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  The cadets glanced sidelong at each other. It was Abby who spoke up. ‘We’re not from here,’ she said. ‘We got lost and …’ Uncharacte‌ristically, her voice petered out.

  The tall guy laughed: a humourless bark. He stepped towards them and continued to speak. Max couldn’t understand a word, even though he found himself focusing hard. The panicked shouts of the villagers receded in his head. He knew he could do nothing for them. He could also tell that these young men in their black tops and their high-spec weapons were not like the two guys the cadets had disarmed minutes earlier. They carried themselves more confidently. And bubbling under the surface was the threat of even more violence.

  The cadets didn’t move. The tall guy strolled among them. When he reached Lukas, the only one of the cadets who was physically a match for him, he stopped. Almost chest to chest with him, the tall guy said one word. His three companions joined him. They grabbed Lukas’s wrists and bound them tightly behind his back with cable ties. One of them retrieved a hood from a shoulder bag and pulled it over Lukas’s head. Lukas made no attempt to struggle, though it was everything Max could do to stop himself from helping his mate.

  Abby was next. ‘You sure know how to treat a girl,’ she said as they bound and hooded her. They moved on to Sami and Lili, who accepted their fate in silence. Finally the tall guy approached Max. He was a head taller than him. As he drew closer, the stench of stale sweat and alcohol hit Max’s nostrils. The guy whispered something. When Max felt his wrists being grabbed and tightly tied behind his back, he forced himself not to resist. The hood, when it was pulled over his head, was uncomfortably rough and smelled foul. Max wanted to gag. He also wanted to run. But even if that had been part of their plan, fear would have kept him planted there. He seemed to have lost all the strength in his limbs.

  The frightened noises of the villagers were muffled, their screams fewer. But Max heard four single shots. They sounded nearby, and so loud that they seemed to go through his body. For a sickening moment, Max thought his friends had been shot. No, he told himself quickly. If they were going to kill us, they wouldn’t have bothered with the ties and the hoods. As the gunshots faded away, however, he heard a dreadful moan of despair. Someone had just been killed. The image of the little kid with the gun to his head jumped into his mind, and he felt sick.

  But that didn’t last for long. He felt something hard and unyielding crack into his skull. The world spun. Nausea overwhelmed him, and he blacked out.

  6

  Blackshirts

  The next few hours passed in a blur.

  When Max woke, he still wore the hood and his wrists were still tied. There was a crushing ache in his skull, and he was overwhelmed with nausea. It was all he could do to stop himself vomiting. Rough hands pulled him to his feet and dragged him about. Voices barked and hissed. He could smell smoke and hear the intense crackle of flames. Was the village burning? Occasionally he tripped and fell to his knees, but was quickly pulled up again and pushed forward. He had no idea where they were heading. He listened hard for the voices of his fellow cadets but couldn’t hear them. Were they still with him? Were they still alive? He couldn’t tell.

  He felt a rope being looped around his neck, as if he was a dog on a leash. Somebody pulled him and he staggered. The rope choked him. The sound of flames and frightened villagers faded away. Max could feel foliage brushing against him. He realised he no longer had his rucksack, and was glad he hadn’t taken Lili’s advice about stowing his watch in there. Even through his hood, he could sense the thick humidity of the jungle. He knew he was being moved away from the village, but didn’t know where to or in which direction. His fingers were swollen because of the tight cable ties that bound his wrists, but he managed to feel for his watch. It was some comfort to find it there, but his stomach churned with anxiety. Their abductors were more violent than he had ever imagined them being. They were killers, and Max sensed that they had a taste for it. Maybe he should activate the PLB immediately? This had gone much worse than any of them had expected. He restrained himself, but his fingers still felt for the watch.

  Time passed. He didn’t know how long, but the jungle sounds around him grew louder, so Max knew dawn must be arriving. Monkeys screeched. Birds called. A riot of sound that reminded him of the seething mass of life all around him.

  His neck was rubbed raw by the rope. Suddenly, the person leading him yanked it sharply and barked a single word. Max took it as an instruction to stop. Rough hands removed his hood. He blinked as light stabbed his eyes.

