Fortress

50

When he got back to the flat the door of the big bedroom was shut. He went into the bathroom and cleaned himself up, then made himself a coffee. In an hour he had to be at Party Headquarters for a briefing with Vernon Rolt, the man from the organization called Invicta which had been bombed. But he couldn’t think about anything other than Karza and the dreadful situation they both now found themselves in. His head throbbed painfully. He had only wanted to help. Now catastrophe was just around the corner and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

He was sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, staring into his mug, when the bedroom door opened and Nasima appeared in a trouser suit and hijab. He turned away. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and converging under his chin. His nose was running. He didn’t want her to see that, to see his helplessness. But she came up close, put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him towards her. His tear-stained face pressed against her chest for several comforting seconds until she gently moved him away.

She listened in silence while he told her what had happened. He didn’t know who they were or where they had taken him but there was no question about the video. After this she was quiet for some time. He felt himself sinking back to the frame of mind he had been in during his visit to his mother. He should never have agreed to try and help Karza. And judging by the blankness of Nasima’s gaze, he could not expect any sympathy from her.

‘Maybe I should go to the Foreign Office.’

Her face was like thunder. ‘Are you crazy? This group is classed as a terrorist organization — both here and in America. And your position with the Party would be compromised.’

She looked away, as if what she was about to say pained her deeply. Then she nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s a lot. And it’s nonnegotiable. Now they know someone’s looking for him, they will at least keep him alive. But because they don’t have any support from the West, they have to ration their medical supplies. Don’t imagine they will look after him indefinitely. So we have to do something fast.’

Sam pushed the cup away. He felt sick. The thought of his brother, and then his mother, shook him to the core.

‘Plus the cost of transport. Depending on his condition we might have to airlift him back, which could add another half-million.’

She waited while Sam digested this, her eyes trained on his face. He felt stupid. It hadn’t occurred to him that any kind of payment would be demanded, let alone a ransom. He hadn’t given it any thought.

‘What do you think you want to do, Sam?’

This time her whole attitude was different. None of the flirting that he was sure he had detected last time. She was direct, business-like.

‘I don’t know where I could get that kind of money.’

The thought came back into his head that he could ask his new employers, after all — or maybe one of their funders. No, no, that was too naïve, and what would they think of him if they knew about Karza? He wasn’t about to jeopardize his new status with the revelation that his brother was a jihadi. He felt desperation pressing down on him.

‘I have to find a way. I don’t have any choice.’

It had just the right effect. Her face softened. She took his hands. ‘I know how hard it is when there’s only one option, believe me. A brother is a brother.’

It was the nice Nasima again, the sympathetic friend who might one day be something more.

‘You should go. You mustn’t miss your meeting.’ She wrapped him in her arms, then held his face apart from her and kissed his forehead. ‘There may be something, some other way of doing this. I have some contacts, sympathetic people who may give us advice. Go on, go. Whatever happens, you mustn’t let this get in the way of your job.’