Circle of Fire (18 page)

In words that came out in jagged gasps, he said something that sounded like, ‘You – in – Olympics?'

Maya smiled. ‘Long legs,' she said. ‘Have you got the boxes?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Good.'

‘Do you think they saw me?'Khaled asked.

‘No. You were away too fast. They're out of it.'

A workman wearing a hard hat came round the scaffolding. ‘What you two doin' ‘ere?'

‘Er . . . somebody was after us. We're hiding,' Maya said.

‘Who?'

‘A gang of lads, calling us names,' Maya said, giving her most innocent smile.

The man peered out of the building. ‘Well, there's nobody about now. You'd best clear out. There'll be hell to pay if the boss catches you.' He was ushering
them out, when he noticed the box in Khaled's hand. ‘What you got there? You pinched summat?'

‘No,' Khaled said quickly. ‘It's stuff for my computer.'

Anxious moments ticked by while the man sized Khaled up. He looked as if he was going to challenge him, but then abruptly changed his mind and nodded. ‘OK. Well, it's all clear. You'd better scarper.'

‘Thanks,' Maya said.

They made their way over the waste ground towards some shops. It was tempting to run, but a police siren sounded behind them and they didn't want to draw attention to themselves.

The cops had been called to a road accident – three men were clambering out of a squashed red truck. They'd rammed into the back of a big black furniture van with gold lettering on the sides –
Omar's Carpets and Antiquities
– the driver of which seemed to have disappeared.

I know a café where we'll be safe.' Khaled said. ‘Let's walk through the trees and we won't be seen.'

He pointed to the wood surrounding the building site – a small oasis of trees and thick brambles that hadn't yet been cleared by the builders. They picked
their way through the tangled leaves and creepers.

A police car with a blue light flashing whizzed by while they were waiting at traffic lights. Maya leaned close to Khaled, hiding her head on his shoulder. His hand touched her arm, and when the lights changed he gave her a brief smile.

They walked down a street of shabby shops and went into a bright, neatly-painted café where a small, bald-headed man came to greet them.

‘Khaled, Khaled,' he said effusively. ‘I haven't seen you for weeks. Come and sit down. We have good lamb today.'

Khaled shook the man's hand. ‘Thank you, Karim, but we'll just have coffee. This is my cousin, Soraya.'

‘Please, please come and sit.'

They sat at the back of the café, their heads close together, talking over the plan intently and seriously. When they were ready to leave Khaled stood up, reached into his the pocket of his jeans and took out a phone.

‘Here, I nearly forgot – your mobile. Keep the line free. Use it for emergencies only.'

Maya seized it eagerly. ‘So,' she said, ‘everything's settled.'

Khaled gave her a lopsided smile. ‘It's a crazy
plan, but it just might work.'

‘Give me one hour before you tell Simon, and I only want back-up – no heavy metal, right?'

‘Simon's not going to like it.'

‘The decision's made. By the time you tell him, there'll be no stopping me.'

Khaled put a hand on her arm. ‘Maya, are you sure? It's incredibly dangerous. Omar isn't somebody who makes deals.'

‘That's why I have plan B. I've got your map. For God's sake, don't forget to open the vent.'

‘I won't.'

Khaled took her hand and squeezed it. Maya's heart thumped loudly as she watched him go.

* * *

Omar was having an apoplectic fit, stamping around the office of his warehouse. ‘I can't believe it. You let the girl escape?'

‘She was driving the big van. It wasn't our fault. She braked hard.'

‘So now she can go to the cops and tell them where we are. Where the hell is Khaled? He was supposed to deliver the girl to me.'

Nazim's eyes narrowed. ‘You shouldn't have trusted him,' he said.

‘Shut up. Let me think!' Omar shouted. ‘I know, I'll issue a warning – if the police don't stay away from us, we'll kill the woman.'

‘Yeah, nice one,' Nazim said.

‘Will they care?' one of the other men interjected. ‘You made her say she's a double agent.'

Omar glared at him. ‘They'll care. They can't bear defectors, they'll want to bring her to what they call justice.' He pointed a finger at them. ‘Now, get moving. Find Khaled. Tell him to clear the bookshop. You three, move all the guns and bomb equipment from here to the mill. And you,' he said pointing at Nazim, ‘find the girl.'

