by Laura Scott
The email was from a David Jones, probably a fake account, and the link embedded in the message formed the phrase Freemustaforshewilldie.com.
Fear clawed its way up her chest, lodging in her throat. She didn’t dare blink as Jordan clicked on the link, connecting to the webcam.
The image wasn’t as clear as she would have liked, but she sucked in a ragged breath when she recognized Bryn’s faded blue jeans and yellow and blue Minion T-shirt. Her daughter’s face was partially covered with a blindfold, and there was a bruise darkening the corner of Bryn’s mouth.
Diana reached out, touching Bryn’s likeness on the screen as if that would reassure her that her daughter was still alive. She remembered what Jordan had said about a webcam being faked.
No, she refused to believe Bryn might already be dead.
Jordan’s phone rang, startlingly loud. Again, he punched the speaker button and hit record.
“Do you see your daughter, Jordan Rashid?” the mechanically distorted voice asked.
“Yes.” Jordan’s response was clear and strong. “I want to talk to her.”
Diana watched as a man with a hood over his face stepped into view. He held a phone near Bryn’s mouth. “Speak, infidel.”
“Mommy? Are you there?”
She was about to answer when Jordan quickly hit the mute button. “Wait. Tell me something that only Bryn knows.”
Diana thought quickly. “Her favorite animal is an elephant. She fell in love with the baby elephants when we visited the zoo.”
Jordan released the mute button. “Bryn? Can you hear me?”
“Y-yes. Where’s my mom?”
“She’s safe, don’t worry. Listen, Bryn, I want you to tell me your favorite animal.”
“Baby elephants,” the girl answered without hesitation.
Diana breathed a sigh of relief. She was about to speak, but once again, Jordan stopped her with a hard shake of his head. “Where did you see the elephants, Bryn?”
“At the Atlanta Zoo.”
Diana nodded, indicating that was correct. Not North Carolina, but Atlanta. Surely the kidnappers couldn’t know that level of detail.
“That’s good, Bryn. I want you to hang in there, okay? We’re going to do everything we can to get you home safe.”
“I’ll try,” Bryn said in a trembling voice. “I’ve been praying for God to help me.”
“Enough!” The hooded man took the phone away from Bryn, and she disappeared from view. “We have fulfilled our promise, Jordan Rashid. Now you must fulfill yours. Free Mustaf or the child dies.”
In an instant, the image vanished.
“No! Wait!” Sobs racked her body, and she clawed at the laptop computer screen. “I didn’t get to talk to her . . .”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Suddenly Jordan was gathering her into his arms, holding her close. “She’s alive, Diana. We’ll find her.”
Diana buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, her tears soaking his shirt.
Seeing Bryn should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. She wanted to touch her daughter, talk to her, reassure her.
If those monsters touched her baby girl—she couldn’t bear to finish the thought.
Her life wouldn’t be worth living if she lost Bryn.
* * *
September 9 – 3:11 p.m. – Washington, DC
Jordan had trouble ignoring how right it felt to hold Diana in his arms, as if the twelve years of being apart hadn’t happened. For a brief moment he thought about Shari, his deceased wife. Losing two women in his life had been agonizing.
Except Diana wasn’t lost, not anymore.
When her shaking sobs had subsided, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders, easing her away. “You need to stay strong. For Bryn’s sake.”
“I know.” She scrubbed her hands over her face, leaving dark smudges of makeup behind. “I just can’t stand the thought of them hurting her.”
“Don’t go there.” He knew what she meant—those same visions had haunted him from the moment he’d seen the first webcam image. “Did anything about the room look familiar to you?”
“What?” She frowned, then shook her head. “No. It could be anywhere.”
“I believe she’s being held somewhere close by, in or near DC,” he told her. “My former boss hired my firm to infiltrate a possible terrorist cell here in the city.”
“Terrorists?” The word caused the blood to drain from her face. “Oh, Jordan, what if they behead her like they have so many other American hostages?”
He kicked himself for putting that image in her head. Thanks to social media, the terrorists have been able to broadcast their horrific destruction for the entire world to see.
“They haven’t killed any children that way,” he pointed out.
“Yes, they have,” Diana swiftly argued. “They give them backpacks stuffed with bombs and send them into crowded places to die, taking as many innocent lives as possible along with them.”
The spark of anger was better than the tears any day, but he still changed tactics. “Yeah, I know, but this is different. They want something from us. From me. Bryn is safe for the next few days, until we can find a way to free Mustaf.”
Diana winced. “A terrorist for an eleven-year-old,” she muttered. “If Mustaf goes free, he’ll go back to killing people.”
Yeah, talk about a big problem. He had to be careful how he discussed this with the Bureau. There’s no way Yates would let Mustaf go free, not for Bryn.
Not for anything.
He wasn’t so sure he could stomach the thought either, so he needed to come up with a plan. Some other way to find Bryn.
Too bad he no idea where to start.
“Tell me more about this cell you’re supposed to infiltrate.” Diana’s expression was resolute. “Maybe I can work on that while you’re in Lebanon.”
