⚠️⚠️⚠️ TW: Violence
------
"...we have to assume that the bastards have gone through with their threats and killed a
hostage."
James' grim words echoed around the suite, Jenna and I staring at him blankly as we registered what he had said, her mind no doubt doing the same as mine; running from disbelief, to denial and back again...over and over again.
"But everyone said that it was all a bluff," Jenna said accusingly, her face stricken tears evident in the corners of her tired looking eyes, "you all said that this wouldn't happen, you said they'd never go through with it!"
"We said we thought it was unlikely Mrs A," James said shaking his head, "all the evidence we had pointed towards that conclusion. Like I say, we don't even know if it is anything to do with the abduction, it could be a simple crime, or a misunderstanding, or both; but we thought we should get together and wait, just in case... and I wanted you both to hear the news from someone personally, not some prick that doesn't care about either of you. Neither of you deserves that."
"I see, thank you, James," Jenna said simply, before closing down and sitting silently, messing with her hands in nervous tension. We all sat down together, lost in our thoughts, jumping only at a knock on the door, a tray full of jugs and china cups appearing with one of the hotel staff when James opened it.
To my surprise, Jenna stood up and took the tray, bustling James out of the way and serving the coffee to everyone; pouring a cup of tea for me with a wink, clearly remembering my dislike of coffee first thing in the morning. She was utterly amazing, not a moment ago she'd looked dead to the world; staring at the floor, the movement of her hands the only thing indicating that she was still alive.
Now she was bustling about pouring drinks and asking everyone if they would like her to order breakfast; putting on that brave face she wore so well. Within moments we all had steaming cups and she was on the phone to reception again, trying to rustle up some food that probably none of us wanted to eat, clearly just wanting to do something, anything...anything than just sit here numbly, feeling completely helpless; the way I felt right then, staring blankly at the wall hoping I could wake up from the nightmare I was living through.
"You ok, kid?" James said gently, sitting down next to me on the sofa, taking the space Jenna had just vacated.
"What do you think, boss?" I replied, trying, and failing, not to snap at him.
"I think y'all look like you're about to commit an act of violence on that wall there, Blondie," he replied with a hint of the whimsical charm that usually made me smile.
Not today though, not right now anyway.
"I'll commit an act of violence on you in a minute, James," I muttered, still glaring at the wall trying to compose my thoughts.
"Well, if that's what you need, Blondie, you're surely welcome to try," he replied calmly, his voice low enough that only the two of us can hear it. "But could you please avoid the face?"
I blinked at that, and smiled despite myself, James Porter clearly wasn't just a good boss, he was also a damned good leader. I wished I'd known him when I was in the army; he was made of the right stuff. I was fucking glad he would be with me when we went to rescue Becky...if she was still alive that was.
"Chin up, kiddo," James said seeing my face fall at the thought. "If it helps, try to remember that Becky's their prize chip, they're not likely to just throw it away to make a point."
"You think it's this Brian guy, then?" I asked blinking rapidly to hide the pinpricks of tears that were threatening to form. "You think they might have killed him to make a point?"
"If the report is even true and we don't know that, then yes. I think that's the likely situation."
"I hope so," I said unthinkingly before looking at him embarrassed at what I had just said. "Sorry, that was a shitty thing to say..."
"...I understand, Freen," he interrupted my apology for my callous words. "No need to apologize, I knew what you meant. Let's hope that they realize that the hostages are the only cards they can play, and they don't want to throw any of them away."
James clapped me on the shoulder as he got to his feet, walking over toward Jenna and topping up his coffee. We all sat around in silence, out thoughts consuming us as we waited for something that would tell us if it was bad news or for me extremely bad news. I couldn't cope with the idea that Becky might have died wondering if I actually cared about her at all, wondering if I loved her or not.
