Pulling hard and away on the skin to stretch it as far as it would go, he ran the knife blade across the skin. The blade cut halfway through — and he slashed again. The sounds from the caterer were horrendous, both Yusuf and Bashir felt sick as hot blood spilt over onto Yusuf’s hand. The knife blade was dripping, red blood cascading onto the ground. Emotions flooded through Yusuf, he needed to finish and finish now, he needed to get away. The knife… he had to cut, his mind was spinning. Cut, cut, cut!
Yusuf looked at the small piece of wrinkled squishy skin as if it was something evil he needed to expel. He flicked his hand violently, sending the circumcised foreskin flying off to land in a bloody mess on the stones. Yusuf stood up looking for some way to get rid of the red blood over his hands. The knife dropped from his grip.
Both the men holding down the circumcised victim released their hold, there was no point in further restraint, he wasn’t going anywhere. The screaming gradually reduced to an uncontrollable moaning as the poor man withered in agony, his hands and feet still bound, the gag still in his mouth.
Bomani had a large grin on his face, his young Takfir apprentice would live to see another day. “You see, the infidel lives, but now, through your knife, he is closer to Allah… and you live. I am indeed a generous man. Come, we go.”
The injured waiter was dragged roughly out of sight into a small stand of bushes not far from the road. The white van and its three occupants, together with the two remaining cans of virus, drove off. Five minutes down the road the van came to an intersection. Instead of continuing straight ahead, it turned left. Not long after that it turned again. Bomani was working to plan. He wasn’t heading inland any more. Bomani was backtracking.
Chapter Twenty-two
Matt Lilburn and his team, weapons drawn, stood beside the empty Ford Territory. They had broken a window to gain access to the locked vehicle — nothing of immediate interest was left inside the van, save for spent rifle cartridges. When Lilburn contacted Albany, they had no further information, other than to confirm they lost visual contact once the Ford went under cover. He asked to talk to Dr. Crawston.
“Matt, are you all right? I heard your helicopter crashed?”
“Not so much crashed, just an unforeseen landing. Unfortunately we’ve lost sight of the cell at a racetrack, they’ve taken off on foot. Look, there are horses all around the place, is there any chance they would release the virus here?”
“Horses aren’t affected by foot-and-mouth disease; they only have a single hoof on each foot. The virus affects cloven-hoofed animals — those with split hooves — two on each foot.”
“OK. Do you think the terrorists know that or could they be trying to infect the horses?”
“Information about horses’ nonsusceptability to infection is easily obtained on the internet… and I would assume they’ve done their homework. Although horses can transmit the disease… but so can humans.”
“OK — thanks for that.”
“Take care, Matt… I saw what those men did to those policemen…”
“Just keep giving us info when you can, we’ll get them.”
“One more thing, Matt, the results came back from Plum Island. The cans from the cattle yard were positive for the virus, however we believe that at this stage no animals were infected as the cans appeared to have failed — no virus was found in the nozzles. We were lucky, extraordinarily lucky.”
Lilburn let his back rest on the green Ford Territory. Questions raced through his mind. Why ditch the vehicle here? A race track full of horses… they must know what Evangeline has just told me about horses. The vehicle. Why here, why not out in the car… The reason struck him. The shooter, the professional. He had something other than audacity and skill — he was cunning as well.
As Lilburn led his team through the doors to the kitchen, with weapons at the ready, he deployed a man to question the staff while he kept moving forward. In the function room he waited for the other agent to catch up. He could see the large room set out with tables and chairs, cutlery and glasses. At the bar area a small group of uniformed waiters sat on bar stools or leaned against the bar drinking soft drinks. One of the group spied the agents holding weapons.
“Holy shit. Whoa, um, they went that way,” the man pointed towards the far door.
“Who went that way?” Lilburn approached the group.
“Whoa! Whoever you want, they went that way. Just don’t point that thing at me!”
A joker. God help me… Lilburn guessed correctly that the man knew nothing. “Did you see any strangers here?”
“I saw some people.” A petite girl spoke up.
“What did you see, ma’am?” Lilburn turned towards her. “We work with the local police, anything that may help would be appreciated.”
“I noticed about a half-hour ago. Three men, dark complexions, they were here about the same time Tinkerbell…” The girl stopped in her tracks, mouth open and giggled. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I said that, it just came out… I mean Timothy, the same time Timothy was here going on about his lilac table napkins.” The girl looked to her friends, hunched her shoulders up and whispered to them, “It just came out…”
“Hey, I remember them,” said a male waiter. “Yeah… three guys, like you said… kind of dark, Middle Eastern like Arabs or something, and kind of dressed casual, not like they’d come to the races. They left the same time as… Timothy… and followed him out the door.”
“This man Timothy, who is he and where was he going?”
Sharron answered. “He’s the head waiter and part owner of The Galloping Caterers. He had to go and pick up some items he wanted back in town, said he would be about three-quarters of an hour.”
“Which direction did he go?”
“He would have turned right at the gate and gone back to town.”
“OK, what’s your name, ma’am?”
“Sharron, Sharron Gates.” The waitress lifted her chin and gave Lilburn a seductive pout, making sure her breasts showed off to their best advantage. “What’s yours, handsome?”
Lilburn wasn’t in the mood to be even slightly amused. “We need to catch up with these men fast. How about you show me where your boss went; out that door?”
Sharron looked to where Lilburn was pointing. “Yeah, that’s the one. He would have gone out to where the van was kept. C’mon, I’ll show you.”
Opening the door to the private car park, Sharron confirmed the van had gone. Lilburn guessed what had happened. Timothy would have gone to his van and opened the door — it was a perfect place for the terrorists to overpower him. Mostly obscured from the public’s view by a tall brush fence, the cell would have overpowered the man and driven off in his van. Lilburn instructed his team to look for the man in the surrounding area.
“Hey, mister. Is our boss going to be all right? Are these men dangerous or something?”
“Sharron, has Timothy got a cellphone?”
“Yeah,” said Sharron, acutely aware her question hadn’t been answered.
Keying in the caterer’s phone number, Lilburn walked away from the girl.
One of Lilburn’s team raised an eyebrow. “You’d be a bit hopeful, boss.”
“I know, but hell, something has to go our way for a change.” Lilburn put the phone to his ear.
Timothy knew he was lucky to be alive although the incredible pain he was feeling around his loins made him question that fact. He had heard the van’s doors shutting and the van taking off, the noise of the engine slowly fading away. He cried as he lay all alone, bound with his hands behind his back, feet tied together and the gag still in his mouth. Any movement he made magnified the pain, which spasmed through his penis. It was up to him now to fight back against the hurt and seek help. He thought of a plan and prepared himself for more pain. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Timothy shuffled his bound hands towards his bottom as far as they would go. Screwing his eyes shut he maneuvered onto his back, arched forward and slipped his arms up and over to rest on the underside of his thighs. He shrieked and panted, sucking in and expelling breath as best he could around the gag. Being of slight build and young enough to retain flexibility, he managed to get his hands to the front of his body. Quickly he rid himself of the gag and breathing was much easier. He swore, as a means of helping control the pain. He could see the bonds around his wrists, cord from his own van. Using his teeth, Timothy made progress in unwrapping his restraints. His mobile started ringing in his pants pocket. Sitting up, he reached down towards his ankles where his pants were crunched up. It was the first real view of his wounds. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. His crotch was blood red, congealed blood mixed with dirt. Feeling dizzy, he fought to keep control. Fumbling in the folds of his pants he found the phone.