He sat down again and poured the tea, slowly and from a generous height. The oxygen it absorbed as it splashed into the glasses was supposed to improve the flavour. I smelt apples as the steam came my way.
Somalis are a cultured and ancient race. Even when they’re living in shit, they show each other great politeness and respect. Centuries ago, they were pouring tea like this when we were still burning witches and gnawing turnips. At the same time, they could be savagely brutal — though I guess they saw it as no more dramatic than a lion killing an antelope. Not evil or malicious, just the way of the world.
I sat and waited for him to complete the ritual of the tea, and the ritual of making me wait for his answer. To be a demanding arsehole didn’t work with these people. They were businessmen, and their business just happened to be trading in humans.
The pouring stopped. He offered me sugar. I shoved in three teaspoonloads and stirred. He did the same. And then, lifting the glass gently between thumb and forefinger, he offered a toast.
‘I think that’s a very good suggestion, Nick. If you pay me that cash now, I will make contact, and we can start getting your loved ones back. You can pay me in instalments as everything moves on. But can I trust you?’
‘Of course you can trust me.’
‘These people are very dangerous. You can’t deal with them. Only I can get your loved ones out.’
‘I know that, Nadif.’
I pulled out the roll of money and put it on the table. It sprang open and doubled in size. Seeing cash physically increase in value always focuses the mind on the deal.
We raised our glasses, clinked, and both took a sip of tea.
He looked at me. ‘You know, my friend, I think we
I got some very sweet apple tea down my neck.
He took another sip and then got up. ‘Please excuse me …’
He went back into the kitchen and I watched as closely as I could while he fumbled about under the sink. He conjured up a mobile, an old grey pay-as-you-go thing, like a rabbit out of a hat.
He checked his watch once more. Mogadishu is three hours ahead. It would be very early morning there.
‘Nadif, aren’t you worried that the police, or the intelligence service, can hear what you’re saying?’
He smiled as he dialled. ‘Please do not be concerned. No one cares about being listened to. Nothing will happen. In Somalia, there are no police, no government, no army — no one. And here, why would they want me to stop? I am performing a service. I return people’s loved ones to them. I help them. Your government, they do not. The Americans — they too can listen if they want to. Will they come back into my country after what happened to them last time? I don’t think so, my friend.’ I could hear the phone ring. ‘You see, everything is fine. Please be calm.’
He brought it up to his ear. I caught a few syllables of Somali waffle. Nadif didn’t bat an eyelid.
He turned and looked at me, phone still glued to his ear. ‘Nick, it may be a little time until you can speak to them. They have been moved — for their own safety.’
I was about to open my mouth when his hand came up.
‘It’s OK. I will make sure they are not harmed. Trust me, Nick. Please, one moment.’
There was more waffle. He sounded as calm as if he was ordering a takeaway from the boys with the white trainers. Then he passed the phone across to me. ‘It’s a message for you, Nick. Don’t talk, just listen.’
I put it to my ear. The line was terrible. In among the crackling I could hear birds sing. A vehicle rumbled past. Then I heard a woman’s voice. ‘Yes — yes, of course I will …’
There was a rustling sound, and then a sniff. ‘In here?’
I couldn’t help myself. ‘Tracy, it’s Nick …’
Nadif waved a hand. ‘She cannot hear you, Nick. You are listening to a message.’
Her voice was flat and dull. It was obvious she was reading. ‘Help me. I am very sick. My health is deteriorating markedly due to fever and dysentery. I need to see a doctor. They will not give any of us the medicine. I have a toothache. My tooth is badly broken and very infected and abscessed. I need help immediately. Please.’
It sounded like one of those Nigerian email scams.
She didn’t stop there. ‘My son has severe stomach problems. There is no one to take care of him. I don’t want him to die here. Please do not let my son die here. I’m so afraid I will die of diseases if I don’t get help soon. I don’t know how much longer we can bear this. Someone, please help us. Please.’
Her voice quavered. ‘The men who hold us are very serious and they say that, if the ransom is not paid, they will kill all three of us. But I’m telling you, our conditions are very serious right now and we could very seriously die of an illness. My son, Stefan, might die. Justin might die. We’re very sick people.’
There were a few mumbles from whoever was holding the mike and I could hear the rustling as it was taken away from her. There was a click, and Nadif held out his hand. ‘Please, Nick. Thank you.’
They exchanged a few more words and the line went dead. He put the phone down and sighed theatrically. He looked at me like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘Nick, these are dangerous people. I can help you, but you must get the money. Somehow, please.’ He put his hands together again, as if he was praying. ‘My friend, I have done my part. I will make sure that you get to talk to her tomorrow. I will organize this. Are you now going to show some more good faith, Nick? I am helping you. Now you have got to help me. They must be paid so your loved ones are free.’
He stood up and rummaged in a pocket for a business card. Like Frank’s, the only thing on it was a mobile number. Unlike Frank’s, you could help yourself to twenty of these for two quid at your local motorway service station.
‘I can help you, Nick. But you have to help me to stop those crazy people from hurting your loved ones. Go home and call me tomorrow at midday. I will have some good news, I promise.’
19
I found the number for a minicab firm outside the railway station. Fifty minutes later I was rattling round the ring road in the 911, following signs for the bridge. I hit the Bluetooth and synched up the iPhone, checking the occasional set of headlights in the rear-view.
I rehearsed tomorrow’s speech to Nadif in my head. I’d be phoning with good news. I could raise maybe thirty thousand dollars within the next couple of days. How was that for good faith? Very soon, my very small flat would go on the market, even though I’d only just bought it.
I’d be able to make some money, I’d tell him, but I had a mortgage of just over ?100K to repay. I should be able to clear another ?45K, but the way the market was, it would take time. Maybe I could try to remortgage. Janet and Justin’s families were working hard to raise money. I was showing trust; I was showing commitment. I would get the money together, come what may.
In the meantime, I really needed Nadif to keep them alive. I needed him to let me speak to them. A man with his influence must be able to help me do those things.
My Breitling had me coming out of the city and onto the motorway at just past five a.m. I dialled Frank, expecting him to be engaged. Ant and Dec would be phoning about now to say I was heading back towards Hereford.
I had to carry on managing his expectations. Apart from anything else, I didn’t want him to go his own way. He was already following my every move. What else might he be up to? When people start fucking about with the system, hostages get killed.
It rang just twice before a voice barked from the speakers: ‘Yes?’
‘All indications are that they’re still breathing. I’ve made contact with someone I think can broker the deal.’
There was a pause.
