In Somalia, the quartet decided to split up. Virgil and Tiyana would go to the city and seek out venal officials with loose lips, inside information, and an affinity for American dollars. Hunter and Hongo would hit the streets and get the inside scoop from the worst parts of town. Tiyana never would have let Hunter go if she had not seen what he could do back in Tibet. Also, he had Hongo with him. Tiyana had begun to realize that Hongo had a hard edge. He knew his way around a dangerous situation.

Hunter and Hongo walked the streets of Bosaso. Makeshift shops littered the sides of the streets. Their owners had pieced them together from haphazard pieces of wood and cheap corrugated tin sheets. Some of the more upscale ones were made from stolen steel intermodal freight containers. Many of the shacks had fiberboard and dried mud patching up portions of their frames. Their owners ran them without licenses or property ownership interests. They were all squatters and they were everywhere. They sold whatever snacks and basic necessities that they could get their hands on from glass-bottled coca-cola to locally-made gum crafted from eucalyptus tree sap. Salespeople accosted Hunter and Hongo with wares ranging from pirated digital video discs to live rabbits. Between the various kiosks, children ran rampant. They roamed listlessly in groups.

They begged for money saying, “dollar, dollar, penny? dollar, dollar, penny?”

That summed up the extent of their English. They mostly spoke Somali and Arabic. United States dollars, however, were the preferred currency. No one wanted any crummy Somali shillings. The rampant inflation of the shilling made it highly undesirable, even for beggars. Hunter’s heart crumbled as he saw young children with snot dangling from their noses sitting idly by the street. Long sleeves covered their hands and hid the bottles of potent glue that they kept under their tattered sleeves. Occasionally, they lifted their sleeves to their noses and took a long, hard sniff.

“They say the glue keeps the hunger at bay.” Hongo said.

“Tragic.” Hunter responded.

No words could capture the utter despair that he felt on the streets of this failed State. The poverty actually worsened as they continued their walk. The cobbled roads with potholes big enough for a car’s wheel to fall into gave way to partially smoothed out dirt paths. Parts of the road had rudimentary concrete sections that had been smoothed out by hand with old, rusted trowels. Beat-up jalopies rumbled across them in a zig-zag pattern as they avoided the potholes and attempted to drive on the smooth portions of the road. Hunter, Hongo, and a translator that they had picked up that morning walked directly into the industrial slums on the east side of town. As they walked into the heart of the lawless portion of town, the beggars thinned out. Instead of pleading eyes, they began seeing suspicious and menacing eyes. They passed building after building that got halfway to completion before the contractor quit. Young, thin men sat on top of the unfinished portions and chewed khat, a locally-grown, leafy plant with amphetamine-like alkaloids. They glared at the newcomers. Some of them were armed with AK-47s and other weapons. Once, Hunter saw a rocket-propelled grenade launcher sitting across the lap of a boy who looked to be about fourteen years old. Their translator looked nervous, but they had promised him quadruple his normal rate to accompany them, so he steeled himself as best as he could.

“We are here Hongo. I think we have gone as deep as we can get. What do you think?” Hunter asked.

“Let us start asking questions. Are you ready for this?” Hongo asked.

Hongo had seen many slums in his native country of Kenya, but he never felt as scared as he felt in this lawless part of the world. Not much scared Hongo.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s do this.” Hunter said.

Hunter looked around.

“How about those guys. They seem alright.” Hunter pointed at a group of teenagers walking across the street.

Hongo muttered something into the interpreter’s ear. He promptly called out to the youths. They looked over and made eye contact. Then, en masse, they approached. The interpreter offered them twenty American dollars for information about the pirates who took the Kasse Alexander. The boys talked amongst themselves for a moment. Then, a large boy stepped to the front of the group. He held out his hand and said something to the interpreter.

“He wants to see the money.” The interpreter said.

“Ask him what he knows.” Instructed Hongo.

The interpreter spoke to the boy. The boy shrugged his shoulders and they talked back and forth for a while. Eventually, the interpreter addressed Hunter and Hongo again.

