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  “It means we carry on.”

  Godley seemed taken aback by Russo’s stoic determination.

  “But by now they would have discovered our Cambridgeshire cell.” His voice had descended to a mutter, and he picked subconsciously at a piece of rough skin alongside his fingernail.

  “So? Let them know,” replied Russo. “They’re helpless. Impotent. Let them rant and rave in their secret little meetings. It makes no difference. We will always be stronger.”

  The persuasive, powerful tone of Russo forced Godley to nod. His head bobbed up and down in swift agreement.

  “Yes, yes. But what about Sam Noor? He’s getting to be quite a problem.”

  Russo sneered. “That won’t be a situation that will remain. Believe me.”

  Hearing this, Godley smiled and lifted his glass. In parallel, Russo did the same.

  “For the glory of Al Nadir!” said Russo, and Godley tilted his head in honor of the world’s most sadistic terrorists.

  Chapter 10

  Patsy came around into a solid shield of utter darkness. She tried to orientate herself. The drug they’d given her had knocked her senses. She couldn’t see anything. A blindfold still remained tied tight around her head. In the faint distance, she could hear screams.

  Bile rose to her throat as she focused long enough to realize the frantic screams were from her own daughter.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Patsy tried to stand, to get to her daughter, but firm hands held her back.

  “Zoe!” yelled Patsy, struggling against the hands holding her down.

  “Mum, they’re-” cried out Zoe.

  Then Patsy heard a whack and a dull thud.

  “Leave her alone, you bastards!” shouted Patsy.

  But she dropped down as a force of iron smashed into her face.

  “No. No!” yelled Zoe.

  On the floor, Patsy listened to her daughter and her heart pounded.

  “Darling, it’s going to be ok,” slurred Patsy, trying to stay calm. Her face felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. Her cheek burned with a thudding pain, and her jaw felt loose like had been dislocated. She tasted coppery blood in her mouth.

  “It’s gonna be ok, alright,” said the captor. His voice was thick like molasses and just as dark. “With a bitch like this, we’ll all be ok.”

  Patsy heard rustling and the ripping of clothes, and Zoe screamed, “Get off me.”

  “Lovely!” said another captor, his voice higher pitched and spiteful. He started to laugh. Others joined in.

  Anger cancelled out fear and Patsy’s mother’s need to protect rose. Her adrenalin powered up. She pushed hard against her captor then heaved herself to her feet. Still unable to see, but focusing on the sound of her captors, Patsy bent her head down and charged with all her strength like a bull in a ring.

  “Leave her alone,” screamed Patsy, sounding like a mad banshee.

  “What the…”

  Patsy heard a loud crash and a third man’s voice, tough like a Bronx brawler, howled out, “Crazy fucking bitch. That’s my ankle fucked. Get her!”

  Hands snatched at her and dragged her along the floor, pulling her by the hair and tearing it from her skull.

  Zoe’s screams increased. “Please. Please, don’t.”

  “Silence that bitch,” said the spiteful voice.

  Patsy heard a hefty slap against soft flesh. She twisted and tugged, trying to break free from her captors. They yanked her by the hair and pulled her up to stand. A hand touched her cheek. Sensing it close, Patsy snatched with her teeth, attempting to bite at the fingers that grazed across her skin.

  “Feisty mother!” said the molasses voice, and pain shot through Patsy’s face. She thought her cheek had been sliced open. Nausea washed through her and she sensed blood on her cheek near her eye. Heavy hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her down. She landed on a soft cushion that she realized was a sofa.

  She couldn’t hear Zoe anymore and Pete hadn’t spoken.

  “Zoe? Peter!”

  “Shut it, bitch,” shouted the Bronx brawler.

  Another flash of blinding pain, and Patsy fell against the cushion. She hadn’t heard from her children.

  “Where are they? What have you done with them? I’ll kill you if you’ve hurt them.”

  Laughing met her pleas. “Yeah. Kill me. Right!” Molasses voice rang out with incredulity.

  Patsy heard a whimpering and heavy crying.

  “Zoe?”

  The crying closed in on Patsy. The cushion beside her took a weight and she knew her daughter had been pushed down next to her. Patsy turned.