Taylor Swift's tune popped into my head again, "It turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you, wishin' I'd realized what I had when you were mine" running around my skull to taunt me. Damn, that girl knew how to sing the truth, or at least I thought so. I'd fucked things up, but I was going to make them right if it fucking killed me; nothing was going to stop me getting Becky back, after that. Well, we'd just have to see what happened.
I hoped that it wasn't completely ruined though and that Jenna's gentle reminders about the things Becky had told her about the two of us were hints that my stupidity hadn't fucked everything up.
"Jesus," Jenna exclaimed suddenly as James' burner phone started ringing loudly, shattering the silence with a Nokia ringtone I hadn't heard used since I was a teenager.
"Sorry, sorry," James apologized, though I wasn't sure if it was for the noise or the cheesy tone. "I'll just get this..."
We all watched him closely as he walked over to the far side of the room; the phone pressed to his ear, his voice low. I caught his eye once or twice as he paced up and down; my nerves jangling as he looked back at me, and then looked away quickly. Finally, he took the handset from his ear and turned back to us, his face bleak.
"That was Mel," he said quietly, "there's a video that has arrived at the British consulate here, Armstrong Industries back in London, as well as on this alleged body dropped off at the police. She hasn't seen it yet so don't ask me what's on it, but she's bringing it over to us now."
"How has she got a copy, boss?" I heard someone in the room say.
"Our guys in London sent it over," he replied and I blinked as I realized it was me that has asked the question; my brain not working as it was gripped by concern and fear. "It was dropped off at the office and they've encrypted it and e-mailed it over. We're keeping security high on this, for obvious reasons; and I think it best if you and Jenna aren't around when she arrives."
"Why's that, James?" Jenna asked quickly, causing a pained expression to appear on James' face.
"Because he doesn't want us to see it if there's a chance that it might be Becky, Jenna," I said sparing him the truth. "James is trying to protect us from what might be on that video."
"Oh," Jenna replied her shoulders sagging, "yes... yes, of course; thank you again, James."
James nodded, but if he was going to say anything, he was interrupted by a knock at the door. I saw Jenna's head snap up at the sound, and my heart began racing in turn, pounding away in my chest. With two graceful steps, James was at the door and peering through the spy hole, before opening it up to reveal a white jacketed member of staff pushing a trolley laden with covered plates.
"Looks like breakfast is served, guys," he said taking the check and signing it with a flourish, reaching into a pocket to tip the guy. "I'll take it from here, my friend," he added ushering the waiter from the room. "We'll leave everything outside when we're done."
"My trolley, Sir," the waiter replied in an accent so thick it was nearly incomprehensible, gesturing at the cloth covered device. "I need to take it."
"Well, why didn't you say so buddy," James said with a broad grin, his 'ham acting' right up there with the best of them. "Allow us to take the good stuff, though, the ladies here are starvin'"
Within moments the room was secure again, Andy and Simon helping James strip the trolley bare before they got rid of the smiling waiter. Breakfast was smelling fantastic to my starved belly, but unsurprisingly my appetite had still not made an appearance.
"Sausage, bacon, and scrambled eggs, dear?" Jenna asked, pushing a plate into my hand.
"I'm not really hungry Jenna," I replied, placing the plate onto the table in front of me.
"Nonsense, Freen," she snapped shaking her head. "You've hardly eaten for days, eat something!"
"Jenna's right, Freen, you need to eat, keep your strength up," James added as he paced the floor, a plate of steaming food in one hand, a fork in another. "There's no way you'll be fit to do shit when it's needed, you git me?"
"Yes, Sir," I replied saluting sarcastically as Jenna handed me the plate again, smiling concernedly.
It was a horribly awkward time as we all sat together and ate. My stomach protested as I shoveled in the scrambled eggs, washing it down with a cup of coffee and a slice of toast, the grumbling sound drew a slight smile from James who continued to pace and pace. It was beginning to piss me off, and I wasn't the only one to be affected by it.
"James, will you please sit down," Jenna snapped finally, putting down her cup with a clink.
"You're making me even more nervous pacing around like that."