“He says there is a rumor going around that Iblis took them and turned them into jinns.” The interpreter said.

“What?” Hunter asked.

Hongo talked with the interpreter briefly. Hongo’s Kiswahili and tribal language got him nowhere with the Somalian, but for some reason, the man understood Hongo’s English better than Hunter’s.

“Iblis is the devil in Islamic lore. Jinns are like angels or demons. They are not good or bad though. They are just spirits.” Hongo explained as best as he could what the interpreter was telling him. He went on, “There was a pirate group that was rumored to have a big heist coming up. They did a big recruiting drive shortly before the ship was taken. Some of these boy’s friends signed up with them. They went crazy, lost their minds, or got sick or something like that. I am not sure if something is getting lost in the translation here.”

“Let’s show them some green.” Hunter said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of United States currency.

The greedy eyes of the youths fixated on the roll. After a moment of thought, Hunter gave each of them a five dollar bill. He gave the big one a ten.

“Tell them that there is more where that came from. Much more. We will pay one hundred dollars to anyone who takes us to the headquarters of the pirates who took that ship.” Hunter said.

The interpreter talked with the boys. They all got excited and an argument ensued.

“Well, what’s the deal?” Hunter asked.

“They will take us.” The interpreter said without elaboration.

The large group headed off in a northerly direction. Passersby eyed them suspiciously. The boys seemed excited. Eventually, they arrived at a large warehouse. It looked old and the sun had taken its toll on the exterior, but, otherwise it seemed in decent condition. They walked inside and found an incredible sight. Air conditioning units surrounded the sides of the warehouse supported by beams and rafters. Coils of power cables stretched from their backsides to the floor where they wrapped around the length of the building and exited at some point. The building actually felt cool and comfortable on the inside. Also, brick walls had been built throughout the large building. The building had been partitioned off into cells where new-looking beds and mattresses and stylish modern furniture bedecked the rooms. The cells had granite countertops and gleaming silver faucets with running water. All the work on the renovations had been done by hand with many daylaborers. Flat-screen televisions showed various programs. Each television had stacks upon stacks of DVD videos and blue-ray video players.

“So this is where all the ransom money goes.” Hunter remarked.

Hunter noticed something wrong though. Most of the rooms were empty. Some were occupied, but the occupants did not look like pirates. Many were women and children. There were some elderly folks. The boys talked with the translator.

“This is where the pirates operated. They used to be here. Now they are all gone.” The man said.

“Where did they go?” Hunter asked.

The interpreter talked with the boys.

“The devil took them.” He said tentatively.

Hunter narrowed his eyes at the man, but let it go.

“What do you think Hongo?” Hunter asked.

Hongo had just walked into the room. He stuck his cell phone in his pocket. Hunter saw it and wondered if he had just stepped out to make a call.

“A lot of work went into this place. They would not leave it if they did not have to. I doubt that the Bosaso police or anyone else for that matter would have found them here. Even if they were found, you could never get an army in here to take them out. They probably have guards posted all over this part of the city. Most of those armed boys on the way here probably worked for them. There is no law here.” Hongo finished talking.

“Ok, but that still does not explain why they left or where they went. Hey, ask them if they know where the pirates went.” Hunter addressed the translator.

He talked with the boys briefly and then answered, “They just keep saying that the pirates were turned into jinns, and that the devil took them away. They also say that the pirates became sick.”

“Looked sick, eh. Sounds like Virgil may have been onto something. Hongo, should we head out? I think we learned what we came to learn.” Hunter remarked.

“Yes. I do not like it here.” Hongo replied.

Hunter gave the boys the rest of his cash and they all exited the building. As they left, they found themselves surrounded. A semi-circle of twenty young men stared at them. They had accumulated around the side door and waited for the visitors to emerge. Most of them carried clubs and baseball bats. Some carried firearms. A few looked sick. Sweat drenched their bodies. They seemed out of breath. Hunter caught a wild look in their eyes. As Hunter, Hongo, and the interpreter surveyed the scene, more men approached. Their numbers grew. They looked menacingly at the visitors. Hunter’s eyes narrowed.

