by S. M. Hall
‘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.’
Chapter Fourteen
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.’
Chapter Fifteen
The night was long. Maya paced the room, went up the stairs and tried the door endlessly. It was always locked.
She thumped the walls, kicked the furniture, called Omar every foul name she could think of, then sat down exhausted and told herself to calm down. No plan would work if her vision was clouded by anger. It was difficult to be calm, though. How long did Omar plan to keep her in the cellar? What was he going to do with her? What had he done with her mum? What were Simon and his team up to? So many questions, and she wanted answers, but most of all she wanted to get out of this horrid, cold cellar.
She had to keep her mind clear – she had to sleep. Jamming two chairs together to form a makeshift bed, she switched off the light and lay down, but in the darkness the demons came, bloody images flickering through her head, and when she finally fell asleep, it was broken by terrifying dreams.
She woke
up shivering, rolled off the chairs and fumbled to switch on the lamp. Light spilled over the desk and onto the photos of Pam. She snatched one up and stared at her mum’s face; seeing her so full of life and energy brought back hope.
Hold on, Mum. I’ll get out of here. Somehow I’ll get out and I’ll find you.
She folded the photo carefully and put it inside her jacket pocket.
On the tray Lubna had brought stood a glass of water and a few biscuits. Remembering the tea bags in the drawer, Maya fished one out, poured the glass of water into the electric kettle, let it boil, then poured it back into the glass to make tea.
Warming her hands on the glass, she sat at the desk, her mind assessing her chances of being rescued. If Simon’s surveillance team were doing their job properly, wouldn’t they wonder what had happened to her? Surely they’d be searching for her. If she was in this cellar much longer, she’d go crazy. There was no place to wash, no toilet, and she was desperate to pee. The empty kettle provided a useful receptacle.
Think, Maya, think, she repeated to herself, as she carried the kettle to the far corner and carefully put it down. A roll of duct tape and a bowl of paper clips. What could she do with them?
Opening the paper clips was laborious work. Her fingers quickly became sore; a cut on the palm of her hand opened and blood seeped through the bandage. With difficulty she bent the paper clips into one long wire with a crude hook at the end, then she wrapped duct tape round the stem. It wasn’t perfect, it might fall apart, but she had to try to open the lock.
At the top of the stairs she set to work pushing the wire between door and frame. Just as she was poking at the latch, she heard footsteps outside and the door rattled. She fled downstairs, terrified that Omar or Nazim would find the wire.
Breathing heavily, she waited at the bottom of the stairs, heard the scrape of the door and light footsteps running down. She stepped back into the room and Lubna appeared, anxious and breathless.
‘Quick!’ she said, grabbing Maya’s arm. ‘I’m setting you free.’
To Maya’s astonishment, Lubna pulled her up the stairs, out of the open door and into the yard.
‘Why?’ Maya asked, as they ran across the yard and into the bookshop.
Lubna gave her a disdainful look. ‘For Khaled,’ she said, a warm glow entering her eyes as she said his name. ‘Run, leave while you can,’ she urged, pushing Maya through the kitchen. ‘Go! They’re all in a meeting upstairs. Escape before it’s too late.’
Letting go of Maya’s arm, she ran up the stairs and disappeared. Maya hesitated. She knew she should flee, but she was thinking hard and fast. If she quit, she’d be no nearer to finding her mum than she was before, and she wanted to know what they were talking about at the meeting.
Turning back, she darted into the kitchen, grabbed a small, sharp knife and tiptoed up the stairs. Slowly she crept towards the door of the big room, pressed her ear to the crack and listened. The meeting was in progress, a booming voice filling the room.
‘Anyone who suffers for Islam shall be rewarded. Thousands of our Muslim brothers have died, and we shall avenge their deaths.’
This was followed by muttering and cries of ‘Allah be praised’.
Then it went silent. At this point Maya knew she should run, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen to the spot, her attention riveted. A voice she recognised as Omar’s spoke.
‘Pamela Brown was going to expose our plot. Now we have her in our power. We must not be deterred, we must complete our mission.’
‘We are ready,’ voices replied.
There was some clapping and then Omar said, ‘Brothers we are—’
Maya leaned closer to the door, straining to listen. If only he’d say where they were hiding her mum, give some sort of clue. Her whole attention was focused on what was going on in the closed room, so she was unaware of somebody approaching from behind. When a hand gripped her shoulder, she almost screamed. She bit deeply into her bottom lip as she was pulled round, and found herself staring into the face of Nazim. His thick eyebrows were drawn together, the silver scar furrowed and wrinkled, he gave her a gap-toothed smile.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Maya Brown. How did you—?’
He didn’t get chance to finish his sentence. In one fluid movement Maya grabbed the lapel of his jacket and swept the knife up to his throat. He gasped as she pressed the cold steel against his neck.
‘Don’t make a sound,’ she said threateningly.
His eyes bulged and goggled, he made a choking noise. Then she shoved him backwards and ran for it.
