Circle of Fire (11 page)

‘You have put our organisation at risk,' Omar told him. ‘You are either a fool or a traitor. We'll see.'

Omar nodded, and another bearded man in a long grey robe stepped forward and pointed to Maya's jeans pocket.

‘Phone,' he said.

Reluctantly Maya handed over her mobile.

‘And one more thing,' Omar said. His face came close to hers, she smelt a faint waft of stale sweat. He was no taller than Maya. His dark bushy eyebrows, the wiry hair of his beard, the pink wetness of his mouth filled her vision. He reached down, took her wounded hand, held it up and examined the bandage.

‘Oh dear. We must get you a clean one,' he said. Then letting go of one hand, he took the other in a tighter grip, his fingers pinching her ring. ‘I need something, a little trinket. Hm. . .This will do.'

Maya tried to snatch her hand away but he held it firmly.

‘If you don't give me the ring I'll take something else – a finger, perhaps.'

His soft tone didn't change, but Maya saw that his face was hard as stone. Her fingers stiffened as he pulled off her ruby ring and put it in his pocket.

With an imperious wave of his hand, he snapped out orders. ‘Come, leave her,' he said. ‘We have more important things to attend to.' Then his tone turned to ice as he spoke to Khaled. ‘You stay with me. I'll deal with you after the meeting.'

When they had gone Maya closed her eyes, her fingers touching the place where her ring had been. She rocked and swayed, her mind replaying the last few minutes – padding down the stairs, nervous, hopeful, then that voice hitting her like a slap of cold water, singing out her name.

It had been a trap, Maya realised. Omar had been waiting for her, but how did he know she'd go down to the cellar? Did Khaled betray her? No, he'd tried to save her. She remembered the look Nazim had given her in the yard, his mouth twisted by a cruel smile, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He knew she'd follow him.

She rubbed at her neck, sore from rough hands; her arms hurt, too, where fingers had dug into her flesh. Anger smouldered in her like a slow fuse until she exploded into action. She dashed across the room, belted up the stairs and pulled at the door. Of course, it was locked. With clenched fists she hammered and yelled. There was no response.

Sadly she turned away and went back down the stairs, then prowled around looking for a way to escape. There were no windows or doors, just blank brick walls. How was she going to get out? Slumping down on the floor, despair came over her like a giant net.

The cold of the concrete floor seeped into her bones and she sat shivering in her thin T-shirt and jacket. What an idiot she'd been to think she could act like a secret agent – she was crazy. But, she asked herself, was it any wonder? What other girls lived with kidnapping threats, had their every movement monitored by security officers, had their mother seized by terrorists? Of course she was crazy, crazy enough to risk everything.

She thought about what Lubna had told her – the Qur'an teaches that nothing is random, everything is God's will.

Well, for the moment she had no choice, she had to accept her fate. All she could do was sit and wait to see what happened. Perhaps Simon would trace her phone message. Perhaps Khaled would sneak in and release her.

She pulled up her knees and hugged herself against the cold. She wouldn't think, she wouldn't
allow herself to remember. But the walls began to close in on her, pictures shadowed the dim corners, long-forgotten memories stirred.

It had been dark in that cellar, dark and cold. Day after day she'd had to stay quiet and still. Every time her father left, her mother grew anxious, watching and waiting for him to return. Sometimes there was gunfire, sometimes screams. Her mother would sing softly – a half-remembered song came into her head, words of a language she had tried to forget. And then, with a shock, she remembered her mother's eyes – they were green, the same colour as Khaled's. She couldn't picture the rest of the face – the details were buried, blanked out – her father, her two brothers. She had no recollection of them. For so long she had locked away the past, feeling guilty that she'd survived.

Pressing her lips together she breathed noisily, sucking in and out, refusing to cry. It wasn't the right time to remember. Later, perhaps, when all this was over, but she had to deal with the present – she had to escape. Jumping to her feet, she stretched her limbs and started exploring the room again.

The furniture was jammed together; a table against one wall, chairs at each end, a desk with papers
spread upon it. Receipts, bills, the same leaflets she'd seen upstairs and beneath them, a newspaper with a big advertisement circled in red ink.

