by Alex Shaw
*
Fox opened his eyes to near darkness and found that he could not move his hands. The realisation dawned on him that they were tied behind his back. As his eyes gradually adjusted and his senses returned he realised that he was wearing a hood. He could hear faint voices talking in Arabic. He stayed still; to feign unconsciousness and assess what was happening. He had been in the mini-bus then it had stopped and then….there was a loud moaning near his left ear and then footsteps. Fox held his breath.
“This one is awake.” A voice said in Arabic.
“Sit him up and remove his hood.” Khalid replied.
Fox heard scraping sounds and then the unmistakable voice of Lordy. “Oh my God…Oh my God…Oh my God…”
“Wake the other.” Khalid ordered.
Fox felt a strong pair of hands drag him to a sitting position and throw him back against a wall. The hood was then roughly removed. Fox kept his eyes closed for a further second or so before deciding that he had to ‘wake up’. He looked up into the face of a Saudi with piercing eyes. The man was looking at him but speaking in Arabic to someone else. Fox understood every word but did not let any recognition show in his eyes.
“Where am I?”
Khalid crouched on his haunches and spoke in English. “You are in Iraq.”
The shock was obvious on Fox’s face as Khalid’s own took on a gleeful smile. “You are a prisoner of The Warriors of Mecca.”
“Oh my God…” Lordy gave out a loud wail.
Khalid sighed. “Allah is the one true God. It is He whom you should be asking for forgiveness from.”
Fox was lost for words, his head hurt doubly from the alcohol at the embassy and the whack he had taken from the rifle butt. He tried to get his brain to work. He was being held captive in Iraq? His eyes darted around the room as the man looked at both him and Lordy in turn. From his training Fox knew that the best time to escape any hostage situation was as near to the initial abduction as possible. A time at which, the kidnappers may not have yet reached a secure location. But he was too late. He didn’t know how long he had been out for or how many were holding him. His best course of action was to play dumb, act like a civilian, plead, look pathetic and bide his time.
Khalid stood and walked away waving his arm. “We will bring you water and something to eat. Remember it is not we who are the barbarians.”
A heavy sounding door shut and the two men were left in near darkness.
Fox spoke in a whisper. “You ok mate?”
“I thought you was a gonna, when they hit you with that gun.”
Fox looked around the dark bare room. “I’ve a hard head. Where’s Frank.”
Lordy started to hyperventilate. “Th…the…the…bastard cut…cut…his throat right in front of me…”
“Jesus.” Fox placed his head against the bare wall, his head hurt. His captors, whoever they were had just taken the next step. “Listen to me Lordy we’re gonna be alright. OK?”
Lordy nodded but was far from convinced. “Are we in Iraq?”
Fox thought for a moment. “It’s possible. How long was I out?”
“Dunno, they took me watch.”
Fox realised that his wrist too was bare and his pockets were empty. “Did you see which direction they took us? Can you remember anything about us getting here?”
“They put that stinking hood over me head, it was dark anyway. Not long after the road got smooth – not bumpy like when we stopped and then I dunno…they were dragging me from a van into somewhere. Here I suppose. Then they came in.”
“So I came too just after we got here?” Fox was trying to figure out how far they had been taken but any estimate would have been very rough. “Was it light outside?”
“Yes I could see my feet.”
“How bright was the sun?”
“Err not very. Why?”
“Early morning. That means that they’ve had us for about six hours or so.”
“Meaning?” Lordy was confused.
“That, we can only be six hours away by car.”
“I hate to say it mate, but you can get to the Bahrain causeway in four and a half if you go some.”
“Right enough.” A thought occurred to Fox. “We may not be in Saudi but we may not be in Iraq either.”
“That helps.” Lordy tried to regain his composure but was breathing hard.
“Did you hear them talk at all?”
“Yeah.”
“What where they saying?”
“They were speaking Arabic.”
“So?”
