Foreign Hostage

by Aiden L Bailey

  He covered the mouthpiece, looking at Meinke who was listening to his end of the conversation, just as he had done with her. “I’m talking to my boss, Meinke. We’re discussing hypothetical scenarios, many of which, while they are unlikely, can be disturbing. We need to plan for all possibilities, however remote they may be. If you don’t want to hear, I suggest that you step away.”

  She raised her arms out wide; her face turning red as she frowned. Then she shuddered, deflating as though a someone had tipped a bucket of ice down her spine. “Go where?”

  “Down to the surf? I can see you there. No one will come for you without me stopping them in their tracks.”

  She hesitated. Simon could sense she wanted to know more, but also knew she was at the limit of the mental anguish she could endure. She already had enough horrific ideas plaguing her mind about the likely fate of her sister. She didn’t need any further, as yet unimagined concepts, to exacerbate that worry.

  Meinke nodded, then walked down into the water.

  As soon as she stood knee deep in the surf some distance from him, washing the blood from her skin and clothes, Simon resumed his conversation with Gridley-Brooks. “I can speak freely now. What about you?”

  “All good, Simon. Venter is having a lie down.”

  “Where are you?”

  Gridley-Brooks almost laughed. “In Venter’s office. Durban. The old bastard is working.”

  Simon frowned, not believing what he was hearing. “Working on what?”

  “A property deal. Some Chinese business magnate. Millions of dollars at stake, and the Chinese don’t seem to care that someone kidnapped his daughter.”

  It seemed odd that a client could be that heartless. But yesterday it had also seemed odd that Justin Venter had sent Meinke to Comoros in his place, risking his only other child to represent the family in the hostage negotiations. If it had been one of Simon’s daughters who had vanished, he knew that he would ignore everything else in his life until he had her back, safe again, and the perpetrators incarcerated, or at the very least, neutralized.

  “Venter working. Uncaring Chinese clients. Hostages running far from the people who will pay them money. Nothing stacks up Roger! I presume you are investigating all this?”

  “Certainly am. What have you discovered so far?”

  Simon described the encounter on the beach. “I found both Yemeni and South African money on the body, plus keys which I suspect are for a ship which suggests they brought her here by boat. One with enough power and range to cover two and a half thousand kilometers in a single week.”

  “That narrows it down a bit. Do you think there’s a Yemen connection?”

  “It’s looking that way. I’m also starting to wonder how random this kidnapping was.”

  “You suspect someone could have targeted her?”

  “I do,” Simon considered his next words. “Tristan Venter is rich, right? I mean really rich?”

  “If you mean millions in liquid assets, yes.”

  That information helped to make sense of the situation, but it was still a long way for a Yemenis crew to travel, looking to score on a profitable kidnapping.

  “Be careful Simon. Yemen is one of the world’s leading terrorism hotbeds.”

  “Always.”

  “I’ll look into any Middle Eastern connections Venter has and get back to you.”

  “Thanks Roger. I appreciate that.”

  “Simon. One more thing,” Gridley-Brooks interrupted just as Simon was ready to disconnect. “I have learned more about the Venters. The absent mother, the one none of them talk about, I found out why.”

  “Yeah?” Simon steadied himself, because he could detect from Gridley-Brooks’ tone that the information he was about to share would not be not pleasant. “Tell me.”

  “Nine years ago, when the girls were teenagers, a man attacked their mother. Her car broke down in Soweto, Johannesburg, in the middle of the night. Raped multiple times. Afterwards, she had the rubber of an inner tire tube tied around her neck—”

  “Nasty.”

  “I haven’t finished. It’s worse than you’ll imagine. Not strangulation. They set the tube alight. She died having her head burned to a crisp.”

