The Power of Five Oblivion

task of smuggling illegal immigrants from Asia into Australia – for a price. Lohan’s father had always insisted that his sons should involve themselves in every area of his business and so he had ordered Lohan to study for his pilot’s licence. He was unfamiliar with the controls of the Legacy but he had flown a Hawker 4000, which was similar. Not that it mattered anyway. There wasn’t a plane in the world that Lohan wouldn’t have attempted to fly if he had thought it would get him out of here.
    More armed soldiers had come to meet them, all of them dressed in the same khaki uniforms, although they carried a range of different guns. Lohan could see that this was not a military installation. The men were too slovenly and ill-disciplined, many of them unshaven, smoking, with long, dirty hair. Mercenaries? A private army? They stood and watched over the new arrivals as they formed themselves into a line. It was extremely warm and damp in the jungle. It wasn’t actually raining but the moisture hung constantly in the air. Matt and Lohan had only been here for a few minutes but their clothes were already damp and uncomfortable. Mosquitoes whined in their ears. Doubtless there would be snakes in the undergrowth. Disease and sickness were all around them.
    “Did you know it would be here?” Lohan asked.
    Matt looked up. “What?” he asked.
    “The plane.”
    “I hoped it would be.”
    Lohan shook his head. “You knew it was here,” he said. “This is your plan. You want me to fly us to Antarctica.”
    Before he could answer, one of the soldiers struck out with the butt of his rifle, driving it into Matt’s chest. “Nenhuma fala!” No talking.” Again the instruction was in Portuguese. A Brazilian boy, aged eleven or twelve, had been standing next to Matt and for him this casual act of violence was the final straw. He burst into tears. There was nothing Lohan could do for him. His hands were still tied behind his back, and anyway, any further talking would only invite the same punishment. But looking at the boy, he thought to himself, if the pain of others means so much to you, you will be dead in a week. For his part, Matt reeled back, straightened up, but said nothing. The soldier moved on.
    The prisoners stood with the helicopter behind them for about ten minutes. Finally, the man with the beard and the broken nose who had been at the market stepped forward to address them. He had travelled in the front, with the pilot. He was holding a half-empty bottle of rum.
    “Welcome to Serra Morte,” he began. “This is where you will live and where you will die. If you work hard, you will not be badly treated. You will be given water – one litre a day – food and a place to sleep. If you do not work, if you try to escape, if you are disobedient, you will be punished. There is only one punishment at Serra Morte and it is death. But do not think that it will be painless, a quick release from your labours. We have a game here. We like to see how long we can make a person suffer before they die. The record is one hundred and six days. Remember that.
    “You will begin work immediately. We work here for fifteen hours a day, every day. There are no holidays. If you become too sick to work, you will be taken into the jungle and left there for the snakes and the alligators. After work you will be taken to the place where you will sleep. But sleep has to be earned. There are rules that you must learn but it is very simple. You are slaves. You have no rights. Nobody cares about you. You will do as you are told and you will work and that is all. Now – follow me.”
    They set off, shuffling through the gates, along the track and into the rainforest. Matt was still next to Lohan, his face grim and yet submissive. At the same time, the fire seemed to have gone out of him and that worried Lohan almost more than the terrible situation in which they found themselves. Neither of them spoke, afraid of another beating and saving their energy for the long walk through the heat. Within seconds they were smothered in the thick, tangled vegetation of the rainforest, and when Lohan glanced back, the little airport had already disappeared. The path was well trodden. A great many people must have come this way as they were led into captivity. Some sort of creature, a monkey maybe, moved in the branches overhead, but looking up, there was no sign of it. Nothing could be seen, not even the sky. It was as if they were walking