John Carr. James Deegan

of the British Prime Minister. You can see her here. Now you will see that we are men of action.’

      Somewhere overhead, an owl cried out.

      The huge, masked Chechen pulled the trigger of the pistol.

      The shot was aimed slightly to the right of Emily Souster’s spinal column, and was designed not to kill her immediately, but to cause pain and suffering, and to increase the horror of the footage.

      The round exited her throat underneath her chin and sent her sprawling forward, her eyes wide with shock as her body tried to draw in air through the ruptured airway. The noise of her dying gasps filled the otherwise silent air, as her lungs filled with blood.

      From somewhere, Charlotte Morgan heard a high-pitched scream; she only realised that the scream was her own when the man holding her punched her in the back of the head, sending her face forwards into the sand.

      Shishani kept rolling as Kadyrov leaned over the dying Emily and casually dispatched her with another shot to the head, as a hunter might destroy an injured rabbit.

      The giant Chechen turned back to the camera.

      ‘We will be in touch with your government very soon,’ he said, placing the pistol back in its holster.

      ‘Perfect, Khasmohmad,’ breathed Shishani, before clicking the camera off.

      Kadyrov pulled off his balaclava.

      ‘You will transmit that to our friends in the Ivory Coast, for them to disseminate?’ he said. ‘Along with our message?’

      ‘I will upload it as we drive,’ said Shishani.

      ‘And we’re a hundred per cent sure it’s secure? They won’t trace our location?’

      ‘We’ve been using these systems for long enough now, Khasmohmad. The encryption is superb.’

      ‘Designed by American nerds and made available for free to the world,’ said Kadyrov, shaking his head and chuckling. ‘It must drive the CIA crazy.’

      He tapped Charlotte Morgan and Martha Percival on the heads and said, ‘To the vehicles.’

      They stayed stock still, so the men who were holding them dragged them to their feet.

      They were pushed roughly back towards the waiting Land Cruisers, where Kadyrov threw black sheets at them both.

      ‘Make yourselves decent,’ he said.

      Charlotte slowly wrapped the sheet around herself, but Martha Percival simply stared vacantly at the ground, until one of the men threw the cloth over her.

      Another man produced flatbreads, dates and a bottle of water.

      ‘Eat,’ said Kadyrov. ‘And drink.’

      Martha Percival stared at her feet and said nothing.

      Charlotte Morgan looked up at him.

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘You can kill me if you like.’

      ‘All in good time, my dear,’ said Kadyrov, with a smile. ‘What is your expression? Good things come to those who wait. I won’t force you to eat, but it has been some hours since you were taken, and I cannot allow you to die of thirst. So…’

      He nodded at the man, who grabbed Charlotte’s face, forced her mouth open, and thrust the bottle into it.

      She choked and spluttered, but a good half-litre of water found its way into her stomach.

      When the bottle was removed, Charlotte looked at Kadyrov, defiance blazing from her eyes.

      ‘Very well,’ he said. He turned back to the other men and said, almost benevolently, ‘Now tape them. This one first.’

      Two of the men approached and seized Charlotte by the arms and legs, and a third began winding white duct tape around her ankles. He worked quickly and methodically, and by the time he was finished, her entire body was taped solid; a fourth covered her head, so that the only visible parts were her feet, her mouth and the top of her hair. She looked like a mummy.

      During the entire time, Charlotte Morgan said and did nothing. She knew that resistance was futile, and, while her mind was reeling in panic and fear, she was determined not to show it; she would not give them that satisfaction.

      When both women were taped, Kadyrov leaned forwards and spoke to Charlotte.

      ‘Welcome to our lands, my dear,’ he said. ‘We do things differently here, as you will learn. We are going to travel now on a journey, about three hours, to Saïdia. It’s a beautiful place, but ruined by your people. At Saïdia we will catch a boat and go back to the sea.’ He chuckled. ‘Your intelligence people, we think they will be expecting us to stay on land,’ he said. ‘But they are not so clever.’

      He turned and gestured towards the Land Cruisers.

      ‘Now,’ he said, ‘you must be placed in the back of one of these vehicles. We have made a special place, under the seats. Because we do not wish you to perish from heat exhaustion, we have fed the cold air through it. But it will be uncomfortable. You must be careful to make no noise. If we are stopped by any authorities, you say nothing. It will not help you, anyway – even if they hear you, some of the police are on our side, some are very stupid, and the others we can either bribe or intimidate. But still, remember this: you say nothing. If you disobey, you will die.’

      He looked at the men standing nearby and nodded.

      They lifted Charlotte Morgan’s stiffened, mummified form and carried her to the rear of the nearest 4x4.

      It had, indeed, been modified, so that a narrow channel led from under the rear compartment’s floor to the passenger seat.

      They pushed her into it, head-first, bodily.

      Snapped it shut.

      She heard them replace the carpeted floor.

      Load some bags on top.

      Then nothing for quite some time.

      Outside, in the warm moonlight, Kadyrov turned to Argun Shishani and sighed, contentedly. ‘I can’t believe how well things are going, brother,’ he said. ‘Ride with me.’

      They climbed into the rear of the first 4x4, and a few moments later the two vehicles set off in a slow convoy.

      Beneath and behind them, in the lurching claustrophobia of the Land Cruiser’s secret compartment, Charlotte Morgan was fighting an inhuman terror which was total and absolute and almost all-consuming.

      It was like being in a coffin: her body touched the sides of the compartment, and her head was pressed against the end. Her nose was inches from its roof.

      After a minute or two the heat was already almost unbearable, despite the air-conditioning.

      She wanted to call out, and scream, and beg, and plead, but she knew that it would not help.

      She told herself to stay calm.

      Breathe.

      Started whispering a mantra: ‘You’re going to be alright, Charlotte, you’re going to be alright.’

      Somehow, she had to get through this – one second, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.

      What was to come she did not know. All she did know was that she was alive, and her friends were dead.

      She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and concentrated on how she might kill these evil bastards.

      And, strangely, she felt her pulse slow a fraction, and her strength return.

      Revenge is a powerful incentive.

36.

      A LITTLE WHILE earlier, the police had finished with John Carr.

      The