The Asset: Act II (An Isabella Rose Thriller Book 2) Page 15

  Aabidah spoke to Aqil and left him alone with Isabella. They stood in awkward silence for ten minutes. Isabella took the opportunity to try the window. It was locked. It didn’t matter; even if she had been able to open it, there would have been no way she could have escaped through it.

  “Don’t,” Aqil said. His tone was nervous and uncertain.

  Isabella turned to him. He was at the door, his body turned a quarter toward it as if his anxiety was split between the prospect of Aabidah’s return to find him talking to Isabella, and of Isabella herself.

  “Come on,” she said. “Help me.”

  “Please, Daisy. Don’t.”

  “You need to get me out of here,” she insisted.

  “I can’t,” he said. “What can I do?”

  “Give me that”—she pointed at the AK—“and get out of my way.”

  He shook his head and laughed nervously at her suggestion. “Don’t be crazy. They’d kill me. And how far would you get? You’re in the middle of the city. Did you look out the window?”

  “Come with me, then,” she said. “Help me.”

  She saw the confusion on the young man’s face. She could see that her snap impression of him had been accurate: he didn’t want to be here any more than she did. It was the first real reason for optimism that she had found since she had been brought here.

  She was about to persevere with him when the door was pushed open and the veiled Aabidah returned.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “I was just about to . . .” Aqil started, the words trailing away as the woman bustled by him and came right up to Isabella.

  “Put your niqab back on.”

  Aabidah was just inches away from her. The woman was a similar height to Isabella, but that was all that she could say with certainty. What she looked like, her build, most of her body language—they were all hidden by the concealing garments.

  Isabella paused, balanced on the fulcrum of a decision: make her move now, or wait for something better. The fact that the woman was so close to Isabella gave her confidence. Her Krav Maga instructor had taught her several techniques that would have served her purpose; the fighting style was driven by the tactic of disabling one’s opponent as quickly as possible, and a straight-fingered jab into her throat or an elbow into her face would have done the job very well. Aqil was craven, and she didn’t expect that he would put up any resistance either. She would be able to escape the room with an automatic assault rifle and fight her way out of the hotel. But Aqil was right. Even assuming that she was able to exit the hotel, it was the start of the evening in the busy centre of a city that was unknown and hostile to her. She had no idea where she would go. They would chase her down before she could get a hundred yards.

  She gritted her teeth in frustration. It wasn’t the right time. She would have to wait.

  “I’m sorry,” Isabella said. She took the niqab from the back of the chair where she had lain it and put it back on again.

  “Were you talking to him?” Aabidah said sternly.

  “No,” she said.

  “You liar. I heard you. You don’t talk. You don’t take off the niqab, ever. You think Abu will protect you if you disobey us? He will not. You do not want to find out what would happen to you without his protection.”

  “I’m sorry . . .” she said, forcing herself not to do what she wanted to do most of all: show them that she was not the helpless little girl that they all thought she was.

  Aabidah turned to Aqil. “And you,” she said with a derisive flick of her gloved hand. “You guard her. You do not talk to her. What is it? You miss keffir girls?”

  Aqil stiffened. “No,” he said, taken aback by the woman’s sudden vehemence and the realisation that, despite her gender, she held a position of influence that he would be well advised to respect. “I told her to put the niqab back on again. I told her not to talk.”

  “She is a prisoner, not a guest,” Aabidah said. “She is not to be treated hospitably until she has explained what she is doing here.” She turned to the door and waved at Aqil to stand aside. “He is ready to see her again now. Bring her.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Abu was waiting for her again. He was sitting in the chair behind the desk and he looked as friendly and welcoming as he had done before.

  “Hello again, Daisy,” he said. “How are you?”

  “Scared.”

  “Yes, of course you are. Please, take off your niqab. I would like to see your face.”

  She did as she was told, removing the heavy veil and folding it on her lap.

  “That’s better. Did you think about what I said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I had a look at the accommodation I would like you to have. Not here—I decided that I can do much better than that. We have nice houses where our Western guests can stay. I have such a house for you. A very pleasant house—it used to belong to a doctor. She was posting things about us that were not very friendly. We found out, of course, as we always do, and she had to answer for her crimes. Her house is vacant now. I would like you to have it.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “But you need to persuade me that you should have it, Daisy. That you deserve it.”

  “I’ve answered all of your questions. I’ve told the truth. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “You are standing by your answers? Everything that you said is the truth?”

  “Yes,” she said. She didn’t know where Abu was taking the conversation, and it wasn’t difficult to make her reaction one that suggested she was anxious. She was anxious.

  “I spoke to the al-Khawaris just now. I told them what you told me. They say that you are lying and that you should not be trusted.”

  “I told you the truth, I swear.”

