Secret of the Thorns: Political Thriller (Donavan Chronicles Book 1)

by Tom Haase

  “Take us to the Imam’s house,” Jabril said. “Make sure no one follows us.”

  “Of course.” Hashim wondered if Jabril thought he was an imbecile giving him obvious instructions.

  These Iranians, they think they will rule the world, but they are only one part of Islam, Hashim thought.

  Taking a circuitous route into the San Matias district, Hashim still arrived at their destination in less than ten minutes.

  “Help me get her into the house and take the car somewhere else, in case someone back there saw us and might be able to identify it.”

  “Yes,” Hashim said. His muscles tightened in his neck and shoulders.

  Jabril pulled Bridget’s unconscious body out of the car and through the front door. He waited for Hashim’s return to help to carry her down the steps. There they locked her in a cellar room with no windows and only one door. The heat in the room caused Hashim to sweat. With no ventilation the intense Spanish sun would turn this room into an oven in the daytime.

  Jabril left for a minute and came back with two lengths of rope and a small roll of duct tape. He lashed her to the wood chair with duct tape around her feet and lastly rechecked the ropes on her hands for tightness.

  “Go get me a rag and some more tape. I’m going to rape her and then cut her throat,” Jabril said.

  Hashim hurried off to comply. After obtaining the items from the Imam, he returned. Jabril shoved the cloth into the mouth of the unconscious Bridget and secured it with the duct tape.

  “That ought to keep her quiet. At least, until I’m finished with her,” said the Iranian member of the Presidential guard.

  “Wait a minute. I thought you wanted to use her to get to the Holy Koran. She is a hostage now. If you kill her, she will be of no use to us. We need to keep her intact to prove she is alive if we have to,” Hashim said. “Please contain yourself until we have the book. Then do as you wish. Do you want me to write a note to the man at the hotel to state our demands, or will you?”

  “You do it since you learned English. Make sure he understands we have her and he has to deliver the text of the Holy Koran or she dies.”

  “You do see that we can’t kill her yet,” Hashim said. “We may need her to persuade him to do it. He might run if he thinks she’s already dead. Of course, we’ll still kill them both.”

  “Just get it written and delivered to the hotel so he’ll get it in the morning.”

  Hashim wrote the ransom note and in an hour he believed the words conveyed the right demands and the correct amount of threats. Jabril approved the note, Hashim placed it in an envelope and walked to the hotel at a leisurely pace. He needed time to think of his own plans away from Jabril.

  Too soon, it seemed, he reached the hotel and went into the lobby.

  “Good evening. I wish to deliver a note for the American who checked in with his lady this afternoon. My boss is out of town and wanted me to get it here earlier, but . . . you know how things happen. It’s just an invite to dinner tomorrow. Could you see he receives it?”

  “Of course, sir.” The night clerk turned and put the letter into a cubbyhole with the number 23.

  When Hashim left the hotel he took the long route back to the Imam’s house so that he would pass an internet café he’d seen earlier. Once there, he glanced around him and, seeing no one watching, he ducked inside. It was the first time he had been alone since Warsaw.

  He sent an email to the Imam to keep him informed. Hashim wanted to make sure he was recognized for the success of this mission. Next he sent some emails that would be fatal if sent from the Imam’s house and later discovered. Again, Hashim cursed the fact he did not have his secret cell phone with him. He’d been unable to retrieve it from his apartment in Warsaw because the Imam had ordered them to go immediately to the airport. The iPhone with the extra special capabilities would have been much more secured but, as it was, there was no option but to use this public computer to contact a special lady.

  He knew he couldn’t tell the Donavan woman anything in case she broke and spilled any information to Jabril. She would have to remain ignorant. It was a safety precaution he needed to take. But while she wouldn’t know about Washington, Washington had to know about her. This message had to go out today with all the details. Tomorrow might be too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Gran Via de Colon - Granada, Spain - 11:02 p.m.

  Jonathan McGregor had watched from his car as the Iranians snuck up behind Bridget.

