In the time it took him to open them his eyes again two pairs of hand had pinned him down while another pair had blindfolded him.

Still struggling to get some mental focus, Goodluck knew instinctively that whoever now held him fast must have been trained as a specialist back during the war. And those instincts told him in no uncertain terms to keep calm and still if he wanted to take another breath.

With the smell of a black market Glock pistol and something else he recalled just vaguely wafting near his nostrils Goodluck was first gagged and then rolled over to have his hands tied behind his back. Then he was rolled back, pushed firmly down into his mummy sleeping bag and zipped in, snug in a makeshift coffin of polyester. A quick heave from two of his assailants and he was dangling over a broad, heavily muscled back, wondering what he had gotten himself into this time. And then the lights went out.

Deprived of most of his senses but now fully awake, Goodluck’s mind began to race. He knew that time was of the essence if he was to figure out who had taken him and why. He was sure he had tidied up all of the loose ends after the unfortunate incidents at Camp Zebra during the last weeks of the war. But this felt too horribly familiar. The smell of the pistol, the bundling up in this sleeping bag coffin. No, he must have missed someone all those years ago. Silently, he cursed his own failings under his tightening breath.

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"You're getting rusty, Goodluck," said a familiar a voice.

Relief washed over him as he realised it was his old friend, Samuel. The torch beam swung away, and the heavy set man made his way inside and sat out wearily on the camp bed.

"Tell me, what do you want? Why have you come all the way out here looking for me?" Goodluck rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and shuffled into a sitting position.

Sam took a deep breath, then sighed, shoulders slumping forward as if turned to lead.

"Well, you remember when you left .."

"Of course. It was an impetuous decision, I recall, but necessary."

"Yeah, well, things haven't been going that great since. A lot of people vying for power. There's a lot of mistrust among the men. We've both been there before."

"Sure. It panned out okay last time, didn't it? What's got you worried this time round?"

"Because the prime contender has connections to the Black Serpent faction."

"Damn those rebels. You sure?"

"I'm always sure. He's an inside man, and dangerous."

"What's his motives?"

"For wanting to control the most elite fighting unit in the world. Sleep sure makes you slow these days," Sam taunted. He went on, "Imagine the Black Serpents being in control of 500 well-equipped, highly trained fighting men. What do you think they'd do?"

"Insurrection."

"To start with, and in the end, who knows?"

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The pain and immense pressure reverberated around his head until there was nothing. Goodluck slumped to the floor.

When he recovered consciousness, some considerable time later, Goodluck could barely open his eyes. The heat of the day was beating down on his naked body and the force of the suns rays tightened his eyes. It took him several moments to adjust, initially believing the blow to the head had rendered him paralysed. Only when his eyes were fully focussed did he realise the extent of his peril. His limbs were bound tightly to an intricate wooden framework, suspended over a gaping chasm between two rocks. He was naked and spread-eagled facing the searing heat of the midday sun. As he turned his head a fraction to the right he could see figures carrying large bundles of branches and piling them beneath him, forming a roof over the chasm.

Goodluck mustered as much strength as his battered body could find and tensed his limbs. With all the will in the world the tethers were so tight he would never be free from this contraption.

As he watched from the corner of his eye the body of men surged off into the distance and their bustling gradually faded to silence. Goodluck felt his body momentarily sigh with relief, - now if he could just engage his brain to find a way out of this dilemma.

He heard a rustle to the side of the chasm several feet from where he was suspended. Fearing a wild animal he felt his body tense – every muscle within his body taught and stretched until every bit of sinew was on the brink of snapping. Then out of the corner of his eye he spied a young boy playing with a small branch.

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The fierce, unforgiving glare thudded against his startled eyes, and his entire body squirmed feverishly. His hands clawed fruitlessly at the tent lining, and his breath hung- suspended at the back of his throat- awkward and expectant. The metallic thud across the side of his face forced it from him- a wretched, guttural groan which bellowed into the dewy night.

Clamouring back into consciousness, Good luck forced his eyes to part through the sticky, bloody residue. Peeling his face from the floor, the hazy glow of his storm lantern crept into his view, comforting and constant. The dull roar of pain from his limbs seemed to gather stubbornly at the base of his skull as Good luck urged his body to respond, to arm, to fight.

As his nervous system sparked back into action, the scene around him snapped into cold reality, and at once he felt the unyielding rope wrapped around his wrists and feet. Terror ignited in the depths of his stomach and he moaned unconsciously, before a looming presence swerved into his peripheral vision, dark and unfeeling.

