The Devil’s Kingdom: Part 2 of the best action adventure thriller you'll read this year!. Scott Mariani

stack with some difficulty, he zipped the holdall shut and hauled it off the table. Masango then left the room, closing the door behind him. Grobler now found himself alone with Masango’s thugs. All four of them were suddenly clutching knives and advancing on him with stone faces.

      And now he did let go of his bowels.

      ‘Please,’ he croaked, holding out his hands in supplication as he backed away, with nowhere to go. ‘Please.’

      The four men closed in on him. They made it quick, not out of mercy for their victim but simply because the sooner they got it done, the sooner they would receive their tiny cut of the money.

      When they’d finished with Grobler, they sheathed their knives, waited for Masango to unlock the door and then left the house. Moments after the Mercedes and the black van had gone, the street kids returned to continue bashing the derelict car. It would be a long time before anyone found the body inside the empty house. And even when whatever remains the rats had left were discovered, nobody would care. This was Africa, and no one had a deeper understanding of that fact than Jean-Pierre Khosa and his associates.

       Chapter 12

      It had been a long and difficult night, that first spent inside the cage. With no blanket to pull over himself, Jude curled up on the hard, bare floor mattress and hugged his sides in a futile attempt to keep warm. Sleep came and went. Some kind of night animal was calling in the distance: the plaintive howl and yip-yip-yip of a jackal or wild dog. Once Jude thought he heard an entirely different sound, the crying of a woman coming from somewhere closer, but he might have been dreaming.

      When morning came and he was awoken by the harsh sunlight streaming in through the single barred window of the hut, it wasn’t long before the night chill gave way to murderous heat that ramped up throughout the day until he didn’t think he could stand it anymore. The feeble sigh of a breeze coming from the window barely reached him, even if he pressed himself right up against the bars of the cage to get close to it.

      With nothing to do but sweat, Jude spent his hours staring at that small rectangle of light and listening intently for movement outside. Sometimes he could hear vehicles come and go, and the sound of boots crunching on the stony ground of the compound, and snatches of conversation that he couldn’t understand as the occasional patrol of guards did the rounds of the huts. That told him there must be other prisoners being kept here. Was one of them the woman whose crying he’d thought he’d heard, or had he just imagined it? He listened out for her voice, but didn’t hear it again.

      The only person Jude saw during all of that first day was Promise. At midday, the hut door was noisily unlocked and the mute jailer came in balancing a tray on one hand; in the other hand was his Uzi submachine gun, which he kept constantly pointed at the prisoner as though Jude could squeeze through the bars and attack him. Promise was cautious that way, it seemed. He laid down the tray and carefully locked the hut door behind him, then waved the gun to indicate he wanted Jude to step back towards the rear of the cage. Promise walked around behind him, grabbed his wrists one after the other and cuffed them together through the bars.

      ‘What do you think I’m going to do, the Ninja death leap?’ Jude said. If Promise could have made a reply, he probably wouldn’t have. With Jude securely handcuffed and unable to move more than half a step forwards or sideways, the cage door was opened. Still keeping the gun handy, Promise stepped inside and laid down the tray with its contents, a plastic beaker of water and a bowl of food. Next he checked the bucket that had been left for Jude to use as a latrine. Jude hadn’t gone anywhere near it. He hated the bucket, and the humiliation of having to use it, and vowed not to until it became absolutely necessary.

      Promise then closed, bolted and locked the cage door and walked around to release Jude from his handcuffs. He paused. Jude felt something tug at his left wrist, and twisted his neck to see Promise slip the bead bracelet off him.

      ‘Hey! That’s mine! You can’t have it! Give it back!’

      Promise examined the bracelet as though it was precious jewellery, then tucked it in his pocket and released Jude from the cuffs.

      Jude felt violated by the theft. Even though he and Helen had gone their separate ways, that bracelet had seemed like his last connection with the world he’d left behind. He was attached to it. ‘It’s not worth anything to you,’ he protested. ‘It’s just a bunch of cheap plastic beads. Come on, give it back.’

      Promise coolly ignored him. Jude realised it was futile kicking up any more of a fuss over the matter, and gave up. He looked at his first meal in captivity, a small mound of cold rice with a few beans and scraps of meat mixed in. The bowl looked exactly like the pressed-steel feeding dish he’d bought from the local Pets at Home store for his terrier Scruffy, back in England.

      ‘Hey,’ he called out to Promise, who was heading back towards the hut door. ‘What the hell is this? First you steal my stuff, then you expect me to eat like a dog? Bring me a knife and fork. You hear me?’

      Promise seemed to ignore him, and went away. Some time later, he returned with a tablespoon that he tossed through the bars before disappearing again. It was a nasty old piece of cheap tin, but to Jude it seemed a significant victory over his captors to have his demands met, if only halfway. It filled him with energy and lifted his sagging spirits, and he set about tucking into the cold rice concoction with relish, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cage and smiling to himself as he shovelled the food into his mouth.

      These people weren’t going to beat him.

      The feeling of unease didn’t leave Ben for a long time after his encounter with Raphael Wakenge, the witch doctor. The strange old man’s last words to him kept ringing in his head as he was taken back to the poky room on the fourth floor.

      You have saved many lost souls. As if Wakenge somehow knew about Ben’s past, and the people he had helped. As if Ben had ‘former kidnap rescue specialist’ tattooed across his forehead as a cue for soothsayers and fortune-tellers. There was no way Wakenge could know those things about him, and it was deeply unsettling. Ben had experienced the same peculiar thing with Khosa himself, on a couple of occasions when the man had seemed able to read his thoughts. He still didn’t know if that was real or imagined.