  Where was he? He tried to take in his surroundings. He was on a roughly hewn path. On either side were tall trees covered with spaghetti-like vines. He couldn’t see far into the forest. Sunbeams cut through the canopy, illuminating clouds of water vapour and making the foliage glow a vivid emerald green. It was beautiful in its way, but there was nothing beautiful about the people around him.

  The other cadets stood in a line in front of Max. They had also been led by ropes around their necks, each by one of the gang members. They looked dirty, exhausted and terrified, Lukas particularly. His left eye was cut and badly bruised, and he stared into the middle distance, as though unsure where he was or what he was doing. Behind Max were eight or nine villagers between the ages of about ten and sixteen. Unlike the cadets, they were not leashed. Instead, they were tied to each other by their wrists. They wore haunted, fearful expressions. Many of them had been crying. Max saw Roland at the end of the line, his head bowed.

  And then, of course, there were the gang members. In Max’s memory of the attack on the village, there had been hordes of them. In reality, there were no more than ten. Their weapons were lazily slung across their chests. Most of them also carried sturdy sticks. Max immediately saw why when one of them hit a younger child, who had just started to cry, hard around the knees. Only the cadets had a dedicated gang member leading them by the neck. The other abductors swaggered round their hostages, brandishing their sticks and their weapons, plainly enjoying their position of authority. At the head of the line stood the tall gang member with the scalped hair and mane. He eyed the cadets with suspicion. Max found himself wishing they hadn’t drawn attention to themselves, but he supposed, with their mix of skin colours and nationalities, that it couldn’t be helped.

  The gang members removed the cadets’ leashes and tied them, wordlessly, wrist to wrist, to the other hostages. Max found himself next to Roland. One of the gang members shouted something. The other hostages sat on the ground, so the cadets did the same. They sat in a group with Roland while one of the gang members walked among the hostages with a canteen of water, allowing them a sip. Max was desperate for water. His throat was dry and raw. But as the guy approached, Max realised he was one of the men they had knocked unconscious. He did not offer the cadets a drink.

  Nobody could escape, even if they had wanted to. They were tied together. Anyway, where would they go? The ten gang members gathered at the head of the line where they shared some food among themselves. It gave the cadets the opportunity to regroup. ‘I told you to leave,’ Roland said bitterly. He was still hanging his head, as though trying to hide his face.

  ‘You don’t want them to recognise you,’ Lili said quietly. ‘Especially the tall guy.’

  ‘His name is Babaka.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Roland glanced left and right. He didn’t reply. Max remembered that, from what he had said, Roland had met Oscar Juwani before. ‘Tell us,’ he insisted. ‘Maybe we can help you.’

  Roland looked unwilling to speak. ‘You can’t help me,’ he said, seeming to shrink into himself.

  Max remembered something he had noticed during the attack. Babaka, and five of the gang members surrounding him, all wore black tops. They were not all the same style – some had T-shirts, some had waistcoats, others had shirts with collars. But they looked like a kind of uniform nevertheless. The four other gang members had mismatched red shirts. They congregated separately.

  ‘Hey, Roland,’ Max said quietly. ‘What’s with the shirts?’

  Roland was obviously reluctant to speak.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ Max pressed him. ‘We’re scared. We want to know what’s happening.’

  ‘Oscar Juwani’s hooligans are known as the Blackshirts,’ Roland said. His voice was low, so the cadets had to strain to hear him. ‘It is because the people closest to him, his inner circle, wear black shirts. They are the worst. They have killed many times, to show their loyalty to Oscar Juwani. He trusts them all. But there are also Redshirts and Blueshirts. The red shirts are worn by any boy or girl who has killed at least one person. They are less important than the Blackshirts and are not treated so well. But they are treated better than the Blueshirts.’

  ‘Who are they?’ Lili asked, an intent expression on her face.

  ‘Everyone else. Us. We will be given blue shirts soon. Blueshirts are treated like slaves. They serve the Redshirts and the Blackshirts. They cook their food and dig their toilet pits. They are often beaten and go hungry. After a while, all the Blueshirts want to become Redshirts. It’s either that or be a victim all their life. So they are willing to kill someone. And once they have killed one person, it is easy to kill a second. And then they are lost …’

  An intense hatred was etched across Roland’s face. He spoke as if the words tasted bad.

