He was in a daze as he was shoved out of the room, up the stairs and along a dark, dank corridor. His hands remained tied behind his back. He was wide awake by the time they left the cool, damp, musty stone building into the suffocating sunshine. Gunnymede’s handlers were two armed fighters, one behind, one in front who kept him moving with purpose. The sun had gone past its high point putting the day at mid to late afternoon.
They turned a corner through an arch into a courtyard packed with stores and equipment; vehicle parts, weapons and ammunition, fuel and tinned food. There were no clues as to what town they were in.
At the other end of the courtyard, they passed through another stone arch into a sand field of Roman ruins. Everywhere were slabs and plinths, some with the remains of statues, sections of what were once tall pillars topped with flared capitals, some upright, others lying on the ground, the remains of an ancient city that looked as if it had been blown apart. Corinthian.
Gunnymede wondered where he was being taken. If they wanted to interrogate him they could’ve done that in the dungeons. This felt ominous.
They arrived at a clearing where a wooden scaffold had been constructed. Four men were standing on upright logs with nooses around their necks attached to a horizontal span above them. Saleem was sitting in a tatty leather armchair under a canvas awning, facing the scaffold, his legs crossed on a stool, a plastic bottle of water in his hand. A dozen fighters lounged around passing the time. As Gunnymede got closer, he could see that the men standing precariously balanced on the upright logs were uniformed Kurdish soldiers, their hands tied behind their backs.
Gunnymede was brought to a halt by the scaffold. He looked up at the faces of the Kurds. All were sweating, clearly stressed as well as hot, helplessly awaiting their fates. One in particular looked more precarious than the others, his crotch soaked in urine, with trembling knees that threatened to unbalance him.
Saleem wore a thin, superior smile and gestured for Gunnymede to be moved to the end of the line of Kurds. There was a space beneath the scaffold waiting for him. A short noose was attached directly above a narrow log like the ones on which the Kurds were standing. Gunnymede was helped up onto it. His hands remained tied behind his back. When he was able to balance on the log without assistance the fighters released him. One climbed onto a chair behind him, fixed the noose around his neck, tightened it, gave it a tug to ensure it was secure, jumped down and walked away with the chair.
Gunnymede was now a full member of the hanging team.
Saleem climbed out of his chair and went to a slab of stone where the stuff they’d found on Gunnymede was laid out. He selected a device and showed it to Gunnymede. ‘Emergency beacon?’
Gunnymede remained silent.
‘You flip this switch and hit this button?’
Saleem walked over to Gunnymede. ‘Welcome,’ he said, as if making an official start to the proceedings. ‘We’re joined today by Amanj, Nebez, Karzan and ... Eja? Eja, yes?’
The Kurd didn’t respond.
‘We’ll go with Eja. Let’s go on with the chat we were having earlier. I asked what group you’re from. Your unit?’
Gunnymede swallowed, the noose a little too snug around his neck.
‘For every question you don’t answer I’ll top one of the Kurds,’ Saleem said.
Gunnymede looked into his eyes. The man was cold as a fish.
‘Your unit?’ Saleem asked.
Gunnymede paused before opening his mouth.
‘Too slow,’ Saleem shouted as he kicked away the Kurd’s log. The man fell a few inches and the noose slammed tight around his neck. He shook violently as he choked, his face turning bright red, eyes bulging, tongue sticking from his swelling lips as he fought for air. His legs bucked, trying in vain to find a purchase. A minute later his efforts reduced to a twitch. The man would remain alive for a few minutes more, a residue of consciousness until his brain was starved of oxygen. His eyes remained partially open, his tongue hanging from his mouth, his face swollen and turning cyan.
He swayed gently beside Gunnymede, the rope creaking rhythmically. The fighters watched the death with the usual fascination. Watching someone die was never boring.
‘Your unit?’ Saleem said as he stepped in front of the next Kurd.
‘Army Int Corps’ Gunnymede said.
Saleem nodded as he pondered the answer. ‘The Int Corps? Bollocks. What was your mission?’
‘You.’
‘What do you mean?’
Gunnymede was reluctant to answer.
Saleem placed his foot on the Kurd’s log. ‘We’ve got plenty more ’a these. We can play this game all week.’
‘We want to know who you’re talking to,’ Gunnymede said.
‘Who do you think I’m talking to?’ Saleem looked at the Kurd, who was sweating profusely.
‘We think Russian but we don’t know.’
‘What do you think we’re talking about?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘You must think it’s important to go to all the trouble of coming out here to get me.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you have no idea why?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Sounds like a load of bollocks to me.’
‘If someone knows any more than that, I don’t.’
Saleem smiled and closed in on Gunnymede so that only he could hear him. ‘Shall I tell you?’
Gunnymede blinked as he looked into his eyes.
‘If I tell you, promise you won’t tell anyone.’
‘I can’t guarantee it.’
‘I can,’ Saleem chuckled, keeping his voice too low for any of the fighters to hear. ‘I’m going to England as soon as Baghdadi approves