“Hello.” He called out in the most pleasant tone that he could muster.

They just stared. One older, lanky man with a few missing teeth walked out to meet the visitors. He addressed them.

When he finished the interpreter spoke, “He wants to know who you are and why you are here.”

“Oh, great. Well, tell them that we mean them no harm. Tell them that we are arms dealers and that we are looking to sell guns.”

Hongo surveyed the scene and planned who he would shoot first if he was forced to draw the pistols that he had hidden in his waistband. He noticed one man bundled up with his face covered in a white wrap of cloth. Something was wrong. It was far too hot to bundle up like that. The man’s face must have been drenched in sweat. The man stood, unarmed, towards the back of the group. Hongo noticed him whisper something to another man. The other man then pushed his way to the front of the group and whispered something to the leader. Their interpreter swallowed, cleared his throat, and began talking. His words were met with sharp reproach from the group’s leader. The leader interrupted their interpreter in mid-sentence, hissed something in an invidious tone, and spit on the ground at the interpreter’s feet. The interpreter started shaking.

“He says that we are lying. He says that we are lying! He thinks that we are government spies!” The man’s speech became tinny. He seemed on the border of hysteria.

Hunter brought two fingers to his eyes, then pointed them at Hongo, then pointed them back and forth over the crowd. Hongo got the signal. Hunter wanted him to prepare to attack if it came to that. Hunter pulled a spare wad of cash from a hidden pocket that came sewn into his cargo utility pants. He walked directly to the leader and held out the cash.

He smiled wide and said, “Here you go, buddy. Take the cash. Take it and leave us alone. You do not want to start this.”

Hunter knew that the man could not understand him, but he hoped that his body language and tone conveyed the message. The man slapped the hand holding the money. The cash fell to the dirt. The man spat in Hunter’s face. At that moment, an empty glass soda bottle was thrown from a nearby balcony. It hit Hunter in the side of the head. As Hunter went down, the crowd closed in on him. Bats and clubs were raised into the air and brought down with great force. Hunter felt his body rocked by a series of kicks, punches, and beatings. Then, the earsplitting roar of large caliber gunfire made the crowd pause. The crowd turned to see Hongo holding a pair of brushed chrome Action-Express caliber Desert Eagle pistols in the air. He had fired off a double round of shots. Now, he lowered the handguns and pointed them at the two thugs that he saw armed with Kalashnikov assault rifles. For a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, no one did anything.

Hunter heard the sound of breathing going on all around him. He felt his heart beating wildly as adrenaline pumped through his veins. His mind wandered and wavered. He saw neon pink light in the peripheries of his vision and imagined the great vibrating strings in outer space. He felt himself connecting with the cosmic force of the Dahjaat; it had happened almost involuntarily. He did not, however, make the connection. He needed to consciously center his mind and activate the connection. He felt the hammer of the metamorphosis cock back and the cylinder of transmutation click into place. He only had to pull the trigger, but he waited. He did not want to kill or injure anyone if he did not have to.

Then he heard gunfire again. Hongo’s right shoulder rocked backwards and blood spatter flew up into the air. Hongo discharged both barrels immediately and the two men holding assault rifles were thrown backwards. One’s head exploded and the other’s chest cavity imploded. Hongo had been hit, but he did not go down, he strafed the crowd with his semi-automatic guns, aiming, primarily, for the thugs that were armed.

“Hongoooooo!” Hunter cried out.

At that moment, Hunter felt someone kick him hard in his gut. He felt the wind knocked out of him and he became infuriated. He pulled the trigger. He felt his consciousness leave his body for a split second. His mind reverberated through the void that lay between the molecules of his body. Then a beam of light cascaded down from the sky and struck him. A thunderous boom echoed throughout the eardrums of the thugs. Everyone in Hunter’s immediate vicinity was thrown to the ground. Hunter stood erect and touched his fingers to his third eye. He felt the geography around him and the mass of humanity cringing away from him. He noticed three dangers. One man stood on a balcony and struggled to aim a rifle. Hunter thought that this man must have been the one to hit him with the glass soda bottle. Another man stood in a nearby doorway with a rifle trained on Hunter’s tall figure. He did not have a clear shot through the crowd, but due to Hunter’s height, Hunter was in danger. A third man lay prone on the roof of a nearby freight container. This man pointed a pistol at Hongo.