Omar's Carpet and Antiquities Warehouse

Massive Clearance

Carpets and rugs at Trade Prices

48 Queen's Road

Saturday July 7
^th

The word CANCELLED had been stamped across the advert.

Underneath the newspaper Maya saw corners of a photograph sticking out. Lifting the paper, her stomach tightened – they were photos of Pam. Some had been copied from newspapers and enlarged, some looked as if they'd been snapped secretly by a surveillance camera – Pam walking into MI5 HQ, Pam driving her car. Then she uncovered a photo of the cottage and one of herself and Pam running through the wood. It was painful. Her mind exploded: she was back on that path, caught in mid-stride, the smell of the wild garlic around her, the warmth of the sun on her face and Pam right next to her.

She shook her head. She had to focus, to stay
in control. There were two possible ways out of the cellar – she'd find a way to open the door, or persuade someone to help her. How long would Omar keep her prisoner? What did he plan to do with her? She tore at her fingernails with her teeth.

Damn! If only she hadn't been so stupid. If she'd let Helen or Simon know what she was doing, then she might have back-up. But she hadn't thought things through. She'd come unprepared and was now a prisoner, just like her mum.

She walked over to the stairwell, her mind a flickering horror film – hostages shot, beheaded. Would it hurt? Would she die instantly? She kicked at the wall. She wouldn't give in to such sick thoughts.

Looking up the stairs she saw the red door at the top. If she could find some sort of tool, then maybe she could work on the lock. Turning round, she went back into the room and over to the desk. She opened all the drawers, but there was nothing in them apart from a few tea bags and rolls of duct tape. In a small pot on top of the desk she found paper clips, and was in the process of straightening one out to see if she could pick the lock, when the outside door rattled and footsteps rapped down the stairs. Her neck went icy cold, she stiffened with fear, but it wasn't Omar or
any of his heavies – it was Lubna carrying a tray.

‘I've brought you some water,' she whispered.

‘I don't want water. I want to get out. Will you help me?' Maya asked.

‘Shush!' Lubna warned. ‘I'm not even supposed to speak to you.'

Maya's eyes were steely. ‘Do you have a key?'

‘No. One of Omar's men unlocked the door. He's waiting for me upstairs.'

‘You can't leave me down here,' Maya pleaded.

Lubna put a finger to her lips. ‘Quiet! They'll hear you.' Setting the tray down on the table, she turned and headed for the stairs.

Maya followed, grabbing at her hand. ‘Please Lubna, you don't understand. Omar's got my mum, he'll kill her, he'll kill both of us.'

Lubna glanced anxiously over her shoulder, then drew herself up and said calmly, ‘Praise be to Allah, who sees all things and will take care of you.'

Maya clasped her hand. ‘Omar's wicked,' she said urgently. ‘He's planning to plant bombs, kill thousands of people.'

Lubna tried to shake her off. ‘I don't believe you.'

‘Ask Khaled. He'll tell you. Why do you think
they captured my mum?'

‘I don't know. It's not my place to ask. She must be an enemy.'

‘I'll tell you why. It's because my mum knows about the plot. She was trying to stop the bombing.'

Lubna looked panic-stricken. ‘Let go,' she said, pushing Maya away. ‘Stop this, or they'll come for you.'

‘You're just frightened for yourself.'

Lubna stared at Maya, then she took a deep breath. ‘I'm not afraid,' she said firmly. ‘I must be true to my faith.'

Maya let go of her hand. ‘I pity you,' she said. ‘You're not free to think for yourself – to know evil.'

Lubna reeled as if she'd been slapped, then took flight up the stairs. Maya watched her go.

When she was about halfway up, she paused and whispered something over her shoulder. It sounded like, ‘Peace be with you.'

Pam rubbed her arms and shoulders. They were stiff and sore from the long journey she'd made, crammed in the boot of a car. It had been horribly bumpy. Her head was aching, her nose still full of noxious fumes. When they'd driven away from the farmhouse she'd tried to follow the route, tracking north, east and west, but eventually she'd given up – there were too many twists and turns and she felt sick.

