I gave him a head start in case one of the more switched-on new arrivals had noticed his signalling efforts, then slid out of my hide and followed.
This time I had the Vektor and the Ka-Bar, although their potential for any real protection was limited. If this was a trap, I’d be caught in open terrain against men with rifles. But I didn’t think so; Madar was a simple city-bred kid caught up in something over which he had no control and didn’t understand. But he wanted an out, which was good. All he needed was a gentle push in the right direction.
I found him waiting for me by the wrecks of the two skiffs I’d seen on the last trip, a short walk away from the huts of Dhalib. Smoke was still hanging in the air and he looked scared to hell. I wondered if it was because of what had happened to the fishermen or something else.
‘Mr Marc,’ he greeted me politely, although his voice was shaking. ‘I am pleased you have come.’
I smiled in an attempt to settle his nerves. If he got too wound up he wouldn’t be able to string two words together. ‘I got your signal loud and clear. What’s going on?’
He looked around and sat on the ground, pulling the bag into himself. It made him look even younger and I felt rough for using him this way. But I had to find out what was happening to the two SIS personnel. I squatted beside him, one eye on the track.
‘They say there is to be no talking with the two English spies.’ The words came out in a rush. He looked frightened, and he was obviously parroting what he’d heard the other men say.
‘Did they say why?’ This was new. Referring to them as spies wasn’t a good sign. It shifted their position from negotiators to something very different. No talking meant no deal.
Things suddenly didn’t look too rosy for Pryce and Tober.
‘Before, there was much talk of ransom and barter for some other people they had taken from a big boat to the north. I do not know who those people are. But now they say they will not do this.’ His eyes were huge with fright as he looked at me.
‘What, then?’
He swallowed, then whispered, ‘The tall man who came earlier in the boat — you saw him?’ He made a cross sign over his chest. The bandoliers. ‘He is a very important man. Everybody says so. It was he who ordered the men to attack the fishermen and take their boats.’
‘I saw. Did he say why he needed them?’
‘He told the men that they will be using them as vessels to strike at the hearts of the unbelievers at sea.’
Nothing different there, then. Definitely a planned campaign. But what did it mean for the negotiations?
‘What else did he say?’ Madar was looking sick and I felt my gut go cold.
‘He said the English are to be executed.’
It took a moment for the full shock of his words to sink in. Jesus.
‘How?’
‘They are saying we must abide by adrabu fawq al-’anaq, which means strike at their necks.’ He made a chopping motion to the back of his neck. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out what that meant.
‘Did he say why?’
He looked unsure. ‘It is something they say they must do as instructed in the Holy Qur’ân. It is an act of payment — of Zakah — an act of obedience, to please Allah.’ His brow knitted. ‘I know the Holy Qur’ân, but I do not understand everything these men are saying. They are also very angry when they say these words.’ He ducked his head in apology. ‘I am sorry — I was too frightened to ask why they are doing this.’
‘It’s not your fault, Madar. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’
I felt numbed by the news, and wondered why I found it so easy to believe what Madar had just told me. Because it was so logical, perhaps. Why else, after all, had this elaborate charade been set up? My mind was already racing ahead, and I could only come to one conclusion about Musa’s intentions.
Propaganda.
‘What are you thinking, Mr Marc?’ Madar sounded worried by my silence.
I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time to go internal. I couldn’t change Musa’s plans, only the outcomes.
‘Will they do it, do you think?’
Madar swallowed hard. ‘Yes. I am sure. The other men talk and say the tall man has come here for this thing only. He has also called others to come from the town, to see what is being done in the name of Allah. They are very excited by this, I think.’
Witnesses. He wanted others to see it, to validate the event and spread the word. He’d planned a gory spectacular, but without other eyes and voices it would be a non-event. This way the ripples would spread outwards like a shockwave.
So much for negotiations.
‘He made me prepare a room in the house,’ Madar continued softly. ‘I was instructed to clean it carefully and hang a flag on the walls, which he brought with him in the boat. He also brought a camera and a small computer to make disks. The man named Xasan knows how to do these things. He has done it before, I think.’
Musa had told Madar to prepare a killing room. Complete with the usual backdrop of flags for propaganda purposes and a crowd of cheering onlookers, the beheading would be recorded on DVD and shipped around the world for eager followers to gloat over. And making victims of two SIS representatives — one a woman — would ramp up the tension higher than it had ever been. It wouldn’t matter a damn to Musa or his followers that the more hawkish elements in the west would demand a high level of retaliation; they would look on any response as merely symptomatic of increasing western aggression and to hell with collateral damage among their own people.
By which time he would be long gone into the Somali interior, beyond reach.
And Xasan would be in the background, making a quick buck from it any way he could.
I needed to know more. ‘What was the flag?’
‘I am not sure. Someone said it the flag of al-Shabaab, but I do not know what that is. I have heard the name, but only from others.’
Al-Shabaab. If anybody was going to benefit by such an extreme act, it was them. But were they the only ones? And what would happen to Xasan’s reputation for trading hostages afterwards? He’d be on every kill list around the world. Maybe it was going to be worth it to him; being in the middleman business was fraught with danger, especially when dealing with unpredictable characters like Musa. This might be his way of getting out.
‘Did they say what they are looking for in return?’ Propaganda was only one benefit. I didn’t hold out much hope of this kid knowing anything, but I was in for a surprise.
‘Much money,’ he said. ‘After the man spoke, the others were laughing and saying how they could buy new engines for the boats, much faster and more efficient, to out-run the foreign ships — and new guns, too. And rocket launchers.’ Just for a second he looked almost excited, as if sharing in the possibility of some new toys to play with. Then he looked ashamed. ‘Sorry.’
I waved it away. He couldn’t help it. Excitement in such a closed environment was contagious. And the chance for these men to have access to more arms and equipment to pursue their piracy campaign was something beyond their wildest dreams.
‘Did they say where this money would come from?’ I had to ask the question, although I already knew the answer.
He spoke the name softly, as if in awe. Even Madar, a young, innocent boy from the city who did not know of al-Shabaab, had heard of them. ‘al-Qaeda.’
So the terror group was using al-Shabaab to do their dirty work for them. But the reaction to the killings would be the same, whether their dead hand was seen on the sword or not.