That Devil's Madness (32 page)

‘Walk.'

Slowly she moved forward. She strained to hear any sound that may give her a clue as to where she was. The crunch of boots. The screech of a bird. She shuffled on, the edge of her captor's rifle guiding her direction. The sack around her head itched and a section of it had stuck to the blood under her nose. She rubbed her face against her shoulder, trying to ease the cloth from around her nose.

The muzzle of the rifle pressed against her back. Hands searched her pockets, her body, removing anything they found there. The rope burnt the skin of her wrists. The jeep start up some distance away, drove off.

‘Sit.'

She sat. Felt something cool and hard beneath her buttocks. The strong smell of unwashed flesh permeated past the urine stench of the sack, and she sensed someone close by. The sack was torn off her head.

Nicolette gasped a big gulp of cool air. The sudden light blinded her, and she closed her eyes. Opened them again, squinted in the early morning light. She was sitting on a rock, halfway inside of a small cave. She looked around, expecting to see Steven and Amoud.

No one. She was alone.

At the entrance of the cave stood one of her captors, his back to her, a rifle over his shoulder. A turban encircled his head. Outside, she could see a couple of cardboard boxes, some empty food tins. The remains of a campfire. A dirt track, then directly behind it the ground disappeared. Behind that, a wall of rock rose above her line of vision. She'd guessed right – they were down one of the gorges that rimmed the roads out of Constantine. The skin of her face itched, her throat felt dry and gritty.

‘Can I have some water?' she called to her guard. He turned, looked at her, looked away again. ‘Please? Water?'

He turned once more. Raised the rifle to his shoulder, aiming at her head. Looked into her eyes. Smiled. Nicolette held her breath. She could feel her heart pounding and felt a sudden need to use her bowels. She could not control the tremors in her body. Her captor lowered the rifle, slung it over his shoulder once more and turned away. She closed her eyes and slouched forward, letting her breath out in one long slow stream.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply, pursing her lips to exhale. She couldn't stop shivering. A fly buzzed around her face and came to rest on the dried blood beneath her nose. She shook her head to dislodge it. It flew off, hovered around her face for a moment then returned to its meal. She blew upwards until the fly finally went. Outside the cave entrance she could hear voices and movement.

#

It had been dark for some time when they finally came. Two men, both in jeans, jumpers and jackets, one wearing a turban, the other bareheaded. Both carried rifles over their shoulders. They untied her hands from behind her back and retied them in front of her. The skin was raw with rubbing and she winced at the pain.

‘I need to go to the toilet,' she said, and one of the men prodded her out of the cave with his rifle. She saw other men sitting around a fire, eating. A full moon lit the rock face. She could see other small caves, but no sign of Steven or Amoud. Her legs felt weak, her head light. Her tongue was thick in her mouth. Her guard pointed to a distance along the track. She walked. A few metres from the camp, he stopped her.

‘Over there,' he said, pointing to a group of boulders.

She climbed, pulling herself up with her tied hands. Slipped. A rock tore the cloth of her jeans and ripped her knee.

The top of the boulder was eroded, basin shaped. By the moonlight she could see it half filled with excrement, a stinking mass that appeared to be moving, throbbing with insects and small creatures. She retched, heaving and gagging.

‘Hurry up,' her captor yelled from below, rifle pointed at her. She edged her way to the very rim of the basin. A large cockroach scurried away. She fumbled with the button of her jeans, lowered them and relieved herself. Something crawled on the flesh of her buttock and she cringed, quickly pulling her jeans back up.

#

She'd been back in the cave for a while now. Her stomach felt tight, cramped. Her mouth dryer still. Her back spasmed from sitting too long upright on the rock. She lowered herself to the ground and rested her back against the rock. An owl screeched. One of her captors entered the cave, silhouetted in the entrance. He held out a Coca-Cola bottle, half filled with water.

‘Thirsty?'

Nicolette looked at the bottle, the water gleaming in the moonlight. Licked her lips. Nodded. Held up her tied hands towards him. ‘Please,' she whispered.

