Abducted (Powell Book 2)

by Bill Ward

“Great. I have a contract for you to sign. The pay is one thousand pounds per day plus expenses. There will also be a payment of one hundred thousand pounds paid to your next of kin in the event of your death. In the event of ending up in any jail, all legal fees will be covered.”

  “Sounds more than fair. Where do I sign?”

  Powell pushed the contract across the table and handed Jenkins a pen, who signed and returned the contract without reading any of the small print.

  “Now that’s out of the way, let me give you some more background, then we can grab some lunch.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Powell had spent a considerable amount of time discussing every aspect of the operation with Jenkins but the big outstanding question of exactly when and where they would grab the children, could only be resolved once they were in Saudi. Powell appreciated Jenkins’ eye for detail and it was a great help to have someone to bounce ideas off. He also had a dry sense of humour, which often had Powell in stitches. Within a few days of working together, Powell was sure he’d made the right choice for the operation.

  Powell had timed his return trip to Riyadh, to coincide with the children returning to school in a week’s time, which he reasoned would give them another possible scenario for taking the children. It would certainly mean the children following a routine and routine enabled the formation of a plan. At least that was the theory.

  Powell had emphasised to Jenkins that their final plan could not include any action which might result in any deaths. While that applied especially to the children’s family, he was also determined no innocent locals should be harmed during their operation. If they were caught and had been responsible for anyone’s death, it would seal their own fate, as it would become inevitable they would receive the death penalty for their actions.

  Although it wasn’t just for selfish reasons Powell didn’t want to see anyone killed. He was no longer the gung-ho agent of twenty years ago. With maturity he had learned to value all lives as important, including the locals in Saudi Arabia. It could not be success at any cost. That was the approach of people like Dimitry.

  For two days, Powell had showed Jenkins the routes around Riyadh connecting the house with the school, ice cream parlour, shopping mall and airport. Powell made Jenkins drive so he became familiar with the unique Saudi approach to driving, which was based on not giving a damn for anyone else on the roads.

  By the third day, they both decided they were fed up of driving everywhere and needed some exercise. Operationally, they also felt they needed to expose themselves to the extreme temperatures, to understand the effect on their bodies, should they end up on foot at any time. A run was out of the question but they decided to take a walk and the weather dictated they should make an early start to the day so they could be back in their hotel, before the worst of the suffocating heat arrived.

  They left the hotel at eight and despite a slower than normal pace were soon suffering from the stifling heat.

  “All the time I spent in Oman, I was never stupid enough to go for a walk just for the hell of it!” Jenkins exclaimed after walking for half an hour.

  “Only time I’ve experienced heat like this was in Greece but I was laying by a pool with a beer in my hand,” Powell replied with a grin. “Let’s head back. I think we’ve learned everything we need to know about the climate. Basically, if we end up running for our lives on foot we’re as good as dead.”

  “You should have warned me you were such a cheerful optimist before I took the job.”

  “What’s going on here?” Powell asked, noticing a large group of people gathered in the square up ahead.

  “Let’s take a look. I could do with some distraction.”

  They had a wall of people in front of them blocking their view from whatever was capturing the attention of so many people.

  “Perhaps it’s their equivalent of Covent Garden,” Powell suggested. “You know, where you get the amateur jugglers and comedians performing.”

  As they came near to the group they could hear the voice of a woman screaming in Arabic and obviously distressed.

  “What the fuck!” Jenkins swore, once having a view of what was transpiring.

  A couple of locals at the back turned around in surprise but quickly returned their gaze to the events being played out in front of them.

  Powell’s eyes were drawn to the scene of a police car parked in the centre of the square and the half a dozen khaki clad policemen standing in a semi-circle. What had caused Jenkins outburst, was the sight of a woman covered in white from head to toe being held by two of the policemen, obviously protesting her innocence as the police men pushed her to the ground. A few other men in typical Arabic clothes were stood around.

  A tall man dressed also in white, was talking to one of the men in uniform and two of the other men. When he turned away from his conversation, there was an audible intake of breath as the large curved sword he was holding came into view. The sun glinted on the metal as he raised the sword high in the air.

  The woman was all the time screaming but now it was evident she wasn’t just protesting her innocence but begging for her life. Powell looked at Jenkins for the first time, who appeared equally shocked.

  The executioner shouted at the woman on the ground and she knelt without moving but all the time she was still shouting and begging. He brought down his sword to the edge of her neck but then stopped. It was obviously a trial swing to prepare his aim. One look from the executioner towards the man in Arabic dress he had just been talking with, was met by a nod of assent. His sword came down in a whirl of speed and the woman’s screaming was halted for all time.

  Her head fell to the ground, rapidly followed by a stream of blood spurting from her body, which after a few seconds fell sideways to the ground. Men hurried forward with a stretcher to recover the body.

  “Let’s go,” Powell urged.

  The crowd were already starting to disperse and their presence had caught the attention of some of the locals. Powell knew that since the beginning of time, public executions had attracted crowds but he couldn’t understand why so many people would want to watch such a spectacle. Was there really so little to do in Saudi that an execution passed for entertainment?

