Abducted (Powell Book 2)

by Bill Ward

  Turning again to Baz, Powell said, “Tell the guards to get on their radios and find out what is happening. Is help on its way?”

  Baz translated and one of the guards spoke into his radio.

  After a moment the guard put down his radio and said in decent English, “The security forces are on their way.”

  “Go with the women and try to keep them calm,” Powell ordered. “Build some form of defensive shield if possible while we try to buy time until the cavalry arrives.”

  The guard said something in Arabic to Baz.

  “Speak bloody English,” Powell barked.

  “Sir, I cannot go with the women. Many of them are single. It is not permitted.”

  “This is an emergency,” Powell stressed.

  “He is right,” Baz agreed. “We cannot take the risk. We might avoid the terrorists but this is not England, it is too great a risk.”

  Powell shook his head, finding it unbelievable the men should be more scared of the consequences of mixing with the women, than the terrorists who were trying to blow their brains out.

  “Then I suggest you guards go see what has happened to your colleagues and see if you can help them. Don’t let any terrorists onto this floor.”

  The guards seemed eager to get away and ran towards the lifts.

  “What can I do to help?” Baz asked.

  “Take your children into that shop,” Powell sugegsted, pointing to the nearest designer clothes outlet. “Find somewhere to hide the kids and make sure they keep quiet and don’t come out, no matter what they hear.”

  Baz hurried away and Powell turned to Jenkins. “We can cover the escalator from here but keep an eye out for anyone coming from the lifts. I doubt the local guards will last long in a fight.”

  There seemed to have been a lull in the gunfire but then the quiet was broken by a large explosion.

  “That wasn’t just a grenade,” Jenkins stated.

  “We sure could do with finding out what’s going on down there,” Powell replied. “Hold the fort here for a minute. I’m going to go take a look.”

  Powell pressed the emergency red button at the top of the escalator and as expected it stopped moving. He inched his way down the steps, keeping low. From about hallway down he could see what was happening on the floor.

  About five gunmen were watching over a large group of about thirty shoppers who had been grouped together and sat on the floor. Every so often another gunman would herd further people into the group. They were rounding up all the shoppers, either to kill them or act as hostages. Powell hoped it was the latter reason.

  At the bottom of the escalator he could see the terrorist he’d shot. There were grenades attached to his belt and what looked like an AK47 beside his body. He sat on the escalator so he wasn’t visible to the gunmen and slid down the stairs to the bottom. He reached forward and dragged the gun back without anyone noticing. He didn’t want to push his luck so didn’t try for the grenades. He moved back up the escalator and took another look.

  He didn’t understand why the gunmen hadn’t yet tried to access the third floor. Was it because they knew only women shopped on the floor and they were after the men? Or were they just being careful and clearing the building one floor at a time? He had seen enough and crept back up to join Jenkins.

  “They’re rounding up all the shoppers,” Powell explained. “This might come in useful,” he said, handing the AK47 to Jenkins, who with his army background would have more experience with such weapons.

  Jenkins inspected the weapon. “This is the real deal, not one of those cheap imitations.” He put the pistol in his waistband. “How many of them did you see?” Jenkins queried.

  “I counted seven but there may well be more.”

  They were both crouched at the top of the escalator, one either side.

  “Sounds like the troops have arrived,” Jenkins stated, as there was a sudden increase in gunfire and explosions from the ground floor.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Powell voiced. “Those hostages have little chance if the Saudi security forces arrive all guns blazing.”

  They both turned and raised their weapons at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  “I can’t just hide like a woman,” Baz said, crouching beside them.

  “Your security forces have arrived,” Powell explained. The sounds of gunfire were now continuous. “The terrorists have rounded up all of the shoppers on the floor beneath us. It could turn into a bloodbath if the security forces don’t try and negotiate.”

  “Can we help the hostages?” Baz asked.

  “It’s probably not the smart thing to do,” Powell answered but knew he would not be able to sit by and ignore the terrorists shooting the hostages.

  “I understand,” Baz said. “Can I borrow your weapon and I will try to help the hostages.”

  “You must think of your children,” Powell replied. “And we have a duty to protect all the unarmed women on this floor.”

  “This man can stay and protect the women,” Baz said, indicating Jenkins.

  “Ever fired a gun?” Powell asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Give him the pistol,” Powell said to Jenkins.

  Jenkins handed the gun over and Baz took it confidently. Powell could immediately tell Baz was familiar with handling guns and wondered where he’d gained the experience.

  “If we hear shooting below, we’ll use the escalator for cover and move down the stairs to see if we can help,” Powell said. “Don’t do anything foolish,” he warned.

  Powell had no time to add any further instructions. The sound of rapid fire and shouting on the floor below was quickly followed by a series of deafening explosions and flashes of light.

  Powell moved down the escalator but at the bottom could see little. There was thick smoke and chaos punctured by automatic weapons fire. He reckoned the explosions had been a mixture of stun grenades and smoke grenades because two of the terrorists nearest to him were looking very disorientated.