  “Zoe,” Patsy whispered slowly. “Are you ok?”

  “Yeah. Yeah…” answered Zoe, suppressing a sob. Her voice was small and shaking, “I’m…I’m ok.”

  Patsy’s gut twisted. She recognized the truth within Zoe’s sobs.

  “Bastards!” Patsy screamed, launching herself off the sofa at the voices still laughing cruelly. She collided with something and smashed to the ground amidst more mocking jeers.

  “Sit the fuck down, you crazy whore!” said Bronx brawler. His voice was getting rougher.

  Savage hands pulled her back and she fell down onto the sofa.

  “Mum!”

  Peter’s voice rang out. Momentary relief surfaced in Patsy.

  “Peter.” Patsy turned back and forth trying to center in on the sound of her son’s voice.

  “I’m here, Mum. Next to Zoe.”

  Patsy could hear her son. Eight-year-old Peter had pushed a commanding tone into his voice. He’d tried to sound grown up. Patsy had drilled in him to always stay strong. That upbringing came through with the courage he now displayed. Patsy felt proud of her son’s mettle in the face of such a horrendous situation.

  “Are you hurt?” asked Patsy, forcing herself to dial down the panic that threatened to take her over.

  “No. I’m ok.”

  “Can you see?”

  “No. I’m blindfolded. Can you, Mum?”

  “No. Zoe, darling, can you see?”

  Zoe held down a sob as she answered, “No, Mum. They blindfolded me before…before…they…”

  “Hush, baby. It’s ok.”

  Patsy purposely interrupted her daughter. She didn’t want her to reveal any more in front of young Peter. Zoe moved in to be close to her mother, sniveling, and gently wept.

  Patsy’s heart crushed.

  “Are they still here? I don’t hear them.”

  A force belted Peter in the face and he lunged against Zoe who yelped, terrified.

  “Oh, yeah! We’re still here. Not going anywhere soon,” said the molasses voice with a smile in his tone.

  “They hit Pete,” called out Zoe, heaving heavier sobs that forced her body to rise and fall against Patsy.

  “Leave my children alone,” screamed Patsy.

  “Leave my children alone,” repeated the spiteful voice in a falsetto tone.

  “You, sit. And can your yapping. You don’t make the orders. We do. And we can do anything we fucking please.”

  Patsy realized that molasses voice man spoke the truth. She just wanted him to tell her what they wanted. Then, maybe, their nightmare would end.

  Chapter 11

  Godley watched as Russo slipped out of the door. He was by far the tallest man he had ever seen. Although, given his own diminutive state, most men were taller than him. That’s why he found great comfort in his allegiance to Al Nadir.

  That’s why he’d joined them; they made him feel tall. Each meeting he had with Russo made him feel that much taller. Of course, mused Godley, as the door closed quietly, access to money and power was also a major attraction. He wouldn’t have been with Al Nadir otherwise. They had approached him. Naturally, his position in government afforded him considerable opportunity to help their operation, and they had seen that he was well rewarded, both financially and in-kind.

  The in-kind assistance was often more beneficial. Godley recalled a re
cent case. He’d been hounded for his nocturnal activities by slimy politicos and heat-seeking journos. The situation had been intolerable, and he requested for his friends in Al Nadir to handle it. They wasted no time in nipping that problem in the bud.

  He leaned back and rested his head on the wing of the high-backed armchair then sipped slowly at the single malt in his hand. Al Nadir had solved all his problems, bar one: Sam Noor.

  What had Russo said? “That won’t be a situation that will remain.”

  Godley knew, with or without Russo’s help, he was going to change that situation. He couldn’t risk Sam Noor finding out about his relationship with Al Nadir.

  Chapter 12

  The room had been silent for a while.

  All Patsy could hear was breathing, her own and her children’s. Zoe had gone very still, and Patsy knew she must be in some form of shock. She could feel her daughter’s body shaking next to her. She wanted to kill them. If she’d had a gun, she would shoot them. No question. These men were worse than animals. A life sentence was too good for them. The only justice they deserved was a bullet, and she dearly wished she could pull the trigger.

