Pirate - Duncan Falconer [58]
Some men came striding through the wood hauling two figures between them and the mob parted to let them into the clearing. They threw the figures on the ground.
It was Hopper and the Chinese girl’s partner.
They had their hands tied behind their backs and rag blindfolds over their eyes. They stayed where they landed in the dirt.
A warrior, wearing a black turban, pushed his way through the jeering crowd into the clearing and harshly pulled Hopper up on to his knees.
Stratton recognised the fighter. It was the Saudi.
Sabarak shouted something at the crowd, almost taunting them. He released Hopper who remained on his knees, although he appeared unsteady. Like a man who had taken a severe beating. Sabarak grabbed the Chinese man by the hair and brutally yanked him up on to his knees. Another taunt to the crowd, which responded with a roar.
‘Allahu Akbar!’ Sabarak called to the skies, his arms outstretched.
‘Allahu Akbar!’ the crowd replied.
Stratton felt utterly helpless as he watched his partner, grimy and filthy, on his knees. Hopper’s face was bloody and swollen yet he remained upright and proud.
The Saudi addressed the crowd, who hushed enough to hear his ranting. They cheered each time he paused. Stratton felt surprised at how the man had achieved such an influential position so quickly. After a thunderous and climactic ovation, the mass of men went almost silent. The far side of the crowd from Stratton, nearest the trees, began to shuffle and part as a single voice cried out beyond them. A man, carrying a long, ornately ceremonial sword extended above his head, pushed through those not quick enough to move out of his way.
He entered the clearing and marched around the inner perimeter formed by the wall of men, angrily and enthusiastically brandishing the long thin blade.
The two prisoners remained where they were a few metres apart, oblivious to the swordsman parading around them.
Stratton glanced at the girl who was watching in cold horror. She looked at him for a second then back to the crowd.
If Hopper was about to be executed, Stratton could see no way out for him, not without including himself in the day’s list of attendees. The man with the sword walked the circle a couple of times, stirring up the mob. Fighters stepped forward to spit on the two prisoners, men they didn’t know and knew nothing about. Any one of the mob would have happily taken on the responsibility of killing the two foreigners. They didn’t care that the two had families, friends, people who loved them. All the mob possessed was pure hate. They borrowed it, taught it or imbibed it from their own friends and families.
It was obvious that Sabarak was exulting in the menace and hate. He had finally taken the leap that he had looked forward to for so many years. He was among the fighters, the frontline troops of the jihad. Had Stratton been there, Sabarak would have thanked the Englishman for getting him to Somalia to be among the warriors. The Saudi was already planning for the future. The Somali front of the war on the West would expand. He had made a significant contribution by facilitating the plan that would signal a new offensive outside of the Muslim hubs in East Asia, the Middle East, Afghanistan and other parts of the world. He had been a major contributor to the hijack of the missiles. It was a very proud day for him. He could hardly have been more pleased. The icing on the cake would have been Stratton. But he had that to look forward to. The fool Lotto had no idea who he was dealing with. Sabarak would simply march into the town one day soon and take whatever prisoners he felt like. And he would do to them whatever he wanted.
The jihadist came to a stop behind the Chinese man and slowly lowered the sword as he took the measure of the back of the man’s neck.
The hate-filled crowd became silent in excited anticipation.
The jihadist planted his feet