by S. M. Hall
The sleek silver Mercedes parked in a gateway was a surprise, hidden from view until they were almost in front of it.
Pam, breathing hard to keep up, didn’t notice the driver leaning back against the field gate, a mobile to his ear, but Maya saw him and thought it strange. He didn’t look the country type in his sleek, shiny suit and sunglasses. A quick snapshot registered – thick dark hair, brown skin, short grey beard, medium height, a bit overweight. What was he doing there? The glare of his eyes was on her back as she ran down the lane, and she had to admit to herself then that she was glad the security agents were shadowing them.
At the ford Pam ran ahead, skittering down the bank, making a big deal of waving her arms about, balancing on stepping stones with exaggerated clowning movements.
‘You’ll fall,’ Maya shouted and, sure enough, one of Pam’s trainers squelched into the mud.
‘Serves you right,’ Maya mocked.
Pam tried to catch her to push her in, but Maya was too fast.
‘This was supposed to be a serious training run,’ Maya protested.
Pam laughed. ‘Remember how you used to love me driving the car through this ford?’ she asked, wiping her muddy trainer on the grassy bank.
‘Yeah,’ Maya agreed. ‘When I was five and it was full of water. We’d get stuck in the mud now.’
‘That’s global warming for you,’ Pam said, as they clambered up the bank.
‘Race you back home,’ Maya challenged, running ahead.
The road back to the cottage was the most taxing part of the course – a long uphill climb. Maya ran with long even strides, her arms pumping.
Approaching a sharp bend, she slowed slightly, wiping sweat from her forehead, then looked up at a sudden squeal of brakes. Rushing towards her was a silver car. It had taken the bend too fast and was on the wrong side of the road. Maya yelled out to Pam, at the same time flinging herself towards the hedge. Thorns scraped her arms, flying grit stung her eyes.
The car just missed them. When she turned round, Pam was picking herself up off the tarmac.
‘Stupid idiot,’ Pam yelled.
Maya wiped her eyes and rubbed at her arms where the thorns had scratched.
‘Good job we’re OK,’ Maya said. ‘No thanks to him.’
The silver car had stopped a little way ahead. It was the Mercedes she’d spotted earlier. Pam started to stride towards it, eager to tell the driver just what she thought of him, but she didn’t get the chance. Tyres skidding, the car roared off up the lane.
While Pam threw a few curses after it, Maya heard the sound of another car engine behind them. A big black vehicle came cruising up the lane towards them. It stopped when it was just a few metres away – a jeep with tinted windows, more army vehicle than car, it took up most of the road and sat with its engine purring.
Maya only had time to exchange an inquiring glance with her mum before the car doors swung open. Her eyes goggled as hooded men sprang out and stormed towards them waving guns.
‘Get down! Down!’ they screamed.
Before Maya could react, two black hoods flew towards her. One of them grabbed her head, forcing it backwards, fingers snaked round her neck, an arm circled her shoulders, her wrists were wrenched painfully up her back. She twisted and kicked, frothing with pain.
‘Mum!’ she yelled, but immediately a hand clamped her mouth.
She tried to bite the fleshy palm, squirmed sideways, stabbing out with her elbows, kicking at the men’s legs, but it was no use, there were two of them holding her.
This was it. This was what she’d dreaded. They’d come to kidnap her. Where were the security agents? Her body went limp as she watched three hooded men surrounding Pam, targeting guns at her head and body. Pam had her hands partly raised and was talking fast, saying something in sharp, urgent tones. Maya couldn’t hear what it was but one of the men nodded, then raised his hand and made a forward motion. Two of the men seized Pam’s arms and started dragging her towards the jeep.
Don’t take her, don’t take her! Maya wanted to shout, but her captor’s hand was jammed so hard over her mouth and nose that she could hardly breathe. Her legs were shaking violently, her bones rattling with shock, then her body jerked as a crack of gunfire shattered the air. One of the men holding Pam wheeled backwards and fell.
Maya gave a strangled scream, fighting to free herself, but the men holding her were too strong; even when they began shooting towards the hedge their grip on her didn’t relax. She was terrified that she would be hit as bullets whistled back and forth.
