‘You’re his blood,’ said the Major.
‘It won’t make any difference. Look, why don’t you offer to pay a ransom for the return of your friend? I have money. I’ll pay. A million dollars. Two million dollars. I will give you the money and you can give it to them. Just let my family go, please.’ Fariq fell off the chair on to his knees and clasped his hands together. ‘Please, I beg of you, you’re a good man, I understand that you’re only trying to help your friend, so let me help you. Don’t hurt my family – please!’ Tears ran down his cheeks and he threw himself forward, placing his forehead on the Major’s feet. ‘Please, I beg of you.’
The Major took a step back but Fariq grabbed his ankles. The Major almost fell but steadied himself against the wall.
Shepherd loosened the man’s grip and helped him to his feet. Fariq sobbed and held on to Shepherd’s shoulders. ‘I don’t want to die!’ he cried.
Shepherd lifted Fariq’s head so that he was looking into his eyes. ‘Be a man,’ he said quietly.
Tears were streaming down the Arab’s face now. ‘Please, don’t kill me.’
‘Then do as we say.’
‘I will – I will! But let my family go. They have done nothing.’
‘You know we can’t do that, Fariq,’ Shepherd said. ‘We all have to stay together. And crying isn’t going to achieve anything. Just do as you’re told and everything will work out fine.’ He turned to the Major. ‘Where shall we do it?’
The Major pointed at one of the walls on which a picture hung: a desert scene, a lone Bedouin leading a camel away from an oasis. ‘Move that and we’ve got a blank wall.’
Shortt took it down and tossed it on to the bed. He pulled out the picture hook, and moved a winged chair to the side. Fariq had stopped sobbing but the tears still flowed. Shepherd led him to the wall and stood him with his back to it.
The Major held up the video-camera. ‘You remember what you have to say?’ he asked.
Fariq nodded.
‘Colin Mitchell, remember?’
Fariq nodded again. ‘Colin Mitchell,’ he repeated.
Shortt moved to stand next to the Major. He frowned at Fariq and aimed his Glock at the man’s groin.
The Major pressed ‘record’ and Fariq started talking, but after a few seconds he was stammering and blubbering, then collapsed against the wall, his hands over his face.
Shepherd stepped forward and pulled him to his feet. The Major stopped recording.
‘We could use the wife,’ said Shortt.
‘No!’ said Fariq. ‘I can do it.’ He wiped his face with his hands and took a couple of deep breaths. ‘I can do it,’ he repeated to himself.
The Major pressed ‘record’ again. Fariq spoke more confidently this time as he stared fearfully into the camera lens. His voice was wavering and there was no doubting his turmoil, but he continued to speak, and after twenty seconds or so Shepherd heard him say Mitchell’s name. He talked for almost a minute, then dried up. ‘Was that okay?’ he asked Shepherd.
Shepherd looked at Shortt. ‘Sounded okay,’ said Shortt.
Shepherd smiled. ‘Well done,’ he said.
‘Now can we go?’ asked Fariq.
‘You know that’s not possible,’ said Shepherd, patiently. ‘You can’t go until this is over.’
‘You can let my family go. They won’t do anything as long as you have me.’
‘You’re all staying here,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s the way it has to be.’
‘My brother doesn’t know me any more,’ said Fariq.
‘Yeah, you said,’ said Shepherd. ‘Now shut up or I’ll gag you. You can get changed.’
‘Do I have to wear my pyjamas?’
‘Whatever you like.’
The Major was checking the recording.
‘Okay?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Looks fine,’ said the Major. He handed the camera to Shortt. ‘Get our guy to look it over. Anything suspicious, anything not a hundred per cent kosher, I want to know.’
Shortt took the camera and headed for the stairs.
Shepherd waited until Fariq had pulled on a pair of trousers and a white shirt then bound his hands behind his back and took his arm. ‘We’re going to the servants’ quarters,’ he said. ‘You can stay with your family.’
