expose himself in the open so he decided not to, focusing instead on the camp.

He could see several long, low wooden huts, a single mud one with a sloping roof and dozens of makeshift shelters scattered through the trees, the ground littered with trash. Further inside he saw half a dozen Toyota pick-ups and a couple of large flatbed trucks.

As the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon the insistent beats of the spinning, whirring object seemed to get louder. He still couldn’t make it out and he decided to risk stretching his head a little above the rocks. As soon as he did so he knew what it was and ducked back down. The camp had a portable radar system, dispelling any possibility of it being inhabited by a bunch of nomads.

These people were not small players to be operating that kind of hardware. And they obviously had reason to fear an air attack. And if they were prepared to be alerted to an air attack, there was every chance that they had some level of air defence system beyond rifles and pistols.

As he examined the camp, several men carrying rifles and supplies of some kind emerged from the wood and began to walk up the incline towards the radar installation. Stratton studied them as they came on. By the time they were halfway to the radar, he had identified that two of them were carrying rocket launchers across their backs.

Stratton looked to the girl to see if she had recognised the hardware.

She was watching them intently. ‘Those could be ours,’ she said.

Stratton followed the men up the slope to a high point among the rocks.

As the sun fully exposed itself, he checked their position once again, in particular the route out. They had two broad escape options: uphill or downhill. If they headed up the plateau into the parched, treeless hills, they had little chance of finding cover. The ideal route out was back the way they had come and down to the river. The thick scrub along the bank would provide cover. At least the Toyotas wouldn’t be able to navigate the riverbank.

The main problem with the location was its exposure to the sun. He didn’t want to spend all day there, especially without water. So once he had formulated a plan, he decided to risk the move back to the first ridge and then down to the river.

The scope of the task to rescue Hopper looked daunting. The camp was large and probably held anywhere between a hundred and three hundred men. Which made any attempt to get closer during the day out of the question. To get inside at night would require a diversion of some kind. Ideally, something that forced the jihadists to evacuate the camp. Like a fire. The fuel storage. A serious explosion such as the weapons arsenal going up would be better. The rockets would make a big enough bang and solve a large part of the problem at the same time. But just how he was going to achieve any of that he did not know.

Stratton glanced at the girl to see how she was doing. She was holding her head in her hands and looking exhausted. He decided to wait a couple more hours and gain more information if possible before making an attempt to get to the river. When darkness fell he would return alone and do what he could to get Hopper.

As he sat thinking about the problem, it occurred to him once again he shouldn’t even be attempting it. The operations room back in Poole would be dead against it. He would be laughed at for even considering it. And if he died trying, he would be labelled a fool. His final epitaph. Someone back home would find out one day. The truth always surfaced eventually. The pair of them should get out of there right there and then, head for the coast and concentrate on getting themselves on to that cargo ship. It was the smart option to be sure.

Stratton reached out and touched the girl’s shoulder. She snapped out of her daze and looked at him. He could see her better in the new light. Her face was bruised, her eyes and lips swollen. Scabs had formed at the sides of her mouth. Welts striped her neck and shoulders. He could only imagine the wounds on the rest of her body.

‘Let’s head to the river,’ he said. ‘Get some rest.’

Her relief at the news was evident. She nodded.

As they began to move a cry went up from within the wooded encampment. A roar of men’s voices answered it.

The cleric shouted again. The faithful responded as one.

The shouting became unstructured, punctuated by angry voices raised as if in demonstration. It sounded like the congregation was moving through the camp. Stratton could make out figures among the parched, stunted bushes and tall spindly pine trees. He saw a large gathering of men, pressed together and moving as a single mass right towards them. The mob emerged from the wood into a level area at the foot of the hillside directly below Stratton and the girl.

There must have been a couple of hundred of them, all bearded, many with headdresses, most with AK-47 assault rifles slung over their shoulders.

Stratton and the girl instinctively pressed themselves further into the ground while watching the gathering through the gaps in the rocks around them.

The mob was close, little more than fifty metres from them. Stratton gripped his rifle in readiness. The girl tensed, her breathing short as fear enveloped her. The edge of the mob mounted the slope but stopped not far up it. The men’s attention wasn’t focused on the plateau, it was focused on the clearing. They kept shouting and formed a broad circle around the space.

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

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