by C. De Melo
Suzie stood off to the side, ready to assist. “Good evening, Mrs. Adams,” she said.
Naomi turned around and smiled. “Zoë, I’m sorry to inconvenience you.”
“Nonsense,” I assured, shaking my head. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Turning to Suzie I added, “You may go home now, Suzie. Thank you.”
“Goodnight ladies,” Suzie said before grabbing her purse and slipping out into the darkness of early evening.
I locked the front door after Suzie left and gave Naomi my full attention. “Now, what kind of piece would you like to see?”
Her eyebrow rose and she held my gaze steadily as she replied, “The kind that holds bullets.”
My smile faltered. “Excuse me?”
Naomi’s eyes grew cold and hard. “I believe you heard me clearly.”
My eyes went to Naomi’s hand- the one not holding the wine glass. To my shocked surprise, she was aiming a gun at me. I ran towards the back door, but stopped when I heard her cock the weapon.
“Don’t think I won’t shoot you in the leg,” she warned. “My orders are to bring you in alive. Nothing was said about injuring you.”
I turned around. “Orders? What orders?”
“This is a kidnapping, Zoë. Do as I say and everything will be fine, resist and I will be forced to hurt you.”
My heart was pounding fiercely. I remembered Lance’s words in Italy. He had described me as being a target for a kidnapping and how Michael would pay a king’s ransom for my safe return.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked breathlessly.
“It’s nothing personal against you. This is just business.”
“My husband will pay the ransom- there’s no need to hurt me,” I assured.
Naomi’s brow creased into a frown. “I’m not kidnapping you for money! I don’t want any ransom.”
My mouth went dry. “Then what is this about?”
Naomi cocked her head to the side. “It’s about your husband and the people he’s involved with.”
Michael’s dalliance with terrorists…
My mind reeled. “What about Maddy?”
She shrugged. “Just a means to an end.”
“To get to me?”
“That’s right.”
“My sister really cares about you…she may be in love with you.”
Naomi shrugged. “Oh well.”
I was frowning now, too. “Are you the one who ransacked my house?”
“My colleagues did that.”
“And when you didn’t find what you were looking for, you decided to go this route,” I said bitterly. “You’re nothing but a common crook!”
“Regardless of what you think of me, your life is now in my hands. And if you want to remain alive you will shut up and do exactly as I say,” she retorted, pointing the gun at me. “Come on, we have to go now.”
Naomi led me outside through the back door where her white Jaguar was parked in the lot.
“Freeze!”
We both turned around at the sound of the woman’s voice. My mouth hung open when I realized it was Maria! She wore a fierce expression and had a gun aimed at Naomi.
“Maria?” I asked incredulously.
“Game’s over, Bushra,” Maria said. “Drop your weapon.”
Bushra?! I looked to Naomi, confused. She ignored me and disobeyed Maria’s command.
“I said drop your weapon, bitch,” Maria shouted loudly with a scowl on her face. “Put the gun on the ground slowly.”
“You’ve got nothing on me,” Naomi said defiantly.
Maria cocked her gun. “Put the gun down NOW or I swear I’ll blow your fucking head off!”
Naomi held out the gun as she slowly bent to the ground. “Okay, okay!”
“Slowly…do it slowly,” Maria said.
Suddenly Naomi dropped to the ground and started shooting. Maria’s gun went off, creating bullet holes across the door of the Jaguar. I covered my ears and as they shot at one another. Maria was hit and fell to the ground. Naomi stood up immediately and there was a look of satisfaction on her face as she muttered under her breath. She then looked around to be sure there was no one in sight.
Naomi waved the gun at me. “Get in the car now!”
I was in such a state of shock at seeing Maria get shot that I just stood there. Naomi shoved me hard and I stumbled forward, almost falling on my face. I began to walk towards the passenger side door and she yanked me back by the hair. I yelped aloud from the pain. She opened the driver’s side door and indicated that I should enter the car through there.
“Give me your purse and your wrist-phone,” Naomi said as soon as she slid behind the steering wheel.
I handed her both items without hesitation and she threw them carelessly into the back seat. Next, she tossed a black satin bag onto my lap.
“Put this on over your head.”
I couldn’t help crying. “Please…”
“Look, Zoë, I don’t want to hurt you but I will if I have to. Just do as you’re told and everything will be okay,” she said in a reasonable tone.
I obediently placed the bag over my head. Thankfully, the opening was wide enough at the bottom to allow me to breathe comfortably. Naomi started the engine and within minutes we were traveling at a fast speed. I assumed she avoided the main streets since it would look suspicious.
“We’re not animals, you know,” she said at length. “We’ll put you in a comfortable room and feed you good food. There will be no torture or anything like that, so don’t be afraid. There’s really no need for you to freak out.”
“Okay,” I said from inside the confines of the bag.
“I hope your husband loves you as much as the media says he does.”
Me too, I thought.
Naomi drove on in silence for what seemed like a small eternity. Finally, she slowed and made a right turn onto a gravel-paved road and cut the engine.
“We’re here. You can take off the bag now.”
