Dear Beneficiary (22 page)

‘I've got them. Where do you want them?' he said to the person on the other end of the phone. ‘Yep, OK. Be there soon.'

Rising panic, fast becoming a familiar feeling, escalated its way to my throat. I sensed the tension, and when I looked at Tracey I saw she was nervous. Who was this man and what did he want with us? What on earth was going to happen?

Tracey and I waited silently for what he might do next. He continued to smoke until the cigarette end nearly reached the tips of his fingers, then he threw it to the floor, grinding it to its death with the soles of his Caterpillar walking boots.

Getting back into the car he seemed more relaxed. He turned on the engine and started manoeuvring. Turning in the few feet that was available looked impossible, and both Tracey and I squealed when the offside front wheel went over the ledge.

‘Don't worry, girls,' John said. ‘Rear-wheel drive – we'll get off here OK.'

After much roaring of the engine he sped back up the lane he'd brought us down and we thought for a moment he might be on his way to the university at last.

‘Time for you to see the real Nigeria,' he said to us, staring straight ahead through the windscreen and not looking at either of us.

‘That would be lovely, John, but we would really like to get to the university first, if that's OK. Maybe we could meet up tomorrow,' I said in the hope it would put him off whatever trail he'd decided we should all be on.

‘There might not be a tomorrow,' he said. ‘So best I show you now.'

What is it about this place?
I thought as I looked round at Tracey, who had slumped into the back seat like a grumpy teenager.
I thought we'd got away from kidnappers
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

We drove for what seemed like hours, but what was probably only twenty minutes, through different shanty towns with groups of farmers tending goats and areas of vast landscapes littered with huts, old cars, occasional buildings and dead animals. I was surprised not to see the odd body along the road, left out for the vultures by a country that didn't readily look after its most vulnerable citizens.

John was in a world of his own, grunting in response to any questions we asked and filling any silent gaps with frequent attempts to get his radio to stick to one channel.

‘What do you think you're doing? Who are you and where are you taking us?' I asked, and got no reply.

‘I'm talking to you,' I added, getting angrier at the thought that this man had snatched the freedom we'd only just secured.

Tracey tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Look, mate. You might think we're desperate to see whatever it is you've got to show us, but I need to get married.'

He looked at her through the rear-view mirror and sniffed before looking away again. After a couple of seconds he pulled the car to a sudden halt and forced on the handbrake before it had stopped.

‘No one, and I mean no one, needs to get married.'

He looked at us both in turn, settled back into his seat and started up again, veering back into the road in front of a tractor, which was thankfully going sufficiently slowly to stop in its tracks.

‘Madman!' shouted our driver to the young African farmworker. Strangely enough, it was exactly what I was thinking about John.

Just as I'd given up hope of knowing where we were going, the road began to look familiar. When I spotted the upturned car in a ditch, I knew we'd come back full circle. It was surrounded by a number of official-looking people, some in uniforms taking notes, and what looked like police officers.

John sped past the group and, as he did so, I spotted the broad back of a man wearing a snug-fitting blue suit. He was bent towards the car so his face couldn't be seen, but I'd seen that suit somewhere before and, as we veered round the bend and nearly out of sight, I could swear I saw Darius looking back. The moment passed too quickly to be sure, but I prayed to a God I wasn't sure about, promising everlasting faith and devotion, if it could only be him. Then I'd know I'd be safe.

‘Where exactly are you taking us?' I asked again, glancing back at the black Audi and the group, but they were gone completely from view. I wanted to ask him to stop, but guessed it would be pointless. The man was on a mission. Disappointment weighted my shoulders.

‘Have you no manners at all? We need to know what is happening.'

I could barely contain myself and wanted to do something drastic to stop this man taking us somewhere we didn't want to be. I thought about grabbing the steering wheel to crash the car, but considered the possibly dire consequences. A vein pulsed in my wrist, a sure sign my blood pressure was above its normally healthy level.

