‘This place is bloody hard to find, and even if you get the location, it is going to be a bastard to break into, even for the Regiment.’
‘Stand closer to me,’ said Katie. ‘I’m scared.’
No point in telling Katie about the possibility of a chemical attack, Porter thought. It will only make her even more frightened. And I’m not sure there is much more terror she can handle.
‘Are you religious?’
Christ, no. The last thing I need right now is a lot of mumbo-jumbo. Porter shook his head. ‘Not really.’
‘I’m a Catholic.’ She stifled another tear. ‘At least, at school. I’m not really a churchgoer or anything.’ She steadied herself, trying to stop her lips from trembling. ‘But I would like you to read me the last rites.’
‘I …’ Porter hesitated, unsure what to say. ‘I don’t think I know them.’
She leant her head forward, and whispered two short sentences.
‘I’m not a priest,’ said Porter, and immediately felt stupid for such a weak and pointless remark.
Katie attempted a smile. His lips were too battered, however, to turn up more than a couple of millimetres. ‘I’ll call one then, maybe.’
She looked at Porter. ‘You’re the only person here.’
Porter took a step closer. He was standing just inches away from her. The stench was unbearable: a suffocating mixture of rotting excrement, sweat and blood. Like a cross between an abattoir and a boghouse, he decided bitterly. With his right hand, he crossed himself, then closed his eyes so they were half shut. ‘Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in His love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit,’ he said softly.
‘The rest,’ said Katie weakly. ‘Please.’
‘May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.’
‘Hold me,’ said Katie.
Porter leant into her, and wrapped his arms around her body. She was thin, wasting away, and he could feel the cuts and fractures and bruises that covered her skin. She was dry, like an piece of old fruit, and her limbs seemed to be rotting away. ‘I’m so scared,’ she whimpered.
Hassad stepped into the room. He glanced first at Katie, then at Porter. ‘It’s time for you to leave,’ he said, a soft smile twisting up his deformed lip. ‘Next time you see her, she will be dead.’
TWENTY-ONE
The two men walked in silence down the length of the corridor. The path was dark, and even though they were deep underground, Porter could sense the night all around them. Two guards were already in position outside the door where Katie was being held captive, and two more where the corridor hit the meeting point. They looked strong and alert, and they were well armed. Nobody’s going to try to catch a few minutes’ kip on their watch tonight, Porter decided. They know just exactly how much is at stake.
If the Regiment does try and come in tonight, it’s going to be a slaughterhouse.
Hassad turned into the next corridor, and led Porter towards his room. As he passed through the sleeping quarters, Porter could see that most of the men were resting. The lights were out and there were bodies stretched out on the floor. He could hear a couple of guys snoring. Hassad pushed the door open. There was a dim light shining from a candle in one corner of the room he had been shown into earlier. As Porter glanced around, he suddenly felt something hard stabbing into the small of his back. He knew instinctively what it was.
A gun.
He spun round. Hassad was pointing a Beretta handgun right at him.
‘What the fuck?’ spat Porter.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Hassad. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. Just as long as you do what I say.’
Porter looked at the gun, then up into the man’s eyes. There could be no doubt that he would kill him if he resisted. He nodded towards a stake driven into the ground in the far corner of the room. Porter could see precisely what was about to happen. The bastard was going to tie him up.
‘My apologies,’ said Hassad politely. ‘But you are a British soldier, and we can’t leave you roaming around here all night. And you have already attacked one of my men.’
Porter kept his eyes on the Beretta as he walked towards the stake. Inwardly, he was shuddering: maybe they’re planning to behead me as well. There was no point in arguing right now: any trouble and they would probably just whack him on the head, then tie him up anyway while he was out cold. His vengeance would come later, he felt certain. The stake was a thick piece of wood, driven deep down into the floor, with about a metre protruding from the surface. Hassad nodded to him to lie down on the straw next to it, then took a rope and started to tie his foot to the stake. Next, he took Porter’s right arm, and bound that behind his back. The ropes were rough, and cut into his skin, but he had space to move and breathe, and if he curled up, he could lie flat on his side on the straw and get some sleep.
‘I’m sorry that your journey has been a wasted one,’ said Hassad, as he slipped the last of the knots into place. ‘I might have talked … but Nasri, and the others, wouldn’t allow it.’
‘I make one last appeal to you,’ said Porter, his eyes rolling upwards so that he could look directly into Hassad’s face. ‘Put me in her place. Leave the girl alone.’
Hassad shook his head. ‘We’ve already discussed it,’ he said. ‘Nothing can change the plan. Unless your government gives us what we want, the execution will go ahead as planned.’
‘I spared your life,’ snapped Porter.
‘And now I’m sparing yours.’
‘She’s sodding bricking herself. She can’t deal with this. I can.’
Hassad shrugged. ‘Everyone can deal with death,’ he said, speaking with a weary sigh. ‘There’s really nothing to it.’
Porter was about to speak, but Hassad had already stood up. He was walking towards the door. He looked exhausted, Porter thought, and he probably wasn’t going to get much kip either. Nobody would, he reflected bitterly. Not in this hellhole, with a young woman’s blood waiting to be spilt.
‘Now, get some sleep, if you want to,’ said Hassad. ‘Tomorrow, after the execution, we will blindfold you so that you won’t know where you’ve been, and we’ll drive you to a safe spot, and we’ll make sure you have directions and enough money to get back to Beirut. You can report to the British Embassy, they’ll take care of you.’
Porter grunted. We’ll both be dead long before then, mate, he decided.
‘I owed you a debt for sparing my life all those years ago,’ Hassad continued. ‘That’s why I agreed that you should come out here. But after tomorrow, that debt is paid in full. We are men on different sides of a war that may last for generations, and there should be no more dealings between us.’
Before Porter could reply, Hassad had already left the room. The door had been slammed tight shut, and he could hear a bolt being slid into place.
Porter lay back. The room was not completely dark: there was the single, small candle burning in a pool of molten wax in the corner. The straw felt damp, and he could feel the dirt within it. There was a drip somewhere in the room where some water was coming through the stone out of which it was carved.