"Sorry, Mrs A," he apologized, immediately sitting down and looking sheepish.
I looked on amused as his foot started tapping involuntarily as he forced himself into inactivity. Getting to my feet, I picked up the coffee pot and sat down next to Jenna and topped up her cup.
"I give him about five minutes before he explodes," I whispered, getting a raised eyebrow in return. "You've stopped his thing," I continued, thinking back to another conversation in an opulent airport.
"His thing?" Jenna asked, sounding so much like her daughter it made my heart hurt to remember her saying almost the same thing.
"He's a pacer," I explained, "and you've stopped him from wandering around, look at his foot jiggling...like I say, I give him five minutes before he explodes."
"Freen, dear," Jenna said looking exasperated, "what on earth are you talking about?"
"Nothing I guess," I replied shrugging, "just something I was explaining to Becky when we were waiting to get picked up from the airport in Baghdad. Everyone has a way of expressing their nerves, a 'thing' we used to call it; James' thing is pacing and you've just stopped him doing it."
"Oh," she said looking over at him her eyes narrowing as she watched his foot tap against the carpeted floor. "Everyone has a thing you say, dear," she continued turning back to me and raising an eyebrow again. "Do I have a thing?"
"Everyone has a thing, Jenna," I said, the sense of déjà vu consuming me, "everyone."
"What's mine, then?" she demanded, and again I could see where her daughter got a lot of her traits from.
"You?" I replied with a wry smile, "you have a need to do things, be a mother to everyone around you no matter who they are. You make drinks and order food and stuff like that. Every time you have something on your mind I bet you find yourself doing something that you don't normally do."
"You might be right, dear," she mused, her face thoughtful. "How did you work that out?"
"I'm trained to be observant, Jenna," I told her simply, "before I joined the CPU where being observant keeps you alive, I was an investigator; recognizing when people have something to hide is part of the art."
"Interesting; tell me dear does Becky have one of these 'things'?"
"Of course she does," I replied nodding.
"Well what is it then?" Jenna asked, looking at me expectantly, "share!"
"I bet you already know," I told her winking, "but I'm not telling you what it is. She wanted to know, too, but I'm not giving up that advantage."
"She babbles," Jenna said suddenly, her face lighting up. "When Becky is nervous, or not telling the truth, she has a tendency to babble. She's done it since she was a child. Richie was always better at that than Becky ever was, I could always tell...that's it isn't it, that's her 'thing'!"
I shrugged my shoulders, poker face firmly in place. I wasn't going to share what I'd discovered about Becky, but she wasn't one hundred percent wrong. As close as her motherly guess was though, there was something I knew about my Becky that clearly Jenna didn't. It amused me to think that I knew something about my little redhead that even her mother didn't know, but it would stay my little secret; a girl has to have some advantages, you know.
"You're not fooling me, Freen," Jenna said tapping her nose with a long, immaculately lacquered finger nail. "But I'll keep it between you and me, ok?"
"Whatever makes you happy, Mrs A," I replied noncommittally, frowning as her face fell at my words.
"I think getting them both home safely would make me happy, Freen," she whispered, blinking back tears; the cracks in her emotional shield starting to widen. "That would make me very happy indeed."
"Me too," I replied before falling into silence with everyone else, 'me too.'
------
Half an hour after the plates and cups were cleared away by the boys, being stacked in the hallway ready for the service staff to take away, there was a loud knock at the door. Before I could move, James was waving me down, already up and heading for the door. One long look through the spy-hole and he opened up, revealing Chris and Mel their faces stoney.
My stomach gave a lurch as James ushered them in, checking the hallway for anyone suspicious. We were taking no chances with security as Jenna and I had picked up a tail earlier in the day, the same suspicious figure following from building to building. I wasn't convinced they were a threat, probably just someone assigned to follow us around and make sure we didn't get up to any additional mischief; James had reported the same thing, someone trailing them around the city, too.
Clearly, everything seemed in order because, apart from dragging the trays in front of the door itself, he closed up and locked the door behind him.
