A splitting headache was the first sensation Connor was aware of. Then a deep throbbing ache in his muscles. Followed by an unsettling queasiness in his stomach. As he regained full consciousness, he attempted to swallow, but his mouth was dry as a desert and his throat sore and swollen.
Cracking open his eyes, the light hurt like fire and indistinct shapes swirled before his vision. When it eventually settled, Connor discovered he was lying on a hard concrete floor. In front of him was a battered plastic bottle of water and a featureless wall. Fighting the heaviness in his limbs, he tried to sit up but was instantly hit by a wave of nausea. He lay still until the feeling passed.
With an immense effort, he managed to prop himself up against the wall. His head swam and the sickness returned. Reaching for the water bottle, Connor undid the cap and took a swig. It was warm and slightly bitter, but revived him enough to regain his senses. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. It could have been hours or days. But judging by the hunger cramps in his stomach, he’d missed a meal or two.
Looking around, he discovered he was in a small windowless room, a single bare bulb for light. There was a door to his left, flush to the frame and without a handle. To his right lay Alicia, her body discarded like a rag doll on a thin mattress in the corner.
‘Alicia!’ he croaked.
She didn’t respond. Fighting the nausea and pain in his muscles, he dragged himself over to her. Alicia was so still that he thought she was dead. Then Connor noticed a strand of hair across her mouth quivering as she exhaled a shallow breath.
Connor gently shook her shoulder and she groaned, still deep in a drug-induced sleep.
‘Alicia, wake up!’ urged Connor.
Her eyes wearily blinked open. ‘Huh?’
‘Drink this,’ he said, pressing the bottle to her lips.
Alicia managed a sip.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she rasped.
‘It’s just the effects of the tranquillizer, or whatever drug they’ve given us,’ explained Connor.
He gave her time to recover, then helped her into a sitting position.
‘What’s going on?’ she murmured, holding her head in her hands.
‘We’ve been kidnapped,’ said Connor, keeping his voice low. There was no one else in the room, but he didn’t want their conversation overheard by whoever had taken them. ‘What do you remember?’
Alicia tried to think, disorientated by the strange environment. ‘Umm … you getting shot … by Agent Brooke. Then she turned the gun on me and it all went dark.’ She looked up at Connor, her eyes wide, panic bubbling just beneath the surface. ‘I thought I was … you were dead.’
Connor took her hand, trying to calm her. ‘No, we were just sedated.’
‘How long have we been out for?’
Connor glanced at his wrist, but found his watch had been taken. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
Alicia looked fearfully round the bare windowless cell. ‘Do you know where we are?’
‘No idea,’ replied Connor, forcing himself to his feet. But he feared they were a long way from home.
Swaying slightly, he made the five short steps across the room to the door. He tried to push it open. Then he tried to get his fingers round the edges and pull the other way. But it wouldn’t budge. Pressing his ear to the door, Connor listened for any noise that might give away their location.
He heard nothing. Just deafening silence. It was as if they were cut off from the entire world.
The atmosphere in the White House Situation Room was tense and frantic as Colonel Black was shown his seat at the conference table. Already gathered round the long mahogany desk were the key members of the National Security Council and the head of every relevant security and intelligence agency, all pooling their resources to solve the case in hand. National Security staff worked feverishly in the background, analysing incoming data and delivering constant updates.
‘Good of you to come,’ said President Mendez, acknowledging Colonel Black’s arrival with a firm handshake.
To the colonel’s eyes, the President had aged dramatically, his renowned youthful vigour weighed down by a terrible burden.
‘It’s my honour and duty,’ replied Colonel Black. ‘Don’t worry, we will find your daughter.’
And Connor, he promised himself. He’d never lost a buddyguard yet and he didn’t intend to now.
The White House Chief of Staff appeared and handed the colonel a folder. ‘This contains a summary of all the information we hold at present, including your organization’s report.’
‘Thank you,’ acknowledged the colonel, immediately scanning the files.
‘Is there any word yet?’ asked the First Lady, who sat beside her husband, pulling at a frayed hankie. Exhausted from her transatlantic flight home, her usual glamorous appearance had all but disappeared under the strain, her make-up streaked with anguished tears.
‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Mendez,’ replied George. ‘But, I can assure you, we’re doing everything in our power.’
‘Well, it’s not enough!’ she snapped. ‘It’s been twelve hours. Alicia could be anywhere in the world by now.’
‘That’s why we’ve brought the CIA in on this,’ informed Karen, offering the First Lady a glass of water that she took in one trembling hand. ‘They’ve put out a worldwide alert to every agent. If they get a sniff of anything, we’ll be the first to hear about it.’
‘That’s reassuring to know,’ said Mrs Mendez, sipping at the water and trying to regain her composure.
A blonde-haired woman with frameless glasses leant forward and raised her hand.
‘What shall we do about the press?’ asked Lara Johnson, the White House Press Secretary.
‘Keep a lid on it for as long as you can,’ replied George.
‘But we could use them to promote a search for the President’s daughter,’ she suggested.
Karen shook her head vehemently. ‘Then we’ll have every Tom, Dick and Harry phoning in. And any possible lead will disappear under a pile of misguided calls. No, concentrate on the containment of the bombings until we have more concrete information.’
‘About the bombings,’ interrupted General Martin Shaw, walking over and saluting Colonel Black. ‘I think we must assume a connection.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked the President.
‘The timing for one. The last contact with Delta team and Alicia’s disappearance were just minutes after they detonated. I believe these attacks were merely a distraction for the main event.’
‘A distraction!’ exclaimed George. ‘The three bombs almost crippled Washington.’
‘Exactly. Their targets were designed to disrupt communications and impede the workings of Secret Service. With their attention focused elsewhere, the kidnappers had all the time they needed to escape with the President’s daughter.’
‘I concur with the general,’ said Colonel Black. ‘It would certainly explain the planting of the Cell-Finity bug and the coordinated ambush on your Secret Service team. Has any terrorist group claimed responsibility yet?’
‘Still nothing,’ Karen replied. ‘But we’re doing an analysis of the most likely candidates –’
‘We’ve got a lead!’ Dirk interrupted, coming off the phone.
The Situation Room went silent as he pressed a remote and a live-link flashed up on the central monitor. An auburn-haired man with a rounded pockmarked face appeared.
‘Mr President, my name is Agent Cooper,’ he declared. ‘I’m in situ at a disused aircraft hangar near Stafford Airport. My team have discovered one of our off-duty Secret Service agents, Lauren Brooke, shot dead, execution-style.’
The camera panned to show a body sprawled across the concrete floor, a pool of dried blood surrounding it. The First Lady gasped at the gruesome sight and averted her eyes.
‘How does this connect with Alicia’s disappearance?’ asked President Mendez, a cold sensation creeping into the pit of his stomach.
‘My team found the remains of a cellphone that bear her fingerprints.’ The camera was angled to display the shattered phone. Then an empty 4×4 came into view, surrounded by three agents analysing the vehicle for further clues. ‘They’ve also just confirmed that hairs on the back seat of Agent Brooke’s vehicle match your daughter’s.’