Circle of Fire (5 page)

‘So, you mean, we just wait?'

Simon nodded. ‘I have to warn you,' he said, ‘when a hostage's taken, it's a waiting game. At the moment, the kidnappers think they hold all the cards. We have to be patient until they show their hand – then we can act.' He folded his arms. ‘I know it's not want you want to hear, but being cautious, psyching them out, is the most effective and safest way to get a hostage back alive.'

As he spoke, Maya gazed at the computer screen,
her eyes focused on Khaled Husain. His features blurred, his green eyes floated and seemed to come to life, his gaze was piercing. She couldn't explain it but it was as if he was sending her a message, as if he knew her. Was he an enemy or a friend?

* * *

In her room Maya stood with her back against the door, twisting the silver and ruby ring Mum had given her for her fourteenth birthday.

Please Mum, don't be difficult. Do as they say, stay alive.

Going over to the window, she saw two police cars blocking off the bottom of the drive – she wasn't sure whether that made her feel safe or scared. The throbbing sound of a helicopter came close as it circled over the woods – more surveillance.

In the middle of the bed Maya's mobile phone winked accusingly. She picked it up, cursing again that she hadn't taken it along on the run. Scrolling down her list of contacts she tapped in Pam's number, but of course it was dead. Somehow it made her feel better to keep on trying, so she tapped on Pam's name over and over again, but
every time it failed to connect.

She threw the phone on the bed as the helicopter came clattering back. Through the window, she watched it swoop across the valley, circle the cottage and disappear over the hill. Her eyes scanned down to the woods. Simon had warned her to be careful, not to leave the house or even go outside. Was there still somebody out there? A worm of terror wriggled down her back.

Throwing herself on the bed she lay face down, drumming on the mattress with her feet. Flashing pictures invaded her mind and she heard a voice, Danny's voice, trying to save her, shouting the warning, ‘Keep Down! Down!' It was on repeat, bouncing and echoing round her brain. Rolling from side to side she hugged her knees; although it was hot and sunny outside she felt suddenly chilled. She touched her grazed cheek, her bloody lip, and shivered. Perhaps Simon had been right, perhaps the doctor should have come out to see her, but she didn't want tranquillisers, she wanted action.

Slipping under the duvet, she rubbed her arms, then started to bite at a fingernail poking out from the bandage. She hated herself. She'd done nothing to help Pam; she'd just stood there and watched them
take her away. The pictures came again in vivid detail. Her common sense told her she could have done nothing effective against five men with guns, but she couldn't stop picking at the scene. She was driving herself mad, she had to calm down.

Simon had told her there was nothing to do but wait. A special meeting of Viper had been called. The country was on Critical Alert. There were teams collecting evidence and when there was news, he'd let her know.

I have to be ready, I can't just lie here, Maya thought. If anything happens, I have to be ready to go.

Leaping out of bed, she darted across the room, reached into the back of a cupboard and pulled out a basket. Lifting it up she ran into the bathroom and locked the door. The basket was loaded with toiletries – Christmas presents never unwrapped. A tangle of citrus and flowers filled her nose as she opened the packages.

She gathered bottles and boxes into her arms, unwound the bandage from her hand and dashed into the shower. Stepping into the cascading water she soaped and lathered, shampooed and buffed and tried to put every negative thought out of her head.
There was still hope, they hadn't shot Pam. It would have been easy to do it there in the quiet lane, but they didn't, so that meant they wanted her alive.

In her room, she pulled underwear out of the drawer and was just about to put it on when she suddenly changed her mind. She rummaged underneath and found a lovely set of never-worn black lace underwear with scarlet flowers, a new Elle T-shirt and her best Miss Sixty jeans, all bought for her by Pam on their last shopping trip.

I love you Mum. Hang on, don't despair. We'll find you.

Towelling her hair dry, Maya smoothed in some oil and plugged in the hairdryer. When she flicked the switch, the TV came on as well. Pictures of a Palestinian school bus blasted by an Israeli missile filled the screen. There was a close-up of a child's shoe, a backpack and torn teddy bear. She couldn't stand it, and flicked channels to a morning chat show. A girl with blonde hair and big boobs – which she was proudly displaying in a very low-cut tight dress – was talking about how a stint on a reality TV show had given her enough money to re-model her body.