"Might be best if you ladies gave us a minute or two," he said looking over at Jenna and I.
"I'm not going anywhere, James," Jenna replied firmly, folding her arms. "Whatever this news is, I need to hear it now."
"But..." James started to protest, before I silenced him with a shake of my head.
"I'm staying too, James," I told him, "Jenna's right, we need to see this now, whatever it means."
"Have you watched the tape yet, Mel?" James asked looking across at her as she set up her laptop on the small coffee table in the centre of the suite.
"Not yet," she replied shaking her head, "it took us longer than we thought to download it over the stupid hotel internet and then we came right here; was that wrong?"
"No, no, not at all," James replied quickly, "I was just wondering if you had anything to share before we get started.
"We've got some information, Mr Porter," Chris interrupted, his voice low and comfortingly steady.
"Richard was on duty when the package was dropped off in London, it came in via a bike courier; he made a call to the courier company and it seems that the DVD was dropped off in person and the delivery was paid for in cash, in full, and with no questions, so there's not much help there. Good thing is the office has a CCTV camera and there's a slim possibility that they might have a decent image of the guy that set up the deal. It's thin, but it was apparently enough to get the Anti-Terrorist Squad involved."
"They've reported it then," James frowned, "nuts!"
"Mr Jones insisted, Sir," Chris continued ignoring James' little outburst. "He told Richard to get the data e-mailed to us and then provide the original disc and all our information to the Police. He said to hide it might bring more attention down on our shoulders here, and that was the last thing we needed.
"Hmmm," James mused, apparently placated, "he's probably right; hold on a second... how he fuck did JJ get involved? He's supposed to be fucking recuperating, not acting as a liaison between here and fucking London in the middle of the night."
"SOP I'm afraid, Mr Porter, when the London team couldn't get hold of you or Miss Sarocha here,the next number on the operations log was Mr Jones' mobile."
"Who put that in there?" James demanded.
"JJ did," Mel interrupted, "he said he wanted to be involved, even if it was from his hospital bed. I'm sorry, James; he said you'd approved it but only as an emergency."
"Sneaky little fucker, pardon my French," James apologized shaking his head in disbelief. "That's so like him... ok, so what else do we know, Chris?"
"Well, from the few friends we've made here, and I'm afraid it's cost me a few quid to make them Mr Porter," Chris apologized. James waved away the though of the expense of the bribery they'd clearly used to get people to talk to us. "I got a call on the way over here, the guy we've developed said that a body was dumped outside the British consulate earlier this evening, but until he gets into the station, he can't say any more."
"Is he going to call when he has more information?"
"He says he will...if the money's right."
I snorted in annoyance at that little revelation; the capacity of mankind to fuck people over for a price had been one of the things that my mother had hated over nearly everything else. It had been a passion of hers right until the end, and somewhere along the way, I guess I'd inherited it.
"Something wrong with that, Freen dear?" Jenna asked, patting me on the knee.
"I hate officials that expect to be bribed to do the right thing, Jenna, I hate it that everyone seems to have their hand out all the time. I saw enough of that in Iraq and Afghanistan, some days it seemed like every fucking official we dealt with was on the take."
"It's just the way of the world, dear," she replied smiling at me sympathetically.
"It surely is, ma'am," James added, "and I for one am glad that there are people out there that we can buy; it sure makes my life easier sometimes."
"I know all of that, guys," I said sighing, "doesn't mean I have to like it, though."
"You don't have to like the world to live in it, Snowy," he said, using my nickname with a wink.
"Well, that's ok then, Panda," I replied, wondering where he'd learned it, and why he chose to use it now. I guessed he'd been talking to JJ, or someone I'd once served with; after all, if he can find out what my favorite drink used to be, a simple nickname shouldn't have been at all difficult to discover.
"...and if it helps get Becky back, Freen dear," Jenna interrupted, pulling me down to sit next to her again, "then I really don't mind it at all."
