Just then, he noticed the older man's eyes flicker in the rear-view mirror. Danny looked momentarily surprised that Ben was up and about, but as their eyes locked his expression soon settled down into that deadpan look that Ben found so unnerving.
And then, to Ben's surprise, the truck ground to a halt.
Danny grabbed the shotgun and jumped out of the vehicle. Moments later there was the sound of the rear doors unlocking and he appeared at the back of the truck. The gun was pointed directly at Ben.
'You,' Danny said curtly. 'Get out now.'
Ben blinked. There was something different in Danny's voice. Before he had spoken with a perfect American accent, but now there was no hint of it. Instead he spoke his perfectly good English with an accent Ben could not locate.
'What for?' Ben demanded.
'I said, get out.' Danny nodded the gun in Ben's direction, making it clear that there was no option but to do as he was told.
Ben squirmed out of the back of the truck. When his feet hit the ground he nearly fell from the dizziness and his head grew even more painful. A wave of nausea passed over him. As he bent double, Danny grabbed him roughly by the arm and moved him round to the front passenger door, which he opened. 'Get inside,' he barked.
Ben felt himself being pushed up into the cab of the truck and, still dizzy and nauseous, he was unable to struggle as Danny pulled a seat belt around his body — more, he suspected, to stop him from moving than out of a deep concern for his welfare. The man then took his place behind the steering wheel, tucked the gun away by his left-hand side and carried on driving.
It was a couple of minutes before Ben felt well enough to speak. 'Why did you put me in the front?' he whispered hoarsely.
Danny's eyes flickered towards him, but then immediately went back to the road. 'You are a clever boy, Ben,' he replied solemnly. 'Too clever for my liking. I feel more comfortable with you sitting here next to me than thinking of you plotting with—' His lip curled slightly. 'With him back there.'
Ben closed his eyes and shook his head. None of this made sense. None of it. Danny seemed like he had turned into a different person. In the last couple of hours, Ben and Angelo had saved his life; and he had saved theirs. So what was he doing now? Why had he tied them up? Why did he sound so full of hate?
'Danny,' he rasped. His voice was dry and he realized he was incredibly thirsty. 'I don't know what this is all about but you've got nothing to worry about from me and Angelo. All we want to do is find the others, to warn them about—'
And then he stopped.
He opened his eyes and slowly turned his head towards the man sitting next to him as an awful realization fell upon him.
'What happened to your American accent?' he asked sharply. And then, as the pieces of the jigsaw started suddenly to fall into place, 'Your name isn't really Danny, is it?'
Danny's eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't reply.
Ben found himself cursing inwardly. 'It's you, isn't it?' he demanded. 'The second terrorist. It's been you all along.'
Danny kept quiet at first. He just kept looking straight ahead, his face emotionless. When he did finally speak, it was slowly and precisely, though still in the accent Ben could not identify. 'If you knew what I was doing,' he said, 'you would understand that it is not the person sitting in the front of this truck that is the terrorist, but the person lying in the back.'
Ben's lip curled, just as he had seen Danny's do. 'Look, Danny,' he spat, 'or whatever your name is. If this is all about Angelo's dad and his business, you should know that there's a difference between the two of them. From what I can tell, I don't think Angelo even likes the guy.'
Danny's face twitched. 'Maybe,' he replied. 'Maybe not. The boy's father, though, has caused untold sorrow to my family. It is only right that he suffers just as we have done.'
'What do you mean?' Ben asked, his face screwed up with confusion. 'What are you talking about?'
Danny's eyes flashed. He started to speak, but his voice was drowned out by a sudden howling of the wind that knocked the truck from its course and caused him to concentrate even harder on his driving. Ben's body thumped against the side of the car, and he winced as the ropes that were tying his hands together dug sharply into his bleeding wrists. When the gust had died down, Danny tried again. 'I don't have to explain myself to you,' he stated.
Ben felt anger rising up in him. 'Oh no?' he demanded. 'I saved your life twice today. I reckon that deserves a bit of an explanation, don't you?'
Danny's gaze didn't veer from the road as he negotiated the difficult drive. He snorted. 'I woke up this morning expecting never to see another sunrise. I'm glad I'm still alive, but only because it means that I can see through what I started.'
'And what's that? Tell me, Danny.'
Danny was breathing heavily now, as if he was trying to control his own anger. 'You won't understand.'
'You know what?' Ben asked. 'In the circumstances, I think I'll give it a pretty good go.'
There was a moment of silence between them, broken only by the howling of the wind outside and the struggling of the engine as Danny continued to negotiate the road east. Finally, though, he spoke. 'Very well,' he said. 'I am doing this on account of a young girl, dead because the oil men have raped my people's land.' He spoke with such passion that Ben was forced into silence, and as Danny continued to speak, it was clear that he found what he had to say unbelievably difficult.
'I come from a small island many thousands of miles away from here,' he said emotionlessly. 'You will not have heard of it. There are few who have. We live simple lives, and that makes people in the outside world think we are simple. Stupid. But we are not stupid. We feel things deeply, just like everybody else. We love our land and we mourn the death of our people. For too long now, we have been ignored by the rest of the world, apart from when they want something.' Danny let out a noise that sounded almost like a laugh. 'When that happens, they think they can just take it. Our little island is rich in resources. We choose not to exploit them because we prefer to let the earth be. Some months ago, however, an oil company — the one owned by his father — arrived. They ignored our protests and brought in their machines. It was one of those machines that killed the little girl.'
As Danny spoke, Ben found himself transfixed by the man's face. It was difficult to tell with the jolting of the vehicle, but he was sure he could see tears welling up in Danny's eyes.
'There is barely a man among us,' he continued, 'who would not die to see the little girl's death avenged, but I have more reason than most.' He blinked fiercely. 'She was my sister.'
As he said these words, Ben noticed that Danny was gripping the steering wheel of the car so tightly that the whites of his knuckles were showing. Suddenly he swerved to avoid a piece of debris that was flying towards the windscreen of the truck; Ben saw it hurtle past him, only inches away from his side window, before he spoke.
'I'm sorry,' he croaked.
Danny sneered. 'Sorry? What good is it to be sorry? Will that bring back Basheera? Will that stop the suffering of my parents? Of my people?'
Ben drew a deep breath. His captor's voice was full of anger and hatred. He knew he had to choose his words carefully. 'No,' he replied, his voice quiet and uncertain. 'No, it won't. But neither will this — whatever this is.'
'This,' Danny spat, 'is revenge. And a warning to the rest of the world that they cannot continue to treat us in this way.'