  “It is what you said about Jasmin al-Khawari that concerns me the most. She is very clear that you attacked her. She says you knocked her out and then you tied her up. Her husband and son have both confirmed this. I suppose it is possible that you struggled. Perhaps she fell and banged her head. Yes?”

  “That’s right,” she said. “That’s what happened.”

  “But then you tied her up. Why would you do such a thing?”

  “I was frightened. She was crazy. I didn’t know what she’d do. I was going to leave the house and I didn’t want her coming after me.”

  “Really, Daisy? I hope you don’t mind me saying that that sounds a little far-fetched.”

  “It’s the truth. I swear it.”

  “Shall I tell you what Mr al-Khawari thinks?”

  “What?”

  “He thinks that you were involved with planting evidence for the British government.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s what I told him, Daisy. Ridiculous! How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Precisely. How would a fifteen-year-old girl be involved with British intelligence? But it puts me in an awkward position. I am a military man. Understanding the strategic picture is important to me. I like to understand everything about a situation before I make a decision, and I do not feel comfortable that I really understand the situation with you. Can you see my dilemma?”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” she repeated. “I don’t know what else I can say.”

  “There is something else. Emails that the British government says came from Mr al-Khawari’s computer have been provided to the media. These emails establish a connection between the caliphate and the attacks at Westminster and the Houses of Parliament. He says that they are fabricated. I doubt that you have seen these emails, have you, Daisy? Do you watch the news?”

  “No,” she said.

  “No. You are young, of course. Why would you be interested in things like this?” He smiled, his white teeth glittering between dry lips. “I have reviewed the emails. Our intelligence specialists have reviewed them. They are undoubtedly fabricated. The ones that were sent to him from the caliphate,
some of them come from people who were dead when they were supposed to have sent them. They are very good fakes. It would be impossible for them to be disproved without specialised knowledge. But they are fake. Apart from anything else, Mr al-Khawari has no connection with the caliphate. He never has. It seems obvious to me that he has been put forward as what you might call a stooge. Your government would like people to think that we were responsible for the attacks, but we were not. They have nothing to do with us.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I don’t know, Daisy. I was hoping you might be able to tell me. The emails were certainly on Mr al-Khawari’s server. He tells me that his network was impregnable from the outside. He says that he paid many tens of thousands of pounds to ensure that his system could not be hacked. He says that the only way those emails could have been placed on his server is by someone who was inside his property.” He put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, fixing her in a cold and pitiless stare. The bonhomie and good manners disappeared as if at the pressing of a switch. “Someone like you, Daisy. How did you do it?”

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “Who were you working for?”

  This was it. She knew that she had to be persuasive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was there for Khalil’s party. I got lost. That’s it. This is all a horrible, horrible mistake.” She forced herself not to blink, breathed more quickly, and then thought of her mother. The tears came, and she let them roll down her cheeks. “I just want to go home.”

  Abu was not moved by her demonstration. He did not ameliorate his stern expression, he did not smile, nor did the warmth return to his eyes. He allowed her to sob and she took the opportunity to look down and cover her face with her hands. It seemed like the natural thing to do, and it gave her a moment to compose herself. She was in a precarious position. If he disbelieved her, she knew that she was in the utmost danger. She knew what might happen to her. She had to persuade him that it was ludicrous to believe that a fifteen-year-old girl was involved in the scheme that he had sketched out.

  “Stop crying,” he said peremptorily. “It is pathetic.”

  She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and sniffed.

  “I am disappointed,” he said. “I do not like being lied to, and I think you are lying to me. Salim’s story is credible. The only thing that I find difficult to believe is that your government would enlist a girl like you to do its wishes. But then, on the other hand, maybe it is not so impossible to believe. They are desperate. Public opinion is against the course of action that they have determined to take. Perhaps they would do desperate things. Perhaps everything that has happened over the last week—the attacks, the use of Mr al-Khawari in this way—perhaps it is all for the furthering of their agenda.”

  “Please,” Isabella said. “I don’t know anything about any of this. I just want to go home.”

  He stood and straightened his uniform. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Daisy. The hotel is impossible. The house—that is certainly impossible. You will go back to your cell. I want you to think about the situation you are in. Perhaps you underestimate how serious it is? Let me correct that for you: unless you tell me the truth, all of the truth, you will be executed. There are people in this building who would have killed you already, but I told them that we had to wait. Perhaps I was wrong. And there is value to our cause in executing a young Western girl like you. You know what will happen to you? You have seen our videos?”

  “No,” she lied; she had seen them.

  “Perhaps I will have a guard show them to you. Do not make the mistake of thinking that this is a bluff. I do not bluff.”

  “I’ve told you the truth!”

  “No, you have not. Think very carefully about what you’ve said. You will be brought back to me here tomorrow. Unless you are more forthcoming, we will have to try other ways to have you tell me the truth. Less pleasant ways than having a nice little conversation like we have had today. And if I still feel that you are lying, tomorrow night you will be taken to the main square and you will be executed.”

