Cold Black

by Alex Shaw

  In the British Embassy, Slinger-Thompson was ill at ease. The Americans knew that HM Government was planning an assault. He tapped his fingers on the embassy issue desk. Something had been worrying him and it was starting to become clear, it was something that Casey had said a phrase. It was nearly there – an idea in his mind but not quite, not yet. He leant back and ran his fingers through his schoolboy like floppy hair and stared at the water stains on the ceiling caused by the faulty air conditioner. What was it? What had been niggling at him?

  ‘Under Surveillance’. That was the term that Casey had used. The trade mission was under surveillance – someone had been watching them to see when they left the hotel and know where they were going or, or even more chilling had made the mission leave the hotel early. He sat up right and slammed both palms onto the desk. The attackers had known that the embassy would evacuate the trade mission and had pre-planned to intercept it. Therefore the first attack that had left Glaister dead and Fox missing had been a diversion. The full horror of what he may have been part responsible for registered. He had ordered the evacuation; he had gone along with the kidnappers plan. His hands started to shake, ‘but wait’, he told himself, this was just a theory not confirmed by any evidence or facts.

  He took a deep breath and called his contact within the Riyadh police. He asked him to check the employee records of the mission’s Hotel. Were any of the employees acting suspiciously? Had any of them gone home sick or taken the afternoon off? Were any of them new? Also the taxi company that serviced the hotel - the same questions. Could they get the surveillance tape from both the hotel lobby and entrance?

  His contact happily took down the list of requests and immediately started to act upon them. A promotion would be on the cards for anyone who could find the missing Brits and he would be that person.

  Next Slinger-Thompson called Patchem and relayed his theory to him. Patchem, still in the COBRA listened and did not dismiss the idea. In Slinger-Thompson’s opinion, the man on the ground generally knew best.

  Unknown location, The Arabian Desert

  The kidnappers had been humane so far, giving Lordy and Fox more water than they could possibly drink and leaving them unchained. They had both been led one at a time out of their cell, along the corridor to a smaller empty room with a dirt floor that they had been instructed to use as a toilet. Fox had tried to sneak a peek outside but had been gently reminded by a tap to the temple that he was not to do so.

  Lordy sat with his head in his hands. “I can’t take this Paddy.”

  “Mate, we’ve been here less than a day. Course you can.”

  In truth Fox was worried about the usually jovial Londoner. He had cracked up and gone into shock after seeing his mate murdered in front of him. Fox sometimes forgot that not everyone could cut away, departmentalise the mind. Now he was focused on survival and would think about the death of Frank Glaister only when he himself was safe. Fox recited the old saying in his head ‘Once Regiment Always Regiment’, the mock greeting that he and his mates had said to each other at Hereford piss ups. It gave him a strength that could never be taken away, reminded him of who he was and would never cease to be.

  Fox stood and leant against the wall. “Right you get up.”

  Lordy looked up blankly. “What?”

  Fox held out his hand. “Up.”

  Lordy shrugged and Fox pulled him to his feet.

  “Now the best way to relieve stress is through gentle exercise.” It also distracted the mind, he didn’t add.

  Lordy’s face was still blank. “What have a wank?”

  Fox dropped to the floor “No, you silly sod. Copy me.” He did ten quick fire press ups before getting back to his feet. “Your turn.”

  “You’re a loon.” Lordy grumbled but copied none the less.

  Fox led the pair of them through a routine of press ups, sit ups and stretches before they both sat back against the wall again. “Better?”

  Panting, Lordy nodded. “Yeah. You’re fit for an old codger.”

  Fox smiled; he could feel his body become alive and felt some of his aches lessen as more blood pumped around his system. “We do this three times a day and by the time we’ve finished you’ll be able to pull all the nurses you want.”

  Lordy managed a smile then became serious. “How long do you think they’ll hold us here for?”

