Hostage (17 page)

His finger tapped the screen pensively as
threat after threat scrolled by.

‘Terrorists are like the mythical
beast, Hydra – you cut one head off and two grow in its place. The threat constantly
looms. Someone, somewhere, always wants to kill the President or his family.’

Hazim checked his watch as two black Cadillac
limousines rolled up to the school gates: 14:48.

The security guard in the kiosk waved them
through. With rehearsed precision, they followed the driveway and stopped outside the
main building just as the school bell sounded: 14:50.

A broad-shouldered man in a suit and dark
glasses stepped out of the front passenger seat. Tucked behind his left ear was the
telltale curly wire of a two-way radio. With a brief yet thorough scan of his
surroundings, he headed for the glass doors of the main entrance. Meanwhile, three more
men exited the rear vehicle and took up their stations round the front limo – two at the
nearside corners and one on the road facing out, so that all the observation arcs were
covered.

The Not-So Secret Service!
thought
Hazim drily, the agents standing out like sore thumbs among the other arriving parents.
A slight bulge on each man’s right hip hinted at the concealed SIG Sauer P229
pistol that they all carried as standard issue. And on the lapel of their suits
gleamed the small but distinctive hexagonal badge with its
five-pointed star of the Secret Service.

Hazim took note of all these details from
behind his sunglasses while he searched for weaknesses in the functioning of the
protection team. Malik had told him that arriving or leaving a location was the most
vulnerable point in any security operation – even more so for the daily school run. The
timing of arrival and departure was always known. The drop-off and pick-up point always
the same. And whatever route the limos took to and from the White House they had to end
or start at the Montarose School. It made this the most likely snatch point.

The first of the students began spilling out
of the entrance, a few walking home, most being collected by car. The agents kept a wary
eye out for strangers. But this didn’t concern Hazim as he continued his covert
surveillance.

At 14:53, a dark-haired girl – the one
they’d
all
been waiting for – walked out of the glass doors with a group
of friends. Three girls. They chatted and giggled on the steps for a minute or so. Then,
waving goodbye, Alicia Mendez made her way to the front limo.

Two paces behind on her right followed the
first Secret Service agent. As soon as she was safely inside the limo and the door
closed, the agent jumped into the front passenger seat and the driver pulled away. The
escort vehicle quickly moved forward, collected the other agents and sped after them:
14:55.

The whole embarkation process from door to
car had
taken less than sixty seconds. Hazim realized the window of
opportunity was very small. Possibly too small. But that was for his Uncle Malik to
decide.

Hazim’s eyes followed the lead limo as
it pulled out of the school drive and turned left on to Wisconsin Avenue. The two
vehicles merged with the Washington traffic: 14:56.

Hazim didn’t make any attempt to
pursue them. He simply thumbed a coded text on his mobile:

Eagle Chick flying south.

A few moments later his phone pinged in
reply, a message flashing on the screen.

Gamekeeper has the eyeball on

Eagle Chick.

Alicia sat on the leather chair, kicking her
heels against the soft beige carpet of the President’s outer office. She absently
surfed the internet on her smartphone, then sent several text messages to her school
friends. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she sighed with boredom.

From behind her neatly arranged desk, Mrs
Holland, the President’s secretary, offered an apologetic smile. ‘I’m
sure your father won’t be much longer, Alicia.’

‘You tell me that
every
time,’ Alicia replied, though not unkindly. Mrs Holland, while fiercely loyal to
the President and protective of his schedule, had become almost a surrogate grandmother
to her within the confines of the White House.

‘And I’m never wrong, am
I?’ said Mrs Holland, peering over her steel-rimmed glasses, as the door to the
Oval Office opened and a tall woman with long dark-blonde hair stepped out. She was
dressed in a sleek blue business suit and carried a wafer-thin touchscreen computer.
Alicia recognized her as Karen Wright, the newly appointed Director of National
Intelligence and her father’s principal
advisor on all matters
related to the security of the United States.

‘Thank you for the update,
Karen,’ said President Mendez, appearing in the doorway. ‘Keep me informed
of any developments.’

‘Of course, Mr President, you’ll
be the first to know,’ replied Karen. Turning to leave, she smiled warmly at
Alicia. ‘Hello, Alicia.’

‘Hi, Karen,’ she replied as the
director disappeared down the corridor.

President Mendez now faced his daughter.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, honey.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m used to
it,’ Alicia replied, picking up her school bag and following her father
inside.

Feeling a twinge of parental guilt,
President Mendez put an arm round his daughter and kissed the top of her head.
‘But
this
is the meeting I look forward to the most every day,’ he
insisted.

Alicia’s lips tightened as she bit
back the urge to say,
Is that all I am to you … a meeting?

