When they looked to see where the man had been, there was hardly anything to see. Just one limb and half a torso seemed to remain visible. Every other part of him had disintegrated in a mist of tatters and debris which would soon be covered by the desert sands.
Fifty-Five
Even though Paul Pasgarius the Third had heard nothing more from ‘Constantine’ for well over a week, he guessed the caller would contact him again.
This time he was ready with special software, so he might have a chance to locate the anonymous voice. After all, if the voice tried to blackmail him again, he guessed his best hope would be to try to blackmail Constantine in return.
So when his computer flashed that there was another incoming call, again from an ‘Unknown Caller’, he switched on his tracking programme before he answered.
‘Paul Pasgarius the Third speaking,’ he said with false confidence, one eye on the location programme as he spoke.
‘Good evening, Paul,’ came the voice.
‘Constantine — hello,’ replied Paul. ‘I hope you’ve called to report one hundred per cent customer satisfaction.’
The heavily disguised voice seemed to chuckle a bit. ‘Yes, it worked,’ said Constantine.
‘Good,’ said Paul, guessing the voice was more male than female. And whoever it was, they sounded more commanding than they had last time. It was a voice of authority.
‘Now there’s one more thing for you to do,’ continued Constantine.
‘You can’t blackmail me now,’ said Paul, chewing his gum near the microphone on his headset. ‘Haven’t you seen the news? Half of congress has been doing what I’ve been doing.’
‘You’re right, Paul,’ replied Constantine. ‘Which is why this time I’m going to pay you. Cash.’
Paul hadn’t expected that. He chewed his gum more slowly. Perhaps he was lucky to hear from Constantine again after all.
‘What I want you to do, Paul, is help me clean up a few computer trails. There are some tracks which need to be covered.’
‘And the cash?’
‘I’ll be giving that to you in person.’
‘How much?’
The garbled voice laughed again. ‘You don’t get to ask how much. More than enough is the answer.’
Paul stared hopelessly at his software programme. It had stopped searching, and simply come up with the answer ‘Source location unknown’. He shook his head, annoyed. ‘Where will I meet you?’ he asked.
‘In Rome,’ came Constantine’s answer. Then he commanded, ‘Buy your own air ticket.’
Fifty-Six
Myles had been briefed about ‘consumable’ bombs when he was with military intelligence: as deadly as a suicide vest but much harder to detect. Al Qaeda had sent a man with a bomb inside him to assassinate an important Saudi royal in 2009, and he had managed to detonate himself in front of his target. It was just a technical flaw with the bomb which had allowed Prince Mohammed bin Nayef to survive. Now it seemed that Juma had adopted the technology. Worse, the Somali gang leader had made it work effectively.
Juma was still grinning. ‘It’s good, huh?’
Myles and the Senator glanced at one another, each inviting the other to speak. The Senator offered the first retort. ‘So good, Juma, I think you ought to try it yourself.’
‘Thank you Senator. I’m glad you found it entertaining.’ Juma gave a false laugh as he swaggered around. ‘You know what this place is?’
‘Tell me, Mr Juma,’ asked the Senator, his tone making plain that he didn’t care for Juma’s games. ‘What is this place?’
Juma didn’t answer immediately. Instead he redirected his question towards Myles, feigning an overeducated accent. ‘Mr Oxford Academic, sir. Do you know what this place is?’
‘Looks like an abandoned Roman town,’ offered Myles.
‘Correct. Well done — you’ve done your reading.’ Juma’s voice was overloaded with sarcasm. ‘Yes,’ he said, talking as much to his men as to Myles. ‘This rubble used to be one of the last outposts of the Roman Empire. The Persians did to this town what I’ll do to America. The Romans had to abandon it. And do you know what they did here?’
Myles didn’t respond.
‘You don’t know, Englishman?’ taunted Juma.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘The Oxford brainbox doesn’t know? I’ll tell you what the Romans did here,’ said Juma, ambling closer. ‘They kept eunuchs here.’ Juma put his hand on his crotch and jumped around howling. His men all laughed at him, reacting from fear as much as humour.
Then Juma swung round and grabbed Myles’ crotch. ‘And are you a eunuch? Mr Myles, sir, Mr Munro? Mr Oxford University?’ Juma’s voice had become serious and threatening. He pushed his sweating face into Myles’ and breathed his words at him. ‘Is that why you didn’t “do” my wife? Huh?’ Juma tightened his grip. ‘You couldn’t do it for her?’
Juma pressed hard. Myles suddenly bent double — he was no eunuch.
The Somali warlord lifted his knee into Myles’ face, knocking him to the ground. Myles rolled on the desert scrub. His wrists still tied, it was hard for him to recover his balance.
Then Juma stepped towards the Senator. ‘You won’t go down as easily as him, will you, Senator?’
Roosevelt was opening his mouth to answer when Juma swung his forearm back, and punched squarely into the Senator’s stomach. The Senator, like Myles before him, bent over. Then Juma pushed him onto the ground too. Roosevelt landed awkwardly on his side.
Juma stood over them both, watching them writhe and gloating at them. ‘Gentlemen, it seems you both like the floor,’ he teased. ‘The Romans used to teach their gladiators how to die. When a gladiator had suffered a fatal wound, he was expected to drop to his knees then fall to his right. It let spectators know when to look away. Isn’t that thoughtful?’
Myles and the Senator were recovering, but there were still guns pointed at them. There was no chance of them being able to take Juma by surprise.
‘Drag them into the ring,’ Juma ordered to his men. ‘Time for some fun.’
Myles and the Senator were both grabbed by their bound wrists and pulled across the rough ground. A ridge of stone bumped out of the desert floor. The two men were dragged across it. They were dropped in the middle of a broken circle of old Roman limestone.
They were in the arena.
Juma was still feigning a half-laugh. He nodded to one of his men who flicked open a cheap handheld video-recorder. A small red light appeared on the front of the device, which was pointed at Myles and the Senator. Myles noticed Juma’s men had pulled back.
Slowly Myles started to stand up again. Once on his feet he offered his bound hands to the Senator, helping the frail man to stand beside him.
The pirate leader giggled in expectation, but it was clear that little was happening. Juma’s men were hoping to watch something violent, but there was no sign of it yet. He called out to the two Westerners, trying to mock them with his sarcasm. ‘Time to fight each other — if you please, gentlemen.’
But Myles and the Senator refused to perform.
Juma raised his gun and fired a burst of bullets into the air. ‘Fight!’ He shouted his demand towards both men, but neither had any inclination to obey.
The Somali warlord was beginning to look powerless in front of his men. He lowered his gun barrel and pulled the trigger again. This time a splattering of metal skimmed off the ground near the Senator’s feet.