  “I’ve never seen anything so barbaric in my life,” Jenkins said, as they hurried away from the square.

  “I wonder what the hell she did to deserve to die like that?” Powell asked.

  “No woman deserves that. I don’t care what she’s done,” Jenkins replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve seen some things as a soldier but I’ve never seen anything like that before and I hope I never have to again. It’s a good thing this country is alcohol free as otherwise I would be getting very smashed today.”

  “I must admit I could do with a proper drink. I’m going to call my banker friend. He says you can get anything you want if you know where to go.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Powell and Jenkins were in the living room of the villa belonging to Martin Thwaite, which was part of a large compound of homes hiding behind a solid brick wall, isolating the real Riyadh from the foreigners living inside the compound. The Saudis needed the expertise of the foreigners but didn’t want the expatriates contaminating their morals.

  “Thanks for the invite,” Powell said. “After what we saw earlier today, we both felt like a stiff drink but common sense has now prevailed and we’ll be happy just with something cold.”

  “How about some champagne?” Thwaite asked.

  “Are you serious?” Powell queried suspiciously.

  “Saudi champagne. Tessa serves the best in Riyadh,” he said, smiling at his wife.

  “I’ll give it a try,” Powell agreed.

  “Me too,” Jenkins concurred.

  “Just be a minute,” Tessa said and left for the kitchen.

  “Why did you need the drink so badly if you don’t mind my asking?” Thwaite inquired.

  “We saw a woman beheaded in public in the centre of
Riyadh this morning,” Powell answered.

  “Ah! You had a taste of Saudi justice at first hand.”

  “I wouldn’t call that justice,” Jenkins expressed. “No matter what she’d done.”

  “Actually the case has been in the news. She was accused by her husband of killing his brother.”

  “Did she do it?” Powell asked.

  “She claims her husband killed his brother in an argument then blamed her for his death.”

  “What was the evidence?”

  “The husband swore it was her and that was sufficient evidence."

  “But wasn’t it just his word against hers?” Jenkins queried.

  “Yes but his word is worth ten times hers because he is a man.”

  “You have to be joking?” Powell said.

  “Sadly not,” Tessa affirmed, returning from the kitchen with a tray of drinks. “Women just don’t count in this country. They are simply men’s chattels.”

  “I think I’m learning that.” Powell said. “Are there many of these executions?”

  “There were about eighty I think last year,” Thwaite answered. “A large number of them were beheadings in Deera Square or as foreigners like to call it - Chop Chop Square.”

  Tessa handed out the glasses of champagne.

  “That’s not bad,” Powell said after tasting. “What’s in it?”

  “It’s essentially fizzy apple juice with some fresh apple, orange and mint added plus an extra squeeze of lemon so it doesn’t become too sweet.”

  “Quite refreshing,” Jenkins said. “But I’ve never been much of a one for even real champagne. I’m more of a beer man myself.”

  “So what are you two doing in Saudi?” Tessa asked.

  “Just some boring business meetings,” Powell answered.

  “Do you work for the bank?”

  “No, we’re consultants,” Powell answered.

  “Let’s not talk work,” Thwaite suggested.

  “Of course not,” Tessa agreed.

  The doorbell chimed and Tessa announced, “That will be Lara.”

  “I didn’t know you’d invited her,” Thwaite said with a hint of annoyance.

  “You couldn’t expect me to spend the evening alone with you three men, talking work all night?”

  As Tessa walked to the front door, Thwaite shrugged his shoulders at Powell. “I asked her not to invite anyone else but despite living in Saudi, I’m afraid the local ways haven’t rubbed off. She doesn’t like being told what to do.”

  Powell smiled. “No problem.”

  Tessa quickly returned, accompanied by a strikingly attractive, slim woman with olive skin and a huge smile. She had long dark hair and Powell guessed she was in her early thirties.

  Introductions were made and they all went through to the extended kitchen where the dining table was located.

  “What do you do in Saudi, Lara?” Powell asked once they were seated.

  “I teach English at the International school.”

  “She does a bit more than that,” Tessa added. “She is the deputy Principal.”

  “Where are you from originally?” Powell asked.

  “I was born in London. My father is Lebanese and my mother English so I speak both Arabic and English. My father is a Christian though, not a Muslim.”

  “And how do you come to be teaching in Saudi?”

  “To be honest, I had been through a messy divorce and felt like I needed a change. I applied for the job on a whim and was a bit surprised when I was offered the position. I think my ability to speak Arabic was probably what swung it in my favour.”

  Powell was always impressed by anyone who could speak more than one language. Somewhere in his distant past, he had gained an O Level in French but learned at a young age his smattering of vocabulary wasn’t much help when actually visiting France. There was something very alluring about the combination of Lara’s beauty and her heritage.

  “How long have you been living here?” Jenkins asked.

  “Twelve months and I’ve another two years left on my contract.”