  As he raised his own weapon, both terrorists fell to the ground shot by men in uniform emerging from the smoke, wearing masks. Powell ducked back down out of site.

  “They have it under control,” Powell said to Baz. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He started to move back up the escalator but Baz seemed intent on remaining.

  “I suggest you follow me, if you don’t want to be mistaken for a terrorist wielding a gun.”

  Baz seemed to suddenly understand the implication of Powell’s words and quickly followed him back to the top.

  The shooting had diminished to just an occasional shot. Powell wondered if that was the security services not wanting prisoners and making sure the terrorists were all dead.

  “What do we do next?” Jenkins asked.

  “We put the weapons down and wait.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Powell and Jenkins had been ushered out the building to safety with no questions asked. For once, Powell realised, it was an advantage to be an expatriate in Saudi. The security services never considered for a second they were anything other than unlucky foreigners caught up in the attack.

  They had placed the weapons out of sight behind the counter of the shop where they were waiting with the children to be rescued. Baz had seemed to understand it was the best way to avoid potentially awkward questions. He wanted to get the children home as soon as possible. Powell had been very tempted to take one of the weapons with him but he couldn’t risk being searched as they left the building.

  At some point in the future, the security guards they had disarmed would tell their story and the female witnesses would speak of the two Europeans, who had dared to encroach on the women only floor of the building. They might even speak in positive terms but Powell hoped they would simply forget all about them, otherwise there would be too many questions to answer.

  An investigation may commence or equally it could be decided there really was nothing worth investigating, given th
e more urgent need to track down any remaining terrorists. Either way, there was nothing further Powell or Jenkins could do to hide the truth. They had wiped the guns free of prints but their faces might well be on CCTV. If someone was intent on searching hard enough for them, then they could be found but Powell hoped they would be out of the country before they were identified.

  Safely outside on the street, Baz had formally introduced himself and the children. He then asked Powell to watch the children for a moment while he went and spoke with a police officer. Now the adrenaline had subsided, Powell was finding the situation rather surreal. He was in Saudi to break up this seemingly happy family and had a gnawing doubt about his operation. Baz had certainly been a concerned father, worried for the safety of his children.

  Powell had an interesting tale to tell Angela Bennett. It was possible that if they hadn’t been there to gain access to the floor, the guards would have made Baz and the children return downstairs, where they could easily have been killed. In a roundabout way, Angela Bennett may well have saved her children’s lives.

  “You speak very good English,” Powell said to the children.

  “We were born in England,” Laila answered. “We used to live in Kingston.”

  “How long have you been living in Saudi Arabia?”

  “Since our mother died,” Karim answered. “About a year ago.”

  Powell was taken aback by the response. “I’m sorry,” he said simply, casting a glance at Jenkins. Now wasn’t the time for revealing their mother was very much alive. “Do you like it here?”

  “I prefer England,” Laila answered quickly.

  Karim shot his sister a glance of disapproval. “It’s different to England but I like it here. This is a better place for a Muslim to live.”

  Powell decided to say nothing further as he didn’t want to cause a rift between the children.

  They were surrounded by literally hundreds of others who had also been evacuated from the building. Smoke was billowing from one particular part of the building and glass from broken windows littered the pavement.

  Ambulances were everywhere, sirens wailing and ferrying the injured to hospital. There were people being treated for a wide variety of injuries. The walking wounded were almost being ignored as the medical staff prioritised the most urgent cases first and loaded them in the back of the ambulances. Many of the people looked dazed and in a state of shock.

  It was a scene of utter confusion and for a second Powell wondered about just leaving the children and getting as far away as possible. He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable the longer Baz spent talking to the police. What if he was already telling them about the two Europeans, who had attacked and disarmed the guards? After what seemed an eternity, Baz finally turned and walked back alone.

  “We were very lucky,” Baz said. “I’m told the terrorists shot many of the hostages. There may be as many as fifty dead.”

  “Why are Muslims killing Muslims?” Jenkins asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “It is the price we pay for supporting the Americans and fighting terrorism,” Baz explained. “We live in difficult times.”

  “We do indeed,” Powell agreed. “And the worst thing is I can see no end to the problems.”

  “I share your pessimism,” Baz agreed. “But now I need to get the children home. Thank you both for your help. I would be honoured if you would have dinner with me sometime soon.”

  “It would be our pleasure,” Powell agreed, despite feeling a little uncomfortable at the idea. It could only benefit the operation to find out more about where they lived.

  “Good, this is my number,” Baz said handing over a business card. “Call me tomorrow and we can arrange something. Where are you staying by the way?”

  “The Four Seasons.”

  “That is very close to where I live. It is also where I normally take the children shopping. I chose a bad day for a change in shopping mall!”

  “All’s well that ends well.”

