Band of Bachelors: Alex, Book 2

by Sharon Hamilton

  She handed the gym bag to him, letting go of the handles before he’d grabbed it, which sent the bag to the floor at his feet. The masked man stepped closer to Sydney, nearly touching her, his red eyes wide with fear he was desperately trying to mask. His right temple was pulsing, and she could see perspiration on his forehead and upper lip. He appeared high on some kind of stimulant.

  The nearly one-foot difference in height proved a distraction to him. He said something in an Arabic-sounding language and unzipped the bag, dumping the contents on the gym floor. He tossed the empty carcass into the corner piled high with other purses and bags.

  Sydney was ordered to sit while the masked man pawed over her bag contents and spread them out over the concrete floor. She knew he was looking for her cell phone.

  He was called away, but not before another guard was sent to stand over her. She was surprised they did not tie her up.

  Underestimate me at your own peril.

  After several minutes, the masked man returned.

  He pointed to her earbud, still lodged deep, playing the Rocky theme that was perfect for her current situation. Her mind was racing what to do next, and expected to hear banging on the door from Alex’s attempted entry any time. He’d know something was wrong if it was locked. But what would be her fate? The girls? Mrs. Beeson?

  “My iPod,” she insisted, pulling out her plug and handing it to the man so he could listen to the music. “For my workout, you understand?”

  The man shouted and the boy she knew from the ladder immediately came running over. His eyes were downcast, as he realized Sydney had recognized him. There was a back and forth exchange between the two of them, and the boy gave her the command, “He wants your cell. He knows it’s not an iPod. You don’t want to play tricks with him. Very bad man, understand?”

  Sydney figured that was all he could say. She took her phone off the armband and handed it to the younger man, with the ear bud still dangling. The bud was removed and the Rocky music blared from the microphone, reverberating throughout the gym. This seemed to irritate the masked man and she worried he’d destroy it. It was tossed into a box outside the office doorway with several others.

  She glanced up at the group of girls and the relative of the boy was not among them, nor did there appear to be any from their immigrant family. She wanted to ask him why they were doing this, but knew she wouldn’t get anything satisfactory. At least the girls were relatively calm, although several were quietly crying or hugging one another. She was grateful they could not see what must surely be two explosive devices hanging in the metal frame of the structure, right below them.

  The younger man translated several bursts of language.

  “He says our leader wants to use you as a hostage negotiator. If everyone cooperates, there will be no loss of life.”

  Sydney could tell he was lying.

  An even shorter man came from Mrs. Beeson’s office. He had a cash box, a couple of computers and some Beach Inc. sweatshirts in his arms. The masked man pushed Sydney in the direction of the office and she complied, but her anger was coming to a full boil.

  “What would Alex do? How can I get a message to him?”

  She heard lecturing coming from upstairs as one of the attackers said in perfect English, “You will cooperate or you all will die. I promise you that. You do as I say, make no problem for us, and you may live.”

  Response to the man’s words was immediate. There was collective moaning and sniffles as the young players began to understand the danger they were in, and they began to panic. Their mothers huddled in small groups, whispering.

  Just as Sydney entered the doorway and was pushed into Mrs. Beeson’s rolling office chair, she remembered her Apple Watch, and understood she had the power to text. The other thing that made her happy was the fact that Mrs. Beeson always had a loaded gun under papers in the locked file cabinet. If she could find her key, there might be a way to defend herself, Sydney thought. But how could she defend herself against so many men? And how many of the girls or mothers would be injured or worse if she tried something bold?

  But she knew she couldn’t just sit idly by and allow the standoff to continue.

  On the desk and side table were several white vests with multiple pockets sewn into them, like a fisherman’s sport vest, except these pockets were jammed with small white plastic bags. It didn’t take much imagination to understand that vests like this, with wires connecting the bags, were made for a suicide bomber.

  A clean-shaven unmasked man walked into the office and greeted her with an almost flirtatious smile. He appeared very Westernized, and he was sporting an expensive haircut. His cultured English told her he’d been well-educated. She recognized him as the one shouting instructions to the girls above. He picked up a vest from the pile, extended his arms to Sydney, and placed it over her neck and shoulders. It was heavy.

  “I am sorry, but you must wear this. But you won’t be the only one,” he said as he tenderly pulled her ponytail from her collar.

  He smoothed the canvas material over her fleece jacket, lingering a bit too long over her breasts. He placed his palms at her upper shoulders and smoothed down over her arms.

  He wore expensive cologne. His well-polished shoes looked as out of place here as he did.

  “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  He shrugged, then pointed to her vest. “That’s a good look for you.”

  “Why?” Sydney insisted. She hated the man and her odds. Playing with the lives of innocent children enjoying their freedoms. Who was he to take all that away? She wasn’t afraid to let him see her disgust for him.

  “What is it you do here?”

  “I’m a coach.”

  “Oh, so I think maybe you are the coach everyone talks about.”

  “Yes, I’ve coached girls from your family, perhaps. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “This I respect. But surely you understand there is a war going on.”

  “Not here.”

