Jungle Kill (10 page)

From his belt Ngola produced the vicious-looking machete. He waved the long blade in Mitch’s face.

‘We cut off the hands of thieves! We cut off the heads of murderers!’

Mitch forced himself to give a careless shrug. ‘Better get on with it, then,’ he said.

Ngola once more smashed his fist into Mitch’s face. This time Mitch already had his head back against the tree to avoid his neck snapping back, but the force of the punch made his whole head throb and his ears ring.

Again Ngola thrust his face into Mitch’s.

‘Where have your people taken Mwanga?’ he demanded for a second time.

‘My name is Paul Mitchell. My rank is Trooper. My number is –’

And Ngola’s fist connected with Mitch’s face again, bringing tears of pain to Mitch’s eyes. As his vision cleared, Mitch saw that Ngola was pointing the machete towards him, close to his throat.

‘You think I will kill you and it will be a quick death for you,’ said Ngola. ‘Well, you are wrong. You will die slowly. I will chop off one finger at a time. And then your hands. And then your feet and legs. You think you will die from bleeding and it
will all be over.’ Ngola shook his head. ‘Every time I cut a piece off you I will put tar on it to stop the bleeding. You will not bleed to death. You will suffer. And eventually you will tell me. People always do. So why put yourself through all that pain? Tell me now. Where have your people taken Mwanga?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mitch. ‘We weren’t told. Only our commander knows that, in case any of us were taken prisoner.’

‘Liar!’ raged Ngola, and this time he stepped back from Mitch and swung the machete. The blade narrowly and deliberately missed.

‘I can cut pieces off you with this so easily!’ Ngola hissed. ‘I am an expert. I have been using a machete since I was a small child. Want to see how good I am?’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Mitch.

Ngola hesitated, the machete swinging in his hand, his eyes boring into Mitch’s, looking for the fear that he knew must be in there. Mitch looked back. He knew there was blood trickling down his
chin from his nose and mouth, and every part of his body ached, but he was determined to stare right back at Ngola. Keep him wondering, gain some time.

He wondered where Nelson, Benny and Gaz were. Would they come back and try to rescue them? He didn’t know. This was the first mission he’d been on with Delta Unit. In the SAS it was the practice to try to rescue your buddies if they were captured, but this was different. It was a different outfit, with a mission to rescue an important political figure and get him to safety. Mitch knew Nelson couldn’t put Mwanga at risk, not when they’d achieved the first part of the mission. They were probably far away, working to get Mwanga safely out of the country.

Ngola stepped away from Mitch and glared at Two Moons, obviously weighing up his next move.

‘One of you will tell me what I want to know,’ he said. He pointed the machete at Two Moons, and then back at Mitch.

‘I want you to think about what I am going to do to you with this machete. I want you to think about the pain you will suffer. I also want you to think about the pain you will be inflicting on the people of the village who helped you. Yes, I know they helped you! And when this is over I will go to the village and I will kill them all. Every last one. Every man, woman and child. There will be nothing left of them.

‘Now, you can save yourself and everyone from all that pain by giving me just one simple answer. Where are your people taking Mwanga?’

‘We don’t know,’ Mitch told him.

Ngola again shot angry looks at the Delta Unit soldiers and then said: ‘I can see you don’t believe me. Then I will show you how sincere I am about this.’ He jerked the machete towards where Tug was lying. ‘Your friend with the broken leg is no use to me. He is in too much pain to answer my questions sensibly. So I will use him as my example for you.’

Ngola rapped out an order in Igbo, and some of
his men disappeared from Mitch’s line of vision. When they came back to where Mitch could see them they were dragging Tug’s unconscious body. Tug’s broken leg dragged behind him at a grotesque angle.

The men dumped Tug on the ground and then stepped back. Ngola stood over Tug and raised his machete.

‘You will watch, and with every stroke you will see that I mean what I say.’

On the ground, Tug stirred, and then let out a moan of pain.

‘You can still save your friend by telling me what I want to know,’ said Ngola. ‘This is your last chance.’

‘We’re telling you the truth,’ said Two Moons. ‘We don’t know where they’ve taken him. That wasn’t our remit.’

‘In that case,’ growled Ngola angrily, ‘see what I do to people who defy me!’ And he raised the machete.

The sound of a phone suddenly rang out.