"Ok, ok...I get it," I said holding my hand up in mock surrender, "whatever works I understand."
James winked at me again and turned back to Mel and Chris who were looking on expectantly.
"You guys ready?" he asked, causing the pulse in the side of my head to start throbbing all over again.
"We are," Mel replied with a nod.
"Still time to back out, ladies," James said walking over to stand next to Jenna and I, his eyes flicking between us as he approached, "still time to go next door or something; you know, I've got this covered for you."
I shook my head, sensing that Jenna was doing the same from where she was sat, James sighed and waved at Mel to turn the laptop around so we could all see it.
"Don't say I didn't try," he muttered as he started pacing, "fire it up, Mel."
There was a real tension in the room as we all stared at the laptops tiny screen; Simon and Andy as twitchy as Jenna and I were. This was not going to be pleasant viewing for any of us; but for those of us who knew, and loved, one of the people we were about to see it was even worse. With the flick of a finger Mel launched the video and the video nasty began.
-----
We sat and stared at the screen as it opened on what was almost the clichéd hostage video, the huge hand painted banner, covered in writing and images of swords and AK-47's. Center screen were two battered looking wooden chairs flanked by two meatheads with the ubiquitous assault rifle held proudly, their faces covered by their red and white keffiyeh and their cheesy mirrored sunglasses. If it wasn't for the circumstances, I'd have laughed out loud at their posturing; if this was the quality of the opposition we could be facing, the mission was looking more positive.
My positive thoughts were quickly extinguished as, with raised voices, screams and the unmistakable sound of blows two figures were dragged in; hands bound in front of them and improvised shackles on their feet. The two figures were being dragged by ropes tight loosely around their necks and, despite the dark hoods that covered their heads, one of them was unmistakable.
Becky was looking even more ragged than she had in the last video we'd received; the skin around her wrist bindings was looking bloody and sore. Clearly, the bastards had been mistreating her; the ropes were over tight and by the look of them they'd been soaked with water to make them even tighter.
My fears about her treatment were magnified when they roughly sat the two of them on the chairs and dragged the hoods from their heads as I watched them blink wildly into the light. Both of them had obviously been hooded for a long time, and Becky's face was showing signs of another beating; though by the way she was holding herself, she hadn't been broken yet.
"Oh my God," Jenna said from her seat next to me, her fingers digging into my thigh painfully as the camera zoomed in on each of the hostages faces, Becky's first giving us a lose up on the cuts and bruises. "Oh my poor dear, she looks awful; they both do."
"Hold it there, Mel," James said as the camera pulled back to a wider shot. "Let's have a look at that."
"Spotted something, boss?" I asked dragging my eyes away from Becky's battered face.
"Maybe, maybe not...you got those compound photos anywhere here?"
I nodded and got up, heading into my room to grab the intelligence folder that Mel had prepared for me. As soon as I handed it over, James opened it and began rifling through the pictures.
"Got it," he announced suddenly, holding up an image in triumph. "See those three small windows above the banner, what do you guys reckon to these as a match?"
We all squinted as James held up the picture next to the screen. Personally, I wasn't completely convinced and neither, it seemed, was Mel.
"It could be," she said carefully, looking between the image on the screen and the grainy picture, "but it's thin, James, I don't think we can locate that room just on that."
"No," he conceded nodding and rifling through the few images we had, "but I can't see anything else that looks similar in that compound."
"We don't have a full three-sixty profile though, boss," I warned, "we can't make assumptions here."
"We can add it to the bigger picture, though," James replied, trying to salvage something from our skepticism, "everything helps, keep your eyes out for anything else that might be useful."
There were muttering of agreement from the team, but nothing from the woman sat next to me. Concerned, I turned around to look at her, to see her eyes affixed onto the screen, tears running down her cheeks.
"You ok there, Jenna?" I asked softly, causing James to pause in his appraisal of the room. "I know this is hard for you."
"I'll be fine, dear; it's just, well..."