The Security Agents hiding behind the hedge yelled to her, ‘Keep down! Down! ’ But Maya couldn’t dodge down, she was a prisoner, directly in the firing line. Bullets zinged past her, hitting the jeep; one of her captors yelled and let go, falling to the ground. She tried to shake herself free as a flash of fire screamed over her head towards the hedge.
‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’ one of the assailants shouted.
Then all hell was let loose. Gunfire blazed back and forth. Maya was shoved to the ground, falling onto the gritty road. Gravel burned her hands and cheek, she tasted dirt.
Above the sound of gunshots she heard her mum screaming for her to run. But she couldn’t run, she couldn’t move or make a sound, she was frozen with fear. There was another thunderclap of fire towards the hedge, then shiny black boots crunched past her head, running towards the jeep. Doors banged shut, an engine revved and the vehicle skidded and slewed off up the road, disappearing from sight.
Silence gathered round her. Tears burned in her eyes, a blackbird sang in a nearby bush, soft wind rustled the leaves. Slowly, uncertainly, Maya pulled herself up and lurched to her feet.
‘Are you all right?’ A man she recognised as one of the security team came limping towards her, his sleeve covered in blood, a radio dangling from his hand.
‘Yes,’ Maya said. ‘I’m OK.’
‘They got Danny,’ he told her, pointing to the hedge.
Maya looked and saw a pair of trainers sticking out of the long grass. She gasped. ‘We have to help him.’
Stumbling up the bank she went closer, bending down she parted the leafy branches. He was wearing jeans, just ordinary denim jeans, but his shirt, a pale blue cotton shirt, was splashed with dark blood, and there was a bloody mess where the top of his head should have been. There was nothing anybody could do. His blood was flowing into the earth soaking the ground beneath the bright buttercups. It was Danny, a young agent who had played cheesy music, singing along to it as he’d driven her to school. His voice blared into her head; she remembered him telling her about his young son, she’d laughed at his bad jokes. Now he was dead, his blue eyes staring up at the sky.
‘Bloody radio’s smashed . . . no signal on my mobile phone,’ the wounded agent rasped, slumping down onto the bank beside her. He winced as he tried to move his arm, pain scarred his face. ‘We saw the car . . . the Merc.’ His words tumbled out in jagged pieces. ‘Danny ran a check . . . if we hadn’t stopped to do that . . . we’d have been here in time. Christ! What a mess.’
Maya looked at him with glazed eyes. She felt nothing. What had just happened was unbelievable – a nightmare, a horror film. An agent was dead and her mum gone – driven away to God knew where.
Chapter Three
Maya’s brain was in shock, her thoughts slippery as worms. Precious seconds ticked away while the wounded agent dripped blood and yelled into his defunct radio. He was in a bad state, a bullet had fractured his arm and his leg was bleeding heavily. She had to get help.
Lurching forward, she scanned the road, hoping desperately to see a vehicle she could flag down, but nothing appeared, no truck or car, not even a tractor.
Think, Maya, think. Focus, focus.
With a trembling hand she pinched her bloody nose, threw back her head. Blood trickled into her throat, sharp, metallic.
Get help! Run, you idiot, run. Run, go for help, go, go!
‘You stay here,’ she shouted to t
he wounded agent. ‘I’ll run to the cottage.’
Her trembling legs were slow to respond, she stumbled up the lane and clumsily climbed the stile onto the footpath. Then adrenalin kicked in. Desperation banished pain from her limbs.
Through the wood her feet grew wings, pounding the hard earth. Dark shadows haunted the bushes, twigs cracked like gunfire. Her breath was hot in her throat, leaves glinted like watching eyes. She ran faster than she’d ever run, racing home.
The path crumbled, pitching her down to a stream, feet sliding, fingers clawing. She scrabbled to find a foothold, then leapt, flying over silver water. Safe on the other side, she clambered uphill.
Run, Maya, run.
The path opened out into a meadow. Sun dazzled her eyes, grass tickled her calves. She headed for a dark band of bushes, thick as a secret. Thrusting the branches aside she uncovered a hidden stile, then, with a last pulse of energy, she sprang upwards, bursting from the thicket onto the edge of the cottage lawn.