  They are going to kill her, he thought, and grabbed for the door handle to help her. Before he could get out, he observed them cram her into the backseat of the Ford and then he realized they were kidnapping her and not executing her on the street. He relaxed back into this car. The whole operation to snatch the girl had taken nine seconds. Not enough time for him to do anything. But if he did and it went wrong he could lose everything. Before he could move, they had her and the car pulled away. Too late to attempt anything now. They had Bridget.

  Jonathan jumped back into his Mercedes, started the car and waited for their next move. After the Iranians passed him in their car, he followed the assailants at a safe distance. If he lost the kidnappers he would activate the tracker.

  Do like they taught us in training for following without backup, he ordered himself.

  There were few cars moving at this time of night. He stayed farther back than he would have liked but he knew there were no percentages in getting closer. The car traveled in a circuitous route through the town. Jonathan guessed they were trying to make sure no one followed them.

  In a few more minutes they turned into a small street in the San Matias district off the Calle Reyes Catolicos. The traffic on the main streets was no longer a factor, and the side streets remained deserted.

  Jonathan pulled over before reaching the corner. He got out and ran toward where the tan Ford had stopped, and then he hid in a recessed alleyway. Careful to avoid being seen, he peered around the corner as the two men carried the woman into a house.

  Sweat collected under Jonathan’s shirt collar and he rubbed his hand around his neck, trying to let some air into his shirt. Between the heat and the pressure of the situation, he was sopping wet with perspiration. Lurking in the alley, he waited until the younger one got back in the car and drove off. Jonathan returned to his car and drove by the house, noting the number.

  The Iranians wouldn’t kidnap her if they only wanted revenge for killing one of their own in Warsaw. They would have knifed her on the street and let her die. They had a reason to take her, to keep her alive. He guessed it had to do with the manuscripts. There didn’t appear to be any other reason. They were after the documents, the writings of their Prophet. Obviously, they must think Scott had them.

  The Iranians would have to send some demand to Scott if they wanted to use Bridget to get the manuscript. The kidnappers would have to deliver a note; he assumed they wouldn’t just telephone. When Scott received the note in the morning, Jonathan wanted to be present at the hotel to offer his help to Scott. It became obvious to Jonathan that the terrorist had to have a reason to keep the girl alive. Getting their hands on the Koran must be the compelling reason to keep her alive.

  Plus, unfortunately, Scott didn’t know him. Jonathan needed to invent a cover to convince the Donavan boy of his trustworthiness. The woman would be safe enough as long as the kidnappers didn’t acquire what they wanted. She was their bargaining chip and had to be alive to serve a purpose.

  Jonathan returned to the rectory of Father Castile for a night’s rest. There would be no way he could intervene and save the Donavan woman if he was exhausted.

  At six the next morning, he rose and by prior arrangement he went to the church where he said Mass in a small side chapel dedicated to Saint Joseph. In the church, the air conditioning made him comfortable, even while wearing the vestments as he performed the liturgy. He prayed for Scott and Bridget and for himself to accomplish the mission the Cardinal had entrusted to him
. After a quick breakfast he headed for the Lus Tilos Hotel.

  When he arrived, he approached the desk clerk, and asked, “Is Mr. Donavan in?”

  The man turned to the key box and Jonathan followed his eyes. Sure enough, an envelope lay in the cubbyhole and the key absent.

  “I believe he is, sir. Would you like me to ring the room?”

  “No. Thank you. I don’t want to wake him.”

  Jonathan seated himself in the foyer of the hotel to wait for Scott Donavan.

  He decided he could not tell Scott he knew his sister. He also didn’t plan to reveal where the Iranians held her. Scott didn’t need to have all the information at this time. If he did, he might make a foolish attempt to rescue her. The men holding her would certainly kill them both. He needed to help Scott find whatever he was looking for and return it to Rome.