She gestured at the screen and I understood completely. Jenna could only see the human side of the video, and I'd briefly allowed the mission to distract me from the blooded face of the woman we both loved frozen on the screen.
"Sorry, Mrs A," James said before I could say anything; "that was cruel of me, I guess I got a little caught up..."
"That's ok, James," she said magnanimously, sitting back and wiping her face, "you're just looking for things that might help, trying to get them back; I understand."
She smiled weakly at us and nodded at the screen, "Do you think..." she asked, leaving the question hanging.
"Of course," James said quickly, waving at Mel to press play again. Within seconds, the atmosphere in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife, the two figures being roughly manhandled as they were paraded to the world.
"Say your names," the terrorist that seemed to be in charge screamed in barely legible English, his accent thick.
"Fuck you," Becky said, making my heart pound with pride and fear; her feistiness was normally a good thing, but these were people that you didn't fuck with, and I had a sudden premonition that the body that had been dropped off might have been hers. Seconds later, my fears were amplified as the scumbag hit her angrily across the face, not once but twice; causing her head to loll forwards as she blacked out under the blows.
"Oh my poor Becky," Jenna sobbed from next to me and I felt her hand reach out to take mine, "my poor, poor Becky." I squeezed her hand reassuringly, though I wasn't feeling in any way reassured myself; my gut was telling me that this was bad, and that it was only going to get worse.
We watched in horror as Becky had water thrown into her face, her head being dragged backwards by her hair. As the camera zoomed in to a close up, her eyes looking dazed and unfocused as she recovered from the beating, a long and vicious looking knife was placed against her throat and pushed in, the skin sinking under the pressure.
"Say your name," the leader shouted again.
"Say your name, Becky," I muttered under my breath, "don't be stupid, don't provoke the fucker anymore than you already have."
"SAY YOUR NAME!" the asshole screamed once more and I could see the knife dig in a little bit more, a thin line of blood appearing as her perfect skin was violated. Right at that moment, I vowed that when I came across this big brave leader, he wouldn't survive the meeting.
"Rebecca Patricia Armstrong," Bec said finally giving in; to my relief the knife, was pulled away and the camera moved across to the terrified eyes of the other hostage.
I'd met Brian before, when I bothered to sit into Becky's endlessly tiresome sales meetings. He wasn't one of the assholes, but he hadn't impressed me much; he was one of those 'also' men, the ones that try to fit in with the crowd; the ones that try to be popular by being sheep in the fold.
"Say your name," the fucker on the screen barked again, pressing his knife into Brian's throat.
"Brian Michael Adam Bartlett," he stammered, his eyes darting around wildly, uncontrollably even.
Poor bloke looked justifiably terrified, somewhere along the way he'd been broken; either he wasn't as tough as my Becky, or he'd been the subject of the worst of the treatment. The camera panned back from Brian's face, the knife removed as the terrorist, apparently satisfied with their acquiescence, stepped away and began posturing next to the gunmen, wielding his knife flamboyantly.
"The Protectors has a message to the infidels," he shouted, pulling a paper from his belt and thrusting it into Becky's bound hands, placing that knife at her throat again. "Read!" he shouted, "read or die!"
Jenna's hand gripped mine even tighter as we watched Becky struggle with the order, firstly trying to hold the paper in her injured hands, and secondly to actually read out the words.
"The infidel invaders of the Holy Lands," she started her voice sounding weak and feeble, "have sent their agents of evil to trade with the enemies. We, The Protectors, have struck a blow against these tyrants and yet, even with our strength, they have refused to deal with honor and must be punished."
"Oh sweet Jesus, no," Jenna whispered as the threat was said.
"There must be no doubt of the truth of our beliefs," Becky continued, tears running down her face.
"We, The Protectors, will show the infidels of Armstrong Industries that we mean what we say. One of these agents of evil will be put to death as you watch, and the death will be on your heart forevermore. Our demands will not be ignored, and for your treachery hear this, we now demand the sum of thirty million US dollars for the release of our remaining prisoner, and we demand the release of all our brothers and sisters that are held by the enemies in America, India and Britain. Let this prove our cause."