“I only know a few basics. You speak it don’t you?”
Fox did not want to play up his language skills, but he was fluent having taken intensive courses with the Regiment and being deployed in the Kingdom in Gulf war one. “I know a few words. Not much.”
“Shit” Lordy leaned back against the wall. “Can’t even pick me nose with me bleedin hands tied behind me back.”
In the near darkness Fox smiled. “Don’t go asking me for help.”
There were footsteps and the sound of metal grating. The door opened and in stepped Khalid with two other men silhouetted by sunlight which entered through a second outer door. Fox squinted; he could see that Khalid held a tray in his hands whilst the others had AK47s trained on their captives. Khalid placed the tray on the floor at the wall furthest away from Fox and Lordy and then moved towards them with a knife. Lordy suddenly started to shake, Fox tried to ready his body for action.
“I’m going to cut the bonds from your hands. You cannot eat like dogs.” He smiled and made eye contact with each man in turn.
The two armed men took a step forward; a rifle was pointedly aimed at each captive. Lordy flinched and screwed his eyes shut as Khalid grabbed his hands and cut the bonds.
Fox relaxed slightly as his turn came. There was no way that he could make a bid for freedom without getting ripped to pieces by the 7.62 mm rounds from the Kalashnikovs. “Thank you.”
Khalid nodded. “You are welcome, James. Now please eat. You too, Simon.”
Fox looked around the room. The light coming from the door was daylight. The room they were in was at the end of a short corridor, a storage building of some sort but new and seemingly unused. The floor was rough concrete, the type that was usually put down before flooring was laid. Khalid beckoned them again; Fox slowly rose to his feet and crossed the four metres to the other side of the room. He bent, picked up the tray and returned it to Lordy.
“Bon appetite.” Khalid exited the room followed by the two armed men.
As the door was shut a light flicked on above them. It was a bare bulb with a protective wire cage surround screwed to the coiling.
Fox looked at Lordy. “Did you tell him our names?”
“No.”
“Then how does he know them?”
“Passports?”
“Yeah, that’ll be it mate.” But it wasn’t and Fox knew it, he’d made sure that his had stayed in the desert. He picked up his plate and grimaced. “I hate lamb.”
“Aren’t you sodding scared?” Lordy replied accusatively.
“Course I am mate.”
“You don’t bloody look it.”
Fox nodded. “My wife told me that I had trouble expressing my emotions.”
Minhal Holiday Inn, Riyadh
“Thank you all for being here.” Harry Slinger-Thompson stood in front of the lectern in the lavish meeting room. He looked slightly nervous, as if he didn’t quite know how to relate what he had to say. “Last night we believe that a terrorist organisation abducted two British citizens who were with you at the reception.”
There were gasps from the assembled group and some hushed words exchanged. His plumbie voice continued. “A further British ex-pat was murdered and left in the desert….”
“My God!” The perfume manufacturer looked as though she would faint.
“Please, I know that it is an awful situation to be in but we must not panic. As you are aware today you we
re to take an internal flight to Dammam for the last leg of your Saudi visit to Al-Khobar. Whilst we at the embassy cannot force you to leave the country we feel that it would be safer if you did so. That is why you are being given the option of either flying directly back to the UK today or flying to Bahrain.” Slinger-Thompson paused and looked at the faces in front of him. Most were petrified.
“Can you tell me the names of the men who were abducted?” Snow’s desire to know if Fox was among those taken was unbearable.
“I am sorry but I cannot release that information until we have contacted their next of kin. I can say however, that all three men who were travelling together have been identified and worked for the same Saudi organisation. It is in all our best interests if we keep a lid on this until you are out of Riyadh. Please try to refrain from informing anyone else about this situation.”
Snow’s heart rate increased and he felt a sick sensation in his stomach – they had Fox. He noticed Lermitte on his left, texting. Lermitte looked up unabashed and shook his head slowly.
