ‘If we go higher, we might get a signal.’

‘It’s not a fucking phone, bruv,’ said Sal dismissively. ‘It’s a radio. They work differently.’

‘Yeah, I get it, but they still have to transmit, right? And the more trees there are, the more interference. That’s just obvious.’

Sal nodded. ‘Okay, yeah, maybe.’ He tried the radio again but there was still only static. ‘Shall we go up, see if it works better?’

‘We need to pray, bruv,’ said Abdullah.

‘I know. But which way is the qibla?’

Abdullah looked around. ‘Which way did we come from?’

Sal pointed to the left.

‘And which way is that?’ asked Abdullah.

‘How the fuck would I know?’ said Sal. ‘North, south, east, west, who the fuck knows which way is which?’

‘But if we don’t know the direction of the qibla, the prayers aren’t valid. We have to bow towards Mecca. You know that, bruv.’

Sal shook his head. ‘Nah, bruv you’re wrong. I had an imam explain it to me. If a Muslim is in a place where he just doesn’t know the direction of the qibla, then he has to pray in the direction he thinks it is. If the Muslim believes that he is praying in the right direction, then the prayers are valid.’