  Fox shrugged. “Couple of weeks, perhaps. Look it’s not Beirut. We’re not going be here for years like John McArthy.”

  “Wasn’t he one of the Beatles?”

  It was now Fox who became serious. “From what I can see there are about five or so of them holding us. We’re going to get out of here; it’s just a matter of when.”

  Lordy nodded and didn’t question Fox’s statement. Fox for his own part didn’t either. If he could grab a rifle he was sure he could take some of them out – especially with the cover the building gave him. He noted the way they held their weapons; they had little or no training.

  The door opened and two men carried in a heavy metal table whilst another held an AK pointed at the two Brits. Once the table had been placed in the middle of the room the men retreated and returned with three metal chairs. Lordy held his arms around his chest and looked on. Fox felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, something told him this was not good. The men returned again for a third time, but now carrying what appeared to be jump leads and car batteries. It all became clear, the water, the metal furniture, the leads and now the batteries.

  “What’s that all for?” Although quick witted, Lordy hadn’t a clue and Fox was not going to be the one to break it to him.

  “Perhaps they want to run some more lights or a camera.”

  “Oh Yeah.” Lordy nodded and replied weakly, “They make tapes of hostages don’t they?”

  Fox did not reply, he focused on the man with the gun who lifted up his balaclava. He had a young face covered with a straggly beard and arrogant eyes. Why show your face now? Fox did not like the answer he reached, if they were to die it would not matter whose face they saw.

  The man spoke in English. “Get up.” He pointed his finger first at Lordy then at Fox. “Up now!” His accent distorted the words.

  Fox stood slowly and stuck his hand out to Lordy who held it and pushed himself up.

  The man shook his head in disgust and spoke in Arabic to the two others. “That one acts like a woman.”

  Fox did not let his face show any recognition of understanding as the man nearest to the door replied, “She is a woman Salah.”

  The three laughed in a strange manner. Fox did not find any humour; it must have been an ‘in joke’ between ‘bum chums’ he decided. The man at the door reached back around the frame and produced two orange bundles. He threw them at Fox and Lordy.

  Salah, the one with the exposed face spoke again. “Put these on.”

  “W-why?” Lordy stammered

  “Put these on.”

  “He doesn’t want us to see his knickers.” Sniggered the third man in Arabic. The trio started to laugh again but their mood swiftly changed when they saw Lordy’s tattoos.

  “What are those?” Salah demanded.

  “They’re just tattoos.” Replied Fox.

  Salah pointed his bony finger at Lordy. “What are those?”

  “Tattoos.” Lordy said in a voice that almost broke.

  Salah rushed forward and grabbed Lordy’s right arm. He stared, his eyes full of fury at the large inky cross that covered the entire side of his upper arm. Lordy tried to pull his arm away but the grip was firm, Fox’s hands were in his jumpsuit pulling it up. As he freed them two rifles were aimed at him. Salah spun Lordy around to inspect the rest of the tattoos. Another much larger cross rose from his lower back and spread across his shoulder blades, on his upper left arm was a small union jack with the words ‘Green Army’ written underneath.

  “You are Army!” Salah accused Lordy and pushed him violently against the wall. “You are Army!”

  Arms f
ree, Lordy held them up to protect his face. “No.”

  “You are army!” Salah kicked him in the stomach.

  “No I’m n-not Army. H...he…he’s...”

  The vein in Fox’s head throbbed and his body tensed for action. The two rifles however remained pointed at him, ready for an excuse.

  Before Lordy could give away his secret Paddy spoke. “It’s football. It’s a football team.”

  “What?” Salah turned his head. “Army football team?”

  “No just football. Like Manchester United.”

  Salah’s eyes flickered. “Which team?”

  “Plymouth Argyle.” Lordy’s voice was raspy.

  Salah took a step back. “What division are they in?”

  “The Coca-Cola league championship.”