She was shouting as she hurled herself through the back door into the kitchen. ‘Gran!’
Helen’s eyes goggled at the sight of her crazed granddaughter; flowers fell from her hands, a vase tilted, spilling water.
‘It’s Mum!’ Maya shrieked. She grabbed at the kitchen table, her hands bloody and torn. ‘They got Mum.’ Her arms gave way. Pain and desperation surged through her as she collapsed onto a chair.
Gran’s arms were round her, squeezing Maya’s bruised shoulders. She was breathing hard. ‘Who? Who’s got her?’
‘Men in a black jeep, five of them. They had guns. They didn’t take me, they took Mum.’
‘Where? When?’
‘In Vicar’s Lane, that bad bend, past the ford. We’ve got to get help. Danny was killed, the other security man’s injured.’
Helen went white. ‘Oh, my God,’ she gasped. ‘What can I do? What can we do? OK, right. . . You sit there. I . . . I’ll call an ambulance and the police.’
Maya clutched her bloody knees while Helen talked to the emergency services. She heaved in great gasps. She couldn’t think straight, her head was swirling, but she was conscious of something nagging at her, something she had to do. Simon. She had to contact Simon. There was a special number for Pam’s department. What was it? She’d phoned it loads of times.
Think, think. Yes, she remembered.
Running out into the hall she picked up the house phone and dialled. It felt like an eternity passed before she was connected; the phone buzzing as she held the receiver jammed to her ear. Her insides were juddering, deep shock chilled her bones. Her mind probed and prodded, questions burnt in her brain. Where was her mum? Where had the armed men taken her? What would they do to her?
Then there was a man’s voice.
‘Hello. This is Simon Maundsley.’
‘I’m Maya, Maya Brown.’ Her words started to tumble out in a shrill, high-pitched voice. He told her to slow down.
‘It’s Mum, she’s been taken hostage. Please help, please!’
A loud intake of breath signalled his shock, but his manner was immediately brusque and businesslike. At that moment it was exactly what was needed.
Maya did her best to answer his questions, forcing her mind to track back over every painful detail. When she got to the final part – doors slamming, the jeep driving off, Danny dead – the phone shook in her hand, violent tremors wracked her body, her voice broke into jagged pieces.
‘OK, that’s enough,’ Simon said. ‘You get yourself sorted. I’m going to need your help. I’ll mobilise the department. Don’t worry, we’ll do everything we can.’
Maya nodded vacantly while Simon told her he was on his way and that he would alert various agencies, but she was only half-listening; in her head a DVD was on permanent playback – skidding tyres, doors slamming, guns waving – fear, panic, pain. She remembered the hard grip of hands restraining her; she couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. Pam was arguing with them. Then she saw the empty staring eyes of Danny, the young agent. She pressed her hands over her face, but the film didn’t stop.
Mum, Mum where are you?
It didn’t seem real. How could it? Half an hour ago Pam had been grabbing a quick drink of water in the kitchen before they set off on their run. At the stile she’d joked, saying Maya’s new running shoes were magic, at the ford she’d been clowning around, her cheeks pink, her blonde hair damp with sweat.
Maya’s eyes misted with tears. She was only vaguely aware of Helen putting a drink of tea in front of her, then holding it to her lips. ‘Drink this, you need it.’
Maya gave her a cracked smile and managed to say, ‘Thank you.’
Helen was making a brave effort; she held Maya’s hand, fetched a coat and put it round her shoulders.
‘Here, you’ll catch a chill,’ she said, tucking the coat around her. Stroking Maya’s hair, she cuddled her tight. ‘It’ll be all right, it’ll be all right,’ she murmured.
Maya couldn’t respond. When Helen put a bowl of warm water on the table and bathed her bloody hands and knees, tenderly swabbing grit from the wounds, Maya didn’t care how much it hurt – the pain was almost welcome. She wished she could have done something to help her mum, wished she could have helped the agents. If only she’d taken her mobile, she could have phoned the local cops right away and they might have stopped the jeep. It was all wrong, everything was hopeless – her Mum would be miles away by now.
She imagined Pam stuffed into the back seat of the jeep, wedged in between the armed men. She’d be going crazy. She wasn’t used to feeling helpless, she was always strong and positive, always in command. Closing her eyes Maya sent her a message.