  The man with the molasses voice slipped in close. Patsy heard the action slide back on a gun. She knew the sound instantly. Throughout her childhood, that sound had reverberated around her.

  “What do you want?” asked Patsy, trembling. “For God’s sake. Tell me what you want.”

  The cold muzzle of the gun pressed against her temple. Patsy swallowed.

  “Mum,” cried Zoe, hearing the sound of the gun. She huddled close to Patsy. Peter cuddled closer into his sister.

  “It’s ok, baby.”

  Patsy wanted to put her arms around her children. She wanted to encase them in her loving protection.

  But she couldn’t.

  Tears welled within her and started to flow, soaking the blindfold.

  Peter hadn’t said anything and his silence worried Patsy.

  “Pete?”

  “Yeah, Mum.”

  Pete’s voice was but a whisper and she could hear within his address that he’d been crying without a sound. He was frightened. But he’d still kept his stoic front and remained brave for her sake and his sister’s.

  “Ok, boys and girls, say hello to Daddy. Patsy, smile for your husband, sweetheart.” The man with the molasses voice laughed. “This is your family. If you want them returned to you, alive and unharmed, you do exactly what I tell you.”

  “Ok.” Patsy heard the deadpan timbre of her husband. “Tell me.” She detected a slight warble at the end of his short instruction, but she knew her husband and knew he’d try to remain calm.

  Molasses voice gave the information to her husband. He added finally, “Involve the police or fail to turn up…”

  A volley of shots rang out, and Patsy, Zoe and Peter, unable to see who was being fired at, fearing the worst, all screamed in unison.

  “No!” cried out her husband, and Patsy’s heart tightened..

  “Those were test shots at the floor,” returned the molasses voice. “Fail me, and the next ones will be at Zoe’s head.”

  “I’ll get it. I’ll get you anything. Just don’t harm my family.”

  Patsy could hear the calmness in her husband vanish. He was frantic. Willing to do anything to keep his family safe.

  “I know you will. Until tomorrow.”

  Molasses voice sidled up to Patsy. “You’re not a bad looking broad. Not quite like your daughter but…”

  Patsy heard salacious sniggers to the left of her and her stomach flipped. She pushed back the feeling and tried to concentrate on escape. She’d counted two men. Plus molasses voice. Three in total. That wasn’t an army by a long shot. She’d already wounded one. If she could move the blindfold down, she’d have a chance.

  She started to blink hard, causing herself to frown, and moved her shoulder up to try and nudge the blindfold.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” snapped spiteful voiced man, who moved close to her.

  Her captor snatched her arm and other hands gripped the blindfold ends, untying it for a second and then tightening with vise-like viciousness. Only absolute darkness was her view.

  Molasses voiced man lent in. His breath touched her cheek. He smelt of stale nicotine and beer. Patsy squirmed and flicked her head away. She felt a hand grasp her chin, pressing into her skin, forcing her to face him.

  A finger drew down her face, her neck and onto her chest.

  “But you’re good enough to pass the time.”

  Chapter 13

  The hours fell away, and Sam’s arms encased around Ellie like ancient lovers cast in stone. Their legs entwined. Ellie woke and sighed gently. Sam stirred. Lazily, he kissed her hair.

  Ellie snuffled amongst the hairs on his chest, exhausted but blissfully happy. The television illuminated the dark lounge, flickering the last scenes of a horror film. Ellie reached over for the remote and switched it to MTV. The heavy bass of club music filled the apartment.

  Wired from sex, bursting with party energy and craving more, Ellie jumped up, out of Sam’s arms, and started to dance. As Ellie moved, Sam’s leg, which had been on top of hers, fell off the sofa. His foot touched the cold marble floor and the sensation sparked Sam’s nerves. He woke with a start.

  And saw a vision. An incarnation of a male fantasy.

  A glorious goddess danced completely naked in front of him.

  Her sylphlike but strong body moved in perfect time to the thudding club beat. Hypnotized by her swaying, sultry moves, he lifted off the sofa. Still dancing, Ellie opened her arms wide and flicked her fingers, beckoning Sam to join her.

