‘Doctor, I must apologise for having your hands and legs bound. It was a necessary precaution, but now that you’re conscious and compos mentis I think we can do away with it.’
Standing tall and proud, with a ramrod-straight back, he gave a curt order in his language to one of the three armed teenagers who were standing at his sides, and immediately one youth whipped out a bowie knife and knelt down to sever the ropes that bound Margaret’s ankles and wrists.
‘Are you hurt, Doctor?’ the man asked as the youth sawed at the ropes.
‘I, um, no, no, I think I’m fine,’ she replied slowly, filtering and scanning every word in her head before allowing them to emerge from her lips. ‘You know that, that…’
Mad, disjointed thoughts were racing through her mind, and she could not string anything coherent together. The word ‘rape’ kept on blazing its piercing glare across the scope of her vision, and her gaze was irresistibly drawn, by a magnetic force, it seemed, to the assault rifles and machetes that the teenage boys – and girls, for there were a few of them too – brandished so casually at their sides.
‘Excuse me Doctor?’ the man the soldier had called ‘General’ asked.
‘What are you planning to do with me, sir?’ she blurted out in an unexpected burst of brash confidence. ‘I’m, I’m with Medical Assistance for Positive Change. We’re not allied with any faction in this war, and we, we’re just here to help the people, sir. The non-combatant women and children, do you understand that? I’m of no value to you as a hostage—’ She bit her tongue the instant these words left her mouth. Searing heat flooded through her veins as she realised the immensity of the blunder she had just made.
Jesus H. Christ, Margaret, if they don’t think you have any value, they’ll just rape you and kill you and throw your body in the river! Stupid stupid stupid stupid!
‘What I meant, uh, no, you see sir, in er, in political terms I’m of no value, but uh, ransom, yes, ransom money, if you promise not to harm me, and uh, to deliver me unharmed to—’
The man smiled and laughed congenially before replying. There was no meanness in his chuckling; only gentle sympathy.
‘I have no interest in your ransom value, nor in your value as a hostage.’
These words dripped liquid nitrogen down her spine and caused a debilitating numbness to shoot through her limbs … yet despite her current predicament, his tone and his disarming smile allowed a little room for hope.
‘Then … then … what do you want with me?’
‘Your medical skills.’
A temporary gush of relief washed its calming balm through her system as the man said this. Still, she realised that she remained in an immensely precarious position. She needed more information before she could allow hope to pry its way through her creaky armour.
‘Who are you then? Are you M23? ADF? PARECO? Mai-Mai? Or LRA, maybe?’
The General’s smile remained unwavering.
‘Were you referring to me personally, or to our organisation? No matter, I will speak for both. Once upon a time, a very long time ago, I was called N’Jalabenadou. But since that is probably too difficult for your Western tongue to pronounce correctly, you may simply call me by my nickname, which I have also had for a very long time: many simply call me “the General”. As for my organisation, we are not affiliated with any of those groups you just mentioned; they are our enemies as much as they are yours. Despite our power and influence though, I guarantee that you will not have heard of us. Indeed, almost nobody has … not yet, anyway. But they will. All the world will, soon enough.’
‘I, I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, sir. If you’re not part of any of the rebel groups, and you’re not government troops, then … who are you?’
The General’s smile remained unfaltering.
‘We are called the Antidote,’ he declared, almost cheerfully.
‘The Antidote? I’m sorry, I have no idea—’
‘And nor do I expect you to.’
Margaret had to admit that she was somewhat taken aback with this man’s charming, almost gentlemanly demeanour, and his fluent command of the English language. His manner of speech was very different from the dense Congolese accent she had grown used to hearing her language spoken in here; indeed, it actually sounded more like that of an Oxford professor.
‘I … I suppose I don’t have any choice in the matter, do I?’
He smiled and shook his head, somewhat sadly.
‘I’m afraid not. No, not at this particular juncture, at least. I will, however,offer you your unconditional freedom in thirty days. Thirty days’ service to me is what I ask of you now. And in thirty days I promise you that I will give you the option of leaving us, no strings attached.’
Hope crackled its bright firecracker sizzle across the dark skies of Margaret’s mind.
‘Do you really mean that? How can I trust you though? The UN will come looking for me, you know. I’m … look, there will be people coming for me. I’m a citizen of the United States of America, sir, and, and, my government does not, they will not negotiate with, with—’
The General raised an eyebrow, and a dazzle of white showed through a cheekily parted gap in his dark, heavy lips.
‘With terrorists, my dear?’
Margaret blushed deeply, but she was both hot with embarrassment and cold with crushing terror, thinking that she may have unwittingly provoked this man’s ire.
‘I, no, no, I wasn’t accusing you of—’
The General laughed warmly and placed a reassuring hand with gentle, unimposing weight on her shoulder.
‘No offence was taken. I assure you we are not terrorists, but in any case, neither do we harbour any intention of
