Hostage (36 page)

‘
Ta’ala
ma’ee!
’ he growled in what Connor presumed was Arabic.

When they didn’t respond to his
command, he grabbed Connor by the arm and shoved him roughly through the doorway. Connor
didn’t want to be separated from Alicia and struggled in his grip.

‘Let me go!’ he protested.

But the ferocious glare from the man warned
him not to resist any further.

Their captor treated Alicia more respectfully.
He gestured for her to leave the cell and follow Connor.

Numbly getting to her feet, Alicia hurried
over to Connor’s side. They said nothing as they were marched down a short
corridor. Connor kept alert to every detail, just as he’d been trained to do. He
noticed their captor wore sandals, his feet were dark-skinned and his style of robes
Middle Eastern in origin. There were no windows in the corridor and the air smelt stale
and slightly damp, so he guessed they must be underground. In a small room opposite
their cell, he’d glimpsed a computer with an array of electronic gadgetry. If
connected to the internet, he might be able to send a message for help – that is, if he
found out exactly where they were and
if
he ever got the chance.

At the end of the corridor a flight of
wooden stairs led upwards into blackness. The temptation to make a run for it was almost
overwhelming. Then a second masked man stepped from a doorway, a sub-machine gun in his
grasp. The brief flicker of hope Connor had felt was extinguished in an instant.

Their captor shoved them into the end room.
Alicia recoiled in horror as they were greeted by three more faceless men. Two carried
assault rifles and the third brandished a gleaming curved dagger, its bone handle
studded with jewels. As threatening as the guns were, the presence of the knife was even
more intimidating.

‘Kneel!’ ordered the man in
accented English, pointing to a spot on the floor with his dagger.

On the wall behind was a large black flag
with Arabic
writing in white. Positioned opposite was a video camera
on a stand. Connor felt an icy spike of fear.

Their captors hadn’t killed them yet,
simply because they intended to do so
live
on camera.

Connor knelt next to Alicia, who once again
was trembling like a leaf. He couldn’t blame her; his own heart was thudding
furiously within his chest. Neither of them could take their eyes off the
vicious-looking knife as it was waved in front of their faces. The man with the dagger
seemed to relish their fear and purposefully took his time.

Suppressing his panic, Connor vowed that he
wouldn’t go down without a fight. However futile the attempt, he’d at least
try to save Alicia. It would be what his father would have done in such a situation.

The man, who appeared to be the leader,
placed the tip of his knife under Alicia’s chin and forced her to raise her head
and look him in the eye.

‘No need to cry,’ he declared.
‘We’ve no
intention
of harming you. You are our guests.’

Overcoming her abject terror, Alicia stared
defiantly back at the man. ‘That’s funny, we didn’t get the
invite.’

The leader grunted a dry laugh. ‘Ah!
American humour. How amusing!’

He sheathed his knife then clapped his hands
once, the
sudden noise startling Alicia. A moment later, a tray was
brought in and laid before them. Upon it were two pieces of flatbread, a bowl of hummus,
a jug of chilled water, some rice and a thick meat stew. As it was presented to them, an
awful thought crossed Connor’s mind.
Our final meal
.

‘Please eat,’ invited the leader
casually, as if they were dining in a restaurant.

Ravenous from the after-effects of the
sedative, Connor and Alicia were unable to resist the offer. Tentatively picking up a
spoon, Connor dipped it in the stew and scooped some into his mouth. Simple as the meal
was, with death so close at hand, the food tasted almost divine. Alicia joined him,
tearing off a piece of flatbread and nibbling at it nervously. But, overcome with
hunger, she soon dug in and they both momentarily forgot their grim predicament.

As they ate, the leader nodded to one of his
men to press Record on the video. The camera’s light flashed red and the leader
addressed the lens.

‘President Mendez, we, the Brotherhood
of the Rising Crescent, hold your daughter hostage,’ he said with an arrogant
pride in his voice. ‘We also have her friend, the English boy. As you can see,
they’re both well and being looked after according to their status.’

He gestured to them with a sweep of his hand
and Connor looked up, his mouth half-full. He now realized the meal was purely a show
for the camera.

‘I’m certain, as a father and
the President of your country, you wish for their safe return,’ continued their
hooded captor. ‘Their fate very much lies in
your
hands.’

Both Connor and Alicia stopped eating, the
thinly veiled threat killing all appetite. They glanced anxiously at one another, each
wondering if the broadcast was going out live.

Connor thought about shouting out or signing
a message, but he knew little of their location – except they were possibly somewhere in
the Middle East – and he knew even less about their captors that would help Secret
Service or Buddyguard rescue them. He briefly considered an escape attempt while the
terrorists were distracted. But one glance towards the doorway, where the gunman stood
guard in the corridor, soon dispelled any such illusions. They’d be shot down
before they even planted one foot on the stairwell. He was utterly powerless.

Yet, just as he felt a cloak of despair
settle over him, Connor suddenly realized that he did have two pieces of information he
could communicate on camera. He just had to stay sharp and proceed with caution.