No way. He managed to bite back the instant refusal before the words could leave his lips. “I’ve only had two meetings with my contact thus far. And even if you could manage such a feat, they’re not going to say anything important in front of a woman,” he said, falling back on sheer logic.
“Maybe not, but it’s better than sitting here doing nothing. Besides, the other women may talk to me, and I might learn something about where Bryn might be.”
He understood her need for action, to do something in hopes of finding her daughter. Their daughter.
If he accepted Diana’s story about being placed in witness protection, then it stood to reason that Bryn was in fact his daughter. He wanted to hear from Balcome himself to verify, but despite everything, he believed her. The knowledge of Bryn being his daughter was overwhelming, so he did his best to push it away. He needed to stay focused.
“These guys know that Bryn is our daughter, which means they also know what we look like. There’s no way either one of us will get close to their hideout.”
The thought of using some sort of disguise niggled the back of his mind. He’d risk it, but how could he manage that if he was stuck in Lebanon?
Not happening.
His phone rang again, and this time he recognized Sun’s number. “Rashid.”
“I’m less than five minutes away,” she announced.
“Thanks. I’ll fill you in when you get here.” Sun Yin was half Korean but had an affinity for all types of languages, including Arabic and Farsi. Sun was the newest employee of Security Specialists, Inc., and he knew he was fortunate that she’d accepted his job offer, broadening the base of their language skills, not to mention their ability to run covert operations.
Sun knocked sharply on his office door, beating her estimated arrival time by a full two minutes. She entered the room, her petite lithe frame concealing her strength and agility. She carried a black belt in karate, not to mention she was more than capable in other forms of martial arts. Her dark hair was cut bluntly at her chin, and her almond-shaped eyes held a keen intelligence. Not surprising since Sun belonged to the Mensa group while she w
as barely in her teens.
Sun wasn’t just smart, she was beyond brilliant.
“What’s going on?” she asked without hesitation.
Jordan gestured toward Diana. “This is Diana Phillips. Her daughter Bryn was kidnapped by Arabic-speaking men who are demanding Mustaf’s life in exchange for the child.”
Sun scowled. “That’s ridiculous. We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“Bryn is Jordan’s daughter too,” Diana interjected. “And let me assure you, I will do whatever is necessary to keep my daughter safe.”
Sun swung around to face him, her expression incredulous. “Is that true? The child is yours?”
“Yes.” Stating the word out loud erased the last bit of lingering doubt. Why would Diana lie about something so easily proved with a DNA test? She wouldn’t. The timing fit too. As did the information she’d told him, information that no one else could know. At this point, he was beginning to believe her story.
Sun turned to cast a speculative eye on Diana. The familiar stubborn jut of Diana’s chin as she returned the stare made him want to smile. “I see.”
He doubted it, but it was time to move on. “I’m not happy about freeing Mustaf either. We need to find Bryn, ASAP. I recorded each conversation with the kidnappers. I’m hoping you can find some clue I may have missed.”
Sun nodded. “Doubtful, but worth a shot.”
How pathetic that he didn’t have anything else to go on. With a little less than five hours before his flight left for Lebanon, he needed to create some sort of game plan.
The office went quiet as Sun replayed the messages he’d received from Bryn’s kidnappers. She listened to them over and over until he wanted to smash something, then she turned it off.
“The mechanical voice made it difficult to hear the accent, but at one point the guy with the hood on used a specific derogatory word for women that told me he’s definitely from Syria.”
Not good news or surprising for that matter. Of course, the Syrians wanted to free Mustaf. “Anything else?”
“I heard some sort of foghorn in the background.” Sun looked at them and shrugged. “I know that doesn’t help much, but she’s being held somewhere near the water.”
He latched onto the clue like a drowning man clung to a life preserver. “That’s a great start, it means they’re somewhere near the ocean. I’ll start pulling information on property holders along the coast, focusing on shipping and storage areas.”
“The coast of which states?” Diana demanded.
Good point. “Maryland and Virginia for starters,” he said, returning to the computer. “We can broaden our search if need be, but I still think they’re close to DC.”
“Why?” Sun asked. “They could be overseas for all we know.”
“Because I’m here,” Jordan said, pulling up the information he needed. “Since they chose me to be the one to free Mustaf, they obviously knew where and how to find me.”
His phone rang, and he pounced on it, automatically pushing the buttons to both record the call and place it on speaker. “Rashid.”
“I hear you need to talk to me.” The voice belonged to Clarence Yates, the Deputy Director of the FBI. “What’s going on?”
Jordan didn’t dare glance at either Sun or Diana. “Thank you for returning my call. I need some intel before I go off-grid to infiltrate the cell.”
“Yeah, like what?” Yates asked.
“I understand you’ve recently arrested Ahmed Mustaf.”
Silence. Jordan’s mouth went dry as he waited for Yates to confirm or deny the fact. He wanted to ask about Balcome, but Mustaf was his main priority at the moment.
After what seemed like forever, Yates responded, “Yes, but that’s classified information! How did you hear about it?”
“Sir, I need you to trust me on this.” Jordan didn’t like lying to the man who’d saved his and Sloan’s hides just a few months ago as they managed to bring down a terrorist attack on POTUS along with thousands of other civilians. “When did you capture him?”
