Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
With his head feeling clearer, Mansour realised that his cell was now empty; that the sounds were coming from outside. He wiped the blood and the tears from his eyes and began to crawl forward. He needed to see what had happened. To see what had saved his life.
He moved slowly. Painfully. Pulling himself over the still unmoving guard. Past Carter, also lying where Mansour had left him and bleeding ominously from his ear.
He ignored the agony, the nausea and the disorientation that threatened collapse with every movement. Closer to the cell door. Closer. Closer.
Finally the blurry figures ahead of him began to take shape.
There were four of them. All black. All bearded. All Muslim.
Server One was nowhere to be seen, and so Server Three had their full attention. He was on the floor of the metal landing directly outside of Mansour’s cell door, and by now he was as bloody a mess as Mansour had ever seen.
‘You attack one of us, you attack us all.’
The voice was the same one Mansour had heard downstairs, in the meal line. Even now he could recognise it.
All four men had space to rain down blows. Not one of them was holding back.
‘Your hands defile our brother.’
The same voice. Mansour’s eyes felt ready to explode as he tried to focus on the speaker.
As he did so, he saw Server Three open his left eye. His stare seemed to be fixed on Mansour. It was a sight that would remain with him forever. The eye, white and milky, had the look of a slaughtered animal. A bull, its throat slit for its meat.
‘You will die for your insult. All of you.’
He’s going to die painfully, Mansour thought, shock bringing some clarity back to his disorientated mind. And he knows it.
Mansour opened his mouth to call out. To beg them to stop. To save the man’s life.
No sound came out. He would later wonder why. Was he not capable after the beating he had taken? Or, deep down, did he not want the man saved?
He would never know, and nor did it matter. Whatever he might have said would have had no effect. He could do nothing but watch as the kicks finally stopped. For a moment he thought that the attack was over, until the four men, acting as one, picked Server Three from the metal floor, lifted him to their own heights and threw him from the first-floor landing, down to the floor below.
‘The same fate for enemies of the Prophet.’
Mansour rolled backwards, horrified by what he’d witnessed. He closed his eyes in despair and felt them fill with tears as his consciousness began to slip again.
More death, he thought. He may have even said it. He no longer knew.
His world was slipping away. The darkness was returning.
Almazid min almawt.
More death.
FORTY-ONE
Joe Dempsey looked in his right-hand mirror as he passed East 59th Street. The road led to the foot of Central Park just a few blocks to his left, and it was this spot that provided the clearest view of First Avenue behind him. Long, flat and straight.