  ‘How come you know so much?’ Abby said, her voice gentle and persuasive.

  ‘I was caught by Oscar Juwani’s hooligans before,’ he said. His voice cracked.

  ‘When?’ Sami asked.

  ‘Two months ago. I was visiting my brother. Well, my half-brother. He lives in a nearby village. The hooligans came at night then too. It is their way. The Blackshirts and the Redshirts burned the village. Killed some of the elders. And they took the young people with them to Oscar Juwani’s stronghold. Including my brother and me.’

  One of the Blackshirts laughed loudly. The nearby Redshirts laughed along sycophantically.

  ‘We tried to escape,’ Roland continued more quietly. ‘My brother and I. We made the gang think that we wanted to become Redshirts so they would not keep a close watch on us. Then one night we made our move. I think we would have got away, but as we entered the forest a Blueshirt saw us. He shouted out and the whole camp woke up. My brother and I ran. I managed to escape.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘My brother didn’t.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ Sami asked.

  Roland stared at the ground again. ‘At first I did not know. News travels slowly here and people are scared to talk about what happens in Oscar Juwani’s camp. But I found out later that my brother was killed by a Redshirt who wanted to become a Blackshirt. They shot him, then left his body in the jungle for the wild animals to take.’

  The cadets stared at him in silent horror.

  ‘I told you that Oscar Juwani is the worst man in the world. His Redshirts and his Blackshirts are almost as bad.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Max said.

  ‘What do you mean? A Redshirt killed my brother. I hate them.’

  ‘But they would never have done it if Oscar Juwani hadn’t captured them in the first place. It’s what he does, isn’t it? He takes ordinary young people and he forces them to do terrible things. He brainwashes them and changes who they are.’ He nodded at one of the other prisoners, a boy of no more than ten. ‘Look at him. If what you’re saying is true, he’s in for a rough time. It won’t be long before he wants to be a Redshirt. And it could happen to any of us.’

  ‘I hate them,’ Roland repeated firmly.

  ‘But –’

  ‘Leave it, Max,’ Abby said softly. ‘Can’t you see what the problem is here? Why do you think Roland’s doing his best not to let his face be seen? What if one of these thugs recognises him as the boy who got away? It’s obvious what they’ll do to him.’

  ‘And he can’t stay anonymous for long,’ Lili said. ‘As soon as we get to Oscar Juwani’s camp, someone is bound to recognise him. Maybe even Juwani himself. And then …’

  ‘He will shoot Roland,’ Sami said plainly.

  ‘Shoot me?’ Roland said. ‘He won’t shoot me. Oscar Juwani has other ways of dealing with people who make him angry.’

  ‘Like what?’ Lukas said.

  Max wasn’t sure Lukas had been following the conversation. It was the first time he had spoken since they stopped. When Roland hesitated, he looked angry. ‘Like what?’ he repeated.

  Roland didn’t answer. Two of the Blackshirts were approaching, shouting orders. Roland quickly lowered his head again. ‘They are telling us to be quiet,’ he said. ‘Don’t talk to me again. It is too risky for me.’ He fell silent.

  But Max had a question. If Oscar Juwani’s camp was such a dangerous place for Roland, why had he stayed in the village when he knew Juwani’s men were on their way? Maybe, Max wondered, the cadets weren’t the only people who wanted to be captured. He decided to keep an eye on Roland from now on.

  7

  The Clearing

  One of the Redshirts shouted a harsh instruction. The abductees stood up and the cadets followed suit. But they didn’t move. The tall Blackshirt was walking down the line of prisoners. He had a sturdy, solid stick, and held it as though he wanted to use it. Roland, next to Max, hung his head. Max wanted to hiss at him not to make it so obvious because he was likely to draw more attention to himself that way. But the Blackshirt was too close. In any case, it seemed that he was more interested in Lukas than in Roland.

  The Blackshirt stopped right in front of Lukas.

