Hostage (40 page)

The cell door clanged shut. Connor kicked at
it in frustration and fury.

‘You gutless coward! You
scumbag!’ he roared.

He wanted to pound the terrorist leader to a
pulp. He was no longer scared. He was angry.

Anger is only one letter away from
danger.
His unarmed combat instructor’s words repeated in his head.
Control your anger, otherwise anger will control you and you’ll lose
focus. As a buddyguard, you want to fight smarter not harder.

Giving the steel door one last kick, Connor
checked his temper. He knew he had to think clearly and focus on the situation at hand.
But their cruel toying with Alicia’s life had boiled his blood. In that
split-second moment when the masked leader had pulled the trigger, a crushing grief had
overwhelmed him, compounded by the realization that he’d failed to protect her.
But no thundering blast of gunfire had followed and Alicia had opened her eyes, stunned
to discover that she was still alive. At first Connor only felt relief. Then he became
concerned for her as she
just knelt in a zombie-like trance until the
end of the video, before allowing herself to be dragged back to their cell.

Having vented his fury on the locked door,
Connor turned to see Alicia slide down the wall and slump to the floor. She pulled her
knees to her chest and stared vacantly at the opposite wall.

‘Alicia, are you all right?’ he
asked.

She didn’t reply, just continued
gazing into the distance.

Bending down, he touched her shoulder
gently, worried the mock execution had broken her spirit.

‘Alicia? It’s OK. I’m with
you.’

Alicia mumbled something.

‘What was that?’

A single tear rolled down her cheek.
‘We’re going to die.’

‘No, we’re not,’ countered
Connor, although his words seemed to ring hollow. With time fast running out, any hopes
of rescue were rapidly dwindling. And the terrorists seemed determined to follow through
on their threats. If there was ever a situation for a last resort, this was it. They
had
to escape. Connor looked round the tiny windowless cell. He’d
already inspected every inch of it for a weakness and had found none. As he racked his
brains for a plan, he noticed Alicia trembling from the effects of trauma-induced
shock.

‘Stay with me,’ he pleaded,
trying to get her to focus on his face. ‘We’ll find a way to escape,
somehow. I promise you.’

‘All hell’s broken loose,’
said Lara, the Press Secretary dashing in and switching on the TV in the
President’s private study of the West Wing. ‘The story’s running on
every news channel, worldwide.’

Turning his gaze to the TV screen, President
Mendez sank back into his leather chair and braced himself for the media storm. He was
joined in his study by the core members of the National Security Council: the White
House Chief of Staff, the Secretary of State, the Director of National Intelligence, the
Director of Secret Service and General Shaw. Together they watched as a series of news
bulletins flashed across the screen.

A clip from the terrorists’ video
showed Alicia with a gun to her head. Even though he’d already seen it once,
President Mendez clenched his fists and shuddered with a combination of cold horror and
burning rage. He was one
of the most powerful men in the world yet
felt utterly powerless to help his own daughter.

The image was replaced with a soundbite of
the President addressing a press conference the previous year. ‘
America stands
strong against the threat of terrorism
,’ he was saying. ‘
We
don’t negotiate with terrorists and never will …
’

The strapline running along the bottom of
the screen read:
WHAT WILL THE PRESIDENT DO NOW?

The segment came to an end and the monitor
filled with scenes of outraged crowds in Times Square calling for Alicia’s
release. Some were weeping, others were angry, while a growing number were baying for
blood.

Finally, the bulletin switched to a view of
a dusty compound outside Sana’a. Eight bodies were laid out, surrounded by wailing
families. The headline ran:
ATTACK ON FARMERS’ COMPOUND – AN
‘INNOCENT’ MISTAKE?

The newsreel ended on images of spontaneous
protests and the burning of American flags in the capital cities of the Yemen, Pakistan
and Afghanistan.

‘Those men
weren’t
innocent,’ growled General Shaw, pounding a fist into his palm. ‘They were
drug dealers. The SEAL unit uncovered a mass shipment of opium in the compound.
That’s why it was so heavily guarded.’

‘The Yemeni people won’t see it
that way,’ replied Jennifer. The secretary of state stood by the door, her arms
crossed, a frown on her face. ‘And their government are viewing it as an invasion
of sovereign territory. We’ve got a full-blown international crisis on our
hands.’

‘That was always going to be the
case,’ argued Karen. ‘The question is how did we get it so wrong? I know the
surviving gunman admitted that Malik Hussein was behind the drug-running, but the SEAL
team found no evidence of Alicia or Connor
ever
having been at that
location.’

‘Listen, we’ll have more than
enough time for analysis and blame another day,’ said President Mendez, noticing
with dismay that a countdown clock had been posted on the TV newsfeed.
‘We’ve less than fifty-five minutes to meet the midnight deadline. I need to
hear your views on what our next move should be. You first, Karen.’

‘I think we can all agree these
terrorists won’t back down. If we don’t comply, they’ll kill Alicia –
or more likely Connor first to prove their point.’

‘We don’t know that for
certain,’ said Jennifer. ‘They may bluff again.’

‘The bombs were no bluff,’
reminded Karen.