John stopped his car at what we soon saw was the back of the settlement. I recognised the narrow road up to Chike's shack with all its lumps, bumps and metal bins. It was incredibly rough and so close to the water I was surprised we made it past.

He parked in the gap left by the absence of Chike's vehicle, and John told us to get out, which we did – not having much of a choice.

His eyes looked like they were being poked out of their sockets from behind and his face had taken on a purple flush. He squinted and pulled his mouth in a tight line.

‘We don't like people taking off without saying goodbye,' he said. ‘We find it very rude.'

‘Who are you?' I asked, feeling my skin tingling with nerves. ‘We deserve to know what you are doing and why you are doing it!' I was getting more and more frightened at what was happening and also very annoyed. John wasn't the kind Englishman I'd taken him for. As a fellow Brit, I thought he'd steer us to safety, not betray his country and its citizens by leading us to a pit of horror and possible death. I wanted to punch him in the face.

‘You are a disgrace to your country. We demand to know what you think you're doing. You should be helping us, not siding with a bunch of dangerous criminals.' I shook with rage and indignation. John ignored me, unmoved by my references to his nationality and integrity.

‘What do you want with me, anyway?' said Tracey, who was stumbling about on her one shoe with a lit cigarette hanging out of her mouth. ‘I've already been told I'm no use to anyone.'

She seemed remarkably calm, and I wondered whether I should take up smoking.

‘You can make me feel better, that's what,' he said, and nodded his head towards the settlement. ‘You escaped and I found you. I have to say it didn't take very long.'

There wasn't much else to do but follow him into the main shack, seeing as we had nowhere else to go. And more importantly, nothing to take us anywhere. I glanced at Tracey, who was negotiating her way down the path, head down and with arms splayed out for balance. As soon as I could, I would tell her about seeing Darius. If it was him it would only be a matter of time before we were rescued.

We could hear whimpering. We were pushed through the door by John and saw immediately that Gowon and Chiddy had been strapped to chairs. They were being whipped by Chike with a bundle of twigs tied together with coloured yarns from his needlepoint set.

‘You stupid, stupid boys,' he was shouting at them. ‘You incompetent fools with fish food for brains. You are so stupid I want to cut you in half to see if you have anything inside you other than marshmallow and fluffiness.'

He marched around the chairs, choosing different strands of the wool so he could colour co-ordinate his corporal punishment. He stopped briefly to plait three colours together to fashion a rope.

‘I have very low expectations, but you fail to achieve them all,' he shouted. ‘You turn my life and our business into shit!'

Chike moved towards John, pointing back at the guards as he did so.

‘Whatever I do, it's pooh,' he said, as he finally sat down. ‘That's a poem,' he added, and I had vague recollections of a small boy and a childhood bear. He'd got it wrong. ‘So, you're back,' added Chike as he picked up his ‘Groovy Frog' tapestry and unpicked a few bits of green yarn that were out of place. He placed it back on the table and stared at Tracey and me for what seemed like an eternity. His facial muscles moved independently of each other, colouring from blue to pink with various shades between. I was reminded of a film I'd seen about the Northern Lights.

‘You mustn't ever leave Chike again. That is very bad.'

‘Why won't you just let us go?' I asked. ‘We are no use to you.'

Fasina sat in the corner of the shack, behind the table, humming the Nelson Mandela song repeatedly. He rocked backwards and forwards, clutching a crucifix and occasionally crossing his chest. It was the first time I thought he might be a Catholic, and I immediately felt sorry for him. He would suffer terribly from guilt once he acknowledged what he had done to us.

‘Oh, but you are very useful,' he said. ‘You are the key to our desires, the summit of our mountain climb, the jam on our toast, and the fingers of our gloves!'

Chike looked over at Gowon and Chiddy, who were still whimpering, possibly more from the indignity of being tied up tightly on chairs in their underwear than any actual pain. They'd also been gagged, and I could see fear in Gowon's eyes when he finally lifted his head to look at us.