  Simon squirmed, feeling sick. His earlier comments to Meinke now seemed cruel and uncaring. Yet his respect for Meinke and her handling of this situation increased. To grow up knowing that a stranger tortured and murdered your mother, to lose a parent in such a violent manner, and still have the courage to travel to a poverty-stricken country with no real back-up, to save a sister from a similar fate, that was admirable on so many levels.

  “Thanks, Roger. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Keep that to yourself. I get the impression none of them have ever talked about it, with anyone.”

  He paused, thoughts nagging at him, but providing no insights.

  “Unresolved trauma? Thanks Roger. Will do.”

  “What is it Simon? I can hear the gears in your mind working overtime.”

  “Roger, the mother’s scenario sounds similar to Ariana’s kidnapping.”

  Now Simon could sense Roger’s mind working just as fast. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  There was a lengthy pause as they each considered the implications of this perspective.

  Determined to push on, Simon said, “I should have some actionable intelligence within the hour. I’ll call back then.”

  “Good. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can draw up a list of suspects who might own a boat matching your description. I’ll also see if I can find any motivation, other than money, why someone might target the Venters.”

  “Cheers.”

  The conversation ended. Simon walked to Meinke and touched her on the shoulder. She flinched with the sudden contact then, realizing who he was, turned and attempted a smile.

  “Roger’s looking into various leads. He’ll call back when he knows more.”

  “Good,” she forced herself to sound controlled and in charge of her emotions. He didn’t believe her attempt, but admired her efforts.

  “We’ll get your sister. I won’t stop until I do.”

  “You promise?”

  Simon hesitated. This was the most difficult conversation in any hostage situation. To make a promise of this magnitude would give Meinke additional strength and conviction that everything would work out for the best, so she’d try harder, hang in there longer, and he needed that conviction as much as she did. For the short-term, it was the best strategy.

  For the long term, however, it could be disastrous. Hundreds of thousands of people disappeared every year, in every country across the globe, most never found again. For those that returned, most of their stories ended badly. This scenario would likely end up the same way. If he promised Meinke success, and they failed, then in the long term the effect could be soul destroying.

  So he took the middle path, promised only what he could do.

  “I’ll do everything I can, Meinke. I promise you that.”

  She looked away, nodding, accepting what he said.

  “I admire your bravery.”

  She caught his stare, surprised by his words.

  “I do. I really do.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Thank you. But you don’t have to say that. I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

  “I know you are. That’s admirable, because not everyone can do that. Let’s follow these footprints. I can almost guarantee there is more to learn at the end of this trail.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Simon and Meinke walked on, following the footsteps through the sand. The beach seemed eerily devoid of people, which was odd considering how densely populated the Comoros Islands were. But this was Moheli, the smallest and least populated of the three main islands. The kidnappers had probably selected this location for its isolation.

  Turning a corner on the beach, they spotted the dinghy that had brought the thug back to dry land. It was a five-meter Zodiac designed for
its durability, maneuverability and speed. Another two dark-skinned men loitered by the craft, dressed in loose shirts, pants and kufi caps. One carried an AK-47 assault rifle, the other a large knife which he kept twisting in his hand, like he was practicing throwing it, but not doing so.

  Upon seeing the men, Simon ducked into the jungle foliage and pulled Meinke into the cover with him. He didn’t think the men had seen them.

  “What do we do?” she whispered, trembling.

  Simon smiled. “I have two ideas. I don’t think you’ll like either of them.”

  “What is the safest option?”

  “You wait here. I go talk to them.”

  “They’ll shoot you… Won’t they?”

  He nodded. That was what he expected them to do. He considered it the safest option only because it protected Meinke, not him.

  “The other option?”

  He took the compact Uzi from his pack and loaded a full magazine of 9mm rounds. “I think they came here hoping to snatch you as a hostage. So I’ll pretend to be the guy who attacked you. We walk up to them, me hiding behind so they can’t clearly see me. You pretending to have your hands tied. When we get close, we shoot them both.”