George held up the list of captured
terrorists. ‘How about we make a concession of a handful of prisoners? The least
significant ones. Then we may be able to stall them – even seek a chance of ending this
crisis.’

‘It’ll make us look weak,’
argued General Shaw, taking the side of the secretary of state. ‘Release any of
them and they’ll only push for more.’

‘What about just announcing our
troops’ withdrawal then? We don’t have to
actually
withdraw from
the countries.’

Jennifer shook her head. ‘George, I
know you’re seeking every possible solution. But such a declaration would send
a shockwave through the Middle East. The terrorists know full well
that a mere announcement would be enough to create anarchy.’

‘But if we don’t offer the
terrorists some consideration at midnight, Connor could die.’

‘Much as I hate to say this,’
interjected Dirk, his steel-blue eyes hardening, ‘it’s his duty to make such
a sacrifice.’

‘How can you even
think
such
a thing?’ exclaimed Karen, shocked by her colleague’s cold-heartedness.

Dirk shifted awkwardly under her accusing
gaze. ‘Look, if the terrorists kill Connor and we still hold out against their
demands, then they’ve lost. They’ll realize that we can’t be forced
into submission, even when lives are at stake.’

‘But we’re talking here of a
child’s life,’ reminded George. ‘And how will the world view America
then?’

A heavy silence descended on the room and
President Mendez looked to his press secretary for her opinion.

‘The fact that Alicia and Connor are
still children makes this a highly emotive issue,’ explained Lara. ‘The
public and media are split on the matter. Half are calling for your daughter’s
release under
any
circumstances, while the rest consider an iron fist should be
used. If she is …’ Lara was unable to meet the President’s eyes ‘…
killed, there’s a danger her blood will be on both the terrorists’ and the
US Government’s hands. Whatever decision you make, Mr President, we must be
seen
to have done everything possible to save her and Connor.’

‘But we are, aren’t we?’
queried the President, looking round at his staff.

‘Yes,’ replied Karen quickly,
‘but I agree with Lara on this – perception is everything.’

President Mendez sighed in despair.
‘Jennifer, what do you advise?’

‘You’ve an impossible
choice,’ stated Jennifer. ‘Give in to their demands and we set a dangerous
precedent – one the nation may never recover from. Hold your ground and we maintain the
status quo – the Brotherhood may even
lose
crucial support by using such terror
tactics. But you risk losing your daughter. This is a no-win situation. You know my
views already, but I’m not the one who has to make the ultimate decision on
this.’

President Mendez studied the secretary of
state’s ice-maiden face. Despite her seeming lack of compassion, she was an
excellent stateswoman and he knew she only had the good of the nation at heart. His own
heart and mind, however, were torn in two. On the one hand, he was the President
who’d made an oath to preserve, protect and defend the United States. On the
other, he was a father whose whole world was his daughter and his instinct was to put
her first, over everything.

Deep down he knew what
had
to be
done. But the choice left a cold spot in his heart, one that would grow like a cancer if
either Connor or his daughter died at the terrorists’ hands.

The countdown on the TV ticked down to
forty-nine minutes.

‘Antonio, you may want to see
this,’ interrupted his wife, poking her head round the door.

With the weariness of a burdened man,
President Mendez followed her into the Oval Office and over to the bay windows. The
First Lady drew back the drapes to reveal a view across the south lawn. In the darkness
beyond the iron railings, ten thousand flickering flames hovered like fireflies all the
way back to the Washington Monument. And even through the thickened bulletproof glass
the sound of hymns being sung could be heard like a distant choir of angels. Tears
welled up in the President’s eyes at the sight of the candlelit vigil in honour of
their captive daughter.

‘At a time like this, we need all the
help we can get,’ said President Mendez.

‘And maybe a little more,’
suggested the First Lady, clasping his hands.

Together they sank to their knees and began
praying for a miracle.

‘At last!’ exclaimed Bahir, his
eyes widening in delight as he broke through the final safeguard on the firewalled
smartphone. The screen burst to life and a winged shield rotated in 3D on the
retina-display. Intrigued by the strange logo, he pressed the home button and the screen
filled with icons –
Advanced Mapping, Tracker, Mission Status, Threat Level,
SOS
…

‘What are all those for?’ asked
Kedar, who sat beside him in the basement room.

‘I’ve no idea,’ replied
Bahir, studying the smartphone with growing consternation. ‘This phone belongs to
that English boy. It survived the EMP blast due to an in-built failsafe device. The
operating system was guarded by an advanced firewall, plus a secondary spyware program
that threatened to wipe the contents of the drive every time I attempted to disable it.
It even had fingerprint recognition access. But I
beat
the system in the
end.’ Bahir allowed himself a superior grin.

‘Congratulations,’ said Kedar.
‘But what does any of that mean?’

Bahir looked at his associate as if he was
stupid. ‘That this mobile phone is no
normal
phone – which means our
hostage is by no means normal either.’

He pushed Kedar aside to access the computer
terminal on his desk.

‘What are you doing?’ Kedar
protested. ‘We’re still waiting for a message from the Americans.’

‘This could be as important,’
said Bahir, putting aside the smartphone and launching the computer’s internet
browser. He typed
‘
Connor Reeves’ into the search engine.