  “Are you enjoying it?” Powell inquired, realising he had been staring a little too hard. She had an unnerving way of looking at him, as if she could read his thoughts. He hoped to hell she couldn’t.

  “It’s like any job, there are good and bad bits. I like the tax free money, the life here in the compound and I get the chance to use my Arabic. I’ve never been a big drinker so don’t miss the alcohol. If I close my eyes to what goes on around me, it’s a good life.”

  “You missed our visitors telling us about their morning experience at Chop Chop Square,” Tessa said.

  “Did you see that poor woman executed?” Lara quizzed.

  “Barbaric it was,” Jenkins replied.

  “Not by design,” Powell explained. “We stumbled upon it while out for a walk.”

  “You went for a walk?”

  “We wanted some fresh air and went early to miss the worst of the sun.”

  Lara had a slightly disbelieving expression. “So why are you two visiting Saudi?”

  “Bank business,” Powell replied.

  “You don’t seem like the normal banker types,” Lara stated.

  “You’re right we’re not. We’re actually consultants working for the bank, doing risk and security assessments.”

  “I promised the guys we wouldn’t talk about work,” Thwaite intervened. “They aren’t actually supposed to talk about what they do. It’s all highly sensitive so let’s change the subject.”

  “That type of consultant,” Lara said knowingly. “How long are you planning to stay here?”

  “About three weeks,” Powell replied. “Perhaps you can recommend some things we can see while we are here?”

  “There are some interesting sites if you get some time off. I hear the edge of the world is worth a visit but I’ve never been.”

  “We have,” Tessa said. “It’s a long drive, about two hours, but worth it for the amazing views.”

  “How about something closer to home?” Powell asked.

  “Being a single woman here means I don’t really get to visit many places. I’m sure Tessa could suggest things.”

  “There’s a fort and a museum, which are just about worth a visit.” Tessa suggested.

  “I don’t want to be a heathen,” Jenkins interjected. “But I’ll give all this tourist stuff a miss if you don’t mind. I’m not really interested in visiting anywhere. After this morning’s experience, I think I’ll spend my free time by the hotel pool.”

  “If you want a change, you can always come over here again. A night of bowling and fast food is fun if you get fed up of all the fancy food at your hotel!” Tessa suggested.

  “That does sound like fun,” Powell agreed. “Perhaps Lara can join us again?”

  “I’d like that,” Lara replied. “It’s interesting meeting new people and this compound is very relaxed so I don’t have to cover up and men and women are allowed to mix freely.”

  Powell liked the idea of seeing Lara again and not just because she was an attractive and interesting woman. He thought she might be able to help with their plans. “The compound is very impressive,” he said.

  “It’s one of the best in Riyadh,” Thwaite replied. “Only westerners are allowed to live here.”

  “As jails go, I suppose it isn’t bad,” Tessa moaned. “The house is nice and there’s a good pool.”

  Thwaite said nothing verbally but his look suggested it was a subject which had been debated many times in their household.

  “Security seemed pretty good at the gate,” Jenkins mentioned.

  “It’s recently been stepped up because of threats made by ISIS,” Thwaite replied. “And the targets aren’t just us foreigners. Saudi pilots fly alongside the Americans and Brits bombing ISIS in Iraq. I think the terrorists are doubly offended by a Muslim country working alongside the Americans. Make no mistake, ISIS have their eyes set firmly on Saudi and their wealth. They want to start
an insurrection.”

  “Well it’s lucky then we won’t be here much longer,” Tessa said.

  “Enough talk of terrorism,” Lara begged. “It’s putting me off my dinner!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Powell and Jenkins spent the next ten days becoming completely familiar with the children’s routine. At six forty each morning on Sunday to Thursday, they were driven to the school gates. At three thirty the car was parked outside the school to collect them and they returned directly to the house, not to leave again for the rest of the day.

  On the Friday, Powell had his first view of Baz as he and the kids took a trip to the nearby shopping mall. They did some shopping and had some lunch in a café. Powell and Jenkins kept their distance but it appeared the children were happy enough.

  On the Saturday evening, the children visited the same ice cream parlour where Powell had followed them on his previous trip to Riyadh. The routine of the visit was as before, with the grandmother taking the children inside while the driver remained outside.

  Powell welcomed the strict routine of the children as it provided the opportunity for reasonable certainty in their planning. Each evening he and Jenkins spent ages discussing the pros and cons of the different possible locations to snatch the children. They had to plan for all eventualities including the children not wanting to go with them. They were prepared to use some force to carry the children away if necessary but it would only be as a last resort.

  Powell decided they deserved a break and arranged through Thwaite that they should all have an evening of bowling and burgers at the compound. In truth, he was wanting to see Lara again more than he wanted to bowl. Over a few pints in a pub back home, Jenkins would be decent enough company but as a regular dinner companion, the conversation was definitely running dry.

  Powell was impressed with everything about the compound and the presence of serious looking guards as they arrived, conveyed the impression you were crossing the border into something akin to the Vatican in the heart of Rome. This enclave though was a retreat from the religious society outside rather than the other way around.