  Meinke was shaking. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  Simon nodded, understanding. He hadn’t thought option two was a realistic choice either. “Okay, the first option then.” He tried to stand, but she grabbed his arm, pulling him down.

  “No, I can do this.”

  She reached into his pack. Taking the Glock 9mm semi-automatic pistol, she pulled back the slide and chambered the first round. Simon noticed that she didn’t look for a safety to release knowing that the weapon didn’t have one. She would know how to use a handgun. Who wouldn’t want to learn how to protect themselves after their mother had been so brutally murdered?

  “Won’t they notice you’re a white guy?”

  “Hopefully not until we’re close enough to shoot.”

  She nodded. Touching his face, she felt the roughness of his three-day growth. “Your skin is so warm.”

  Feeling uncomfortable with such intimacy from a vulnerable client, he took her hand in his, squeezing it. His plan was reckless, endangering her life and his, but it was by far the best plan he could think of and the one most likely to succeed. Before departing Durban, both Simon and Roger Gridley-Brooks had warned Meinke of the dangers she would face while in Comoros, but she had insisted on coming, anyway. She had also insisted on doing whatever she could to get her sister back unharmed. Now he was taking advantage of that vow.

  “We’ll be fine,” he told her. “We have a plan.”

  “Let’s stop talking. Let’s just do this.”

  They walked out onto the beach, her in front, him behind, weapons ready in both their hands. He kept his head down, the kufi cap obscuring his face. Through a corner of his vision he could see the motorized dinghy moored in the surf. The two loitering thugs looked their way. He pulled Meinke closer, roughly, acting like she annoyed him and had the gun trained on her, but in reality, he aimed the weapon elsewhere.

  The man with the AK-47 yelled to them, “Bokamoso! Nguwe?”

  Simon didn’t recognize the language he was speaking, although it sounded more African than Middle Eastern. He presumed one word was the dead thug’s name.

  “Bokamoso?”

  Simon didn’t respond. He kept walking.

  When they reached the halfway point, still some distance from the thugs, Meinke stumbled and almost fell, exposing him.

  Pulling her upright, despite her shrieks, he kept walking. Now was not the time to apologize for accidentally hurting her.

  “Bokamoso? Nguwe?”

  The thugs became agitated. They didn’t like the lack of response from their colleague. Thirty meters now separated them. He needed to be just a little closer to be certain not to miss.

  “Imbuka!”

  The first man raised the AK-47, disengaging the safety lever, ready to fire.

  They had spotted the ruse.

  Simon’s instincts screamed that it was time to act, so he released Meinke, stepped to the side and released a full clip of 9mm bullets into the thug with the AK-47.

  His foe dropped.

  The second man turned, running to grab the fallen weapon. As Simon reloaded, Meinke, with a calm, controlled motion, raised the Glock, aimed it, and shot the man three times in succession. He crumpled, dead, into the surf.

  In less than ten seconds it was all over.

  Reloading a fresh clip, Simon ran to the bodies to be certain they were dead.

  They were.

  Turning back, he saw Meinke standing frozen where he had left her, weapon still raised. Approaching with caution, he removed the Glock from her hands and holstered it in the belt on his borrowed pants. “You’ve killed no one before?”

  She trembled. Her nod was slight, but enough to confirm his suspicions.

  He led her from the bodies, sat her down in the sand and rubbed her back. She didn’t resist.

  “Initially, you won’t be able to believe it. You’ll keep telling yourself it’s not real. But soon, you’ll understand that it is real. Too real. That’s when it hits you. You’ve just killed a man. You’ll try to justify it to yourself. You’ll get angry. Then you’ll hate the dead man, because you hate yourself. You’ll go numb, trying to shut out all the emotions you are feeling.”

  She slumped, limp and semi-conscious, so he shook her, forcing her to sit upright again.

  “Look at me, Meinke!”

  She turned away from him.

  “Meinke. Look into my eyes. I promise you, you need this.”

  With an effort, she held his stare.