‘Our demands are simple,’ stated
the hooded leader, his image filling the central flatscreen monitor in the White House
Situation Room. ‘You have until midnight on the third of July to release every one
of our brothers imprisoned on terrorism charges and announce the withdrawal of all
American troops from the Middle East. Meet the first demand and the boy will be freed as
proof of our word. Meet the second and you’ll be reunited with your daughter.
These are our terms. For this year, the fourth of July will be
our
Independence
Day.’

The picture froze on Alicia’s face.
Her expression was defiant, but her complexion was pale and her eyes shone with barely
restrained tears.

A deathly silence fell over the Situation
Room. No one even breathed, too stunned by the inconceivable kidnapping of the
President’s daughter.

Then the First Lady let out a sob and the
Situation Room was motivated into frenzied action.

‘At least we know they’re both
alive,’ stated Karen, the Director of National Intelligence trying to offer the
First
Lady some comfort. ‘The video was time-stamped just
fifty-eight minutes ago.’

‘Has this gone public?’
President Mendez asked, his voice strangely fragile.

‘Not so far as we’re
aware,’ replied Dirk. ‘The video link was sent direct to your
secretary’s email account.’

‘That’s odd,’ remarked the
press secretary. ‘Most terrorists want publicity. I’d have thought
they’d plaster this across the entire internet.’

‘There’s no guarantee they
won’t,’ said George, grimacing, then popping an antacid tablet into his
mouth to ease his heartburn. ‘It’ll all be part of their sick propaganda
war.’

‘Who
are
the Brotherhood of
the Rising Crescent anyway?’ General Shaw demanded.

Karen’s Middle East Advisor, Omar
Ahmed, opened a file on his laptop and linked it with the Situation Room’s central
monitor.

‘They’re a fundamentalist group,
based in Yemen,’ he explained, pointing to the information on display.
‘Unrepresentative of the majority of their faith, their stated goal is “To
fight every non-believer until victory or martyrdom and to make every American regret
their occupation of their lands”. The leader is believed to be Malik
Hussain.’ A grainy picture of an Arab, too indistinct to make out his features,
flashed up on the screen. ‘Born in Sana’a, the capital city of Yemen, to a
wealthy oil family, he was educated in Saudi Arabia before heading to Afghanistan to
fight with the Taliban. After that he pops up in Pakistan and Iraq until settling
permanently in his homeland.’

Omar closed his laptop.

‘Is that all you have on them?’
said General Shaw.

Omar nodded regretfully. ‘Like many
minority extremist outfits, they were under our radar. The CIA simply didn’t
consider they had the resources to launch a viable attack.’

‘Well, they did!’ snarled Dirk.
The Secret Service Director’s jaw was tense with anger.

‘Yes, we underestimated this
enemy,’ admitted Omar. ‘But to coordinate bombings and a kidnapping on this
scale some
other
organization has to be backing them.’

‘Like who?’ asked the
President.

Omar shrugged. ‘These groups function
as independent cells. We may never find that out.’

There was a heavy silence round the
conference table as they considered the grave implications of this.

‘Our first priority must be to locate
and safely retrieve the hostages,’ said General Shaw decisively. ‘Have we
sourced the origin of the email yet?’

‘Our analysts are working on it as we
speak,’ replied Dirk. ‘And technicians are searching for clues in the
transmission itself.’

‘We’re also checking every
outbound flight within the last twenty-four hours,’ added Karen. ‘Charter,
private, commercial and business. That should narrow our search.’

The President thumped his fist on the table
in frustration. ‘How could these people smuggle my daughter out of the country
without
someone
knowing?’

‘My poor little girl, she must be
terrified,’ said the First Lady, fresh tears running down her cheeks.

President Mendez drew his wife into his arms
and she wept on his shoulder. ‘At least Alicia’s not alone in her plight.
Connor’s been trained to handle hostage situations. Isn’t that right,
Colonel?’

Colonel Black nodded, although he now
seriously wished he’d dedicated more time to it in the Buddyguard syllabus. But he
had faith in Connor’s resilience. ‘Connor will be as crucial to your
daughter’s survival as your team in finding her,’ he assured them.

Dirk couldn’t help a dismissive snort.
‘Some bodyguard your boy turned out to be,’ he muttered, evidently cracking
under the pressure.

Catching his comment, Colonel Black spun on
him. ‘Well, if you hadn’t dismissed him so readily, he might have been able
to do his job properly,’ he retorted. ‘And, thanks to Connor’s
intervention, the last ring of defence hasn’t been broken yet.’

Dirk shot him an incredulous look.
‘He’s a hostage! An
additional
problem.’

‘Connor’s an asset,’
corrected the colonel, and asked for the video to be replayed. ‘He’s already
informed us that they’re being held underground and that there are at least five
gunmen.’

He paused the video and indicated the
screen. ‘See here, Connor’s pointing a finger down beneath his hand. And
here he forms his fingers into the shape of a gun, then opens his hand to indicate
five.’

‘Are you sure of this?’ asked
George, scrutinizing the video playback.

‘Yes. The movements are very subtle, but
he repeats them twice.’

‘Still, that’s not much
help,’ remarked Dirk.

‘It’s a start,’ stated
Colonel Black. ‘And such information could be crucial for any rescue
attempt.’