  He stalked across the room to the door, opened it and left without another word. Aabidah came inside and gestured with an irritated stab of her finger to the niqab in Isabella’s lap. She put it on and allowed the woman to take her by the wrist and pull her to her feet.

  “You are lying,” she said. “Silly little bitch. He is soft with you. If it was me, you would have been taken to the square and stoned. You would have been hanged or put on a cross. You better tell him what he wants to know, or that is what will happen to you.”

  The woman yanked her by the arm, impelling her to the door. Isabella looked around, her vision hampered by the niqab, searching for a weakness or an opportunity that she could exploit. There was nothing. Perhaps she could get away from Aabidah, but what then? Nothing had changed from earlier. She didn’t know this building. She didn’t know the locale, save that it was full of people who were not her friends. She had nowhere to go and no one to help her. She wasn’t prepared to placidly accept her fate, but neither was she prepared to make a reckless attempt to escape.

  Aqil was waiting for them outside. He followed behind them as they descended the stairs, crossed the reception and went to the minibus.

  She would watch and wait. They thought that she was a helpless little girl, lost and alone. She would foster that. It was her biggest advantage. She would wait for the right opportunity, and when it presented itself, she would seize it.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Aqil took the seat behind the girl as the bus returned the prisoners to the jail. He stared at the back of her head, everything obscured by the veil. There was something about her that he found unsettling. She seemed to be calmer than she had any right to be in the circumstances in which she found herself. She had been confident enough to talk to him in the room while the woman was away. She had waited until they were alone, and then she had spoken. Why was that? Could she see that he was frightened out of his mind? He was trying to play the part, but it felt totally unconvincing and he knew that his doubts would show. He was almost crippled by fear. He had felt sick all day, and as the bus drew to a halt outside the half-wrecked building, he felt worse.

  The doors opened and the passengers disembarked. Aqil stayed close to the girl, the muzzle of his AK just a few inches from her back. They reached the entrance to the prison. One of the guards was behind the little wooden hut that protected the front of the building. He saw them approach, pushed himself out of his chair and stepped outside.

  He intercepted Aqil. “You are English?”

  “Yes,” Aqil said.

  “Your brother, too?”

  “Yes. His name is Yasin. He was here with me last night. What’s happened?”

  “Yasin,” the man said, nodding. “We did not know his name.”

  “What do you mean you didn’t know? What’s happened?”

  “Your brother was killed last night.”

  Aqil felt a sudden sickness and tasted acid vomit in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down, desperate not to show weakness in front of everyone.

  “How?” he managed to say.

  “An infidel drone. The convoy he was in was attacked. Seven brothers were killed, including him. But it is good. He has been martyred. He is in Paradise now, Allah be praised. It is what he wanted.”

  No, Aqil wanted to say, it was not what he wanted. Yasin knew that they had made a terrible, terrible mistake and all he had wanted to do was go home. Aqil felt hot tears in his eyes and couldn’t stop them from spilling over his cheeks.

  “Do not cry. It is joyous news.”

  “Can I see him?”

  The man chuckled. “Have you seen what happens after a drone strike? There is nothing left to see. He is gone. His sacrifice will not be forgotten, but we must continue with the work of the caliphate.”

  “So what . . .” He stopped, the emotion clotting his throat. “So what do I d
o now?”

  “What you were doing before. The prisoners must be guarded. You will remain here. After that, when we have no further use for them, they will be executed. You will help us do it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Isabella was taken to the same cell as before and locked inside. The darkness was thick and impenetrable, with just the tiniest gradation of grey visible at the intersection of the roof and the wall. She sat down on the mattress and allowed her eyes to get used to the darkness again. She heard the sound of footsteps as the guard headed back to the front of the building, but nothing else, not even the whimpering from Jasmin next door. She had come to expect her sniffling as a part of the building’s soundtrack.

  Isabella had glanced around the cell again as she had been pushed inside, before the door was closed and the darkness descended. Everything was as it had been before. There was nothing that she could use as a weapon. No way to escape. She would have to wait until they came for her again, until they took her back to see Abu.

  She wouldn’t be able to wait for a better opportunity any longer than that. That would be her chance. Perhaps her chances would have been best when she had been left alone in the room with Aqil, but she had hoped that another, better chance would present itself. There would be no point in speculating or regretting what might have been. She would have to act. Her single advantage was that they had no idea who she was and would almost certainly underestimate her.

  She would make that count.

  She lost track of time. She didn’t know when it was that she heard the sound of feet approaching the cell. Several hours later, for sure. She thought that it must have been one of the irregular patrols that the guards undertook, checking that everything was as it was supposed to be, but it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t that after all. She heard the sound of the key to the cell door as it was inserted into the lock, and then the sound of it being turned.