Maya couldn't bear that either. Flicking to another station, she gulped as a different face filled
the screen; someone with naturally blonde hair, lovely grey eyes and sweet freckles on her nose – her mum. She switched off the hairdryer.

We interrupt this programme with a newsflash.

News is just coming in that Pamela Brown, newly appointed Head of a government Counter Terrorism unit, has been seized by an armed gang.

Ms Brown was out running in a Derbyshire village when she was grabbed by masked gunmen. Special Forces agents fired back at the gang. A security agent was killed but Ms Brown's daughter escaped unharmed. Police are trying to trace a black jeep with red upholstery and tinted windows which is believed to be travelling south.

Maya clasped her hands as the camera zoomed in on the cottage and then showed the spot where Mum was abducted. She stared at the screen, her mouth open. The world had stopped.

Mum, where are you?

‘How're you feeling?' Simon asked, as Maya walked into the kitchen.

She couldn't answer. There were no words.

‘Oh, you've changed,' he said, glancing up from the wires he was connecting. ‘Good idea, fresh clothes. Your gran will be back in a minute. She's been keeping the neighbours at bay down on the lane.'

Maya nodded. ‘OK. Fine.'

The kitchen had been turned into a computer lab, nothing looked familiar any more; wires, aerials, monitors, hard drives and metal boxes cluttered the kitchen table.

‘Did you find anything else on Mum's laptop?' Maya asked, plonking herself down beside a monitor
that was screening a view of the front gate.

‘Yep. Useful stuff,' Simon answered. ‘I've got people working on it.'

Maya watched as he tested levers and switches. Was he really the whiz-kid Pam thought he was? She wanted to ask him if there was any news of the jeep, but his mobile went off and he disappeared into the hall, closing the door behind him.

Staring out at the garden, Maya saw the sun was still shining; the weather was beautiful. She leaned her aching head on her hands. It was torture, just sitting doing nothing, but she didn't seem to be able to move. On one of the monitors she saw TV news vans and reporters arriving at the bottom of the drive. The gate opened and a car came through. A few minutes later the car arrived on the back drive and Helen got out, followed by two agents.

‘Any news?' Helen asked as she came in.

Maya lifted her head. ‘No. A few phone calls, people offering to help, but there's nothing anybody can do at the moment.'

‘No, I suppose not,' Helen said.

‘Did the investigators find anything down at the lane?'

‘Tyre marks, spent cartridges. Hope they can
make something of it.'

Helen's body was stiff, her face tense and strained. Slowly she went over to the sink and washed her hands. Then, abruptly, she went into a flurry of activity, tidying the kitchen and making food. She asked Maya if she wanted a sandwich. Maya refused; she was too miserable to eat, and instead, she sat idly picking at the new bandage she'd wrapped round her hand.

The hall door opened and Simon walked in with a look of triumph on his face. ‘They've traced the jeep. It's at a farmhouse in Hertfordshire, just north of London. They think Pam's inside the building.'

Maya's heart leapt in hope.

‘I've ordered all units there,' Simon added.

‘Are we going in?' Olivia asked.

‘Not yet. We don't know what ammo they've got. We surround them, then we wait – try and psyche them out.'

Helen dropped the knife she was holding and started to shake. Maya went over to her. ‘It'll be all right, Gran, it'll be all right.'

She led Helen to a chair and sat her down. ‘They won't hurt Mum, will they?' she asked Simon, her eyes pleading.

Simon glanced at her, then averted his eyes. He didn't say anything and Maya knew he couldn't. Nobody knew what was going to happen.

‘Do you think the kidnappers will try and bargain?' she asked.

‘Possibly,' Simon answered. ‘But don't get too hopeful. Government policy is strictly no deals with terrorists.'

His words thumped into Maya as if he'd punched her. ‘What?' she demanded. ‘If we can't make a deal, how the hell is Mum going to be set free?'

Olivia looked up from the keyboard she was using. ‘We have a skilled negotiating team. They'll wear them down.'