* * *

Maya's phone buzzed as she made her way across the wasteland. It was Khaled.

‘What's happened?'

‘Omar's issued an ultimatum.'

‘What is it?'

‘He wants safe passage out of the country, to Pakistan, or he'll order . . . he'll give orders to . . .
kill your mum.'

Maya's fingers tightened round the phone, she swallowed hard.

‘How long have we got?'

‘Twenty-four hours.'

‘OK. Then I've no time to lose. I'm on my way.'

Pressed back into the shadow of some bushes, Maya scanned the empty road. Opposite her was the warehouse. Omar's Mercedes was parked by the loading bay. Further down the road she spotted his house, just as Khaled had described: a large, brand new, yellow-brick house with wide frosted windows and a grey roof.

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she wished she were a million miles away. What she had to do was mind-bogglingly scary. She breathed out, puffing air over her face and opening her eyes. The sky was a perfect, beautiful blue; a ladybird crawled along a leaf above her head.
Fly away home.

I wish, Maya thought, I wish.

Movement at the bottom of the road caught
her eye. A black car with dark windows nosed into the street and drove slowly towards her. Maya's heart stopped.

No, not now, not when I'm so close. Don't interfere, keep away.

Crouching further back, she watched as the car slowed and stopped outside Omar's gates. Dark figures behind tinted glass – Simon's men. She prayed the car doors would stay closed, prayed Khaled would stick to the plan, prayed he hadn't called Simon yet.

Don't get out, don't ruin my plan.

The car engine purred, five, ten, thirty seconds passed, a minute, then the car moved forwards, drove past and carried on towards the roundabout.

Gathering all her courage, Maya untangled herself from the branches and sped towards the iron gates of Omar's home. The gates rattled, the catch was stiff, but it lifted and she darted through.

On the drive stood the furniture van, a big dent in the back. Treading quietly and quickly, she hurried past it, then went down the side path and dodged down behind some tall plants. Just above her head was a tall, narrow window with clear glass. Slowly, carefully, she reared up and stared into the kitchen.
An old man with a grey beard was sitting at a table reading a newspaper.

That must be him – Sharif, Omar's father.

Maya felt for the gun in her pocket, then, stepping in the soft soil to deaden her footsteps, she crept round to the back door. Her breath was hot in her throat, her heart was thundering as she reached out and lifted the handle. The door opened and swung back; softer than a shadow she whipped inside and closed it behind her.

The old man looked up, startled. ‘Who are you?'

Maya pulled out the gun. ‘Don't move.'

His eyes widened in shock, his mouth fell open, a hand clutched at his chest.

Holding the gun steady, she hissed, ‘Don't move, and you won't get hurt.'

He coughed, making a horrible choking sound. Off her guard, Maya stepped forward – it was a mistake. A wiry hand shot out and made a grab for a knife lying on the table. His eyes were fierce and dark, she saw his nostrils flare. The knife blade flashed. She held her breath as they faced each other, the walls of the room closing in around them. She plotted her moves, one quick sideways thrust at his arm, an elbow to his stomach, an arm
round his neck.

Then the blade shuddered, his eyelids drooped, his shoulders sagged. He gasped and mumbled something incomprehensible as he slumped forward.

‘Sit down,' Maya ordered.

He reeled backwards and sat down. Immediately, Maya rushed to the kitchen door and double-bolted it. Then she ran to the opposite end of the kitchen, zapped down the long hallway and made sure the front door was locked and bolted.

Dashing back to the kitchen she levelled the gun at the old man's chest. ‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I'm not going to hurt you – just listen.'

He looked up at her. ‘Who are you?' he whispered hoarsely.

‘I'm Maya Brown. Your son, Omar, has kidnapped my mother.'

The old man blinked, looked puzzled, then frowned, his face creasing into a thousand lines. ‘Omar?' he gasped. ‘He's not capable.'

Maya tense as he leaned forward, watched his fingers scrabble for the newspaper. He held up the front page, displaying the glaring headlines.