‘I'm just thinking of what kind of punishment I should give you, and also our very stupid, idiotic and brain-dead guards. Maybe I should tickle them to death? Cover their bodies with honey and feed them to ants? Send them to England to watch repeats of your terrible daytime television? It is rubbish!' he said as he jumped up and down like a kangaroo with fleas.

I hadn't seen Chike like this before and remembered he and Fasina had guns. They'd had plenty of time to reload and find whatever instruments of torture they desired.

‘Please don't hurt us,' said Tracey, in a voice that came from somewhere deep inside. ‘We're trying very hard to get you what you want, but we can't do nothing while we're here,' she added, though her voice was barely audible.

Chike snorted, and his eyes closed up tightly so you could just see his pupils staring out at us. Fasina increased the volume of his humming and started to tap the table in time with the tune, all the while looking across at Tracey and me with glassy eyes. We'd upset them, and it looked like we were going to pay. I felt sick and very light-headed. Adrenalin coursed through my system, and my heart pounded like a double bass in a jazz band.

Tracey breathed heavily and suppressed sobs that every now and then manifested as soundless shudders through her entire body. I hoped we could think of something to get us out of this situation before Chike chopped us up and left us to rot alongside the animal carcasses and waste – or used our innards to finish off his tapestry.

‘Get out,' he suddenly shouted, waving his hands up and down to shoo us out of the shack. ‘All this standing about won't do. We shall have some tea. A very English tea to suit my very English guests,' he added, saluting as he stood up.

Tracey looked over at me, her face a picture of confusion. We didn't have a lot of choice but to go along with what was happening. I tried to look nonchalant in a bid to keep us both calm.

John turned round and bowed to us one by one, picked up a hat that was sitting on the table in front of him and put it on backwards. I wondered if he was on medication, and whether or not it was running out. He could be a potentially dangerous man. One who might eat your liver with a fine Chianti.

‘Tea it shall be, so follow me,' he said, turning in military style and marching out of the shack. ‘So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me. Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin',' he tried to sing, but his smoking habit prevented any tuneful emission. ‘Kipling,' he added, perhaps making a point that his knowledge of poetry beat his colleague's knowledge of A.A. Milne.

‘Didn't he make quite good cakes?' said Tracey.

‘Exceedingly,' I corrected her automatically, before turning to John and demanding: ‘Why are you involved with these men? What do you get out of all this?'

I took hold of Tracey's arm. Her legs were giving way, and I thought she might collapse with sheer terror. Mine weren't holding out much better, so the act of helping someone else distracted me marginally from my own concerns.

‘None of your business,' John replied, as he herded us back into our original shack. I breathed in deeply to calm my nerves. It was a move I soon regretted, as the smell of stale banana and eggs was now joined by something else. Everything was as it was before, apart from the very strong whiff of fear.

John seemed to have taken over from Gowon and Chiddy, although I suspected his position in the gang to be higher. Chike had treated him like an equal, and he walked with the assurance of someone who knew he was in charge. I thought briefly that my bathroom experiences weren't going to be anything like they were with my young African friend.

‘Now, you behave or things will get very nasty,' said John. ‘Do you understand me? We can be very nice people but don't like being upset.'

I started to hate the man in front of me, possibly even more than our Nigerian kidnappers – who I suspected had a strong motivation to capture foreigners. But John was one of us, or should be.

‘I'm cold,' I said. ‘I want my cardigan out of my bag.' I knew I sounded like a petulant child, but all my efforts at keeping calm were outweighed by panic. If I was going to die, I was going to do so shouting.

‘What bag?' said John.

‘It's in your boot. If you had any decency you would get it for me,' I said, hoping I could find some way to prick his conscience. It didn't work. He just glared at me.

‘We're back where we started because of you. Why are you being such a tosser? Aren't you one of us?' Tracey said, echoing my thoughts.

I shot Tracey a scowl to suggest that winding John up might not be the best thing we could do. He might be unstable, but so far had shown no sign of violence. I hoped we could keep it that way.