The Exodus Quest

THIRTY-TWO
I

Knox's mouth was sore and sticky. He wiped it with the back of his hand. It came back smeared red. He sat up on the hard bench, suffered a dizzying rush of blood to his head; had to give himself a few seconds to adjust. But that was nothing compared to the visual memory that came next.

Gaille, kneeling, terrified, hostage of terrorists.

He leaned forward, fearful he was going to be sick, but somehow held it in. He stood, walked woozily to the door, peered through the glass. The television was still tuned to the news, though someone had finally turned down the volume. There she was, reading out her statement, the words already imprinted on his mind. The Assiut Islamic Brotherhood. Treating us well. Unless efforts are made to find us. Released unharmed when the men are released. If not released within fourteen days…

That look on her face. Her shaking hands. She was fighting dread, terrified of something imminent, not fourteen days away. He wasn't a parent, Knox, but he felt then how a parent must feel, that desperation to help, that powerlessness. A savage sensation. Unbearable, except that he had no option but to bear it.

'Your friend is one of the hostages?'

Knox blinked and looked around. The man in the rumpled white suit was talking to him. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Your friend is one of the hostages?'

'Yes.'

'Which one?'

'The girl.'

'The red-headed girl or the dark-headed girl?'

'The dark-headed girl.' A sudden flicker of memory. Talking to two men, one in a dog collar, the other portly like this.

'She looks nice.'

'She is nice.'

'Your girlfriend, is she?'

Knox shook his head. 'I just work with her.'

'Sure,' smiled the man. 'That's how I react when my colleagues get into trouble. I go crazy and pick fights with policemen.'

'She's a friend too.'

He nodded. 'Anyway. I wanted to say how sorry I am that countrymen of mine could do this to her. If there's anything I can do…'

'Thank you.' He looked back at the screen. Something about the footage was whispering to him.

'I'm not a good man. I wouldn't be here if I was. But I can't understand how men who claim to be of Allah could think that Allah would approve of that.'

'Please,' said Knox, begging for silence.

He focused back on the screen. The footage started over. Gaille kneeling on the floor, then adopting the lotus position, raising her right hand for extra emphasis. He'd seen that posture somewhere else recently. But where? He dug fingernails into his palm in an effort to force his mind to focus. Then he had it. That mosaic. The figure in the centre of the seven-pointed star.

Yes. His skin prickled.

Gaille was sending him a message.