  The Arab’s face was confused. “I have not heard of this team or this league. They must be very bad? Perhaps they are women?” He translated this into Arabic and it apparently became funny as the two kidnappers holding the guns started to laugh.

  Lordy did not like the insult but remained quiet.

  Salah pointed at the overalls again. “On, woman football.”

  As Fox continued to dress he felt the mood in the room change, below the balaclava’s he could sense that serious faces were now on. Three of them in the room now that meant that there were two more outside, maybe more. If he moved quickly he could get to one rifle and perhaps pull the trigger but no there was not enough space.

  “Sit on the chairs.” Salah’s eyes looked cold.

  “Come on mate; be nice to sit for a bit.” Fox helped Lordy to his seat.

  Without warning Salah picked up the bucket of ‘drinking water’ and threw the contents over the two captives. He then took a roll of duck-tape and secured their arms to the table before taping their legs to the chairs. Lordy was too scared to resist and Fox too wise. Next came the electrodes Lordy fainted as the first was placed on his chest. Fox tightened his jaw. The voltage initially would not be fatal just painful, very painful. Salah took the second bucket and tipped it over Lordy’s head making him regain consciousness with a jolt.

  “Time to start.”

  The man by the door tightened the connectors on the batteries and bolts of pain shot through the two men. Fox clenched his jaw as his body tried to pull away from the seat but was stopped by the tape. Lordy’s tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth and blood trickled along its length. Salah turned his back to speak to the others.

  Fox looked at Lordy. “Put your tongue inside your mouth and clench your jaw or you’ll bite it off!”

  Without warning two more shocks followed in quick succession before they were allowed to rest. Steam rose from the cotton overalls.

  “What do you want?” Fox’s voice sounded weaker than normal.

  Salah’s eyes narrowed. “To see how long you will live.”

  Fox’s heart beat faster, the man was a sadist – he wasn’t after anything. Fox took a deep breath. He had to give them a reason to keep him alive. “Look I’ll tell you anything just let me know what you want.”

  Another shock hit him and he fought to keep his jaw clenched.

  There was a noise at the door, their leader entered. “Salah! Stop!”

  “Khalid! I was trying to see what they know.” His voice grew higher and took on a pleading tone.

  “About what?” Khalid had not given any such orders.

  “I thought that they might…” The sentence was cut short by the back of Khalid’s hand hitting the youth’s mouth.

  “Do not do anything unless I tell you. Is that clear?”

  Salah held his mouth – he tasted blood. “Yes Khalid.”

  Fox listened to the Arabic then spoke in English. “What do you want form us?”

  Khalid placed a video camera in Salah’s hand. “Set it up.” He looked at Fox. “What I want is for your Government to leave this country, to stop persecuting peaceful Muslims!”

  “But if the British Government leaves Saudi who will ensure peace?”

  “We will!” In his anger, Khalid had not noticed Fox’s deliberate use of ‘Saudi’.

  So we are not Iraq? Fox thought. “But we are here to help you.”

  Khalid leant forward and Fox got a close up of his dark eyes. “You being in the country breaking Islamic law is an insult to Allah. All you infidels must leave!”

  The camera was ready; Salah and a masked kidnapper took a large flag and taped it against the back wall of the room. Khalid positioned himself behind the two hostages and spoke into the camera in Arabic.

  “You have not heeded our warnings; you have not followed our orders. Your Christian Crusaders are still in Iraq and your devils mock Allah in the Kingdom. Because of your arrogance and inaction these two British men will die! We will electrocute them the way you do to your prisoners in America. The Warriors of Mecca are upon you! Allah Akbar!”

  The other insurgents present joined the chant. “Allah Akbar….. Allah Akbar….. Allah Akbar….. Allah Akbar….. Allah Akbar….. Allah Akbar”. Their eyes seemed to glaze as they chanted.

  Lordy started to squirm as he thought he was about to die. “NO! D-don’t do it! Don’t…P-Please don’t KILL ME!!!”