Slowly he tipped the bottle, so that the water trickled out, just clear of her fingers. She lurched forwards, felt a few drops wet her hands, but he stepped back, laughing. She sucked her fingers, licked her hands, seeking every drop. He emptied the bottle, turned and walked out. She stared after him, close to tears.

But there was water on the rocky floor of the cave. Slowly, on her knees, she inched her way to where he'd been standing. She could just make out the darker colour of the rock where he'd poured the water. She licked the cave floor like an animal, sucking every bit of moisture up into her mouth, but there was barely enough to wet her tongue. She lay down then, and cried great tearless sobs.

The noise outside lessened. The guard ignored her. She stared out at the moonlight shimmering on the rock wall. The night became colder and she curled up where she was, shivering. Heard a flutter of wings. Somewhere, someone coughed. She watched the moonlight dim, the rock face become lighter in the soft dawn grey. She slept.

#

She woke to the pain of a boot kicking her ribs.

‘Sit up.'

Nicolette pushed herself upwards. The early morning air smelt crisp, icy. The bindings around her wrists were caked with dried blood, and her efforts to sit pulled at the scabs and reopened the wounds.

Two men stood before her, one pointing a rifle. The other had a handgun tucked into his belt, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He leaned towards her, his arm stretched out, palm up.

‘Mademoiselle?' he said, smiling.

Nicolette stared at him, confused by his almost courtly manner.

‘I
said
: “Mademoiselle”,' he repeated as he grabbed her arm and pulled her up onto the rock she had sat on the previous day. Ash from the tip of his cigarette fell onto her lap. ‘Now, Mademoiselle, we don't wish to harm you. We only need some information. Who are you working for?'

‘
The Herald
. An Australian paper. I'm a photojournalist. My name is Nicolette de Derc—'

‘Liar.' The blow toppled Nicolette off the rock. Her questioner grabbed her hair and pulled her upright. ‘Do not lie to me,
Mademoiselle.
Now, let's try again. Who are you working for?'

‘
The Herald
.'

The man before her shook his head in mock disappointment. Looked down at her outstretched legs, then back at her. He placed the heel of his boot onto the bone of her shin, then smiled as he slowly transferred his weight onto that foot.

Nicolette tried to move her leg but the pressure increased until she thought the bone would break. The muscle at the back of her calf pressed into the rough rock and she could feel the tendons behind her knee and ankle pull tight. She whimpered. With her free leg, she tried to kick him off.

His blow bounced her head against the rock and her vision blurred. When he took his foot off her shin she bent her knees, tucking her legs beneath her.

‘Name?'

‘Nicolette de Dercou.'

‘Who do you work for?'

‘
The Hera
—'

The next blow landed on her ear.

‘Who do you—'

The sound of an engine echoed towards them. The guard at the cave entrance said something and both men walked out.

She lay curled on the cave floor, eyes closed. Her ear burned and her head throbbed with a constant ache. The relentless drone of an engine idled somewhere close by. She'd bitten her tongue. Voices shouted, men hurried. The engine revved up. The vehicle departed. Silence. Still she lay.

#

A cool breeze caressed her face. Nicolette opened her eyes. The walls of the cave were covered with glistening beads of moisture. Outside a weak sun shone, the rock wall across from the path a sculpture of light and shade. A man was sitting on the ground at the entrance of the cave, smoking, a Kalashnikov across his lap.

She thought of Steven and Amoud. Wondered where they were being held. Wished she was with them. A small black scorpion scurried in and out of crevices towards the entrance, its tail curled forward over its back, its sting resting on its carapace. It came to where sunlight met shadow and stopped, seemingly afraid of the light. Raising its claws, it snapped at the sunlight as if trying to capture it. Then, reassured of its benignity, continued its journey.