  “This is not your fault. Do you hear me? This is not your fault. They kidnapped your sister. Who knows what they have done to her. They want to hurt her and, likely, you and your father. They started this.” She slumped again, and again he shook her, making sure they didn’t lose eye contact. “It’s not your fault.”

  He kept talking, rubbing her arms, holding her upright and insisting that she look at him.

  Her eyes lost their glazed, unfocused state, and she held his stare. “Is that what you keep telling yourself, Simon, every time you kill someone?”

  He nodded. “I don’t like it. I really don’t. And it got harder after my first daughter was born, doubly so when the second one showed up. I started to realize how precious life is. My daughters, they became the reflection of my humanity, the lack of which I had ignored for too long.”

  “Yet you killed those two men so easily?”

  “I know, and I hate myself for it.”

  “Don’t.” Her hand touched his face again. “You are doing a good job Simon. You will rescue my sister. I can see that now. You are an honorable man.”

  She looked ready to kiss him.

  In that moment he wanted to kiss her too, but to do so was wrong on so many levels — a huge betrayal of trust. She was vulnerable, and he was her hostage negotiator.

  He was also a married man. Melissa and Simon had been on shaky ground for years, their relationship strained almost to breaking point, but that was no reason to give up on more than a solid decade together, to throw away his relationship for a casual encounter with someone he barely knew.

  So he pulled Meinke close and hugged her like a friend would. “I’ll be okay too. We both will.” He held her long enough for comfort, and nothing more. Standing, he helped her to her feet. “We have a lead to your sister. So let’s follow it.”

  Searching the dead men, he was disappointed to find little more than the knife and the AK-47. The thugs had stocked the motorized dinghy with standard equipment, although it was all a little worn and decrepit. The goods included rope, an anchor, binoculars, flares, a ration kit and a first aid kit, and some water canteens. There were no spare bullets or magazines for the assault rifle.

  Simon used the binoculars to scan the horizon. He spotted an old recreational trawler, maybe twenty meters long. It
was too distant to read any identifiers, such as the ship’s name or port of registration. It looked to be about six kilometers away from them, close enough to watch the shore but distant enough for the people on the ship not to notice them. He couldn’t make out any people on the boat which meant that anyone out there wouldn’t have been likely to witness the two shootouts on the beach, unless they had powerful telescopes, which he doubted. He also doubted the noise of the gunfire could have traveled that far over the breaking waves or through the wind blowing in from the ocean.

  What Simon knew was that a trawler of that size and dimension would have the range and speed to have made it here from Durban in the last week. This was another good indicator that he was on the right track.

  He estimated the vessel could accommodate up to ten men, more if they didn’t mind cramped quarters. He knew three men were dead, so that left at least seven to contend with. Simon pondered whether these kidnappers regularly traveled to Yemen, thinking they would have to pass through the Arabian Sea close to Somalia where pirates frequented. A trawler this size would be easy picking, which suggested the owner was paying someone to allow them to pass through unscathed by Al Qaeda and their sister group Al Shabaab in Yemen and Somalia. The trawler would have strong links to both militant terrorist organizations, just as Roger Gridley-Brooks had suspected. A larger, geopolitical dimension was looking more and more likely. He wanted to ask Meinke about it, question her on her father’s business relationships, but his instincts told him she knew nothing. The real player here must be Tristan Venter.

  “Meinke?” he called her.

  “Yes, Simon.”

  “Change of plan. You’re staying here.”

  “WHAT!”

  He turned to her, smiling. “I’m sorry, but I’ve found the boat that is likely holding your sister.” He pointed to it on the distant horizon. “There will be at least seven men on board, all armed, all fanatics and all with nothing to lose. I can’t worry about protecting you while I sneak on board to rescue your sister.”

  “Fanatics?”

  He mentally kicked himself for that poor choice of words. “Well, I meant kidnappers. I mean they must be desperate criminals, to have done this.”