Think of Basheera, Danny! Think of what she'd say!
Ben's words echoed in Danny's head. He tried to get rid of that silent sound, but he couldn't. In a burst of anger he thumped his fist against the steering wheel as he tried to empty his mind.
Even with the weather, everything important was going according to plan. Why, then, did Danny feel so empty?
The lashing of the wind and the rain against the pick-up truck had taken him by surprise. It was difficult to manoeuvre the vehicle. Very difficult. Young Ben had done well. He was a strong boy. Brave too. The things he had done that day would have been hard for almost anyone, even if they'd had the guts to do them. Danny regretted having to leave Ben at the oil refinery. He regretted it deeply.
The pick-up truck trundled away from the centre of the refinery. The headlamps illuminated the sheeting rain and then, by the side of the road, the dead body of the refinery worker that they had seen on the way in. It looked just as gruesome now as it had then. More so, perhaps. Danny averted his eyes. He was not used to the sight of death. Strange, then, that he had woken up that morning expecting the day to bring his own death, as well as that of many others.
In his mind it had seemed noble and glorious. It had seemed like he was striking a blow for the oppressed. It seemed like the right thing to do. But now, as he crept away through the dreadful storms, leaving Ben and Angelo at the hands of the mercenary who was being paid a great deal of money to carry out the wishes of his people, he felt far from noble. Far from glorious. He felt like a sneak.
'Shut up,' he whispered to himself in his own language. These were harmful thoughts, creeping into his brain like the roots of a poisonous plant. He was being distracted from what he had set out to do that morning: to avenge his sister and bring the plight of his people to the attention of the world. He glanced left and right at the huge construction of pipes and machinery that surrounded him like the intestines of some great metal beast. When it exploded, it would be like a beacon, appearing on the television screens of people around the world and making them realize that the oil men could not continue to behave as they had been doing. That it would not be tolerated. And if Ben and Angelo had to be sacrificed to make that point, so be it…
Ben and Angelo.
As Danny approached the exit of the refinery, a picture filled his mind. It was of the two boys, tied up and frightened in the moments before the explosion. The image needled his confused mind and he thought of Ben's accusation: that Danny could not shoot him in cold blood. That he didn't have the stomach for it. That by doing things this way, he was pretending that he was not a murderer. Somewhere, deep inside, a little voice was telling him that this was true.
Think of Basheera, Danny! Think of what she'd say!
What would she say? Would she thank him for this? Would she even understand what was happening? His little sister was only nine years old when she died, but there was something in those big eyes of hers that made her seem older. Made her seem like she understood. Would she realize that her brother's actions — that the actions of everyone in their village — were on her account?
Would she let it happen?
Danny's lips narrowed. He was out of the refinery now, back on the main road. He should speed up. Get away from there as quickly as possible. But something was stopping him, and it wasn't just the storm. He drew a deep breath, then thumped the steering wheel again. The horn sounded, but there was no one there to hear it.
You must keep driving, he told himself. It is your duty to keep driving. Your duty to the village. Your duty to your grieving mother and father. Your duty to yourself. And most of all, your duty to Basheera.
Basheera.
He pictured her. She was such a happy little girl. So full of fun and full of love for everyone. He pictured her sitting there next to him, in the place where Angelo had sat with his hands tied behind his back. And in his mind she began to speak.
'It is not their fault, my brother,' she said softly, her childlike voice firm but kind. 'I do not want them to come to harm.'
Danny blinked. Basheera's voice had been quite clear, as though she really were sitting there next to him. Or at least her ghost.
He shook his head. It was the storm. The wind shrieking. It was making him uneasy, now that he was all alone. His mind was playing tricks on him. He pressed down on the accelerator.
The wind howled again, and with it came Basheera's voice once more.
'And what of the others?' she asked lightly. 'The others who will die.'
Danny's head shot round. There was only an empty seat next to him, but it had sounded for all the world like Basheera was there. As he took his eyes off the road, the car veered and he was forced to slam the brakes down and come to a screeching halt. He sat there for a moment, panting and sweating, as the wind outside continued to sing to him.
How like the wailing of a human voice it sounded. It was as though the very earth was lamenting what was about to happen.
Suddenly he could take it no more. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he opened the door of the car and jumped out. The rain stung him as it pelted into his face, and the door — blowing in the wind — almost knocked him over. But he kept his footing and looked up to the sky.
He shouted in a loud voice. A voice that made him hoarse. Had anyone been there on that deserted road to hear him, they would not have heard what he said above the wind. But it was a loud voice nevertheless.
'Do not lecture me!' he screamed in his own language. 'Do not lecture me, and do not disapprove! Do you think I woke this morning prepared to give my life lightly? This is for you, Basheera. Understand that. This is for you.'
Chapter Seventeen
Ben sat in the darkness. His muscles were frozen — not with cold, but with fear.
It was pitch black. There wasn't even a glimmer of light, so his night vision failed to alleviate the darkness. Inside the control room, the two of them were silent; but there was noise all around. The wind, for a start — it howled and shrieked like some demented banshee. The rain hammered down on the roof of the building. Ben hadn't seen what it was made of, but it sounded like corrugated iron — the water echoed as it hit, resonating like an immense drum. The noise of the rain came in fits and starts: loud first, then soft, then loud again. Ben pictured it being blown in erratic swirls by the wind.
And above everything else — above the dreadful sounds of the storm — there was the creaking of the refinery around them. It was as if the whole area was groaning from the battering of the elements. And it sounded like it was at breaking point. No wonder the place had been deserted, Ben thought to himself. Only a fool would stay here in these conditions.
'He's going to do it, isn't he?' Angelo interrupted Ben's morose thoughts. 'He's actually going to do it.' The Italian's voice was hushed, barely audible above the noise outside.
'Yeah,' Ben replied solemnly. 'Yeah, I think he is.'
A pause.
'You know what the stupid thing is?' Angelo asked.
'No. What?'
'I actually agree with Danny. I hate my dad's business. It's so…' He searched for the word. 'Greedy.'
Above them there was a sudden groan. Ben held his breath — it sounded like something was on the brink of collapsing. After a few seconds, though, it stopped, to be replaced once more by the sound of the hurricane.
'How long do you think we've got?' Angelo asked.
Ben thought about it. In the darkness, time meant very little. It could have been five minutes since the man had left them here; it could have been half an hour. On balance, he thought time had probably been passing slowly. 'I reckon we've been here about ten minutes. He said an hour, so…'