They sat down together on the sofa. Alicia
both enjoyed and hated these moments with her father in equal measure. She understood he
was extremely busy as President and appreciated that he
always
made time for
her in his hectic schedule. Yet their ‘meetings’ were all too short and
often felt like a duty rather than a relaxed personal moment between father and
daughter.

‘How was school?’ President
Mendez asked. ‘Has your protection team backed off?’

‘I suppose so,’ she replied with a
shrug of her shoulders. ‘They still hang around at breaks, though.’

‘Well, that’s their job,’
he replied, his tone firm yet sympathetic. ‘Did you have dance class
today?’

Alicia nodded. ‘Yeah, we’re
learning how to salsa.’

President Mendez smiled warmly as a fond
memory washed over him. ‘Your mother’s a great salsa dancer. It’s a
shame she’s not here to teach you a few moves.’

Alicia glanced up at him hopefully.
‘When’s she getting back?’

‘Still at the end of the month,
I’m afraid.’

Groaning, Alicia slumped back against the
cushions of the sofa. ‘She’s been gone
ages
.’

‘Hey, believe me, I’m missing
her too,’ said President Mendez, pulling his daughter into a hug. ‘But
I’ve a surprise to keep you company in the meantime.’

Alicia visibly perked up at this.
She’d been begging her parents for a puppy dog for weeks and looked expectantly up
at her father.

‘We’ve a special young guest
coming to stay for the summer, maybe longer,’ he announced.

The hopeful look on Alicia’s face
faded as fast as it had appeared. This wasn’t any puppy dog. Far from it.

‘Not
again
!’ she
exclaimed, recalling the last ‘special guest’ that had visited on an
exchange the previous year – a vain and morose girl of some visiting French dignitary.
Despite Alicia’s numerous attempts at making friends, the girl had remained aloof
and constantly complained about everything from food to fashion to the weather. It had
been
even more painful to have her in the same class and hanging
around with her friends. When the girl had finally returned home, Alicia couldn’t
have been happier.

President Mendez gave his daughter a stern
look. ‘I’m sure I needn’t remind you, Alicia, of your obligation as
the President’s daughter to welcome guests to our country.’

‘Yeah, but not babysit them!’
she retorted, crossing her arms in defiance.

‘Well, if you’re not keen, I can
always cancel the visit,’ said the President nonchalantly. ‘I just thought
having a guy your age around the White House would make a nice change.’

Alicia struggled not to let her jaw drop
open in shock.
A boy? Her age?
That was most unusual. Typically, her father was
over-protective when it came to the subject of boys.

‘No … it’s OK,’ she
backtracked, her interest now piqued. ‘So, who is he?’

‘The son of an old and trusted friend
who I knew from my time in Iraq.’

‘He’s an Iraqi?’

‘No, he’s English. His father
was a soldier.’

Trying hard not to appear too keen, Alicia
began to inspect one of her fingernails for imaginary dirt. ‘When do I get to meet
him?’

‘As soon as you’re ready.
He’s waiting for you in the Diplomatic Reception Room.’

‘
What?
’ exclaimed
Alicia, jumping up from the sofa and looking at her school clothes in horror. ‘I
can’t see him like
this
!’

President Mendez tried to suppress a smile as
he watched his daughter dash out of the Oval Office towards the main residence to get
changed. Diplomacy was one thing he excelled at, especially when it came to convincing
people that certain decisions were their own.

Connor waited nervously in the large oval
reception room on the ground floor of the White House. He was alone, apart from a
discreet Secret Service agent, who stood stock-still and silent by a set of double doors
like he was part of the furniture. The soft gold and blue decor of the stately room did
little to alleviate Connor’s worries. Despite the distraction of the stunning
panorama of American landscapes that circled the entire room, Connor couldn’t help
but feel apprehensive about his first encounter with the President’s daughter.

How should I act? Formal or casual in my manner? Or should I just be myself? What am
I going to say? And what if Alicia takes an instant dislike to me? How am I going to
do my job then …

As all these concerns whirled through his
mind, the double doors opened and President Mendez stepped through, followed by his
daughter and two Secret Service agents.

‘Connor, welcome to the White
House,’ greeted the President, warmly shaking his hand. ‘I’m so glad
we could
arrange your stay. Please allow me to introduce my daughter,
Alicia.’

For a moment, Connor was speechless. Alicia
was even more attractive than the photos had suggested. Dressed in a striking
sunflower-yellow frock, her bronze complexion seemed to almost glow, and he found
himself mesmerized by her deep brown eyes …

Connor pulled himself together. These
weren’t the thoughts of a professional bodyguard. He wasn’t here to admire
his Principal. He was here to protect her.

‘Hi … I’m Connor,’ he
finally managed to blurt out and, for some reason, bowed.

‘Pleased to meet you too,’
Alicia replied with an amused smile. ‘But there’s no need to bow.’