‘And if that fails?' Helen asked.

‘Then we'll have to send in a team of firearms officers,' Olivia said.

‘You mean, blast the place apart?' Maya asked incredulously.

‘Let's hope it won't come to that,' Simon said.

‘You're not giving me much hope,' Maya said angrily. ‘The government won't bargain; the kidnappers might shoot her! But if Mum does survive, chances are she'll die in the rescue operation. Great!'

‘Maya!' Helen called but Maya didn't stop as
she ran out of the kitchen and up into the bathroom. Her legs were like straw, her stomach was in her throat. A wave of sickness overwhelmed her. Closing her eyes, she had an image of her mum tied up, her face scared in a way she'd never seen it before. She hung over the sink and splashed her face with cold water.

Breathing in quickly and sharply, she stared at herself in the mirror. She looked grim, her mouth puckered into a thin slash of crimson, lines etched on her forehead, a haunted look in her eyes – a dark ghost.

* * *

Pam moved her shoulders and neck, trying to ease the stiffness. She'd been sitting in the same position – ankles bound to the crude wooden chair, hands tied behind her back, mouth taped up – for what seemed like hours. Earlier, a woman had brought her a pair of long black trousers and an oversized black T-shirt that hung almost to her knees, so at least she wasn't cold, but every time she moved, the bindings bit into her ankles and wrists. How long would they leave her like this? What were they
going to do with her?

She listened intently to every sound and heard a car engine, the clang of metal, the scuffing of heavy sacks or boxes being pulled across the floor. Then footsteps rapped on the floorboards outside, the door opened and two people came into the room, – not the small, stocky man who'd seemed to be in charge, but a tall, thin man and a woman. The room was so dim that she could only see their outlines, but the tall thin man came towards her, put his hands on either side of her head then ripped the tape from her mouth.

‘Thank you,' Pam said, although her lips were stinging so much, it hurt to speak.

The man drew out a sharp knife. Pam gulped and shuddered as he bent down, his beard close to her face. For a moment she stared into his cold eyes, then he pushed her shoulders forward and leaned down to cut the binding from her hands.

Straightening her arms, she rubbed at her sore wrists. The woman, dressed in jeans, black T-shirt and black headscarf, set down a tray and offered Pam a plate of food. ‘Please eat,' she said.

Pam waved the food away – she wasn't hungry.

‘You must eat something. It might be a long
time before you get anything again,' the young woman said.

‘Why?' Pam asked.

‘You're going to be moved.'

‘Where are you taking me?' Pam asked.

‘That's none of your business,' the man butted in. He motioned towards the plate of food with his knife. ‘Eat,' he said.

Pam thought she'd better humour them, so, taking the plate, she placed it on her lap, spooned up a bit of rice and chewed. It was soggy and tasteless and made her feel sick.

‘I can't eat this,' she said.

The young woman leaned forward. ‘Two more spoonfuls,' she said, quite gently, as one would bargain with a child.

Obediently, Pam ate two more spoonfuls of the grey rice. Then she handed back the plate.

Immediately the tall bearded man waved a mobile phone at her. It was hers – the one they'd taken from her.

‘Before you leave here, you can phone your daughter. Tell her you're safe,' he said.

Pam had to clench her fists to stop herself from snatching the phone. She longed to hear Maya's voice,
and if she phoned the cottage they'd get a trace on the call. She reached for the phone, but before she could take it the man grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh.

‘Wait a moment,' he snapped. ‘You say only this. Read it!'

He pulled the phone away and held up a piece of paper scrawled with big letters.

‘I can't see it properly,' Pam said quietly.

‘Here.' The woman shone a torch onto the paper.

In a quivering voice Pam read the words aloud. ‘This is Pamela Brown. I'm not hurt or injured. If no attempt is made to find me and no suspects are rounded up, the Brotherhood will state their terms for my release. I repeat: do not try and find me. Do not arrest any Muslim brothers. We will contact you again in three days.'

As she finished reading, she was aware of the bearded man staring at her with hatred. ‘If you say anything else, add anything at all, your daughter will suffer.'