  “Ah yes, one of your many good English sayings. Give me a call, my cook is excellent and will prepare a feast for us to celebrate our survival.”

  “I’ll call tomorrow and we can arrange something,” Powell confirmed.

  “Now I must try to find a taxi,” Baz said. “I fear it may be several days before I can reclaim my car from the car park.”

  Powell and Jenkins watched the family walk away and then hurried away in the opposite direction.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Afina was working in the bar. It was a midweek lunchtime so mostly busy with local office workers and mothers out shopping. She was planning to finish a little early as Mara had left hospital a couple of hours earlier and Afina was keen to go visit her, Emma and Becky.

  She was working behind the bar, which she mixed with sometimes clearing tables and serving food. The best thing about the job was chatting to the customers and getting to know a few of the regulars. It was hard work but since her days as a gymnast, she had never been afraid of hard work.

  Her heart missed a beat when she saw Gheorghe and two others enter the bar and sit at a table. They picked up the menus and by the time they glanced around the bar, she had already turned around and walked to the office.

  Why were they here? It surely couldn’t just be a coincidence they had walked into this bar out of the hundreds in Brighton and Hove. She doubted they knew this was where she worked. Gheorghe probably hadn’t given her another thought since they met in the hospital, which meant they were here because they knew it was owned by Powell. Whether they also knew Powell and Danny were the same man was still uncertain.

  Afina peeked out the office and catching the attention of one of the servers, waved him over.

  “Luke, I know those three men at table eight,” Afina explained. “And I don’t want them to know I work here. When you serve them can you please tell me anything they say? And remember you’ve never heard my name.”

  “Of course, Afina. I’ll go take their orders and let you know.”

  It was possible that Gheorghe was here to check out Powell because he would know it was him who killed Victor. He would also know it was Dimitry who murdered Powell’s daughter. Would Gheorghe be looking for revenge for Victor’s death? If they were good friends it was a distinct possibility.

  Luke went from taking the orders to the till where he entered the details. Then he returned to the office.

  “They asked about Powell,” Luke said. “I told them he was out of the country and they asked when he was due back. I said I had no idea but didn’t think it was for a couple of weeks.”

  “Thank you, Luke. They didn’t mention me?”

  “No, they only seemed interested in Powell. Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine, thanks.” Afina was relieved they hadn’t mentioned her and also Luke had hopefully persuaded them there was no point in trying to contact Powell at least for the next couple of weeks so with a bit of luck they would stay away from the bar. “Let me know tonight if they say anything else of interest. I’m going to shoot off early as my friend has just left hospital.”

  “Will do,” Luke agreed and returned to his work.

  Afina was conscious she needed to warn Powell about Gheorghe but she didn’t want to add to his troubles when he needed to be focused on recovering the children. At least while he was out of the country, he was safe from Gheorghe and his friends.

  Afina slipped out of the rear door of the bar and walked to the nearby taxi rank. It was only a ten minute drive to where Emma and Becky lived. She didn’t feel like taking a bus today. She wanted to see Mara as soon as possible and tell her she had seen Gheorghe in the bar,

  Afina liked visiting Emma and Becky’s home, as it always reminded her of how they had saved her that night by opening their doors to a stranger in trouble, when she was running away from Dimitry.

  “You’re early,” Becky said upon opening the door.

  “I didn’t want to miss the party.”

&nb
sp; They walked through to the living room where Mara and Emma were sitting chatting.

  “Glad you’re here at last,” Mara said. “Now we can open the champagne.”

  “Are you sure you should be drinking alcohol?”

  “The doctor said it was fine in moderation.”

  “You don’t do moderation very well,” Afina said, joining Mara on the sofa.

  “I’ll get the drinks,” Becky said and headed for the kitchen.

  “I’m going to help Becky,” Emma said and also left.

  Afina took the chance to tell Mara about Gheorghe’s appearance at the bar. “Do you think he knows Powell and Danny are the same man?”

  “I hate my uncle but he isn’t stupid. He may have worked it out and I know he’s spoken to Stefan.”

  “Have you seen him since last week?”

  “No but he did call me and said he was looking for a new property for the business as he thought the old one was tarnished by Victor’s death...”

  “What?” Afina asked, seeing Mara hesitate.

  “He said I should take a couple of week’s break and then he expected me to help him set up the new business. He said I wouldn’t have to fuck anyone for the foreseeable future, unless I wanted to.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I think he will give me some time off from fucking while I help him get to know Brighton and it suits him but…” Mara shrugged her shoulders. “It won’t stay that way for ever.”

  “Does he know where you’re staying? It’s not fair on Emma and Becky if he comes around here causing trouble.”

  “I told him I was leaving hospital tomorrow, just in case he turned up to collect me. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Today, we are celebrating my being alive and leaving hospital. I don’t want to think about the future… or the past for that matter.”

  “We must think about the future. What will you say when your uncle asks where you are living?”