  He remembered what it was like to walk into a set up and witness most of his men butchered in a few seconds of pure hell. He didn’t want them to have a similar experience. He would rescue the girl but on his terms and not theirs. The Donavans might be smart and a little lucky to have gotten away from the knife man in Warsaw. He suspected in a head on confrontation with a group of armed Iranians, they would lose.

  Jonathan waited for two hours before Scott appeared and approached the desk. After a short conversation the clerk handed the young man a note. Scott opened it and began to read. Scott paled and stumbled a little as he made his way to a sofa a few steps away.

  Remaining seated until he glimpsed Scott’s reaction to the note, he watched him sit down on a couch in the hotel’s foyer. After a minute, allowing the youth to absorb the full impact of what the note contained, Jonathan approached him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hotel Lus Tilos,

  Granada, Spain – 10:35 a.m

  Scott’s eyelids slowly rose. A few seconds passed before his eyes came into focus and he saw his watch on the nightstand.

  10:35.

  “Holy cow.” Almost half the day was gone.

  Scott jumped out of bed, grabbed some cloths out of his pack, and squirmed into them. When he checked Bridget’s room, he saw no one had slept in the bed.

  “Bridget,” he called, thinking she might be brushing her teeth or something. No response.

  He checked the bathroom just in case, but she wasn’t there.

  “She must’ve had a great time last night,” he mumbled.

  He dressed and then went down to the desk and asked the clerk whether he’d seen Ms. Donavan that morning.

  “No, sir, but I have a note for you.” The clerk took an envelope from the cubbyhole bearing Scott’s Room number and handed it to him.

  Was it from Bridget? There was no writing on the outside. Scott tore open the envelope open, he read it. When he saw the contents he felt his face turn hot and then cold. His hands trembled and Scott almost dropped the paper.

  He managed to get to a sofa in the foyer. Sitting down, he reread the handwritten note.

  “We have Miss Donavan. Do not contact the police or you will never see her again. We want the manuscript you found of the Holy Koran. Give it to us and she lives. You have one day, starting this morning, to deliver it to the headwaiter, Juan, at the Alhambra cafeteria. Do it by noon tomorrow or she dies.”

  Scott lowered the note, put his face in his hands to stop them from shaking, and then he felt a touch on his shoulder.

  “May I sit down?” A baritone voice with a Scottish accent asked the question.

  “I’m sorry,” Scott mumbled. He glanced, still stunned from reading the note. “I’m just leaving.”

  “Perhaps I can be of some help, Mr. Donavan,” the stranger said.

  Scott looked at the tall, sandy-haired stranger and blinked his eyes as if just waking up. “Do I know you?”

  “My name is Stephen. I believe I know what’s in your hands,” the man said.

  Scott didn’t remember ever seeing the man before. “You must be mistaken, sir. I have to go now.”

  “You won’t find your sister,” the man said in the same low deliberate voice. The sandy-haired man’s cold, gray eyes locked with his and a shiver of fear passed through Scott.

  “What do you mean?” Scott started to get up, but the man pushed him back onto the sofa. His mind raced. Could this be one of the kidnappers? Maybe he was with the police. Or he could just some con artist trying to sucker him. He’d said his name was Stephen but somehow Scott doubted it.

  “Who are you?” Scott demanded, glaring up at the man towering over him.

  “I’m a friend who thinks he might be able to help you. Please, may I look at the note?” Stephen’s face softened from the iron mask it projected a few moments ago.

  “I don’t think it’s any of your business,” Scott said. He wanted to get away from this intrusion and go to his room. His mind raced. He needed quiet to plan what to do next.

  “You need to listen to me,” the man who called himself Stephen said. “I believe when I’m finished you will appreciate the need for my help.”

  Scott nodded, figuring he might as well hear the man out. If Stephen was one of the kidnappers, Scott would soon know it.

  Stephen took a seat beside him. “Back in Warsaw, I had intended to meet with Mr. Wozniak at ten on Saturday morning in his office. When I arrived at the museum, I saw you leaving from the front door. You, however, didn’t notice that two men followed you.”