  “You are wrong, coach. You take away our way of life. We do the same to you. You kill women and children—”

  “Because you hide amongst them.”

  He laughed. “Why, you don’t believe we have wives and girlfriends? Children of our own?”

  “You drag them into your filthy war.”

  “Coach, you are an ignorant woman. You should be duct taped. You should learn to have respect for those who have been trained properly. This is what’s wrong with your country. You listen to too many women.”

  Sydney bolted out of the chair. She knew she only had one chance to get this asshole, because if she failed she would be duct taped there, perhaps for the rest of her life.

  Caught off guard, he wasn’t prepared for the kick Sydney delivered to his groin, but since she was wearing only flip flops, it didn’t do the damage she’d hoped. He groaned and bent over, then turned and gave her a backhand to the left side of her face. She heard a crack, and knew he’d probably shattered her cheekbone. She screamed as loud as she could as a warning. She heard answering cries from upstairs.

  The noise brought the other men. They were ordered to hold her down with force as her vest was removed with near delicacy.

  “You stupid fool,” the unmasked attacker spat out. “You nearly sent us all up to Allah.”

  “Isn’t that what you want?” Her lips felt numb and the sputtering of blood sent droplets flying like tiny magnets, depositing themselves on the man’s expensive shirt, slacks and pullover sweater.

  She was brought a wet towel and a bottled water for her face. The leader received a cell phone call and went into the main gym area to seek privacy.

  Temporarily, Sydney was left alone. She was satisfied they didn’t notice that she also had an Apple Watch on her, and with that she could text Alex.

  She extended her fingers under the sleeve of her left hand, which had the watch on it, and felt the tiny divots for the keypad on her sport model. She wasn’t sure how close
she came, hoping it wasn’t all gibberish, but she attempted to text,

  SOS Alex. Suicide bombers have everyone held hostage. Help.

  She could tell the text went through because she heard a tiny swooshing sound and then a short vibration on her wrist. She hoped to God it was the right number.

  Her thumbnail clicked off the sound so the attackers didn’t catch on.

  She shouted out to one of the attackers outside, asking to use the restroom. The younger boy walked into the office and denied her request, “You pee here if you need to.” He pointed to the corner of the office, where a metal wastebasket stood.

  They finally tied her to a chair with duct tape secured around her ankles and wrists. Mr. Cleancut poked his head in the doorway. “You will become famous now, Coach. Get yourself ready, say your prayers. If you do a good job, perhaps you’ll survive this.” He stepped inside the office, leaning closer to her and whispered, “In my country, I would have celebrated slitting your throat and watching you bleed all over yourself.”

  They both left the room, closing the door behind them.

  Sydney could stand with the chair strapped to her. She walked herself near the bookkeeper’s desk and found scissors in the top drawer. She tried to finger them, but they slipped from her hand and dropped to the floor.

  Damn it.

  She eyed the telescoping back scratcher next, but ruled it out as not helpful at all.

  She heard voices come near the doorway, so she kicked the scissors further under the desk, and headed back to her corner, still very much attached to the chair.

  The man with the expensive cologne came into the room first.

  “What is your name?”

  “Sydney. S-Sydney Robinson,”

  “Well, Miss Sydney Robinson, lets see how skilled you are in negotiations. I am going to dial a local TV station, you will tell them who you are, and where you are. You will not leave anything out, but only when I give you the sign that it is okay to do so. Can you do this?”

  Sydney nodded her head, but kept her evil eye on him for emphasis.

  “Good.” The man put his hand on his heart. “My name is Youssef. I am a messenger from God.”

  Sydney tried not to react. She was getting adjusted to her situation. It had been over twenty minutes since she’d walked into the gym and still there had been no knock on the door. No attempts to contact her. She hoped Alex would locate the authorities.

  Youssef was not wearing a vest, like some of the others had begun to put on. Then she recalled the white vans outside the gym.

  They’re going to take some of us somewhere! But there wasn’t enough room for everyone.

  Sydney inhaled and drew courage from the satisfaction of knowing they had other plans than to just blow up the gym and everyone in it. They had enough room for maybe thirty of the girls or mothers. Perhaps they’d leave the others alone. She needed to know what his timetable and plans were.

  But before she could ask Youssef, everyone left her alone again and gathered outside the doorway, joining arms over their shoulders. They spoke softly. It wasn’t a meeting.

  It was a farewell.

  She couldn’t text Alex, and panic set in as she realized the phone call to the TV station was probably just to draw news crews for publicity. She could tell, as Youssef handed out the remaining vests, none of them were going to survive.

  She struggled with the duct tape, trying to dislodge it from her wrists, and ankles. Her strong leg muscles worked hard, and finally, she was able to free one ankle. She extended her toes and slid the scissors closer toward her. She balanced the tool on the inset of her shoe, bringing it up to her lap. She tried to maneuver the blade but was unable to have it reach any tape to cut.

  She was getting frustrated and needed to calm herself. As a brief reminder, her stomach lurched and she resigned herself to wait until they asked her to phone the TV station. That’s when she’d make her last stand.

