Circle of Fire (12 page)

The night was long. Maya paced the room, went up the stairs and tried the door endlessly. It was always locked.

She thumped the walls, kicked the furniture, called Omar every foul name she could think of, then sat down exhausted and told herself to calm down. No plan would work if her vision was clouded by anger. It was difficult to be calm, though. How long did Omar plan to keep her in the cellar? What was he going to do with her? What had he done with her mum? What were Simon and his team up to? So many questions, and she wanted answers, but most of all she wanted to get out of this horrid, cold cellar.

She had to keep her mind clear – she had to sleep.
Jamming two chairs together to form a makeshift bed, she switched off the light and lay down, but in the darkness the demons came, bloody images flickering through her head, and when she finally fell asleep, it was broken by terrifying dreams.

She woke up shivering, rolled off the chairs and fumbled to switch on the lamp. Light spilled over the desk and onto the photos of Pam. She snatched one up and stared at her mum's face; seeing her so full of life and energy brought back hope.

Hold on, Mum. I'll get out of here. Somehow I'll get out and I'll find you.

She folded the photo carefully and put it inside her jacket pocket.

On the tray Lubna had brought stood a glass of water and a few biscuits. Remembering the tea bags in the drawer, Maya fished one out, poured the glass of water into the electric kettle, let it boil, then poured it back into the glass to make tea.

Warming her hands on the glass, she sat at the desk, her mind assessing her chances of being rescued. If Simon's surveillance team were doing their job properly, wouldn't they wonder what had happened to her? Surely they'd be searching for her. If she was in this cellar much longer, she'd go
crazy. There was no place to wash, no toilet, and she was desperate to pee. The empty kettle provided a useful receptacle.

Think, Maya, think, she repeated to herself, as she carried the kettle to the far corner and carefully put it down. A roll of duct tape and a bowl of paper clips. What could she do with them?

Opening the paper clips was laborious work. Her fingers quickly became sore; a cut on the palm of her hand opened and blood seeped through the bandage. With difficulty she bent the paper clips into one long wire with a crude hook at the end, then she wrapped duct tape round the stem. It wasn't perfect, it might fall apart, but she had to try to open the lock.

At the top of the stairs she set to work pushing the wire between door and frame. Just as she was poking at the latch, she heard footsteps outside and the door rattled. She fled downstairs, terrified that Omar or Nazim would find the wire.

Breathing heavily, she waited at the bottom of the stairs, heard the scrape of the door and light footsteps running down. She stepped back into the room and Lubna appeared, anxious and breathless.

‘Quick!' she said, grabbing Maya's arm. ‘I'm
setting you free.'

To Maya's astonishment, Lubna pulled her up the stairs, out of the open door and into the yard.

‘Why?' Maya asked, as they ran across the yard and into the bookshop.

Lubna gave her a disdainful look. ‘For Khaled,' she said, a warm glow entering her eyes as she said his name. ‘Run, leave while you can,' she urged, pushing Maya through the kitchen. ‘Go! They're all in a meeting upstairs. Escape before it's too late.'

Letting go of Maya's arm, she ran up the stairs and disappeared. Maya hesitated. She knew she should flee, but she was thinking hard and fast. If she quit, she'd be no nearer to finding her mum than she was before, and she wanted to know what they were talking about at the meeting.

Turning back, she darted into the kitchen, grabbed a small, sharp knife and tiptoed up the stairs. Slowly she crept towards the door of the big room, pressed her ear to the crack and listened. The meeting was in progress, a booming voice filling the room.

‘Anyone who suffers for Islam shall be rewarded. Thousands of our Muslim brothers have died, and we shall avenge their deaths.'

This was followed by muttering and cries of
‘Allah be praised'.

Then it went silent. At this point Maya knew she should run, but she couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot, her attention riveted. A voice she recognised as Omar's spoke.

‘Pamela Brown was going to expose our plot. Now we have her in our power. We must not be deterred, we must complete our mission.'

‘We are ready,' voices replied.

