sensed she was going to retch, but gulped a couple of times and the bile eased back down her slender throat. If I get out of this, things will change, she thought. I will spend more time with John and the girls. Maybe retire from public life and take up a teaching post at a university. She realized then that she had to tell herself these things, because the alternative was to start to go ever so slightly mad.
She was led a few steps forward before her hands were cut free, and she rotated her wrists to help the blood flow freely there. A hand clasped her left wrist, and moved it to something cold and smooth, which she realized was a handrail. An arm linked hers, and she was led down a flight of steps. Underground, she thought. Dear God, why are they taking me underground?
At the bottom of the steps, she heard the same sounds of a chain being removed and a door opening, the crunch of more footsteps on gravel. A tug of her arm prompted her to move again, and she realized that she was going inside, because the sun had stopped beating on her head. It was cool now, a smell redolent of blocked drains.
She went through three more doors, hearing the hinges creak and the doors shut behind her. She suddenly sensed that her feet were moving across something that felt like tiles. Yes, tiles, she thought, feeling the line of grout with her toes as she shuffled along.
Finally, she was held still.
When the hood was removed and she registered the contents of the room, tears welled in her eyes.
11.
In the Situation Room at the White House, the President of the United States, the fifty-year-old Robert Simmons, a Nebraskan with the lean body of a marathon runner and swept-back greying hair, had already convened a meeting. He sat on a swivel chair at the head of a mahogany table surrounded by two tiers of curved computer terminals. The pensive faces of the commander of the Joint Special Operations Command – JSOC – and Deputy Director Houseman peered out from separate flat-panel videoconference screens.
Those members of the National Security Council who’d been in DC, including the Secretary of Defense, the National Security Advisor and the vice president, had joined the commander-in-chief here. It was 03:05 in the capital and everyone present had been woken from their sleep as soon as the crisis had begun.
The basement room was an intelligence management centre used to conduct secure communications. The president watched a CNN news report on a TV monitor, showing the aftermath of the secretary’s abduction in Islamabad, the dishevelled female reporter’s voice cracking with emotion as she spoke. She stood in front of a chaotic scene: black smoke belched from the remnants of a building, the blaze being tackled by three fire crews. The LED lights of ambulances and police cars flickered. Sirens wailed. The dead and injured were still being carried away on stretchers. People were crying and shouting, while others simply sat on the kerb, dazed and bloodied.
“
The Pakistan military, which formed a provisional government after a bloodless coup eleven months ago, are blaming the Leopards of Islam, the Pakistani Shia terrorist organization, for the attack and the kidnapping of the US Secretary of State, Linda Carlyle,” the reporter said. “The Leopards, who carried out an assassination attempt on the Pakistani President in Washington DC on March 10th this year, killing thirty people in the capital, have remained silent. But a source at the US Embassy here in Islamabad has revealed that a threat against the secretary’s life was made to the embassy by a man claiming to represent the Leopards less than two hours before this latest outrage. There is mounting speculation that the secretary may have been kidnapped in order to facilitate the release of twelve Pakistani men alleged to have taken part in the March 10th atrocity, who are currently in US protective custody at an unspecified location prior to their trial for multiple counts of
She was led a few steps forward before her hands were cut free, and she rotated her wrists to help the blood flow freely there. A hand clasped her left wrist, and moved it to something cold and smooth, which she realized was a handrail. An arm linked hers, and she was led down a flight of steps. Underground, she thought. Dear God, why are they taking me underground?
At the bottom of the steps, she heard the same sounds of a chain being removed and a door opening, the crunch of more footsteps on gravel. A tug of her arm prompted her to move again, and she realized that she was going inside, because the sun had stopped beating on her head. It was cool now, a smell redolent of blocked drains.
She went through three more doors, hearing the hinges creak and the doors shut behind her. She suddenly sensed that her feet were moving across something that felt like tiles. Yes, tiles, she thought, feeling the line of grout with her toes as she shuffled along.
Finally, she was held still.
When the hood was removed and she registered the contents of the room, tears welled in her eyes.
11.
In the Situation Room at the White House, the President of the United States, the fifty-year-old Robert Simmons, a Nebraskan with the lean body of a marathon runner and swept-back greying hair, had already convened a meeting. He sat on a swivel chair at the head of a mahogany table surrounded by two tiers of curved computer terminals. The pensive faces of the commander of the Joint Special Operations Command – JSOC – and Deputy Director Houseman peered out from separate flat-panel videoconference screens.
Those members of the National Security Council who’d been in DC, including the Secretary of Defense, the National Security Advisor and the vice president, had joined the commander-in-chief here. It was 03:05 in the capital and everyone present had been woken from their sleep as soon as the crisis had begun.
The basement room was an intelligence management centre used to conduct secure communications. The president watched a CNN news report on a TV monitor, showing the aftermath of the secretary’s abduction in Islamabad, the dishevelled female reporter’s voice cracking with emotion as she spoke. She stood in front of a chaotic scene: black smoke belched from the remnants of a building, the blaze being tackled by three fire crews. The LED lights of ambulances and police cars flickered. Sirens wailed. The dead and injured were still being carried away on stretchers. People were crying and shouting, while others simply sat on the kerb, dazed and bloodied.
“
The Pakistan military, which formed a provisional government after a bloodless coup eleven months ago, are blaming the Leopards of Islam, the Pakistani Shia terrorist organization, for the attack and the kidnapping of the US Secretary of State, Linda Carlyle,” the reporter said. “The Leopards, who carried out an assassination attempt on the Pakistani President in Washington DC on March 10th this year, killing thirty people in the capital, have remained silent. But a source at the US Embassy here in Islamabad has revealed that a threat against the secretary’s life was made to the embassy by a man claiming to represent the Leopards less than two hours before this latest outrage. There is mounting speculation that the secretary may have been kidnapped in order to facilitate the release of twelve Pakistani men alleged to have taken part in the March 10th atrocity, who are currently in US protective custody at an unspecified location prior to their trial for multiple counts of
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