  Another shock hit Fox and Lordy; it was longer and felt more painful than ever, causing both men to pass out, the manic chant still ringing in their ears.

  When Fox awoke he found himself laying on the floor in the foetal position still dressed in his Orange jump suit. The set had been pushed to one side and two more buckets of water were present. Fox had never felt this way before, his nerve receptors were on fire, his body was hot with pain his muscles cramped. He tried to stretch as his body shook, every movement agony as though his body was ripping apart. To his left Lordy was still out. Fox stubbornly forced himself through the pain to perform a push up then another. As he did so his body relaxed slightly as the muscles warmed and more blood pumped. He stood and slowly hobbled around the room. Could he believe what their leader – the one they called Khalid – had said? That they would die? What about their demands? Had these been issued recently or before the kidnap? It didn’t make sense. Why make demands but not give enough time to carry them out? Why exact threats so soon?

  As Fox paced his mind started to work. If they had been taken for money then their safety could be bought, Al Kabir would pay. But global demands like theirs, ‘leave Saudi’, were unrealistic. He knew it and he felt pretty sure that Khalid knew it too. As Lordy started to groan it hit him. He and Lordy once captured on tape were dispensable, the footage could be shown at any time regardless of whether they were actually alive or dead. Fox sat next to Lordy and let the back of his head bang against the wall. That was it. He had to escape.

  Olaya District, Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

  The taxi brought the courier directly to Riyadh’s Olaya District, the commercial heart of the city. The route took the courier past The Kingdom centre, one of Riyadh’s major landmarks, and deposited him outside another, the Al Faisaliyah Centre. The courier paid the driver and entered the building.

  Muhammad Khan left his own driver and discreetly followed the courier towards the Al Faisaliyah complex. As Khan watched the courier march directly into a men’s outfitters.

  Khan edged closer and stood looking into a window in the boutique opposite. He studied the reflection behind him; the courier was greeted by a shop assistant and then shown to a rack of western business suits. Khan cursed for not having a parabolic microphone handy, he had a mini version especially designed for listening into urban conversations. The quality was not great but indoors it improved. He could not lose contact with the courier so swallowed, said a silent prayer and entered the shop. The assistant was still showing the suits to the courier so Khan walked towards a rack of ties. He was himself dressed in slacks and a short sleeved shirt, perfect for buying a tie. He positioned himself so that he was at a right angle to the courier and whilst studying the designer silk ties he listened to the conversation occurring in
Arabic.

  “This is a Chanel suit and is made in Paris. You will find that the quality is extremely high. It has a vent-less back which is very contemporary and flattering for the thinner man like yourself.” The assistant held up the suit and smoothed the lapel with his thumb and forefinger.

  Khan listened to every word, searching for any code or hidden meaning.

  “Is it the latest line?” The courier asked.

  “Yes, it came from a small shipment that arrived today. Very exclusive, only two in this colour.” Replied, the assistant.

  “May I try it on?”

  “Why of course you may. Just through the curtain, there.” The assistant beamed and the courier entered the fitting room.

  Khan concentrated on the nearest tie, this too was Chanel and he had to admit it was very elegant. Burgundy, with a dark blue stripe and a very subtle repeated Chanel logo. “This is very nice.”

  “Why yes sir it would be a very good match for that blue shirt you are wearing.” The assistant glided forward and dripped obsequiousness. “Is it for business wear?”

  “Yes.” Nodded Khan. “I couldn’t help but notice the suit you showed the other customer, I also like that.”

  The assistant’s eye flickered briefly. “I am afraid that is the only one in that particular line.” He smiled “But there are others that would ‘suit’.”

  Khan wanted to stay in the shop until the courier left. “No that is OK. I think I shall take just this tie, that is unless…”

  The Assistant’s eyes flickered again. “Unless what sir?”

  “Unless, you can convince me that, there may be another tie that I also may like?”