I pulled the bag off and looked around. We were parked in front of a large colonial-style house nestled in the woods.
“Where the hell are we?” I asked.
“That would defeat the purpose of you wearing the bag, don’t you think?” Naomi pointed out. “Come on, get out of the car.”
I got out and followed her into the house. A fireplace with an ornate wooden mantle adorned the main room, and several expensive-looking oil paintings hung on the walls.
Naomi must have noticed my expression. “See? I told you we are not animals.”
“Your name is Bushra?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I blinked in surprise. How had Maria known Naomi’s real name? “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s Arabic for ‘good omen.’”
How ironic, I thought as my head turned at the sound of footsteps.
A man with dark eyes and black beard came towards us. He was holding some kind of military assault rifle- only it looked much more lethal than the ones I remembered. He looked me up and down and then spoke in Arabic to someone in another room. An impeccably dressed man with a familiar face appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Adams, how good to see you again,” Al Majed said.
“Mr. Greeling,” I retorted, pretending not to know his true identity.
“You look as lovely as ever,” he said before taking my hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm. He gallantly led me to the sofa in the main room. “Please, sit down.” I sat down and he continued, “Let me assure you that this is nothing personal.”
“That’s what Naomi- I mean Bushra- said, too.”
His face became grave, concerned. “Well, she is right.” He took a deep breath. “You see, Mrs. Adams, your husband is not the hero everyone seems to believe he is and that’s unfortunate.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed.
“In fact, he is far from being a hero. His business practices are…questionable to me and my colleagues.”
“Look, Mr. Gre
eling, I don’t know why I’m here, but I can assure you that my husband keeps his business affairs- questionable or not- very private. He never discusses that part of his life with me, so I know very little about it. Besides, I’ve been frozen for almost two decades…”
“Yes, we know, but that is not why you have been kidnapped. We are not trying to get information from you, we are trying to obtain something from him,” Majed said.
I nodded in understanding. “Naomi said this isn’t about money.”
“That is correct. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you anything else at this time.” He stood up, which meant that our little tête-à-tête was over. “I’m sure you must be tired from all this excitement. I will have Bushra take you up to your room now.”
I stood up when she came forward. Majed spoke to her in Arabic and then looked at me. “I hope you have a good night, Mrs. Adams. I apologize for any unpleasantness this matter has caused you. Please remember that it is nothing personal.”
“Does my husband know you’ve abducted me?” I asked. “I’m sure he’ll want to resolve this problem immediately in exchange for my safe return.”
Majed ignored my question. “If there is anything we can do to make you more comfortable, please do not hesitate to ask,” he said with a smile so maniacal it sent chills up my spine.
I knew in that moment that he would not hesitate to put a bullet in me the same way Bushra did to Maria. I felt guilty at the thought of Maria, who spoke and acted like a street cop and got shot on my account. Was she undercover?
“Come,” Bushra instructed.
I followed Bushra upstairs. We came to a room at the end of the hall where two armed men were seated outside the door. They eyed me steadily as I passed them and went inside the room. It was clean and well furnished.
“Are you hungry?” Bushra asked.
“No.”
“Don’t try anything foolish, Zoë.”
“Like what? Jump out a window?”
She didn’t crack a smile. “You can’t; they’re bolted shut.”
“Can you at least tell me what this is all about?”
She paused before responding. “Let’s just say your husband has pissed off the wrong people.”
I suspected she was referring to ‘Mr. X,’ the coalition of mega-rich oil sheiks from the UAN. Naturally, I kept this speculation to myself.
“And what is your role in this?” I asked.
She smiled sweetly. “I work for those pissed-off people.”
“I see…”
She looked at me archly. “Goodnight, Zoë.”
Bushra left and locked the door behind her from the outside. I was trapped. I stood in the center of the room for a long moment just listening for anything that would help me discern where I was or what was going on. After several minutes of silence, I looked around the room. It contained a double bed and solid wood furniture that appeared to be very heavy. Not only were the windows in the room bolted, they had metal bars over the glass panes. Another door led into a tiny bathroom covered in white subway tiles. There was no mirror and only one bar of soap still wrapped in paper on the sink’s edge. There was no mirror in the bedroom, either. They had cleverly avoided putting anything in this ‘prison’ that could be potentially used as a weapon or a tool to commit suicide.
I washed my face in the bathroom sink with cold water, and then removed my red ballerina flats. I kept the black cotton top and slim black pants I was wearing in the event the men outside the door had to come into the room for any reason. My bare feet felt good against the cold tile floor. I walked to the window and looked out, but all I could see was the black outline of trees against the night sky. The waning moon was just a sliver. Tomorrow morning I would be able to see more.
Sighing in frustration, I wandered to the nightstand. There were three books piled upon it- an English version of the Quran, a copy of Jane Eyre and a biography of President Richard Nixon.
What an odd selection.
I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my hands through my hair. My mind raced with dozens of questions and probabilities. I couldn’t stop thinking about Maria. She fell to the ground after Naomi shot her; was she dead or was she wounded?