Kennington stood and started to speak. “Harry has told me that the Saudi police are to provide us with an escort to the airport. We shall be leaving in twenty minutes. Any questions?”
“Are we really in danger?” Sheila the interior designer, who had the demeanour of a Victorian Headmistress, looked at Slinger-Thompson over the top of her spectacles.
“Yes, we believe so. I am not attempting to be an alarmist but you are a high profile group and as such a potential target, if these kidnappers were to strike again.” He nodded.
She frowned. “We’d better go then.”
“So ten minutes at Reception to check out, then board the bus ten minutes after that.” Kennington was precise as always.
The group quickly dispersed, several had started to retrieve mobile phones and were busy dialling. Others were none too steady on their feet.
Snow approached Slinger-Thompson. “Any idea who did it or what they want?”
The SIS man gave Snow a strange look. “No, Mr Mills.”
“Was there any suggestion that something like this may happen?” Snow was finding it hard to stay in character.
“None.”
Kennington tapped his wristwatch. “Right Aidan you’d better get to reception.”
Snow nodded. He needed to call Patchem. He left the meeting room and walked through the main foyer and up the stairs to the mezzanine floor. Once he was certain that he could not be overheard he called his field controller.
In the UK it was 4:35 a.m. Patchem rolled over in bed and grabbed the phone which vibrated on his bedside dresser.
“Patchem.” His voice was thick.
“It’s Snow. We have a problem.”
Patchem coughed to clear his throat and got out of bed, his wife was still asleep and it was better if she stayed that way. He exited the bedroom and shut the door. “Go ahead.”
Snow explained what he had learnt from GCHQ and from the SIS briefing.
“That is very unfortunate.” Patchem entered his study to switch on his computer. “They have no idea where he is I suppose?”
“No.” Snow’s voice was tinny; the line between Saudi and the UK was none too good.
“I’ll contact Slinger-Thompson and get him to check up on Fox’s compound. Fox could be anywhere so there is no point in you staying in Riyadh. Stay with the mission group Aidan and stay under. No one else need know who you are.”
“I’d like to stay here to see what I can do.” Snow did not want to leave.
“I know you would, but we have no guarantee that Fox is still in the country. Aidan, get on the flight to Bahrain. You may be able to do something there.”
Snow sighed. Patchem was right; at least if he was in Bahrain he was still within striking distance, if needed.
SIS Headquarters, Vauxhall Cross, London, United Kingdom
At his Vauxhall Cross desk, now forty minutes after speaking with Snow, Patchem was speed reading the latest update from GCHQ as he dialled his Saudi field officer. He was angered that the field officer had not personally informed him before addressing the trade mission, a hangover from Maladine’s watch no doubt.
“Slinger-Thompson.”
“Harry, it’s Jack Patchem.”
Slinger-Thompson was taken aback but did not let it show. “Jack, good morning. I take it you’ve heard?”
“I have the intercepts here from GCHQ but please tell me, what is happening over there?”
“It’s a worrying situation, Jack.” Slinger-Thompson had worked hard to ‘recruit’ reliable sources. “I received a call very early this morning from a contact in the Royal Saudi police to say that a British citizen had been found in the desert with his throat slit.”
“How was the man identified?”
“Well, believe it or not, his passport and company identification card was in his pocket. But that’s not all. A further British passport was found under the abandoned vehicle in the name of ‘James Fox’. There was also a second body, a Jordanian driver employed by the same company.”
“When were the bodies found?”
“First light. Now this is the strange part, it is incredibly easy to hide a body in the desert yet these two were left on a road that is used daily by a local farmer. It was the farmer who found them.”
Patchem paused to let his mind process the information. “So the bodies were meant to be found?”
Slinger-Thompson involuntarily nodded at the other end of the phone. “I was at an embassy party the night before as was the dead Britain.”
As was Snow, Patchem didn’t add. “What time did this finish?”
“About midnight.”