‘Thank you,’ said Fariq.
‘Don’t thank me,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s easier for us to keep you in one place.’
‘You’re a good man,’ whispered Fariq. ‘I know you are.’
‘I’m not a good man,’ said Shepherd, ‘and don’t bother trying to play me. Now, move.’ He pushed Fariq out of the door, along the hallway and down the stairs.
O’Brien was in the kitchen, inspecting the contents of a huge stainless-steel refrigerator. ‘Do you want anything?’ he asked Shepherd.
‘I’m okay.’ Shepherd’s stomach was churning.
‘It’s mostly Arab food,’ said O’Brien.
‘It would be,’ said Shepherd.
‘Hey, Fariq, where do you keep the bread?’ asked O’Brien.
‘It’s in the cupboard there, by the coffee-maker. If you want, my cook can prepare something for you.’
‘She’s staying where she is,’ said Shepherd, and pushed Fariq across the kitchen towards the stairs to the servants’ quarters. ‘Coming up,’ he called.
Armstrong was waiting at the entrance to the sitting room with the Taser.
He stepped aside to allow Fariq and Shepherd into the room.
Fariq sighed with relief when he saw his wife and daughter sitting on the sofa. ‘ Anaa aasif,’ he said. ‘ Saamihnii.’
‘English!’ snapped Armstrong. ‘Speak only English.’
‘He was saying he’s sorry,’ said Fariq’s wife. ‘He was apologising for you, you moron.’
Armstrong pointed the gun at her. ‘I warned you, shut up!’ he said.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said, her chin up. ‘You don’t like it when we speak Arabic and you don’t like it when we speak English.’
‘Don’t, darling. They’ll leave soon.’ Fariq smiled at his daughter. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. The little girl’s wrists had been bound together with tape.
‘ Al-umuur aadiyya,’ she said, close to tears.
‘English, little one, these men want us to speak English so that they can understand what we’re saying.’
‘Did they hurt you?’ she said.
‘No.’
‘But you’ve been crying.’
‘I was worried about you, that’s all.’
‘Are they going now?’
‘They’ll stay just a little longer,’ said Fariq. He turned to Shepherd. ‘Can I hold her for a bit?’
Shepherd cut the tape binding Fariq’s wrists. The Arab sat down on the sofa next to his daughter and put his arms around her. ‘Can you untie her?’ he asked.
Shepherd shook his head.
‘Scared of a child?’ said Fariq’s wife.
‘I warned you,’ said Armstrong.
‘ Ughrub annii!’ hissed the woman, and spat at him.
‘Right, that’s it,’ said Armstrong, and moved towards her.
Fariq slid across the sofa to his wife. ‘Please – she’s stressed, that’s all,’ he said. He tried to put his arms around her but she shrugged him away.
‘ Laysa ladayka ash-shajaa’a al-kaafiya!’ she said.
‘What can I do?’ he said. ‘They’ve got guns.’
‘You can stand up for yourself,’ she said.
Armstrong pushed Fariq to the side, then started to wind tape around the wife’s mouth. She struggled but Armstrong was too strong for her. The child was crying in Fariq’s arms. ‘Please, do not let him hurt my wife,’ he begged Shepherd.
‘The bitch hasn’t shut up since we brought her here,’ said Armstrong. Fatima tried to headbutt him but he shoved her back on the sofa.
Shepherd pointed at her. ‘You, sit still. If you behave, we’ll take the gag off. If you carry on being a pain in the arse, we’ll put you in a wardrobe. It’s your choice.’ He went to Fariq. ‘I’m going to have to tie you up again now.’
‘Please, I just want to hold my daughter.’
‘I understand that,’ said Shepherd, ‘but there’s less risk of anything happening to you if you’re restrained.’
‘Daddy, I want them to go,’ whispered the girl.
Fariq kissed the top of her head. ‘I know you do, honey,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, they will soon.’