Hunter spun his Dahjaat body around like an Olympic discus thrower. With one hand he grabbed a bat, with another he grabbed a large rock. He spun one hundred and eighty degrees and released both objects. The bat spun end over end and struck the man on the balcony, knocking his gun to the ground where it slipped off the edge and fell to the street. The rock hit the man in the doorway squarely in the head. His gun discharged harmlessly into the air as he pulled the trigger while he fell to the ground. Hunter used the same momentum that he built from the throwing motion to cock his right leg back and kick one of the thugs. The thug flew through the air and flailed about. The man laying prone on the freight container fired at Hongo. The bullet flew through the air in a trajectory that would have ended in Hongo’s chest, but the body of the flailing man caught it in midair and took it off course. Hongo spun around and unloaded a clip at the freight container, taking out the gunner. Hunter picked up one of the thugs and raised him by the throat into the air. Hunter shook him and scowled at him. Then he scowled at the rest of the group and let out a low growl. Most of the thugs scattered. Fear was in their eyes.

A few thugs, however, the feverish-looking ones, stayed. One ran up behind Hunter and swung a heavy lead wrench at Hunter’s right kneecap. The knee buckled and Hunter dropped the thug that he was holding. As Hunter’s head came down, another feverish thug slammed a solid ash truncheon into his cranium. The thin Somalians were surprisingly strong. Hunter tapped his forehead, activated his kebaac, and slugged one thug, side-kicked another, and uppercuted a third, causing him to leave his feet and careen into a nearby kiosk, demolishing it. Two gunshots contemporaneously resounded throughought the slum. Hunter watched the final two thugs collapse. Smoke tendrils oozed from the black bores of Hongo’s gleaming chrome gun barrels.

Unexpectedly, Hunter and Hongo heard clapping, like an applause. They looked around and saw the suspiciously garbed thug walking into the middle of the street. He wore red and white robes. He had a white cloth wrapped around his head. Only his eyes showed through the cloth. His eyes were yellow and piercing. Hunter gasped.

“Malacoda?” He asked.

“Are you that explorer from the labyrinth?” The robed man asked incredulously.

He continued clapping longer than he should have.

“You are, aren’t you? Fancy that. Rohjarrat is no more. Such a shame, he was a worthy opponent. You have big shoes to fill, very big indeed.I suppose that you came here to track us down. You wanted to surprise us didn’t you?”

Hunter could hear the mocking tone through the wrapped face.

“You sly dog. You have been talking to that half-breed haven’t you?”

“Watch your words. I intend to find your associate, Ghaelvord. If you help me, I might go easy on you. I am rich too. I can get you wealth.” Hunter tried to look intimidating as he spoke. He wanted to get a feel for what this man may want.

“Help you?” The man burst out laughing. When he recovered, he continued, “I will help you. I will teach you how a real Dahjaat fights.”

With that, the ground below Hunter shook. Hunter saw the dirt in the street light up and melt into smoldering magma. It happened in an instant. Only the ground immediately beneath Malacoda’s feet was affected. A flash of red light temporarily blinded Hunter. As quickly as it began, the ground shook again, cooled off, and the molten dirt resolidified. Standing before Hunter, however, was a demon. The scarlet-skinned monster had visible muscle fibers. He stood almost as tall as Hunter, but was stockier. His yellow eyes glimmered. He had the fearless look of a predatory animal. His elongated legs stuck out from his torso. He had large feet capped with black, razor-sharp talons. His chiseled features and feral form made him an imposing figure. To complete the beastly image, his lower jaw jutted out and two sharp tusks jutted upwards from it. Hunter noticed a spade tail whipping back and forth from behind him. Without a word, the demon’s legs coiled beneath him and he sprung in a powerful frog-like leap toward Hunter.