This can’t be happening, thought Mitch. This is some kind of dream. We’re in the jungle! We’re about to be killed. And now a phone rings!

Mitch realised it was Ngola’s satellite phone. Ngola snatched it up eagerly and listened to what the caller said, then replied urgently in Igbo. The caller said something that brought a smile to Ngola’s face. He barked a reply into the phone, but his manner was more relaxed now. He listened a bit longer, still smiling, and then he finished the call. He turned to Mitch and Two Moons.

‘Well!’ he announced, not even trying to conceal his delight. ‘It seems my people have found the jeep your friends used to get away. Which means
it won’t be long before we have them and Mwanga back here.

‘But the real bonus is that I have found a buyer for the three of you. Hard cash from someone who wants you.’

‘Why?’ asked Mitch.

‘You will be able to ask them that question yourself shortly,’ said Ngola. ‘But, as I understand it, they want you so that they can kill you themselves, in front of some film cameras. Your deaths will be shown on televisions around the whole world.’

Ngola smiled.

‘This has turned out well for me! Soon my people will find Mwanga and bring him back to me. And I earn even more money from capturing you!’

He barked something at his men, and then walked away towards the hotel.

Two Moons was aware that Mitch had suddenly become more alert than before.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Ngola’s just told his men they can cut off our
hands, but to leave us alive afterwards. They’ll only need our faces on camera. It’s his sick idea of getting revenge against us for what we did here.’

Ngola’s men had gathered in a small huddle, and were chattering away rapidly. Three of them had already taken machetes from their belts.

‘What’s going on now?’ asked Two Moons.

‘They’re arguing over who gets first chop,’ said Mitch. He listened to a bit more of the argument, and then let out a heavy sigh as the bandits knelt down in a small circle.

‘What?’ asked Two Moons.

‘They’re going to play dice for the pleasure,’ Mitch told him. ‘The winner gets to choose which one of us he wants to cut a hand from.’

‘Think I can get a bet on?’ joked Two Moons. ‘I’m usually good at picking a winning hand.’

Despite himself, the pain he was in, and their dreadful situation, Mitch couldn’t help but laugh at this.

‘You are one crazy Sioux,’ he said.

As they watched the crouching men throw dice, Two Moons asked: ‘You think Ngola was telling the truth? About his people finding the jeep?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Mitch. ‘Why would he make it up?’

‘To make us think they were closing in.’

Mitch frowned. ‘But say they have found the jeep. Why would Nelson abandon it? They’ve got Mwanga with them. They need transport.’

‘Maybe they found another set of wheels,’ suggested Two Moons.

‘Maybe,’ agreed Mitch. Then he tensed as raised and excited voices came from the dice players. ‘This is it,’ he said.

‘What is?’

‘One of them’s just won.’

The bandits stood up from their huddle, and one of them took a machete and walked towards the bound Delta Unit soldiers, a big smile on his face. The other bandits followed him, chattering delightedly.

‘Do you know who he chose?’ asked Two Moons.

Mitch gave a sigh. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The English one.’

‘So that’s you or Tug.’

‘They haven’t heard Tug speak yet, so they don’t know he’s English,’ said Mitch. ‘I think he’s chosen me.’

As if by way of confirmation, two of the other bandits suddenly fell on Mitch and held him, while a third hacked away at the ropes that tied his wrists together. As soon as Mitch’s wrists were free, one of the bandits grabbed his left arm and pushed it out to the side, gripping it firmly with both hands. Mitch tried to pull his hand back, twisting his arm as hard as he could, but it was no use – the bandit had Mitch’s arm in a tight grip. The lucky winner let out a delighted yell and swung the machete blade back.

Mitch never heard the shot. It must have come from a silenced weapon. All he knew was that one moment the machete was in the air, about to cut his hand off, and then the bandit was spun round by the force of a bullet tearing into him.

Then there was more firing, all of it silenced, and the bandits nearest to them fell, shot with deadly accuracy.

The other bandits began scrambling for their rifles, but they too were cut down.

A voice just behind Mitch said, ‘We didn’t mean to cut it that close.’

Nelson!

Then Gaz’s Geordie accent joined in with: ‘Still, better late than never, that’s what I always say.’

Nelson was already cutting through the ropes that bound Mitch and Two Moons, while Gaz stood in a half-crouch, alert for every movement, his rifle ready against any further attack.