  “What! Why were you there?” Scott could think of many more questions now like how did guy follow Scott and Bridget so easily?

  “Let me finish, please. My story will take some time. Perhaps we should go to the café to continue. I don’t want to go outside just yet as I believe they could be watching the hotel to follow your actions.”

  “What? Who is? How do you know that?” Scott couldn’t believe his life could now resonate like a spy thriller.

  “Please, Mr. Donavan, let’s move out of the foyer to a more private place to continue.”

  Scott nodded and they proceeded to the small café inside the hotel and ordered coffee. “You seem to know a lot about me. How come?”

  “I can explain. As I was saying, I saw two men apparently trailing you and — “

  “Are you a spy? How did you know they were after me?” Scott was extremely wary of this being a coincidence. He needed to be careful here. His sister’s life now depended on him.

  “To answer your question, no, I’m not a spy but I’ve had extensive training in a related area. It struck me as out of the ordinary when I saw two men looking around for someone to help them enter the Warsaw museum by the side door, especially Middle Eastern looking men. I realized that they were not part of the crew by the way they hung around and then approached a stranger and introduced themselves, but early on a Saturday morning, odd I thought.” He took time to sip the coffee.

  “I waited in a car across the street and watched you and your sister enter the side of the building, not knowing anything about you.” Jonathan relaxed in his chair.

  “A few minutes later,” he continued, “you came out the front. One of the Iranian men exited the side door and joined a third man who must have remained outside. The one who had remained outside ran in the direction you had taken. I decided to follow to see what it all meant. Overly curious is all I can say. I called Mr. Wozniak to tell him I would be late but no one answered. When I realized the destination was the airport, I returned to the museum. I found what you had done in the curator’s office.”

  “The man attacked Bridget and she defended herself,” Scott said in a rapid-fire manner. He tried to stop himself, but blurted out, “The curator was dead when we arrived.”

  “Why did you run? Why not call the police and let them handle it?”

  Scott stood and went over to the counter and ordered two more coffees. This man did possess a great deal of knowledge about the events, but what were his motives? What was he after? Was he a friend? He had to discover that before he would tell him anything else. He returned
with the drinks and sat down. “Go on with your story,” he said, failing to answer the man’s questions.

  Stephen relayed in cryptic terms how he had followed the Iranians and the Donavans to Granada.

  As he spoke, Scott tried to evaluate Stephen. The man was well spoken and seemed to be well educated. He again noticed how Stephen’s steely eyes scrutinized him on return. Scott knew he wasn’t an expert on reading people but from Stephen’s demeanor Scott decided that the man might not be telling the whole story, but the part Stephen had told Scott seemed truthful.

  “May I look at the note?” Stephen asked again.

  “Before I let you, tell me what you’re after in all this. Why were you at the museum?” Scott demanded.

  “Stanislaw Wozniak called me on Friday evening to tell me about a Latin text he had found. I had met him at a conference the week before and we had talked for a good while and got on well. He remembered my position as a teacher in Rome and my field is the study of Latin. I suppose that’s why he called me. Similar I suspect to the reason he called you. I would have to guess your field is Arabic languages since he mentioned he had uncovered documents in that language.”

  Stephen waited for a few seconds and Scott saw his examining eyes trying to ascertain if he believed him. True, the curator had not known about the Latin text until Friday. That made the timeline for calling Stephen correct.

  “I came to Warsaw immediately when he told me it was a monumental discovery but I was too late,” Stephen continued.

  Scott noticed the consistency in his story and decided to pay close attention to Stephen’s next words.

  “You, on the other hand, copied the files from his computer,” Stephen said. “I found the destroyed hard drive and think you’re the one responsible. The Iranians didn’t have time to copy the data. Sure they could have destroyed the disk, but if they had, they wouldn’t be after you now. They would simply have killed you in revenge and gone home. They have seen you here in Spain and haven’t acted until now. Yes, they are here and I believe that note confirms my story. With that, I can only conclude you have something they want.”