Before she was taken out of the boot she was blindfolded again, but this time the scarf wasn't tied as tightly, and under the bottom of the material she saw a smooth tarmac yard, the wheel arch of a silver car close by, and then the huge granite base stones of an old building, possibly a factory or a mill. When they marched her forwards she heard some doors rolling
back as if they'd arrived at a garage or warehouse. Her arm was held in a firm grip until the doors closed behind her.

‘You were told to wait till dark,' an angry voice barked.

The man holding Pam replied, ‘They were closing in on us. We had to get her out before we were surrounded.'

‘Omar's not here yet. Put her in the room.'

It was a short walk from the big, echoing empty space into a narrow corridor. A door was opened and Pam was pushed inside. She stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. The door was firmly locked behind her and she had a strong feeling that this was where she was meant to be; she'd arrived at her destination, whatever the gang had in mind for her, this was where it would happen. She was filled with dread.

Exhausted, she sank down on the cold floor and tried to keep her mind from despairing. If Simon and his team had fallen for the terrorists' decoy, if they thought she was in the farmhouse, they'd play a waiting game, and that waiting could cost her her life. But if Maya had understood the clue about the moon and passed it on, there was hope.

The door of her cell opened. A soft footstep sounded. A hand touched her hair and untied the blindfold. She got to her knees and looked around.

She was in a small room with bare stone walls. To her right was a camp bed covered with rough grey blankets; on the back wall was a small, high window and underneath it two simple wooden chairs. Looking up, she saw a pretty young woman with dark glowing eyes. A few strands of hair had escaped from under her headscarf, her expression was serious.

‘Who are you?' Pam asked her.

‘My name is not important. I'm here to look after you.'

‘Will you untie my hands? The rope's cutting into my wrists.'

‘I have no authority to do that.'

The door opened and a bearded man in a grey, shiny suit entered.

‘Sit down, please,' he said, gesturing to a chair.

Pam got to her feet, moved over to the chair and sat down. The man placed a chair in front of her, sitting opposite, his knees nearly touching hers.

‘My name is Omar,' he said. ‘Perhaps you've heard of me?'

Pam sat erect and gazed directly into his face. She shook her head. ‘No, I don't think so.'

He laughed. ‘And I think you're lying,' he said. ‘A surveillance team has been watching our bookshop for some weeks now. I wonder who sent them. Anyway, no matter. I have some news for you. Your daughter's missing. Police are hunting for her.'

An icy hand gripped Pam's throat, her body went rigid, but she made her face stay blank and expressionless.

The man smiled. ‘Ah, so that doesn't concern you? I was wondering why she'd leave such a comfortable country home. I wondered if perhaps she's looking for her mother.'

Pam remained silent, tight-lipped.

‘Unfortunately,' he continued, ‘I think you gave her an important clue. You told her to look for the moon, which led her to the Red Moon bookshop.'

His hooded eyes were like a hawk's, missing nothing. He saw Pam take in a short gasp of breath, bite her bottom lip, noted the slight tremble of her chin. He sat back on his chair, still smiling, looking relaxed, then he nodded and gave a throaty chuckle. His hand reached into his pocket, he stuck his fist in front of Pam's face, then his fingers opened slowly – there
in his palm was Maya's ring, the ruby sparkling like a jewel of blood.

For a moment Pam was mesmerised, then she cried out and lunged forward, wanting to snatch the ring. But her hands were tied and all she could do was slice at the air as Omar got up and moved away.

Perilously close to tears, Pam squeezed her eyes tight shut, then opened them to glare at Omar. ‘What have you done with my daughter?' she demanded.

He sniffed and cleared his throat. ‘Don't worry, I have daughters of my own. She'll be well looked after.'

‘Please don't hurt her,' Pam breathed.

Omar pouted and his mouth made a little popping sound. ‘If you want to see her alive again, you'll do as I say.'

‘What? What can I do?' Pam whispered.

‘First you'll tell us who's been feeding you information. Then you will issue a statement which we will broadcast. After your colleagues have heard it, I doubt they'll want you back.'