  He felt the rhythm and moved with it into Ellie’s arms. His naked body closed in against her and his hands fell instinctively downwards, gripping her hips tight. Ellie writhed against him. Sam closed his eyes, trembling. Ellie’s private dancing and the throbbing beat stirred him. Frantically, he pushed Ellie down onto the Qum silk rug. She laughed. He laughed too.

  “You sexy little minx!” said Sam, kissing her face, her lips, her neck. All over her body.

  They made love fast and hard, their bodies fusing as one. Sam rolled over and fell on his back gasping. Ellie traced his hard stomach muscles with her finger, gradually moving down.

  “Oh, God! That was wonderful,” Ellie whispered, kissing his stomach. “I think you’ve just about made up for your absence. Just don’t go away again too soon!”

  Hearing Ellie’s words, Sam pulled up and turned away, his face shadowed with guilt.

  “I’ve got to work tomorrow. I don’t want to leave you. But you know I can’t let the government down.”

  “The government! They get more of you than I do,” Ellie snapped.

  He looked back at Ellie. A scowl was fixed on her beautiful face. It was his duty to remove that expression.

  “I wouldn’t say that, would you?” said Sam softly, and his chocolate brown eyes twinkled seductively. He pulled Ellie back into his arms, lifted her up and carried her over to their bedroom.

  Laying Ellie down, Sam heard her mumble a begrudging, “No.”

  Sam rewarded her affirmation with delights that replaced her scowl with a beaming smile.

  Chapter 14

  Ellie gasped. Vise-tight and squeezing hard, massive hands closed around her throat. Her mouth opened and closed as she took great gulps like a guppy fish sucking greedily at food. She snatched any oxygen she could, but his crushing fingers squeezed faster than she could grab air. Her throat burned raw. Scorched by lack of air, her lungs took flame.

  I’m dying.

  Ellie bricked up the thought. She relegated it to an impenetrable fortress for the weak of spirit. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her eyes closed. She wasn’t going to submit to this stranger who wanted to take her life.

  Suddenly, she thought of Sam. His face filled her mind, along with memories across the years, and his warm, gentle enveloping of love. A comfort of softness. His touch. Her husband. Her Sam. A love o
f such power, it coursed through her veins. A love that was embedded in her cells.

  A love for which there could be no surrender to the death that called now.

  Ellie’s mind focused. Sam’s eyes, which had seen so much, sparkled so brightly in her mind. A thought blasted into Ellie. Was she to leave those eyes forever, never to see them again? It shattered her to pieces. Then, somehow, the power within her surged, and she scooped those shattered pieces together as one again.

  Clarity built. Panic vanished.

  But still, the stranger’s hands pressed ruthlessly down on her throat. Signals seared deep into her brain.

  It wasn’t going to end here. Not like this.

  Silver shone in her peripheral vision, caught in the glare of car headlights outside. She wrenched her head to the side. Her gun. It still sat to the right of her, where it had fallen. If only she could reach out, maybe, just maybe, she could grab it.

  Ellie stretched her right arm and ignored the volcano erupting in her chest. Fingertips touched cold metal. So close. She stretched farther, her fingers taut as bones pushed hard against her skin. Almost there. The gun was in her grasp.

  She lunged. He tightened.

  Ellie inhaled but no air came, only overwhelming pain. She pitched forward and carried on dropping, caught in a flat spin that seemed never-ending…

  Ellie woke.

  She breathed hard and fast. The stranger’s hands still imprinted upon her skin. Their heaviness was a visceral pain even out of slumber. They caused a crushing, burning ache. A furnace raging inside her lungs. Ellie swallowed. Muscles seized in her throat. She gagged. Her saliva was poison. It burned, turning her mouth arid and raw.

  The silk duvet was wrapped cling-film tight around her. Ellie pushed at the hot, claustrophobic beddings. She needed air. She needed space. She stood. Shaky disorientation hit her. It was like her brain had been starved of oxygen. But how? She knew not what it meant, only that it happened. The floor beneath her slipped away and Ellie slid with it, colliding with the wall. She clung against it, which now provided support not only for the building but for her own frightened frame. Ellie gasped, inhaled and exhaled at length. Each breath was a luxury to be treasured.