There was some clapping and then Omar said, ‘Brothers we are—'

Maya leaned closer to the door, straining to listen. If only he'd say where they were hiding her mum, give some sort of clue. Her whole attention was focused on what was going on in the closed room, so she was unaware of somebody approaching from behind. When a hand gripped her shoulder, she almost screamed. She bit deeply into her bottom lip as she was pulled round, and found herself staring into the face of Nazim. His thick eyebrows were drawn together, the silver scar furrowed and wrinkled, he gave her a gap-toothed smile.

‘So,' he said. ‘Maya Brown. How did you—?'

He didn't get chance to finish his sentence. In one fluid movement Maya grabbed the lapel of his
jacket and swept the knife up to his throat. He gasped as she pressed the cold steel against his neck.

‘Don't make a sound,' she said threateningly.

His eyes bulged and goggled, he made a choking noise. Then she shoved him backwards and ran for it.

Leaping down the stairs three at a time, Maya ran into the bookshop, rushed over to the door and pulled back the latch. Behind her she heard shouts, but she was away, running up the street and round the corner.

No time to think which way to go, she raced towards a group of women and children and charged blindly through them. In front of her were two men unloading a van. She dodged round them and nearly fell over a box of bananas. Without pausing to think, she dashed across the road and into the Begum Emporium.

Standing behind piles of shiny fruit was the grey-haired woman, Khaled's aunt, who'd directed her to the bookshop.

‘Help me,' Maya screeched. ‘Hide me, please.'

‘Come.'

The aunt reached out, clutching Maya's arm and thrusting her into the back of the shop. She closed the
door, leaving Maya in a narrow hallway full of boxes. Leaning against a stack of wooden cases, Maya was wreathed in strong fruity smells, blood pounding in her ears, her breath coming in short, quick gasps.

When she heard raised voices coming from the shop, she flinched and shrank back between the boxes, desperate to know what was going on, yet not daring to move towards the door.

A man shouted, something bumped and fell to the floor, Khaled's aunt yelled. Trying to stifle the cough welling up in the back of her throat, Maya clamped her hand over her mouth, her front teeth digging into the soft skin of her palm.

The voices died away. She dropped her hands and breathed deeply, calming her nerves. The door clicked, a light went on.

‘Come with me.'

She was relieved to see the crinkly grey of Khaled's aunt's hair and her big bold eyes peering in.

‘Don't worry. They've gone,' the aunt said, putting her hand on Maya's arm. ‘That Nazim,' she scoffed, ‘always up to no good.'

As the woman ushered her towards some stairs, Maya's heart was still in overdrive, and if it hadn't
been for a steadying hand she would have fallen backwards. At the top of the stairs Khaled's aunt darted forward, opening a door into a spacious room which was filled with colour and light.

‘Sit down,' she invited her, gesturing to a big, squashy sofa.

Maya sank gratefully onto the soft red cushions. The colours of the room blurred, she leant forward, breathing deeply, pressing her hands down on her legs to stop them shaking. Her brain wanted to shut down. She was panicked, too drained to deal with this woman who was giving her searching looks. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and make everything go away. But the woman had helped her and Maya knew she owed her an explanation.

‘I'm Mariam,' the woman said, sitting down opposite Maya. ‘And you're the girl I saw yesterday.'

Her voice was deep and musical. Maya remembered it from when she'd given directions to the bookshop, the ‘r' sound exaggerated so that the words bounced and rolled.

‘I asked you the way to the bookshop,' Maya said.

‘Did you find it?'

‘Yes.'

‘So, why are you running away?'

‘Those men wanted to lock me up.'

A startled look crossed Mariam's face. ‘Who are you?'

Maya folded her arms across her chest, biting the inside of her cheek whilst thinking hard. Could she risk telling Mariam the truth? Would Mariam be so keen to hide her if she knew who she was? She almost began to lie and tell her she was on the run from her family, but couldn't think of a reason why Nazim and Omar's men would be chasing her. Anyway, Khaled's aunt's keen eyes told Maya she wouldn't be fooled.

Finally Maya took a deep breath, removed her headscarf and shook out her hair. ‘I'm Maya Brown. My mother's Pamela Brown. She's head of a government counter intelligence unit. Yesterday she . . . she . . . was kidnapped by . . . terrorists.'

‘Oh, my goodness! It was on the news.' Mariam's eyes widened, she put a hand to her throat. ‘You're the daughter?'