  Then she noticed a piece of the metal trim had been dislodged from Mrs. Beeson’s desk top, probably from the scuffle with Youssef. It was sufficiently sharp to use as a knife. She turned around in her chair and rubbed up and down until one wrist and then the other was freed.

  She quickly undid her other ankle.

  The men were still occupied outside. She fired off a text to Alex.

  “They are preparing to end us all. Must hurry.”

  “On it. I got help. Location?”

  “They’re in the center. There are 8. Vests.”

  “Bomb vests? Hostages?”

  “Yes. All upstairs, except me. In ofc down. Hurry.”

  “Dive under a desk and wait. Lock yourself in?”

  “Yes.”

  She moved toward the door, but her actions drew the attention of one of the men, who spotted her through the door’s window, and raised his weapon. She got behind Mrs. Beeson’s large wooden desk just as the room was filled with splinters from the rounds the semiautomatic made. She didn’t have a chance to lock the door and knew they’d be on top of her any second. She was defenseless. Mrs. Beeson’s gun was in the lower locked file drawer, and she had no key.

  Damn.

  She heard the girls screaming upstairs as there were more weapons fired. Smoke started to fill the room. Sydney held her breath for as long as she could, but then she was forced to inhale the smoke fumes and it made her cough. She was getting dizzy and sick to her stomach again.

  When would the man spray the room with gunfire again? Would he figure out she was behind the desk and come for her? She heard the gun go off, but not in her direction. She knew it would be very soon now, and she was on borrowed time.

  Would this be the last of anything she would hear? Were they going to get her—never give her the chance to feel the life of her baby inside her? Someone would tell him. And then he’d know. But he’d hear it from a policeman, or a counselor, and not from her lips.

  Everything she’d always wanted was being taken away from her.

  And then she heard the most wonderful sound in the whole world. The man she loved was shouting her name over and over again.

  The happy shock of his voice made it so she couldn’t move. And then his face was in front of hers.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She tried to think. “I’m not sure. H-he hit me. Can you check?”

  He was on his knees in front of her. “Your face is bruised, but looks okay. You can come out now, sweetheart. Zak and the guys got here just in time, or I was going in alone. But we got the bad guys, Sydney. You helped us save everyone.”

  His large dark eyes scanned her body as she huddled under the desk. She began to shake. Her vision was suddenly blurry as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. The salty tears stung on one side.

  “It’s okay,” he said as he pulled her towards him, still on his knees. “You’re okay, Sydney.” He rocked her from side to side gently. “Everything’s okay now. I’m here, and you’re safe. I’m not leaving.”

  She pulled back and examined his face. “Never?”

  “Well, you know, go to work, but I don’t want to leave you alone. I would not be able to live with myself if something happened to you, Sydney. My place is here. I’m going to stay here.”

  “So no Team 6?”

  “Not yet, sweetheart. Maybe someday. Not now.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” He gently took her hands in his. “Come on out of your cave. Let’s see how you are.”

  She let him lead her to a standing position. A new wave of nausea hit her. He brought the metal wastebasket over for her, but she stubbornly willed the nausea away.

  “Those flashbombs are nasty stuff, but not lethal. Nothing to make you sick. But they’re nasty.”

  “Good.”

  She collapsed into him. The one-eyed man she’d met in San Diego who helped set up her date with Alex was in the doorway. He had two other men with him.

  “Alex, we’ve
called the fire department and cops. Everyone’s okay. They didn’t hurt anyone, and no one’s missing.”

  “Hear that?”

  She nodded, then buried her head in his chest. Alex whispered to his friends, “We’ll be out in a second. She’s in a bit of shock.”

  His warm body against hers was what she’d wanted to feel. She knew she needed to stay calm, for the baby.

  OMG! The baby!

  He was saying things to the top of her head while letting his strong fingers give her a firm neck massage. She heard him say, “I thought I’d lost you today. I never want to feel that way again. Can you see yourself married to a sailor? Would you do me the honor?”

  She inhaled his words, letting them wash through her as he held her trembling body. It wasn’t what she’d expected on a day with all sorts of other plans. Savoring the moment, she was willingly stringing it out for as long as she could make it. Because now she was going to have to say something that might change everything. And she’d have to make that okay, whatever the outcome.

  “Sydney? Did you hear me? I want you to be my wife.”

  After just a few more seconds of being nourished in his arms, she was ready. “You need to know something first.”

  “No, baby. No bad news. We’ll talk about all this tomorrow.” He hugged her tighter. “Only good things today. Tell me you’ll think about it. Promise me?”

  She separated from him enough to look directly into his eyes.

  “It isn’t bad news, Alex. Not bad at all. What I mean is yes, Alex, I’ll marry you. But there’s something else you need to know first.”

  “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. We’ll overcome anything you and I.”

  That made her smile. How in the world does one overcome a lifetime of raising a child?

  “What is it, Sydney? Tell me.”

  She splayed her fingers over his warm chest, feeling the solid wall that was his body—willing and capable of shielding her, protecting her, risking his life for her. This wasn’t going to be anything he’d trained for.