‘This?' he asked.

Maya nodded.

Sharif looked stunned. ‘Omar . . . he . . . he couldn't have, he wouldn't be able to.'

‘You don't know your son,' Maya said firmly. ‘He's one of the top men – the head of a terrorist cell of the Allied Brotherhood. They're part of an international terrorist organisation.'

‘No,' Sharif said grimly. He bowed his head and seemed overcome. Then he looked up, his bottom lip trembling. ‘He sent all his family away on holiday so suddenly, I knew he was up to something.'

‘He's going to kill my mum,' Maya said slowly and clearly.

The old man stared, his eyes cloudy and dazed.

Maya continued. ‘Omar kidnapped my mum because she found out about his organisation. He has a team of suicide bombers ready to blow up buildings and planes all over Europe. He wants to be the leader of the Allied Brotherhood in Europe.'

As it all came pouring out, the old man sat blinking and shaking his head. He put a hand to
his forehead and mumbled words she couldn't understand.

‘I have to save my mother,' Maya said, ‘and stop the bombs.'

The old man started to get to his feet. Maya waved the gun.

‘Put that away,' he said. ‘I'm not on his side. He's my son, but what he's doing is wrong.'

He edged round the table, coming closer. Maya watched him like a hawk.

‘It's hard to believe,' he said. ‘All his rantings and bitterness, but I never thought he'd actually do anything. I thought he was a fool.'

‘He isn't a fool,' Maya said. ‘He's dangerous. We have to stop him.'

The old man reached out and patted her arm.

‘I'll help you,' he said.

Maya looked into his eyes. He stared back at her, open, unguarded.

‘How?' she asked.

‘Come with me.'

He led her towards the sitting room. She walked with him nervously, wondering if he was trying to pull some trick. He motioned for her to go inside, but just then the sound of heavy banging came
from the kitchen door.

‘It's Omar,' he said.

‘Don't let him in,' Maya whispered. ‘Please! Tell him you're all right, but you've lost the key.'

The old man nodded. Holding her breath, she watched him go back into the kitchen. If he opened the door, she was done for.

He was fumbling with the lock. ‘I can't find the key,' he shouted.

There was an answering thump on the door. ‘Let me in!'

Maya glanced into the kitchen and saw the old man bend down and shout through the keyhole. ‘I can't open it. I've locked the doors and I don't know where I've put the keys.'

Some unintelligible words spattered through the closed door, then Omar's voice said clearly, ‘A day for losing keys. I'll send the men across. I have to go back, I'm busy.'

Footsteps receded down the path, a shadow passed the kitchen window. Maya jiggled the keys in her pocket, a triumphant look on her face. It was a small victory, but it would buy her time.

Leaning back against the door, the old man wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. ‘He'll send his men.'

‘Then there's no time to lose,' Maya said. ‘We have to go.'

‘What do you want me to do?'

‘Be my hostage. I'm going to bargain with Omar – your life for my mother's.'

A corner of his mouth turned up, his long beard bobbed. ‘Then we'd better be quick,' he said, snatching up a white shawl from a chair. ‘Come on.'

Maya pulled Omar's keys from her pocket, slid back the bolts on the door and, grabbing Sharif's arm, rushed him to the van in the driveway.

‘Sorry, sorry,' she muttered as she yanked open the van door and shoved him up into the passenger seat.

‘It's all right. Go, go, go.'

She slammed his door shut and ran to the gates. Omar had left one gate open, so she only had the other one to push back. She shoved it hard, glancing across the road. No sign of Omar's men yet.

Racing back to the van, she pulled open the door and climbed into the driver's seat. Her fingers were trembling – she couldn't fit the keys into the ignition.

This is it. You can't fail now. Keep calm, Maya. Come on, yes, that's it, that's the one, turn the key.

Her spirits soared as the engine roared into life.
She crunched the van into gear and shot forwards. Narrowly avoiding a gatepost she turned left, wheels skidding, undercarriage juddering. Miraculously the van didn't stall as it shuddered round the roundabout, then jerked uphill until Maya found the right gear and drove smoothly onto a main road. She glanced across at the old man, who looked ashen.