The rocky floor pressed on Nicolette's hipbone. She pulled her legs up to her chest, then rolling forwards, manoeuvred herself upwards. Even in this kneeling position she felt dizzy. She closed her eyes, willing this light-headedness to pass. Breathed deeply. Her hands throbbed. Slowly, painfully she rose. Her light-headedness increased and she quickly sat on her rock-seat, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

Small waves of warm air blew towards her, smelling of damp rock and juniper. Her guard appeared to be dozing. She stood, walked to the cave wall and licked it, hoping to get enough moisture to quench her thirst. She heard her guard clear his throat and turned towards him. Without turning his head to look her way – or even changing his position – he'd picked up his firearm and casually pointed it into the cave. She went back to her seat.

The buzz of insects was the only sound she could hear. An occasional bird hovered the air currents. She hadn't had food or water for over a day now, but wasn't hungry. Her lips were cracked, and she had trouble producing saliva to moisten them, but strangely, she felt less thirsty today than the previous day.

She thought of the journalists back at the hotel in Algiers. Would any of them notice their absence? Try and find them? Probably not. She wanted to hope, but hope was such a dangerous emotion.

A flash of movement, golden orange against the rock face beyond, caught her attention. A fox. She watched it make its way over and around boulders until it disappeared from her line of vision. The sky became overcast. She slid down to the ground and rested her back against the rock-seat. The afternoon wore on.

#

By the light outside the cave she judged it to be evening. She could hear voices outside, arguing, laughing. She sat up, alert. Many more than yesterday. She smelt wood burning, food cooking. Her inquisitor and his aid entered her cave.

‘Well, Mademoiselle, ready to talk?'

She was pulled back up onto her rock-seat.

‘Now. First question. Who are you working for?'

‘
The Herald.
'

The punch to her belly doubled her over, retching. He walked behind her, pulling her upright again.

‘It's no use lying to us, you know. Your partner has told us everything – you are spying for the government. No use denying it. Now, who are you wor—'

‘My name is Nic—'

An explosion of pain engulfed her head as both her ears were struck simultaneously with open palms. She fought against the darkness that offered her sanctuary. Warm liquid trickled out of an ear, down her neck. The sides of her face burnt. Her head was jerked back once more. She could see her inquisitor talking to her, but couldn't hear anything. She tried to focus on his face, to fight unconsciousness. His face was close enough to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath, see the pores of his skin. He released her head and she slumped forward.

She was lost in a cocoon of pain and fear and silence. She felt him move away from her. Looked up and saw him lighting a cigarette with the lighter Steven had given her. The smell of cigarette smoke inundated the cave. The second man stood behind her and pulled her backwards, holding her head to his belly, one arm pressing around her neck.

The man in charge stood astride of her legs, inhaling deeply of the cigarette between his lips. He took it out of his mouth and looked at its tip, talking all the while, glancing at her, then back at the cigarette, back at her. And though she could hear a voice, it seemed far away and she couldn't make out the words. He waited, one eyebrow raised. Then slowly brought the cigarette close to her face, close enough for her to feel its heat. She struggled, but the hands holding her tightened their grip. She screamed a silent scream as the glowing end lightly touched her skin, then lifted, only to come to rest a little lower than before. The stench of burnt flesh mingled with the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke.

She fell to the ground. Curled up tight, mewing in terror and pain, oblivious to those around her. Someone touched the bindings around her wrists and she cringed, expecting more pain, but instead felt the ropes being untied. Hands turned her onto her back and slid under her head to lift it slightly. She felt something cold next to her lips, then the trickle of water.

When she dared open her eyes her tormentor was no longer there. Instead, another man was holding a bottle of water to her lips, while talking to two others standing nearby. She still couldn't hear well, but she could tell that he was angry. She drifted into semi-consciousness, but this man wouldn't allow her this luxury, shaking her and forcing her to drink. She felt dizzy but forced herself to focus on his face. He was talking to her, nodding his head as one does to a child being good. She parted her lips and a little of the water trickled into her mouth. She swallowed. Another trickle, another swallow. He smiled and something deep in her memory stirred, but was gone again before she could grasp it. He lowered her head gently back onto the ground. As she gave herself up to the darkness she felt the rough wool of a blanket envelop her.

#

‘
Rafiq, wait for us. Wait, Rafiq.'