“A little over forty-eight hours ago.”
Knowing that Bryn had been kidnapped a day after Mustaf’s capture made his head spin. “And he’s being held in Camp Bucca?”
“Not for long, he’s being transferred here to the US within the next twenty-four hours. The president demanded we bring him here to be interrogated. Why? What’s going on, Rashid?”
“Nothing, sir, there’s been some chatter, that’s all, and I need information in order to infiltrate the cell.” Jordan’s gaze clashed with Diana’s, mirroring the same sense of horror. Mustaf was being brought to the US? Obviously that information hadn’t reached Bryn’s kidnappers. And what would they do once they learned the truth? Especially since he had no way of reaching out to communicate with them.
One thing was for sure, he couldn’t leave for Lebanon. Not with this latest twist. Having Mustaf brought here to US soil would make his job easier, if he actually went through with freeing the murderous terrorist slimebag.
But he didn’t like the idea of deviating from the kidnappers’ demands. What would happen once they found out he didn’t take the flight to Lebanon?
His gut clenched, fearing Bryn would pay the price for the abrupt change in plans.
Chapter Three
September 9 – 4:12 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
Meira straightened, placing a hand in the small of her aching back. Thankfully, the burka she wore helped keep her secret safe.
But for how much longer? Four months? Less? She couldn’t bear to think about the consequences.
These men only viewed her as a caregiver for the child, which was good for her safety. But each day she feared one of them may decide to claim her for his own, to be one of his many wives.
Or worse, to use her, then toss her aside. Only they wouldn’t get to the point of using her when they saw the evidence of her condition. And she very much feared they would kill her, cutting the baby from her abdomen in the blink of an eye.
We can escape.
The child’s words echoed over and over in her mind. The temptation was difficult to ignore, despite the guards posted outside the door. The child didn’t realize that Meira was as much of a prisoner as she was. That she’d been taken from her home and brought here without consent.
Without these men knowing of the baby she carried in her womb.
And where was Elam? He’d promised to return, but days had passed without any sign of him. Her husband claimed he was doing good works, but now she couldn’t help but wonder. Was he like these men here, willing to do whatever was necessary to make their point for all the world to see? Or had he been discovered and arrested? Or worse, killed?
Either way, Elam had left her vulnerable and alone when these men had come to claim her.
“Meira?” Bryn’s frightened voice brought her back to her senses. Elam wasn’t coming to her rescue any more than the child’s father was.
They were on their own.
“I am here,” she assured the girl. “What do you need?”
“I have’ta go to the bathroom.”
Meira nodded, untying her hands and then helping Bryn to stand. The girl was growing weak, maybe from a combination of thirst and exhaustion. The guards barely provided enough food for one person to survive, much less two.
Or in her case, two and a half.
The bucket in the corner smelled awful, causing nausea to swirl in her belly, but Bryn didn’t say anything as she crouched over the opening to relieve herself.
When Bryn had finished, Meira returned her to the chair.
“Could I lie down for a while?” Bryn asked in a hoarse whisper.
A bare mattress was located on the floor, in the opposite corner of the bucket. “Yes. Come.”
Bryn stumbled, leaning heavily on Meira as they made their way across the room. When Bryn’s foot touched the mattress, she sank to her knees. “Have you thought about what I said?” she asked in a breathy voice.
Meira didn’t want to admit that she’d thought of little else. There was no sense in raising this child’s hopes. They were overpowered, two strong men compared to a pregnant woman and a child. They had guns. All Meira had managed to hide was a carefully honed plastic spoon. The last line of defense if one of the men tried to take her against her will. A defiant stroke that she knew full well would end in her immediate death.
And likely that of her unborn child.
“There is no way to escape,” she told Bryn. “The door is guarded by a man with a gun. I have seen two men, but there could be others.”
“So what?” Bryn’s voice was fainter now, as if she were struggling to stay awake. “We can lure him in, hit him over the head, take his gun, shoot the bad guys, and run far, far away . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Meira crouched beside the mattress for a moment, lightly stroking Bryn’s arm until the young girl’s muscles relaxed in sleep.
Lure the guard into the room? Hit him over the head? Take his gun?
Escape?
She placed a protective hand over her slightly rounded abdomen.
Was she crazy to dream of such a thing?
* * *
September 9 – 4:31 p.m. – Washington, DC
Diana rubbed her hands over her arms in a vain attempt to warm herself. Ahmed Mustaf was being transported to the United States. That had to be a good thing, right?
So why did she feel like throwing up?
“There are too many possibilities to check out,” Sun protested, watching as Jordan worked the keyboard. “Where do we even start?”
“There are a lot, but look at these two.” Jordan stabbed his index finger against the screen. “They are both owned by what look like shell corporations.”
A flash of hope warmed Diana’s soul. Maybe, just maybe they’d find Bryn. “Sounds good to me.”
Jordan scribbled something on a slip of paper and handed it to Sun. “They’re both in Baltimore. You take this one, I’ll head to the other. Call me if you find anything unusual.”
Sun nodded, tucking the scrap of paper into the pocket of her jeans. “Keep in touch, Jordan.”
