Apart from the restlessness of the wind in the tents, the whole place was eerily silent. The buildings of the orphanage were all in darkness and apparently deserted. That made Richard’s blood run cold — in spite of the fact that the wind must be thirty Celsius or warmer. Apart from Anastasia and Robin there should be several nuns, a priest, an imam and a couple of helpers. And the better part of a hundred kids — not counting the twenty or so that made up the army of Amazons that Anastasia, Esan and Ado were apparently training up. That was a lot of people to be sitting silently in the darkness in the middle of a fire fight. He motioned to Mako, and the whole contingent stopped and hunkered down in the shadow of the largest of the tents — the unit refectory tent. ‘Pass the word for any Vympel, Alpha and OMON men,’ he whispered, peeping round the square canvas side at the dark, silent buildings.
Half-a-dozen burly Russians answered by moving silently forward.
‘Any of you know about Beslan?’ he asked in his lumpy Russian. They all nodded. That figured, he thought. They were all probably too young to have been involved in the notorious school siege of September 2004 themselves, but stories like that get passed down units like family lore. They were the ones likely to have any experience of what this could turn into, he thought grimly. At the very least they’d know what not to do.
‘Zubarov,’ one of them introduced himself, taking the lead. ‘We know. We lost seven of the Alpha team and nine Vympel at Beslan. And nearly four hundred hostages, shot, blown up, burned and buried. We’re not looking at another Beslan here, are we?’ He shuddered.
‘We almost certainly have between ten and a dozen hostiles in charge of the orphanage,’ whispered Richard. ‘Possibly a hundred and thirty hostages. They haven’t had time to rig explosives and there’s no central holding area unless they get them all into the orphanage’s refectory building. The enemy’s main objective is to get several of them out and away. It’ll only become a hostage situation if there’s a stand-off.’
‘So our best bet is to stand back,’ said Zubarov. ‘Move away, keep a watch and hope they haven’t seen us. This tent makes good cover, thank God.’
‘Let them think they’re getting away with it,’ said Richard. ‘Then hit them when they come out with whoever they kidnap. That’ll do as a game plan for now. But …’
‘But?’ whispered Mako and Zubarov together.
‘They’re being led by a god and a commander, both of whom have to make a statement here. They want to eat the hearts of whoever they take. And probably the rest of them into the bargain. They may not want to leave anyone else alive in the meantime.’
‘That could complicate things,’ said Mako. ‘Immanuel. God with us …’
The theological discussion was interrupted by an inhuman howl. A long, tortured scream that seemed to echo from the dark depths of the orphanage.
‘That’s it,’ said Richard. ‘Let’s go …’
The whole of Mako’s command tensed, ready to move forward en mass.
‘Richard!’ hissed a familiar voice from close at hand. ‘Richard! Wait!’
‘Anastasia?’ gasped Richard, thunderstruck. The whisper was coming through the canvas wall immediately beside him. He eased himself out of his crouch position and moved to the flap. As he did so, Zubarov pulled off his night-vision goggles and handed them up to him, so that when Richard peered through the tent flap into the troop’s eating area, he could see quite clearly, even if everything was a submarine green. And what he saw brought him up short. For Odem wasn’t the only military commander he kept underestimating.
The tent was filled with everyone missing from the orphanage. The priest and nuns were all seated with groups of frightened children around them. And the whole lot sat safely under the guns of Anastasia’s Amazons. As Richard entered, twenty rifle barrels swung towards him. He held his hands up. Anastasia and Robin stepped forward, flanked by Ado and Esan. ‘Has he gone?’ breathed Anastasia. ‘I heard him scream and I heard you whispering.’
‘I don’t know,’ rumbled Richard. ‘But if you’re all safe in here then there’s nothing stopping us going to have a look …’ He stepped out of the tent and crouched beside Mako. ‘The kids are all safe in there under guard,’ he hissed. ‘There’s nothing stopping us taking a close look at the orphanage.’
‘I’ll take Sergeant Zubarov and the men you called forward,’ Mako decided. ‘You wait here with the others. Guard the guards, to paraphrase Juvenal. Anastasia’s guards and the nuns and orphans they are guarding.’
Zubarov held out his hand for his goggles and the Beslan men were gone the instant Richard handed them back. Richard gestured to the rest of the Russians and they fell into a protective cordon round the mess tent, facing out, weapons at the ready. After a moment, Robin stepped silently out and stood at his shoulder. ‘From what I’ve seen,’ she said, her lips and breath hot against Richard’s ear, ‘the best this lot can hope for is to keep poor old Ngoboi safe from Anastasia and her Amazons.’
But the wry little exchange was hardly over before the lights in the orphanage building came on and Mako’s unmistakable basso profundo voice called in English, ‘Captain Mariner. Ask Miss Asov to come here, would you?’ The three of them headed towards the bright building at a trot and walked in through the doorway Richard had run out of a couple of hours earlier, still shrugging on his shirt. This time the doorway was half blocked by a three-quarter-size figure of Ngoboi. The mask and raffia costume had been hung on the wooden slats of a bed roughly lashed together into a sticklike manikin. But the thing still seemed to ooze an eerie sense of threat. Especially as the restless river wind made it seem to dance. ‘Take it out,’ ordered Anastasia at once. ‘It is a Poro curse. If any of the children see it they will be afraid to come in here.’
‘I know what it is,’ rumbled Mako like a distant thunderstorm. ‘I am Thoma myself. Thoma is the third of the great societies of our country. But I cannot allow this to stand. Nor this.’ He gestured Anastasia to follow him and led the way down the corridor as Zubarov and one of the others took the makeshift Ngoboi out into the darkness and away.
Anastasia’s bedroom was a mess. But not a random one. Her walls had been daubed with bright red splotches of blood. The floor was covered in strange patterns and complicated footprints as though a wild dance had taken place in here. Her bed was covered in blood — but the blood had been used to draw the rough shape of a splayed body. Where the eyes would have been, two long black stone daggers had been thrust into the pillow. Where the throat would have been was a thick red line of blood. Where the thighs would have joined, a huge ebony phallus had been thrust into the bedding with enough force to rupture the mattress. And where the heart would have been there was a gaping, blood-rimmed hole.
‘Christ, girl,’ said Robin, horror-struck. ‘Ngoboi certainly seems to have some sick plans for you.’
Anastasia looked down. She snapped the safety off her assault rifle. ‘And I have plans for him, the ebanatyi pidaraz,’ she swore. She turned on her heel and stormed out into the night, with Richard and Robin at each shoulder. The whole camp was bathed in security lighting now. The two hovercraft still prowled along the nearest river reach, searchlights on full-beam and weapons at the ready. The battle in the farmland seemed to have stopped.