Myles and the Senator tried to shake hands, but the wire around their wrists made it difficult. They managed as best they could. Myles noticed the Senator’s forearms: they had become thin, almost skeletal.
The Senator squinted up at Myles. ‘I thought they’d let you go,’ he said. ‘Did they double-cross you, too?’ Roosevelt emphasised the words ‘double-cross’, accusing Juma and his team as they listened in.
Myles thought of explaining everything he’d been through — in New York, his arrest in Rome, his escape in London, the factory in Germany and the excavation site in Istanbul. Then he decided there would be better times for all that. ‘They did let me go,’ he acknowledged. ‘Then they tried to kill me a few times, then they captured me again.’
The Senator smiled. ‘So we’re captives again.’
Myles nodded. ‘The only difference is that this time we’re in Iraq,’ he said.
Without dropping his outward show of confidence, the Senator was clearly struck by something Myles said. He turned his face and lowered an eyebrow. He leant in to Myles and spoke more quietly. ‘Iraq? You sure?’
Myles nodded again. Briefly he explained how he knew they were in Iraq’s Western Desert. They couldn’t have travelled long enough from An Nukhayb to have crossed a national border.
‘How come there’s no military presence?’ asked the Senator. ‘We trained Iraqi troops. They should be here. I’ve seen Senate papers on this.’ The Senator slumped. His life’s work in the Senate had just been devalued. There was more evidence from the Romans two thousand years ago than of Americans who had just left. ‘So this is what we leave behind when the United States retreats?’ he lamented.
‘Where did you think we were, Senator?’
‘They took me on a boat to Egypt, then east through the Sinai. I assumed we were in Jordan or Syria. These guys must have gotten into Iraq without even climbing over a fence.’
Juma came over and imposed himself on the two Westerners. ‘Gentlemen. I’m sure you’ve got lots to talk about.’
‘We have, Mr Juma,’ retorted the Senator, ‘but not with you.’
‘That’s OK,’ gloated Juma. ‘I’ve brought you both here to give you even more to discuss.’
‘We’re not running out of material.’
Roosevelt’s caustic defiance was missed by Juma, who had already turned to some of his men. They started opening the doors of an SUV with blacked-out windows, which had been parked for some time behind the tent. A Somali man was dragged from inside. Like Myles and the Senator, his wrists were bound.
Myles recognised him at once: the security guard from the factory in Germany. Somehow, despite the explosion, he must have survived. But Myles couldn’t tell whether the man had escaped to Juma, or been captured by him.
Juma turned back to Myles. ‘Englishman — you’ve met this man before,’ he said.
Myles confirmed that he recognised the man.
‘Then you know how useless he is,’ huffed Juma. ‘You know what the Romans used to do with people like him?’
Myles didn’t respond. The Senator answered for him, kicking back his head as he spoke. ‘I know what the Romans would do with people like you, Juma.’
Juma laughed. ‘Except that the Romans respected power, Senator. And that’s what I have and you do not, gentlemen.’
‘For now.’
Juma shrugged. ‘Yes, but when else matters?’
The Somali pirate wandered towards the hapless guard, who was now shaking. ‘Senator, the Romans would have used this man for entertainment,’ he explained. ‘They put slaves, Christians and criminals in a ring and made them fight to the death. It was a spectator sport. If death fights were shown on American TV today they would draw in huge audiences.’
Juma turned to Myles. ‘This man almost killed you. Do you want your revenge?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘That’s very Christian of you,’ mocked Juma. ‘Maybe I should put you both in the ring and just let him have the weapon. Give him a second chance. What do you think?’
Myles remained silent.
‘Senator, you’re in favour of capital punishment,’ said Juma. ‘This is your chance to be an executioner.’
‘It’s too early for capital punishment,’ replied the Senator. ‘He’s not been on death row for fifteen years.’
‘Former Navy Seal and super macho Senator Sam Roosevelt — afraid to kill?’ Juma said his words with a taunting tone, teasing the Senator for a reaction.
‘Juma, there are lots of people here I’m not afraid to kill at all. It’s just that he isn’t one of them.’
Juma ambled away, smiling thinly to cover his lack of a reply. ‘OK, so neither of you will help me entertain my men by killing this man?’
Myles and the Senator refused to respond.
Juma ignored them. ‘Then I’ll have to make him die myself.’
The Somali gang leader lifted his Kalashnikov and aimed it at the man, who collapsed to his knees. The prisoner was whimpering, begging Juma not to fire.
Myles called out as Juma cocked his weapon. ‘Don’t, Juma.’
Juma looked at Myles with a sarcastic expression on his face. ‘Of course I wouldn’t kill him with a gun. Where’s the entertainment in that?’ Juma shook his head. ‘My men have seen thousands of fatal bullet wounds. No. I want to offer them entertainment. Just like the Romans: entertainment.’ He emphasised the word ‘entertainment’ as if he was reciting it from a textbook, as if he had done the research himself. Myles had seen many academic pretenders at Oxford. Juma’s words confirmed how little the pirate leader really understood — except about killing.
Juma’s men brought out a cloth bag. This was placed over the man’s sobbing face, down as far as his nose. They pulled it tight and tied it at the back, leaving his mouth exposed. Then he was fed what looked like a string of four yellow sausages. An instruction — a single word — was yelled at him, and he began to eat them. Although he tried to chew and swallow, the soft sausage-like tubes were hard to consume. When he gagged, he was kicked until he continued. Terrified, the Somali security guard kept going for several minutes. Finally he finished the ‘meal’.
‘Good. Now, take off his hood,’ ordered Juma.
The hood was untied and lifted off.
Then Juma called out some words. The men who had fed the guard the sausages understood immediately and ran away as fast as they could. The guard himself looked wide-eyed in a mix of disbelief and terror. Then he tried standing up, desperately looking where to go.
Juma laughed. ‘Gentlemen, I’ve explained to this man that he’s just eaten a remote-control bomb…’
The terrified man started running around, at first not sure what to do. Then he decided it was best to go near to some of the other pirates. He hoped that Juma wouldn’t trigger the device if it meant killing some of his other men at the same time.
Myles protested. ‘Let him go, Juma.’
‘I have, Mr Englishman. Look — he’s running free!’
The man tried to clutch one of Juma’s men, but the Somali drew his AK-47 and fired it into the desert ground to keep the man away.
The man tried to approach Juma, but Juma just laughed and spat at him.
Finally, in absolute desperation, the man decided to run away as far as he could, hoping either that Juma was bluffing or that he could get out of range of whatever device the pirate warlord was planning to use.
While Juma’s men laughed at the man’s efforts to escape, Juma was handed a small radio-like transmitter. He offered the button to Myles and the Senator. Both refused to press it.
Finally Juma laid his thumb on the button and looked up as he pushed. Instantly the running Somali exploded into a red cloud. The spectators, both voluntary and captive, crouched in reaction to the blast.