‘But is there any sign of my little girl?’ asked the First Lady, almost dreading the answer.
‘No, ma’am,’ replied Agent Cooper. ‘But that can only be seen as good news. It indicates she’s still alive. We also found this at the scene.’ He directed the camera to a backpack lying in the footwell of the 4×4.
‘That belongs to Connor,’ volunteered Colonel Black, recognizing both the design and Justin Reeves’ face in the attached key fob.
‘Connor, sir?’ questioned the agent.
‘He’s a boy secretly assigned to protect Alicia,’ Dirk explained. ‘Part of the Buddyguard organization.’
Agent Cooper raised an eyebrow at this revelation but made no direct comment. ‘That explains the backpack’s unusual construction then. The rear panel’s liquid body armour, it shows signs of recent combat usage. But there’s no blood, so it appears to have been effective.’
‘That means Connor’s still with her,’ said Colonel Black, feeling relieved that his charge was most probably alive and, at the same time, more optimistic about the survival prospects of the President’s daughter. He just prayed that Connor’s basic training would be enough to see him through the crisis.
‘Looks that way,’ replied the agent.
‘Then there’s hope,’ said the President, squeezing his wife’s hand.
The First Lady returned a strained smile.
Dirk sighed inwardly at President Mendez’s unwavering belief in the boy. ‘But, Mr President, it could also mean our problem’s doubled … if they’ve both been kidnapped.’
‘This is all my fault,’ sobbed Alicia, her entire body trembling with shock. ‘I should have listened to Secret Service … if I had, we wouldn’t be in this mess. Now I’ve put you in danger too, Connor. What have I done? I’m sorry … I’m so sorry.’
Connor knelt before her. He was as scared as she was, but he couldn’t allow his own fears to spiral out of control. He had to remain strong – for both their sakes.
‘This isn’t your fault,’ he assured her. ‘The blame lies with our kidnappers. What we need to do is stay calm and focused. Your father, Secret Service, Buddyguard, everyone will be looking for us.’
Alicia stared at Connor, her eyes wide and swimming with tears. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘I know so. We just have to hold out until they come.’
‘But what if they can’t find us?’
Connor was aware that was a distinct possibility, but replied, ‘With all the government’s resources, they’re bound to sooner or later. We must have faith.’
Alicia fell silent and gazed doubtfully around their tiny cell. Connor could see she was battling to keep her panic in check. But she bravely wiped away her tears and managed to stop shaking.
‘So who do you think has taken us?’ she eventually asked.
‘Agent Brooke must have been working for those gunmen,’ Connor replied. ‘And with all the bombings I can only guess that they’re terrorists of some sort.’
‘So they’re going to … kill us?’ said Alicia, her voice fragile and desperate.
Connor gently shook his head. ‘If they wanted us dead, that would’ve happened already.’
‘Then what do they want?’
Connor heard a bolt unlock and he spun round. ‘I think we’re about to find out.’
His nerves taut as a wire, Connor stood protectively in front of Alicia as the door swung open. A colossal man in black robes stepped inside, his bulk almost filling the tiny cell. The man’s face was obscured by an all-enveloping coal-black headscarf that left only his dark eyes blazing through at them.
‘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.’