  Max had grown to know Lukas well. Sure, he was quiet and occasionally surly, but he could handle himself. Ever since they had parachuted into the Congo rainforest, however, he’d seemed less like himself. The strain of their mission seemed to be getting to him more than to the others. As the Blackshirt stood over him, he almost seemed to be in a trance.

  The Blackshirt said something Max didn’t understand. Then he raised his stick. With a sudden, brutal movement he slammed it hard into Lukas’s stomach.

  ‘No!’ Abby and Lili cried in unison. Lukas doubled over. He made a horrible rasping sound as he tried to inhale. The Blackshirt grinned and hit Lukas again in the ribs. He was like a pack animal proving his dominance. Maybe he knew that Lukas was the strongest of the hostages. Or maybe he sensed Lukas’s mental weakness. Whatever the truth, Lukas didn’t resist. He was coughing and wheezing in pain. Max remembered something Roland had said. They are often beaten and go hungry. After a while, all the Blueshirts want to become Redshirts. It’s either that or be a victim all their life.

  Right now, Lukas was more victim than Special Forces Cadet.

  The Blackshirt raised his stick yet again. This time it was Max who shouted out. ‘No! Leave him!’

  The Blackshirt froze. He turned to Max. Then he lowered his stick and walked towards him.

  Max steeled himself to receive a blow just like Lukas had. The Blackshirt rested the end of his cudgel against Max’s cheek. Max closed his eyes. But the blow didn’t come. He opened them again. The Blackshirt was looking him up and down. He stepped over the rope binding Max to the line of hostages, and Max felt his fingers on his wrists. The Blackshirt wanted his watch. There was a click and Max felt it being slipped off his hand.

  The Blackshirt stood in front of him again, holding up the watch. He said something that Max took to mean ‘thank you’, then he fastened the watch to his own wrist then strode purposefully back to the head of the line. He shouted a single word. Suddenly the Redshirts and the other Blackshirts were grabbing the hostages and forcing them to move.

  Max felt sick. That watch was their lifeline – and now the enemy had it.

  Sami, Lili and Abby glanced at him desperately. Lukas barely seemed to know where he was. As their forced march continued, he staggered and retched. They had been in the jungle for little more than twenty-four hours, and he was already broken.

  They continued to tramp through the rainforest. Panicked thoughts flew through Max’s mind. Where were they? In which direction were they headed? How was he going to get the watch back from the tall Blackshirt? Without it, how would they raise the alarm or let the Watchers know their location?

  Their abductors seemed to know where they were going. The paths they followed were narrow and hard to navigate, but they were established. Around mid-morning, they started to head uphill. The vegetation thinned out a little, and they finally found themselves on a ridge. From here, they could see for miles over the rainforest. If Max had seen it in a photograph or on TV, he would have been struck by its breathtaking beauty. The forest stretched in all directions to the horizon. Clouds hung over the lower parts. Myriad birds dived and circled. There was no sign of human habitation. Just raw, untouched nature. But this wasn’t a picture or a TV show. This was an operation, and the sight only increased Max’s sense of panic. The village of Chakunda was nowhere to be seen. The paths they had followed were invisible. A person could wander in this immense forest for months, even years, and never find their way out. As a child, Max had enjoyed the story of Hansel and Gretel, who had left a trail of breadcrumbs in the forest so they could find their way out. They obviously hadn’t been lost in the Congo rainforest.

  The hostages, with the exception of Lukas, were allowed some water. Then they plunged back downhill and back into the thick, unfriendly vegetation. Max was scratched all over, and he saw that the others were too. Sweat dripped into the cuts on his face, stinging them. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He started to feel weak and he began to trip more frequently. There was no chance of talking to the others. It took every ounce of concentration just to keep moving through the jungle.

  It was early afternoon when they stopped again. They were in a small clearing where a jungle stream fed a deep, still pool. Insects hovered above it. They were so numerous that Max could hear their buzzing from the edge of the clearing. He didn’t like the idea of stopping here. It felt like a place where wild animals would come to drink. But the Blackshirts were insistent. He had the impression that there was something they wanted to do here. They forced the hostages to sit in a line. The Redshirts patrolled up and down while the Blackshirts, led by Babaka, spoke in low voices.