Chapter 1 Hell had a name. In Arabic it was Al Aqarab. In English, Scorpion, one of the most notorious prisons in the Arab world. Elroy Lang had been in the sweltering hole for seven hours, during which he’d been tested for Covid-19, stripped of his clothes, given a drab grey tunic and matching trousers, plastic shoes, and an orientation that would have bewildered most people. He’d been served his evening meal in a huge cafeteria and had felt the eyes of four hundred inmates on him, all imagining ways they could exploit the new arrival. Elroy had eaten the rancid prison slop calmly, confident no one would make a move under the nose of the grim-faced, armed Egyptian prison guards who patrolled the vast hall. After their meal, they’d been led to their cells. Elroy had been allotted a communal cell with seventy other men, all roasting in the August heat, cooled by nothing more than the faintest breath of desert air coming through three barred windows. Elroy lay on a low bunk in the darkest corner of the cell, furthest from the door. It was a place for victims, a spot easily encircled by a crowd of bodies to block the view from the door. Elroy was happy to be there because the man he was looking for was lying on the bunk next to him. The ends of their beds met in the apex of the dark corner. The bribes Elroy had paid to get into Al Aqarab on the relatively minor charge of outraging public decency, the money that had changed hands to ensure the correct cell assignment, had all been worth it. Here was the broken man he’d come to see; Ziad Malek. Born and raised in America to Egyptian immigrant parents, Ziad had once been a confident, handsome minor-league villain who’d been arrested in Cairo on a drug smuggling charge, and was now thirteen months through a seven-year sentence. His wavy brown hair was lank and matted, his once handsome, tanned face now marred by a broken nose and scars, and his wrist and ankle bones bulged through too little flesh. His uniform hung off his emaciated six-foot frame, and was stained with filth. He oozed the sour stench of sweat and urine. But it was his sunken eyes that gave the greatest hint of his suffering in this cruel place. They were hollow and dead, and looked blankly at Elroy with all the hope of a corpse. Elroy held the man’s gaze across the small patch of rough concrete that separated their bunks. ‘Homa hi igi delwati,’ Ziad said in the flat tone of the damned. They will come now. ‘Good,’ Elroy replied. ‘You’ve suffered enough.’ Despair held Ziad too tightly – he didn’t react to Elroy’s words, and simply responded with the same blank stare. Time ticked by slowly and with each passing moment the air thickened with the odours of so many bodies. The rhythmic sound of heavy breathing and loud snores almost drowned out the toots and hum of distant traffic. Elroy sensed movement on the other side of the cell, and looked across the large space to see four shadows rise. As they stepped away from their bunks, they murmured conspiratorial words to each other. They picked their way past the beds that were haphazardly packed into the baking room. For every man that was asleep another was awake, and Elroy could see the glint of eyes watching, some with relief as the shadows passed, some with perverse anticipation of what was to come. The cell crackled with expectation and anticipation as the four figures drew near. When they were a few paces away, they took proper form and shape, and Elroy could distinguish their features from the darkness. All four were well-nourished, muscular and had the cruel, hungry faces of predators. The man at the head of the group was the block bey, or boss, a triple murderer named Magdi who’d killed his wife and in-laws for an inheritance. Elroy had been warned that he was a ruthless, sadistic man who led the gang of psychopaths who ruled the block. Why they’d chosen to brutalize Ziad Malek was a mystery. Maybe he’d angered them, or perhaps they knew he wouldn’t fight back. Elroy glanced at Ziad, and saw the man was frozen with terror. Tears glistened as they rolled down his face and soaked into the filthy mattress beneath him. ‘Amrekani,’ Magdi whispered to Ziad, using the Arabic word for American. ‘Hertha waat al madrassa.’ It’s time for school. Magdi’s words left little doubt as to his violent intention. Elroy didn’t like the odds of a brawl. Four against one with his back to the corner left far too much to chance. Much better to send a message, one that would be felt throughout Scorpion prison. Elroy lay still until Magdi was a couple of paces from Ziad’s bunk, and then he got to his feet. He sensed hesitation from the big block boss. The man wasn’t used to being challenged. ‘Na’ame, ya ghabi. Hi’etla sahala le’ek,’ Magdi said menacingly. Sleep, you fool, it will go easier for you. Elroy stood his ground and saw Magdi’s face twist into a sneer. ‘Tiyab. Hertha tariq helwa cammaan,’ he snarled. OK, this way is also nice. He swung a heavy fist at Elroy and was surprised when the lithe, athletic American reacted like lightning. Elroy raised his elbow to block the blow and popped a jab at Magdi’s nose. It wasn’t designed to floor the man, just disorientate him, and it did exactly that. He stumbled back, clutching his face, and Elroy saw Magdi’s three accomplices rush forward. He didn’t have much time. He punched the block boss in the throat and when the man’s hands went down to instinctively soothe the pain, Elroy grabbed Magdi’s left wrist, twisted it and pulled the man into a choke hold. The message had to deter Magdi’s accomplices and would have to be heard throughout Scorpion prison, but it had to be felt most powerfully by Ziad Malek, who was watching the fight in utter amazement. Elroy grabbed hold of Magdi’s skull and drove his index and middle fingers into the man’s eye sockets. Magdi screamed and clawed at Elroy’s hands, but Elroy ignored the pain and resisted his efforts. The three henchmen rushed forward as Magdi let out a soul-shredding howl. Elroy felt cloying warm blood run over his fingers and, satisfied the job was done, he pushed the screaming, blinded man towards his horrified accomplices. ‘Come closer, and you all die,’ Elroy said. The three men took hold of their wailing leader, and hesitated as the cell filled with the sounds of people waking up and the shouts of approaching guards. Blood formed dark pools where Magdi’s eyes should have been, and spilled down his anguished face. The horror was too much for his men, and Elroy stared them down as they dragged the mutilated man towards the door. When they were nothing more than shadows in the darkness on the other side of the cell, Elroy looked down at Ziad and was pleased to see a broad, almost hysterical smile on the man’s tearful face. ‘You don’t have to be afraid anymore,’ Elroy assured him. ‘You’re with me now. The dark days are done.’