Malik stopped sharpening his jambiya and smirked to himself. ‘It’s almost as if she wants to be taken hostage.’
The phone buzzed again and Bahir read the message out loud. ‘It’s from Hazim – Sparrows in a panic. It appears Secret Service are having trouble locating her!’ he laughed. Bahir turned excitedly to his leader. ‘This could be our chance.’
Malik laid the curved dagger in his lap. His right hand trembled slightly and he reached out to a small bundle of khat. As he chewed the intoxicating leaves, he mulled over the new turn of events.
‘Yes, it’s an opening,’ he agreed. ‘But an unplanned one. Not all the preparations are in place.’
‘But this seems too good an opportunity to miss,’ insisted Bahir.
‘The situation isn’t in my direct control,’ pointed out Malik. ‘And we’ve the added complication that Secret Service are actively looking for her at this time. That greatly reduces our chances of an undetected escape.’
‘True, but if we took her now, alone, we wouldn’t risk our lives in a gun battle.’
Malik pondered this. ‘Do either Gamekeeper or Birdspotter have the target in sight?’
Bahir rapidly typed a message and pressed Send. Almost a minute passed before his mobile vibrated twice in response. He read both messages, then grimaced in disappointment. ‘Not yet, but Gamekeeper is on the hunt.’
Malik rested the tip of his knife on his bearded chin, reconsidering his options. Then a sly grin slid across his face, revealing his arc of yellowing teeth. ‘Bahir, I have an idea.’
He explained his plan, then asked, ‘Is such a thing possible?’
‘Yes,’ replied Bahir. ‘I could do it in my sleep!’
‘Then get to it,’ ordered Malik.
As Bahir hurried out of the room, Malik returned to honing his jambiya, the curved steel blade gleaming razor-sharp.
With every step, Connor was becoming more and more anxious. He was about to suggest that they turn back, when Alicia swung right on to U Street and the neighbourhood suddenly improved. Ethnic restaurants, bars, music clubs and the occasional church lined the busy road. Connor was reassured to spot several groups of tourists wandering the route too, but he didn’t allow his alert level to drop.
Alicia stopped outside a red and white building with a neon sign flashing OPEN in the window. Above the door, a billboard proclaimed: DON’S DOGS – THE BEST CHILLI DOGS IN DC.
Connor noticed Alicia was staring intently at the flashing sign as if mesmerized.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, recalling her history of epilepsy from his Buddyguard briefing.
Alicia blinked and refocused her gaze on Connor. ‘Yes, of course. Why?’
‘I thought … you might be about to have a seizure,’ he replied, indicating the flashing light.
‘How do you know about my epilepsy?’ demanded Alicia, suddenly defensive.
Connor realized he’d made a mistake. ‘Erm … your father mentioned it.’
Alicia scowled at this. ‘I’m over that now. I wish he’d stop bringing it up.’
‘Sorry,’ said Connor. ‘He’s probably just concerned, that’s all.’
‘My father’s always worrying about me,’ sighed Alicia. ‘Anyway, this is the place I was looking for. Supposedly, their hot dogs are seriously hot.’
Connor peered in through the smeared window. A white formica counter stretched the short length of the fast-food joint. On the wall behind, a menu displayed its combo meals and specialities in unappealing backlit photos. Red plastic stools stood in contrast to the off-white tiled floor, some of the seats clearly straining under the weight of their well-fed customers. Opposite the counter were four booths, with only one occupied by two large men in cement-stained construction clothes.
The food had better be good to make up for the decor, thought Connor.
Holding the door open for Alicia, a waft of fried meat and cooking fat assaulted Connor’s nostrils. Behind the counter and through a hatch, a sweaty, African American cook served up piles of cheese fries and massive hot dogs slathered in mustard, chilli sauce and onions. He gave a nod in their direction, indicating with a grunt for them to take a booth. Slipping into the second one along, Connor made sure that he sat facing the entrance. As dictated by his training, he wanted to know exactly who was coming and going.
While Alicia studied the menu – which unsurprisingly consisted of various combinations of hot dog – he took the opportunity to check out the restaurant. It was crucial to locate any exit points in case of trouble. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted a door leading to a communal toilet, which he guessed would likely be a dead end. Through a hatch behind the counter, he saw a red emergency exit sign pointing to the back of the kitchen. If anything did happen, Connor decided that would be the route he’d take with Alicia.
‘What are you going to have?’ asked Alicia as the waitress came over.
‘Umm … whatever you’re having,’ he replied, not even looking at the menu.
‘Two chilli dog specials with large Cokes,’ said Alicia.
With a tired smile, the waitress took their order, then went back to the hatch and handed it to the chef.
Connor glanced along the counter. An old man in a brown polo shirt sat eating a hot dog. Next to him a young African American in ripped jeans and a white T-shirt was picking at a tray of fries. As he dipped several in the ketchup, he casually eyed Alicia’s Prada handbag lying on their table. Connor realized that, although Alicia might be able to disguise who she was, she couldn’t disguise her wealth or social status. It was obvious they didn’t belong in this establishment.
Leaning forward, Connor whispered to Alicia, ‘I’d keep your bag beside you.’
She took his advice without protest. And Connor relaxed a little when the young man directed his attention back to his food. The waitress returned and dumped two hot dogs drowning in mustard and chilli, along with a pile of cheese fries and two bucket-sized Cokes. Connor was slightly taken aback at the size of the hot dog – it was well over a foot long.
‘Enjoy!’ said the waitress, almost as if it was a command rather than a wish.
The two of them tucked in. After just one bite, Connor had to admit that it was the best hot dog he’d ever tasted … then the roof of his mouth was almost blown off by the heat of the chilli.
Alicia laughed as she saw tears streaming down his face. ‘I warned you they were hot!’
Spluttering, Connor grabbed his Coke and chugged down several mouthfuls.
Once he’d recovered enough to speak again, Alicia began to quiz him on his life back in England – where he lived, which school he went to, his parents, which countries he’d been to, whether he’d met the Queen and so forth. Connor gave his answers as truthfully as possible without revealing his double role. He didn’t like deceiving Alicia, it wasn’t in his nature, but he understood why it was necessary.
Finishing off their meal, they both leant back in the booth and gave a contented sigh.
‘That was an awesome hot dog!’ said Connor. ‘Even with the chilli.’
Alicia nodded in agreement and wiped her lips with a paper serviette. ‘And do you know what’s even better?’
Connor shrugged.
Alicia lowered her voice. ‘This is the first meal I’ve had outside the White House with no one looking over my shoulder.’
At that moment, the door opened and two Latino youths entered. Dressed in baggy jeans and white sneakers, with tattoos up their arms and red bandanas around their heads, they appeared to be local gang members. One of them, boasting a gold front tooth, stared hard in Connor’s direction. Connor immediately averted his gaze. He didn’t want to antagonize them in any way. But as they took two stools at the counter Connor kept them in his line of sight. The other gang member, sporting a crew cut, eyed up Alicia with an appreciative sneer before turning to place his order.
Troubled by their presence, Connor suggested to Alicia, ‘Let’s make a move.’
‘You mean go back?’