As she finished, the paper was ripped from her hands and she was dragged from her chair by the rope at her neck, Brian following immediately after her. As the camera moved around, the two bullyboys forced them onto their knees with the butts of their AK's, and shoved at them until they were sat with their heads bowed. Seconds later I realized why as the leader appeared carrying a brutal looking heavy scimitar, unsheathed and gleaming in the light of the camera.As I watched in horror he pushed and prodded at Becky and Brian with the blade, swaggering around them, shouting his gibberish into the air.
"We need a translation of that," I heard James mutter to Mel, his words the only sound in the room.
Mel simply nodded as the horror unfolded in front of our eyes, and I found myself begging to everything I believed in that we were mistaken and it was all a bluff; knowing now that the body that had been dumped was one of the two people on the screen. I even prayed to the gods that the body was Brian's, feeling sick for doing so, but not being able to help myself.
I was sat on a fucking sofa, what felt like a million miles away, totally unable to help and that helplessness made me want Becky to live, even if that meant Brian must die. It wasn't my finest hour.
His rant over, the leader of the group stood between Becky and Brian, the sword raised above his head. At a word, the ropes around their necks were tightened and Becky and Brian lurched forwards, their pose telling me everything I needed to know.
"Look away, Jenna," I said quickly as the camera pulled back for an even wider shot, showing the whole scene in perfect detail.
Becky and Brian were sobbing freely now, Becky muttering under her breath, probably saying a prayer. Brian was begging for his life and his freedom, and the sight of that final humiliation was almost too much to bear.
"I can't, Freen," Jenna replied, her voice breaking, "I can't, I need to see this, whatever happens, I need to know."
Her hand was crushing mine now, and I was surprised to realize I was doing the same to hers. I knew what she meant, as sick as it sounds I couldn't not watch either; I had to know the truth of what had happened in that room as well.
On the screen, the scumbag in chief stared down at his two victims, making practice swings at both of their necks, clearly reveling in their terror. I made a slight change to my vow at that moment, promising that when our paths crossed, I'd do my best to ensure that not only he didn't survive the meeting, but that he suffered as much as my girl had at his hands.
With a cry, he swung the scimitar as hard as he could, and as the severed head landed on the dusty floor of that awful room, the screams on the screen were matched by the ones in our room. I stared at the screen as Jenna and Mel screamed at the sight of the head as it fell to the floor. This was no special effect, no movie prop designed to scare the viewer but ultimately leave them knowing that all was well. This was the real fucking thing, and as the headless corpse collapsed to the floor, the heart still pumping blood out of the severed arteries, Becky's scream of horror echoed through the tiny speakers as she screamed and screamed and screamed.
I found myself completely transfixed, unable to drag my eyes away from the death on the screen. I'd seen death many times before, death by my own hand, by enemy action, by random bombings. I'd seen death both up close and personal and with remote detachment, and yet this sickened me more than any of the deaths I had seen to date. Not moments ago, I'd found myself wishing for Brian to die and for Becky to live... I now had my wish, for the moment at least.
The sword had fallen on the exposed neck of Brian Michael Adam Bartlett, and his still open eyes were staring into the lens of the camera in open accusation. We'd failed him; we might have failed them both.
My rage built as I watched the murderer wipe his blade on the front of Becky's shirt, the revulsion on her face clear as the sticky blood smeared across her. Handing his scimitar to one of his guards, he dragged Becky to her feet, pulling on her red hair. Moments later, he had removed his knife and hacked through her locks, removing a good handful and showing it to the camera.
"Proof of our cause," he said in English as Becky was hooded and pulled out of camera shot. He picked up the severed head of poor Brian and held it out; head in one hand, hair in the other.
"Five days," he snarled into the camera, clearly loving his close up, "you have five days or the girl devil dies, too."