Don’t give them any trouble, Mum. Do as they say. I’m sorry I was useless. I promise I’ll help find you.
While Helen prised some grit from the deepest cut on her hand, Maya told her, ‘It was me they threatened. They should have taken me.’
‘Don’t blame yourself, my love,’ Helen said. ‘In the end it was your mum they wanted. Pam got too close to them, she knew too much.’
Maya knew her words were true. ‘But how would the kidnappers know?’ she demanded. ‘How would they know what she’d discovered, unless. . .’ She winced at the sting of antiseptic on her cuts. ‘Unless some slimy, double-crossing bastard betrayed her.’
Helen finished winding a bandage round Maya’s wrist and gently but firmly tied the ends. ‘I suppose both sides are watching each other,’ she said quietly. ‘But your mum’s got the best team. She’s been in worse situations than this. They’ll rescue her.’
Maya wished she could feel so sure; an image of a hooded man flashed into her head – those men were murderers, she’d seen the hate in their eyes.
Gran hoisted herself to her feet and pulled Maya close, stroking her face. ‘Are you going to be all right?’
‘Yep. I’ve got to be.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Helen said, kissing the top of Maya’s head. ‘We’ll get through this – all three of us.’
‘Yeah,’ Maya said. ‘We will but, oh, Gran, poor Danny – his wife, his son. It’s horrible.’ Her jaw trembled as she spoke, her words faltered and her chest heaved big, dry, gulping sobs.
Helen clutched her tightly, rubbing at her back and shoulders. Then she cupped Maya’s chin, tilted her head back and looked her full in the face. ‘It wasn’t your fault – don’t go thinking that – nor your mother’s. What happened is dreadful, but the terrorists are to blame. They hold life cheap.’ She kissed Maya’s forehead. ‘Oh, my darling, you shouldn’t be mixed up in all this.’
Maya swallowed hard. ‘It’s all right, Gran. I’m OK.’
Helen gave her a small, forced smile. ‘Good girl.’ Her eyes were tearful as she turned away and bent to pick up the basin of bloody water.
Maya stared at the flowers Helen had been arranging. Something else was niggling at her, but her mind was so muddled. . .
Think, think!
She rubbed at her cheek where gravel had grazed
it, and suddenly it came to her.
Getting to her feet she told Helen, ‘I’m going up to Mum’s study. I want to look at what she was working on last night.’
Gran, pouring the water down the sink, looked over her shoulder. ‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’ She set the upturned basin on the draining board. ‘Simon will be here soon. He’s bringing a team from MI5, they’ll have the best minds in the country working on this.’
Maya stood up. ‘I know. But none of them cares about Mum as much as I do.’
Entering her mum’s study was shattering. Pam’s laptop was on her desk, just as it had been the night before. With difficulty, because of her bandaged hand, Maya managed to open it up and log on.
Recent documents
Immediately she spotted something interesting. A file – Red Moon.
She tried to open it. Access denied. She tried another route but didn’t succeed. Damn! It must be the file Mum was working on last night, and she was sure there was crucial stuff in it, information linked to the kidnapping.
Think, Maya, think.
It was hard getting her brain to function, her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton wool, she couldn’t focus. What had Pam said last night? Her eyes fell on a red file at the side of the computer. On the cover, in Pam’s handwriting, was written, ‘Circle of Fire.’ With a banging heart she flipped it open. It was empty – but the title stuck in her brain. Of course! Fire! That was it, the password – Firecracker. She typed in the word and opened the file.
Red Moon
Islamic fundamentalist cells are not operating individually but are linked throughout Europe. Their mission is to perpetrate a summer of burning – in their words, to ring Europe in a ‘Circle of Fire’. A series of attacks on major European cities is planned. The first will probably take place in England, followed by more attacks on public buildings in all major cities. Intelligence tells us that the first attack, possibly planned for the north of England, is imminent. . .
Her mind exploded. This was massive. Mum had collected loads of data – surveillance reports, dates of meetings, code words, suspects. It must be the report she was going to present to the Counter Terrorism unit she headed – code name, Viper.