“How you feeling Goodie?” the figure growled, his voice forcing through the stagnant air, and weaving a smoky trail between them. A flicker of acquaintance roused Good luck, and he tilted his head hopefully towards the voice. He blinked furiously and stared searchingly into old friend’s face, so familiar, so comforting- contorted, determined. Laughing.

“You didn’t think I’d leave without saying goodbye, did you Goodie? You aren’t going to get away with it that easy.”

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From the moment of the impact of the blow to being unconsciousness, Goodluck's nervous system didn't have time to send the pain signal to his brain. But as he awoke later, the searing pain on his right temple confirmed exactly what had happened.

It took him a few minutes of fighting slipping back into unconsciousness before he was able to start assessing his surroundings. Goodluck realised he was lying on his back and from the intense heat, knew he was outside in the hot African Sun. Turning his head to avoid looking directly at the Sun, he slowly opened his eyes. As his vision cleared the first thing he saw was that his wrist was tied to a stake in the ground. Attempting to lift the other arm confirmed that it was too. Goodluck lifted his head to look at his feet and moaned as he saw the bindings round his ankles. He was totally pinned down and unable to move.

A sudden screech from above made him snap his head to look skyward and through squinting eyes Goodluck could see three vultures slowly circling above him. The noise he then heard to his left made him quickly forget the carnivorous birds. It was a snuffle followed by a series of yelps that he recognised as coming from a pack of hyenas. He frantically looked around him to see where they were, but could see nothing. They were intelligent creatures and had positioned themselves beyond the line of vision his restricted level of movement gave him.

Goodluck knew he was starting to panic, but it was the noise that preceded the hyenas scattering - one actually jumping over his body, which confirmed to him that he was in the worst position ever of his life....the unmistakeable roar of a lion.

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As he instinctively put his hand in front of his face to shade his eyes from the fierce glare, there was a lightening movement in front of him and a strong hand gripped Goodluck’s arm. As he struggled to see past the blinding light, he was pushed back down against the creaking camp bed. The flashlight was right in front of his face now, and he fought to breathe as an oily rag was forced against his nose and mouth. Goodluck tried to pull away, but the pressure was too strong. He was vaguely aware of another figure entering the tent and muffled voices in the dark. Then everything was silent.

He awoke to the sound of a sharp cracking noise, as his head hit the floor of the transit van. He opened his eyes in time to see the rear doors shutting behind him, and once again he was immersed in darkness. He felt the roughness of the rope that tied his hands and a heavy weight across his legs. Goodluck’s head throbbed as he tried to think clearly. Who had attacked him? Who would want to hurt him? He heard the van engine splutter into life and the vehicle jerked forward. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Goodluck saw he was not alone. He could just about make out the outline of a man sitting above him, although he was so dark it was difficult to see him properly. But his white sneakers were unmistakably clear.

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The first thing he became aware of as his senses begrudgingly began to return was the searing heat of the day, the throbbing pain in his head coming a close second. The stale air told him that he was in a room. Somewhere. As he attempted to open his eyes he realised he had been blindfolded, and his attempt to cry for help was muffled by the gag. Goodluck was tied to a chair, his wrists and ankles bound for good measure. His hearing remained intact though, and as the fog cleared in his mind, out of the mist came a man’s voice he recognized but could not yet place.

‘Goodluck’…what a joke. The irony of his name had rarely failed to escape him. He seemed to attract anything but. Most people assumed that he went by a nickname – if only! Rather than acting as a talisman to ward away misfortune, his given name had so far only proven to be a cruel curse.

The familiar voice spoke in hushed tones to another man, and in with his muddled mind Goodluck could make out only fleeting words until he heard her name – 'Dikeledi'. Tears.

As unfitting as his own name, far from being a miserable child, his daughter had brought light and laughter to all around her. Even over the past few years, as Goodluck watched her friends grow into surly teenagers, Dikeledi remained in her heart the smiling little girl he had always known and loved.

A wave of panic washed over him, rendering him deaf as the sound of his own panicked breathing and the pounding of heart his heart drowned out the voices. He had to protect his daughter before it was too late. He struggled against the ropes that tethered him, succeeding only in unbalancing the chair and crashing to the floor.

Goodluck didn’t hear the resounding crack as his skull made contact with the hard concrete floor.

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