Alex felt his heart race a little faster. The night was hot and muggy, but a cold bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck. They waited a few minutes in silence.
“I’m going to take a look inside those cars,” Alex said.
Using his BlackBerry again for light, Alex peeked inside all three cars. They were rusted and covered with debris, but there was no sign of anyone waiting for them. Nara stayed within arm’s length the entire time.
“I don’t like this,” Alex said. “Hamza could be leading us straight to the slaughter.”
“Three more minutes,” Nara said. “If Hezbollah wanted to kill us, we’d be dead by now.”
“That makes me feel better.”
There was a rustle in the bushes behind them. Alex turned and froze, staring at the spot where the noise originated.
Nara grabbed his arm and froze too. “Probably just rats,” she whispered.
“Rats,” Alex said, his voice skeptical.
“Stop being a wimp.”
Alex exhaled, but his heart was still trying to beat its way out of his chest. This kind of thing looked glamorous in the movies. In real life, you’d never hear the bullet that took you out.
Nara sent another text message.
“Are you ready to go?” Alex asked.
Nara nodded. “I don’t understand this.” It was the first time Alex had heard real concern in her voice. “Maybe something happened to him on the way here.”
Before Alex could respond, there was a flash behind them, and Alex pivoted. He stepped in front of Nara and was blinded by a spotlight. He shaded his eyes and saw something in his peripheral vision. But before he could grab Nara and run, he was broadsided by a man who hit him with the explosiveness of a linebacker, driving Alex into the ground. Alex tried to scramble free, but another man jumped on. They quickly had Alex facedown, his arms wrenched behind him as they slapped on some plastic ties as handcuffs.
He heard Nara scream, and he yelled her name just before they pulled a hood over his face.
Strong hands grabbed his arms and jerked him to his feet. He called Nara’s name again, and one of his captors punched him in the gut, doubling him over. They quickly straightened him up and pulled him along, speaking to each other in Arabic. Alex was struggling for breath but tried to concentrate. There were at least three or four voices, as far as he could tell.
They made him climb some steps into one of the railcars and pushed him into a seat. He heard a commotion next to him and the frightened breathing of Nara.
His captors stopped talking, and Alex felt the indent of a round barrel against his temple. He tried to look out the bottom of the hood, but everything was black. The only sound was his own heavy breathing.
He was certain he would die right there in that abandoned railcar in Beirut. Nobody in America would ever know the details. A lawyer and an imam’s daughter-never heard from again.
“Nara, are you okay?” he asked. He flinched, anticipating another punch.
“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was breathless. “Watch what you say-they probably know English.”
There was no panic in her voice, and the sound of her composure steeled him. For the sake of Nara, he needed to be brave. He needed to show her that Muslims weren’t the only ones who knew how to die. He wanted to make a joke or some sarcastic comment that demonstrated his bravado. But words failed him as the gun jammed harder into his temple. His captors spit out more Arabic phrases, and Alex felt utterly helpless.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said to Nara, but his voice betrayed the truth.
He didn’t believe it himself.
66
Nara talked to their captors in Arabic-argued with them, as far as Alex could tell-and their captors seemed to respond with growing frustration. Through it all, Nara kept her voice measured but firm, even as the men spoke louder, their words biting and harsh.
A noise startled Alex, as if somebody had kicked over a box. He tensed, waiting for the blows to start.
“What are they saying?” he asked.
“Not now,” Nara snapped.
She engaged them again, her voice more cautious this time. But her words engendered the same angry response.
It sounded to Alex like there were three or four male voices in the room. He had a gun pointed at his head and his hands cuffed behind his back. He assumed that Nara was in the same position. For whatever reason, she didn’t seem to be backing down. She talked for a long time, uninterrupted, and this time the response seemed less angry. Like maybe they were seeing her point. She answered again, and they didn’t respond at all.
And then, just as Alex began to relax just a little, Nara shrieked. There was the sound of wrestling and a muffled groan.
The room grew quiet.
“Are you okay?” Alex asked.
A hand grabbed Alex’s hood and yanked it off. Alex blinked and looked around. A lantern in the corner of the carriage car provided dim light and cast long shadows. There were four men, each wearing a hood, the slits revealing hard eyes and eerie-looking mouths. Three of the men held AK-47s. One had the barrel of his gun within inches of Alex’s temple.
Nara was sitting across the aisle with her hands cuffed behind her back. Her captor had wrapped white cloth around her face, but there was an opening for her eyes. The man behind her had gathered the white linen in his fist behind her head and was pulling on it, tilting her head back and exposing her neck. With the other hand, he held a long knife, its blade touching the side of Nara’s neck. Her eyes were wide with terror.
“Have you ever seen a beheading?” asked the man standing in the aisle a few rows in front of Alex. He spoke English, just as Nara had predicted.
Alex shook his head.
“Unless you do as we say, you may get your chance with your pretty girlfriend.”
Alex glanced at Nara, whose dark eyes were pleading with him to do this right. He turned back to the man in the aisle. “Tell your buddy to take the knife away from her neck,” Alex said.
The man clenched his teeth and shook his head, his eyes narrowing. He held his index finger and thumb an inch apart. He mumbled something that made Nara close her eyes and tense; then the man behind her sliced the blade ever so slightly into Nara’s neck, creating a small sliver of blood.
“Do not think you give the orders here,” the first man said.
Alex tried not to panic. He watched the blood trickle down Nara’s neck. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“We have a little script for you to recite,” his captor said. “If you perform it flawlessly, you will save two lives.”
Alex looked at Nara; she gave him the slightest nod. The man pulled her head back tighter, and she winced. The blade rested against her artery.
“Okay,” Alex said quickly. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
67
They cut the plastic handcuffs from Alex’s wrists, and he rubbed the raw skin there. Nara’s eyes followed his every move. The man with the English proficiency, the tallest of his captors, handed Alex a piece of paper with a script and demanded that Alex memorize it. “We don’t have much time.”
Alex looked at the paper, angled it toward the lantern, and read it quickly. “Word for word?” he asked.
“As close as possible.”
Alex pretended to focus on the paper, mumbling to himself, secretly considering the possibilities for escape. Four captors. Two AK-47s pointed at him. One knife at Nara’s neck.
He wasn’t James Bond. There would be no escape.
After a few minutes, the tall captor reached out and grabbed the paper. “Enough. Move to the front. We start filming now.”
He pushed Alex to the front of the car, positioning him in front of a nondescript wall. One of the other captors focused a video camera on Alex. A third pulled out the battery-operated spotlight they had used earlier. He turned it on and blinded Alex.