Leaping down the stairs three at a time, Maya ran into the bookshop, rushed over to the door and pulled back the latch. Behind her she heard shouts, but she was away, running up the street and round the corner.
No time to think which way to go, she raced towards a group of women and children and charged blindly through them. In front of her were two men unloading a van. She dodged round them and nearly fell over a box of bananas. Without pausing to think, she dashed across the road and into the Begum Emporium.
Standing behind piles of shiny fruit was the grey-haired woman, Khaled’s aunt, who’d directed her to the bookshop.
‘Help me,’ Maya screeched. ‘Hide me, please.’
‘Come.’
The aunt reached out, clutching Maya’s arm and thrusting her into the back of the shop. She closed the door, leaving Maya in a narrow hallway full of boxes. Leaning against a stack of wooden cases, Maya was wreathed in strong fruity smells, blood pounding in her ears, her breath coming in short, quick gasps.
When she heard raised voices coming from the shop, she flinched and shrank back between the boxes, desperate to know what was going on, yet not daring to move towards the door.
A man shouted, something bumped and fell to the floor, Khaled’s aunt yelled. Trying to stifle the cough welling up in the back of her throat, Maya clamped her hand over her mouth, her front teeth digging into the soft skin of her palm.
The voices died away. She dropped her hands and breathed deeply, calming her nerves. The door clicked, a light went on.
‘Come with me.’
She was relieved to see the crinkly grey of Khaled’s aunt’s hair and her big bold eyes peering in.
‘Don’t worry. They’ve gone,’ the aunt said, putting her hand on Maya’s arm. ‘That Nazim,’ she scoffed, ‘always up to no good.’
As the woman ushered her towards some stairs, Maya’s heart was still in overdrive, and if it hadn’t been for a steadying hand she would have fallen backwards. At the top of the stairs Khaled’s aunt darted forward, opening a door into a spacious room which was filled with colour and light.
‘Sit down,’ she invited her, gesturing to a big, squashy sofa.
Maya sank gratefully onto the soft red cushions. The colours of the room blurred, she leant forward, breathing deeply, pressing her hands down on her legs to stop them shaking. Her brain wanted to shut down. She was panicked, too drained to deal with this woman who was giving her searching looks. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and make everything go away. But the woman had helped her and Maya knew she owed her an explanation.
‘I’m Mariam,’ the woman said, sitting down opposite Maya. ‘And you’re the girl I saw yesterday.’
Her voice was deep and musical. Maya remembered it from when she’d given directions to the bookshop, the ‘r’ sound exaggerated so that the words bounced and rolled.
‘I asked you the way to the bookshop,’ Maya said.
‘Did you find it?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, why are you running away?’
‘Those men wanted to lock me up.’
A startled look crossed Mariam’s face. ‘Who are you?’
Maya folded her arms across her chest, biting the inside of her cheek whilst thinking hard. Could she risk telling Mariam the truth? Would Mariam be so keen to hide her if she knew who she was? She almost began to lie and tell her she was on the run from her family, but couldn�
�t think of a reason why Nazim and Omar’s men would be chasing her. Anyway, Khaled’s aunt’s keen eyes told Maya she wouldn’t be fooled.
Finally Maya took a deep breath, removed her headscarf and shook out her hair. ‘I’m Maya Brown. My mother’s Pamela Brown. She’s head of a government counter intelligence unit. Yesterday she . . . she . . . was kidnapped by . . . terrorists.’
‘Oh, my goodness! It was on the news.’ Mariam’s eyes widened, she put a hand to her throat. ‘You’re the daughter?’
Maya nodded. ‘The men at the Red Moon bookshop – they took her, they’re hiding her somewhere.’
Mariam’s eyebrows shot up, she looked completely stunned, her hands gripping both sides of the big armchair while Maya told her the rest of the story.
‘A man called Omar Hamed’s the leader. The bookshop’s a front – he’s a terrorist.’
Mariam grasped the folds of her long skirt, then raised her eyes to Maya’s. ‘I know Omar. He’s a local business man. He has extreme views, but I don’t know, I can’t imagine him kidnapping anybody.’
‘He recruits young people – they’re his soldiers. They want to be martyrs for Islam.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Mariam murmured. ‘Is Khaled involved?’
‘He was helping my mum, sending her information – at least, I think he was. It’s hard to know for sure.’ She paused thoughtfully, picking at the bandage on her hand. ‘He tried to save me from Omar and got Lubna to let me out, so I suppose he must be on our side. But then, he knew about Omar’s plan to kidnap Mum and he did nothing to stop it.’
Mariam’s hand slipped down to clutch at a half-moon pendant dangling from her neck; her face creased into deep lines. ‘Could he have stopped it?’
‘No, I suppose not. Well, not without giving himself away.’
‘But you thought he might know where they’ve taken your mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you talk to him?’
‘I didn’t have the chance. At first I didn’t know if I could trust him, then everything got in a mess. Nazim recognised me and I had to run.’
