Seduction on the Cards (26 page)
Read Seduction on the Cards Online
Authors: Kris Pearson
“Forgive me this,” Rafiq said, brushing his fingers along the dusty floor and spreading grimy smears onto Laurel’s face and the front of her high-necked long-sleeved white shirt. His fingers felt hot through the thin cotton fabric, and she shrank away from his touch on her breasts.
“We need to make it look as though several days have gone by. As though you are now dirty and desperate. Fayez?”
Fayez grasped the rope in one brown hand as though she was a poor sad mongrel on a lead and stood impassively beside her.
Rafiq began recording again and then muttered something. Suddenly Laurel’s head was dragged backwards and a huge curved knife pressed against her throat. She screamed in total terror.
“No, please! Please don’t! I’m not who you think I am!” At last she burst into the tears that had never been far away.
“America...” Fayez sneered as he allowed her to slump forward in a sobbing heap.
“Good, it’s all done,” Rafiq confirmed in a businesslike tone, checking his work and ejecting the final little cassette. He let her cry for several more minutes and then asked, “Are you thirsty? We have Coca Cola or orange juice, both quite cold.”
She raised her ruined face and stared at him in disbelief. “You think you can put me through that and then act all hospitable?”
He shrugged. “It’s hot. You need to drink.”
“You’re a maniac. You’re
all
maniacs. What the hell was that filming charade all about?”
“Dear young lady—whoever you are—you are the currency we will bargain with. The first recording will let the authorities know we have you, safe and alive. The second, which they will receive in a few days’ time, will show them you are still alive but in grave danger. The third—that your plight is now desperate.” He shrugged again. “It’s the way we achieve what we need.”
“Is this religious or political?”
“One is tied so closely to the other.”
“In this part of the world, yes,” she sneered. “I thought it would be exotic and beautiful and cultural when Mrs Daniels said they’d been posted to Al Sounam.”
“We are undoubtedly exotic and beautiful and cultural, as you say.”
“Not from where I’m looking.” She stared around the bunker in panic. One wall appeared to be made of huge boulders. She assumed it was disguised as a rocky outcrop on the outside.
Slivers of light shone through in places, so at least she wouldn’t run out of fresh air. “How long are you keeping me here?”
“For as long as it takes for certain people to see sense.”
“But what about...plumbing,” she asked in a very small voice, feeling the blush spread up her neck and over her face.
“We have that most admirable invention, the Porta-Pottie.” He pointed to the far corner and she suddenly realized what the other boxy object was.
“And decadent American Coca Cola,” she muttered.
“As you say.”
She was almost certain there was a tiny quirk at one end of his stern mouth.
Rafiq tied the longer piece of tough orange rope around one of the heavy table legs so she was tethered, dissolved the knot together, and motioned the other men to leave. “We will give you some privacy for a few minutes. We have important things to arrange outside.”
She stayed sitting, acutely embarrassed, until his long legs disappeared from view, then she crept across to the corner.
Minutes later, she knew she was never going to be able to unpick the melted-together knots. She’d worried at them unceasingly since the men had retreated outside, and all she’d achieved were very sore fingertips and one broken nail. Finally she gave in, fixed her hair back into its pony-tail again, and reclaimed the red cap.
She heaved a deep sigh. Almost anything would be better than this. She’d settle for the noisy hostel, or her dump of a flat, or even the Gorridge’s awful foster-home in preference to her current situation. If life had seemed bad before, it was infinitely worse now.
Snatches of conversation drifted down the steps. She had no idea what was being discussed because her grasp of the local language was restricted to the most basic words yet.
The wind still sounded high. It whistled over the dunes and sent a sifting of sand down the stairs. She heard the van engine fire up, and then the vehicle ground away, leaving eerie silence. She trembled with fear and disbelief. Surely they hadn’t abandoned her here, albeit with toilet facilities, Coca Cola, orange juice, and possibly some sort of food if there was drink? There was no way she could bear to be confined in the dismal bunker all alone for heaven knows how many days. She eyed the foam mattress warily. It seemed a very real possibility.
And then terror engulfed her again as she detected footsteps on the stairs, followed by one masculine silhouette against the rectangle of daylight. Which of them had returned?
It was the pig.
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