“And the bodies were found at first light?”
“About five.”
Patchem paused again. Five hours was time enough to get away with a hostage.
“Jack. There were two others with the dead man at the party, Simon Lord and James Fox. There is no trace of Lord or Fox. The local police have asked at their compound, they didn’t return last night.”
This was confirmation enough. “So two British citizens have been taken captive?”
“Yes it appears that way.” Slinger-Thompson cleared his throat nervously, “Jack. James Fox.”
Patchem knew what was coming. “Yes?”
“I tried to run a background check but couldn’t get very far. Then I remembered the media coverage. Is this the same James Fox that saved Al-Kabir’s daughter?”
“Harry,“ Patchem paused to emphasise the importance of the admission, “Paddy Fox is an asset.”
Slinger-Thompson felt his cheeks flush. He should have known about any assets or operations within Saudi soil for risk of him compromising them or them compromising him. He wanted to ask his new boss ‘Why wasn’t I told?’ but held his tongue. He didn’t know Patchem well enough yet to trust him.
“If he is being held by an insurgent group we have an unparalleled chance of stopping them. Are we tracking Fox?”
Patchem wished it was so easy. “No. Because of his actions in the UK he was placed with the Al-Kabir family. We couldn’t risk giving him anything that could be found and used against him.” This was a part truth, there were the sunglasses.
Slinger-Thompson could hold back no longer. “Is there anything or anyone else I should know about?”
Patchem frowned, the field officers irritation had not been hidden well. “Yes.”
King Khalid Airport, Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia
Khalid sat in the back seat of the sedan as the taxi left his namesake’s airport. He had an AKS-74U Shorty Assault Rifle on his lap in front of him covered with a spare thob. The Pakistani taxi driver, another of his men who regularly worked the airport in his normal job, had his own standard ‘47’Kalashnikov in the passenger footwell. Khalid eyes were closed as he communicated with Allah. In a matter of a few minutes ‘His’ divine will would again decide if Khalid lived or died a martyr. The taxi turned onto the Riyadh highway and left the airport behi
nd. A further ten kilometres ahead they would converge with other elements of the assault.
Kennington looked at the itinerary and tutted. He was not happy that his schedule had been disrupted at such short notice. Most of the group had opted to continue with the mission taking the Bahrain option, only two wanted to fly home. They would now arrive at the airport far too early for the next flight but too late to catch an earlier one. This created what he called ‘dead time’ when all he and his group would be doing would be sitting, sipping airport coffee and waiting for their flight to be called. He turned to Thacker the artist, who was on the bench seat behind him.
“I’ve arranged that we be upgraded to have the full Brunch at Le Meridian. It’s really something you know.”
Thacker nodded, even though he had been to the hotel in Bahrain before. “That will be nice.”
Kennington continued. “They put on an impressive spread but also very nearby there is an excellent fish restaurant.”
Lermitte sat a further row behind and tried not to look bored by the conversation. All he wanted, with any meal, was a good glass of wine. “The sooner we leave this god awful, dry, country the better.”
Kennington looked hurt, “It’s not such a bad place Tristan, if you were to stay here longer you may…”
“Jesus!” Lermitte’s eyes were wide. “Get killed on the roads!”
Snow looked back from his usual front seat and saw what Lermitte had. Two vehicles, a white Ford Pick Up and a mini bus, were drawing level with them. The Ford suddenly swerved towards them. Their driver sounded his horn and waved his arms. The Royal Saudi Police cruiser, which was in front of them, switched on its lights. The Ford then accelerated and hit the rear bumper of the cruiser sending it swerving across the lane and onto the hard shoulder. Dust and dirt was kicked up by its tyres as it tried to stay on the road. The mission’s bus carried on past it but the driver started to slow, waving his arms and sounding his horn. Snow looked around, the second mini-bus was now also slowing and a window had started to open. Snow caught the gleam of something metallic.