Mitch pointed at the unconscious Tug, lying on the ground. ‘Be careful with him. His leg’s broken and he’s been badly beaten.’

‘Where’s Mwanga?’ asked Two Moons.

‘Safe,’ said Nelson. ‘Benny’s minding him.’

‘I thought you’d been shot,’ Mitch commented to Gaz.

‘I’m always getting shot,’ Gaz chuckled. ‘Nothing a bit of first aid couldn’t deal with.’

Suddenly Mitch was aware of a noise overhead, approaching fast. It was a helicopter.

‘This might be a problem,’ he said. ‘Ngola’s sold us. These could be his buyers.’

Gaz chuckled. ‘No, pal. This is our taxi.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll explain later,’ said Nelson. ‘Let’s just get on board and get out of here.’

The helicopter was now right overhead and descending, its lights and the whirr of its rotor blades filling the area. The men watched as it touched down.

‘Not yet,’ said Mitch grimly. ‘Ngola’s still alive.’

Mitch moved forward and picked up one of the rifles near the dead body of one of the bandits, but Nelson stepped firmly in his path.

‘We don’t have time for this,’ snapped Nelson. ‘Our job is to get Mwanga to safety. We can leave Ngola for another time.’

‘There won’t be another time,’ said Mitch. ‘If he gets away, Ngola will tear Adwana’s village apart and kill everyone in it for revenge.’

‘Saving the village is not part of our mission,’ said Nelson.

‘Well, it’s part of mine,’ said Mitch, checking the ammunition rounds in the rifle.

Nelson glared at him. ‘If you go you’ll be disobeying an order from your commanding officer,’ he snapped.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Mitch shortly. ‘I’ve got to do this.’

With that he stepped round Nelson and hurried towards the hotel.

Nelson glared after the retreating figure of Mitch. ‘I’ll have him court-martialled for this!’ he snarled.

‘Absolutely right, Colonel,’ grinned Two Moons. ‘And for that you need him alive. So I guess I’d better go after him.’

Two Moons bent down and scooped up his rifle.

Nelson grabbed him by the arm. ‘I can give you ten minutes max, Two Moons,’ he said firmly. ‘After that, you’d better be back here, with or without Mitch, because that chopper’s taking off. One second after ten minutes, we’re gone! Getting Mwanga to safety is our first priority. I can’t risk a fire-fight with Ngola’s reinforcements.’

‘I hear you, Colonel,’ replied Two Moons.

He hurried towards the hotel after Mitch.

Mitch came running back out of the hotel as Two Moons arrived at the main entrance.

‘Ngola and the rest of his men have gone,’ he said. ‘The helicopter must have freaked them.’

‘So he’s out in the jungle somewhere?’ asked Two Moons. ‘Think his men are with him?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mitch. ‘But I doubt they’re in a big group – too easy to spot. Anyway, Ngola is the dangerous one. He’s the one I’m after.’

Two Moons looked at his watch. ‘The colonel said we can have ten minutes, then the chopper leaves. We’ve got eight minutes left.’

‘Then why are we wasting time talking?’ demanded Mitch. He pointed towards a track. ‘I’ll take that way.’ He pointed towards another, further on. ‘You take that one.’

Two Moons nodded and they hurried off towards the dark jungle.

At the jungle’s edge Mitch stood in the darkness and listened. He wondered how far in Ngola had
gone; he may have been the sort who scoffed at tales of bad magic but he would know how deadly the jungle was at night. The predators. The swamps. If Mitch guessed right, Ngola would be hiding in the fringes of the jungle, still near to the hotel area.

Without his usual protective Special Forces gear, Mitch knew he was vulnerable. No radio. No protective helmet or night vision. No Kevlar body armour. No weapons other than a rifle he’d taken from a dead bandit.

This was how it had been for warriors of days gone by, the stories Mitch had grown up on as a boy: one against one in the darkness of the jungle. Mitch kept moving, eyes and ears alert for any sound. Suddenly he heard footsteps just behind him, and he whirled round, rifle raised, his finger poised on the trigger.

Two Moons pushed the barrel of Mitch’s rifle to one side. ‘Ngola ain’t that way,’ he said. He looked at his watch. ‘We got five minutes left.’

‘I’ll see you at the chopper,’ said Mitch. ‘If I’m not there, go without me.’