I was exhausted so I stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I tried to piece together the information I had gathered from Lance and Brady: a group of billionaire oil sheiks (aka: Mr. X) were against the ALTSYS clean energy plan the UAN was intent on adopting. The South American Z-Lab headquarters was vandalized recently (more than once) and someone broke into our home to ransack Michael’s office. Was Majed responsible for either or both? I had seen him in Rio with my husband…and what about Bushra? She insinuated that she worked for Mr. X; does that mean Majed does, too?
I didn’t know whether my abduction had to do with ALTSYS and Mr. X or the lab reports for the creation of the pod virus that Lance and I found in the mysterious trunk. Perhaps it was something altogether different since Michael was involved in so many ‘questionable business practices’ (as Majed had eloquently stated earlier).
I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of Lance. I wish there was some way I could contact him, but Bushra confiscated my wrist-phone.
***
It was almost one o’clock in the morning when Brady parked the car at the top of the gravel driveway leading to the house where Zoë was being held prisoner. He did not dare to continue down the long drive in the woods for fear that someone would hear the engine and the crunching sound of tires on stones. An unmarked van followed closely behind.
Brady looked at Lance, who sat in the passenger seat. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait here?”
“Positive,” Lance firmly replied.
“You’d be better off keeping your ass in the car.”
Lance turned around to face the woman in the backseat. Maria- or rather, Yolanda- was glaring at him. He was still getting over the shock that Brady had planted an agent in his brother’s house and never said a word about it. Yolanda’s role was to infiltrate the Adams household and get close to Michael. By impersonating a housekeeper, Yolanda gleaned a lot of useful information; especially when Michael drank too much or basked in the afterglow of lustful sex. The seasoned CIA agent played on her employer’s male ego and was quick to take action by initiating an illicit affair.
When Yolanda overheard Zoë’s conversation with Bushra about meeting at the gallery, she instinctively knew something was up and decided to follow her ‘employer.’ She had prudently donned a bullet-proof vest before getting out the car - just in case things got nasty. Good thing she did. Aside from a nasty bruise in the center of her chest, she was fine. Luckily, she had also managed to attach a tiny tracking device to the undercarriage of the white Jaguar just before Bushra and Zoë came outside.
“Thanks for the concern, Yolanda,” he said, using her real name for the first time. “But there’s no way I’m going to just sit here while Zoë is being held captive.”
Yolanda looked at Brady. “Why did you have to tell him about her being kidnapped, anyway?”
Brady sighed and looked at his colleague through the rear view mirror. “Because he loves her; you know that.” Yolanda rolled her eyes and he continued, “Besides, she put herself at risk more than once to help us out. So has Lance, who- by the way- knows how to take care of himself.”
“Has Michael made contact with them yet?” she demanded.
“He’s on his way here now to negotiate a deal for his wife’s release.”
Yolanda nodded. “Good. Let’s get this over with- I’m sick to death of him and this fucking case.”
The three of them waited in the darkness until Michael’s car came to a stop in front of the house. He was driving one of his more conservative vehicles- a shiny black BMW with tinted windows. They watched as he cut the lights, got out and walked up the stairs to the front door.
Brady handed Lance a loaded gun. “I’m with Yolanda on this one. I think it’s better if you stay, but I’m not going to argue with you.
I assume you know how to use one of these.”
“You bet,” Lance assured, taking the gun.
Brady, Yolanda and Lance got out of the car quietly and waited while the SWAT team members got out of the van and strategically assembled themselves into formation. They were silent, heavily armed and dressed in black. The agents had the house surrounded within a few minutes.
As suspected, armed guards were posted outside. The SWAT team managed to silently apprehend those who guarded the grounds, but as soon as they entered the house an alarm was tripped and guns were fired.
***
I must have fallen asleep because I woke up to the sound of a blaring alarm and gunshots. It took a moment for my muddled brain to realize the shots were coming from outside the house. I ran to the window and saw dark shadows moving haphazardly throughout the grounds. The outdoor lights were on and I noticed a man on the ground bleeding badly. I slipped my feet into my shoes and tried to open the bedroom door (even though I knew it was locked). I sat on the bed and anxiously waited for what would happen next. There was running, shouts and more gunfire. It was not long before someone unlocked the bedroom door. It was Al Majed and Bushra. I stood up to face them as they walked into the room.
“Bring her downstairs,” Majed said.
Bushra waved a gun at me. “Come on!”
I instinctively shrank back, causing Bushra to grab my arm with surprising force. She shoved me forward and I stumbled. “Don’t make me hurt you,” she warned.
We went downstairs and I came to a sudden halt when I caught sight of the living room. Michael, Lance, Brady and two SWAT members were on their knees with their hands interlocked behind their heads. Majed’s guards stood around the room with weapons aimed at the kneeling men. Lance caught my eye as Bushra pushed me into the center of the room.
“Princess, don’t be scared,” Michael said.
“Shut up,” Bushra cried, nostrils flaring. “You were instructed to come alone. You disobeyed, and now you will pay the price for your foolishness.”
Michael’s brow creased in worry. “I swear I didn’t tell anyone-”
“Cease!” Bushra hissed. “What do you take me for, Michael? A fool?”