Maya nodded. ‘The men at the Red Moon bookshop – they took her, they're hiding her somewhere.'

Mariam's eyebrows shot up, she looked
completely stunned, her hands gripping both sides of the big armchair while Maya told her the rest of the story.

‘A man called Omar Hamed's the leader. The bookshop's a front – he's a terrorist.'

Mariam grasped the folds of her long skirt, then raised her eyes to Maya's. ‘I know Omar. He's a local business man. He has extreme views, but I don't know, I can't imagine him kidnapping anybody.'

‘He recruits young people – they're his soldiers. They want to be martyrs for Islam.'

‘Oh, my God,' Mariam murmured. ‘Is Khaled involved?'

‘He was helping my mum, sending her information – at least, I think he was. It's hard to know for sure.' She paused thoughtfully, picking at the bandage on her hand. ‘He tried to save me from Omar and got Lubna to let me out, so I suppose he must be on our side. But then, he knew about Omar's plan to kidnap Mum and he did nothing to stop it.'

Mariam's hand slipped down to clutch at a half-moon pendant dangling from her neck; her face creased into deep lines. ‘Could he have stopped it?'

‘No, I suppose not. Well, not without giving himself away.'

‘But you thought he might know where they've taken your mother?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did you talk to him?'

‘I didn't have the chance. At first I didn't know if I could trust him, then everything got in a mess. Nazim recognised me and I had to run.'

Mariam's eyes took on a faraway look. ‘Khaled hates violence. He hates what the Islamist extremists are doing but . . . actively working against them, that's very risky.'

She let go of the pendant. The crescent moon gleamed softly against her olive skin while she sat twisting and untwisting her fingers, thinking deeply. Then her face sharpened. ‘Khaled has a good heart, a keen sense of justice. I can imagine him reporting on Omar if he felt it was justified. But now, if Omar's kidnapped your mother, Khaled could be in great danger.'

Maya tensed. ‘It's possible, but Mum won't give him away.'

Every emotion registered on Mariam's face – fear, worry, sympathy. She moved over to sit beside Maya and took her hand. ‘I can't believe it, it's almost too much to take in. I'm shocked, horrified – and
you, you must be shattered. Dreadful, so dreadful.' She made a soft, clucking noise in her throat. ‘And Khaled. If it's true, I'm frightened for him.'

She folded her hands round Maya's and held them tight. ‘If Khaled's safe, he should be here soon; he always comes to eat with us. Let's hope he arrives with some good news.' She shook her head and sighed. ‘Oh, my dear, this isn't a job for you. Omar's obviously a wicked man.'

‘I know. I found that out the hard way.'

‘You must be tired. Let me get you a drink. I'll make some tea.'

‘Just a glass of water, please,' Maya said.

Mariam's long purple skirt swished as she walked out of the room. Everything about her was warm and bright, and Maya felt comforted. When she'd gone, Maya looked about her and saw how the room reflected the aunt's personality: the walls decorated with tapestry hangings, richly-woven cushions scattered on the red upholstery and, on the floor, beautiful and intricately patterned rugs. Even the smell of the flat seemed reminiscent of her – a heady mixture of spice and flowery fragrance. Maya couldn't believe that when she'd first seen her, she'd thought her plain and harsh-looking.

A tap ran in the kitchen, a door opened and closed and Mariam returned, smiling and holding a glass filled with iced water and lemon.

‘Thank you,' Maya said, taking the glass.

Crossing the room to switch on a mock log fire, the aunt brushed some dust from her skirt, straightened her blouse and smoothed back her hair. Her movements were unhurried and precise; she seemed to have recovered quickly from the shock of Maya's news, but seeing her so regal and composed was suddenly too much for Maya. Something in her snapped.

‘I want to know why,' she demanded.

‘Why?' Mariam asked, puzzled.

‘Why Omar's planning to blow up buildings and kill hundreds of innocent people. What's driving him?'

Maya saw Mariam's shoulders tense, she drew in her chin, her eyes were startled. ‘Omar's going to plant bombs?'

‘Yes. Well, his followers are.'

Mariam blinked. ‘Then he has to be stopped.'