In this opening scene Isabella and her parents are held hostage. It’s a scene that shapes Isabella’s identity. From here, the story moves on to twenty years later.
Hostage
Isabella tried to ease the metal loops that chafed her wrists. Mom and Dad were shackled, too, all of them sitting down in high-backed dining room chairs, hands behind their backs. Mom, sitting across the table from her, looked scared, her normally tanned complexion pale and blotchy. Dad sat at the head of the table, as usual. Although that was kind of ironic. This wasn’t a dinner party. His lips were pressed together and his eyes were narrowed. Isabella figured he was angry, which probably had a lot to do with feeling helpless. He wasn’t used to that.
And then there was Forsyth, sitting at the opposite end of the table facing Dad, a pistol in his hand, his comm on speaker lying on the table in front of him. He sat next to Fergus Bellamy, who had been her dad’s assistant for three years, one of his closest advisors. And now… Yet Bellamy didn’t look like he was enjoying himself. Actually, he was stiff and tense. Terrified.
“I’ve already stated my position,” Forsyth said. “And this is becoming tiresome. You’re obviously trying to extend the situation for as long as you can, hoping I’ll tire. Before that happens, I’ll kill somebody.”
His lips jerked in a parody of a smile as he moved the pistol’s muzzle to point directly at Isabella. “Starting with the daughter.”
Mom jerked, her eyes widened. “No. She’s just a child.”
Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut. “Forsyth, please—”
“Shut up,” Forsyth snarled.
The other man who’d arrived with Forsyth, leaning casually against the wall behind Mom, shifted and put his hand on her shoulder, keeping her in place. She shrank at his touch.
Isabella stared into the black muzzle of the pistol, a tunnel into oblivion. Part of her wanted to panic. She forced it down and listened.
“There’s no need to talk about killing people,” the disembodied voice said via Forsyth’s comm. He’d said his name, but Isabella hadn’t taken much notice.
“No, there’s not. I’ll say it again. Put Saaid, Alversome, and Kent into a troop carrier. Fly it here. Land. The senator and his family will board the carrier with me, and we will leave. When we reach our destination, I will release the family. There. Simple.”
“Where are you taking them?”
Forsyth let out a theatrical sigh. “You weren’t listening, were you? That’s confidential.”
“What guarantee do we have that you’ll release them?”
Forsyth laughed. “It’s getting dark out there. I’ll give you half an hour. Then I’ll start killing people.”
“We’ll—” whatever else the negotiator was going to say was cut off when Forsyth closed the call.
Dad wriggled. “You’ll never get away with this.”
“Oh my. Straight out of a bad thriller script.” Forsyth put his pistol down and leaned back in his chair. “This house is sealed. You might remember Bellamy had it arranged last summer. To keep you safe from terrorists and other nasty individuals. Nobody is going to be coming in here to rescue you.”
“Forsyth, you don’t need to take us with you. Take your people and go. I’ll tell them it’s a done deal.” That was Dad at his smooth-talking best, when he was trying to persuade people. She’d seen it often enough.
Forsyth chuckled again. “Rupert, Rupert. If I do that, your military will shoot the ship down.”
Dad shook his head. “No. I’ll make sure—”
His face twisted into a dark mask, Forsyth slammed his hand down onto the table so hard Isabella and Bellamy both jumped. “Don’t. Don’t bother with the charm offensive. I’ve heard it all before.” He turned to his comm and switched it on again. “How’s it going, officer? Time’s sliding past.”
“The ship is on its way.”
“Good. We’ll be ready.” Forsyth turned to the man standing behind Mom. “Won’t we?” he snapped.
The fellow smiled and nodded. He made Isabella feel uneasy. The way he looked at her, like a tasty piece of meat. No prizes for guessing what he was thinking. He noticed her gaze and leered at her, licking his lips. She shuddered and looked away, while he sniggered.
Bellamy looked as though he had a rod up his back. He swallowed frequently, licked his lips, his eyes searching the corners of the room. She’d never taken much notice of Fergus Bellamy. He was just around, somebody who worked with Dad. Mom had never liked him, but she’d never said why.
She gazed across at her mom, staring into eyes as dark blue as her own. Mom’s neck muscles working, she threw sideways glances at Forsyth. She forced a hint of a smile and mouthed, “It’ll be okay.”
No. No, it wouldn’t be okay. In case the awful man behind Mom wasn’t enough, Isabella had seen the evil behind Forsyth’s bland mask when he slammed his hand on the table. He wouldn’t let them go. He’d make his escape with his terrorist friends, then he would kill them. Oh yes, she knew the prisoners’ names. They called themselves Crusaders, sworn enemies of the Ptorix. And her dad was a champion of the aliens. He said the planet was as much theirs as Human, that the two species had to learn to coexist. She’d always thought, assumed, that Bellamy agreed with her dad. Dad must have, too. It was pretty clear Forsyth didn’t.
She tried the wrist bands again. The man who’d snapped them on had made sure they were tight and the left one still was. But the right one had loosened. She was sure she could slide her hand out of it. The trick would be to pick the right time. Certainly not now. Maybe when they went outside to get into the ship she could run for it. There were bound to be police out there.
Forsyth was talking again. She’d missed some of it but she heard, “Land the ship outside the front door. I want to see Saaid, Alversome, and Kent standing on the ground before I move the senator.”
Sounds filtered through from outside. A muffled thump, and was that footsteps?
“All right, Forsyth, they’re out.”
Grinning, Forsyth reached down and picked up a helmet, which he slid over his head. “They’re sure to have brought their best marksman for a head shot. Remember me suggesting you buy a few of these for the senator, Fergus?”
Dad frowned, his eyelids fluttering. He must feel such a fool. Isabella almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Forsyth stood, moving his hand slowly so that the pistol’s muzzle pointed at each of them in turn. “On your feet. Move to the door. Isabella, you go first. Rupert and Maria together, behind her. Yes, very good.”
They shuffled into place. The awful man stood at the door, an automatic weapon in one hand. He smirked at Isabella.
“Cut it out, Briggs,” Forsyth snapped. “Open the door.”
Briggs opened the door.
A squat vehicle crouched on the driveway in front of the house, a wide door in its side open, with a ramp descending onto the gravel. Three grinning men in prison clothes stood in a row.
“Nice to see you,” one of them said.
“Move along, people,” Forsyth said. “Places to go, people to see.”
Isabella stumbled toward the airship as slowly as she could, sensing Mom and Dad a step behind her.
Shadowy figures stood outside the arc of lights. They would be police or soldiers. If she could get to them, they would be able to help. She wriggled her hand in the right cuff, sliding it out. It caught but she squeezed her hand as tightly as she could. Forsyth was saying something. The three prisoners’ grins widened and the dark one, Saaid, stepped toward her.
Isabella tore her hand free and sprang to her left, her feet scattering the gravel. Fingers clutched at her arm. Something hit her shoulder and she fell, the air erupting in shots and yells. Hard hands grabbed her, yanked her to her feet, and an arm locked across her neck. It was hard to breathe. She clutched at his arm, trying to pull him off but the pressure increased.
“Drop your weapons or I’ll kill her.”
Mister Awful. Dredging up her last strength, Isabella kicked backwards. He snarled, tightening his grip on her neck. Her vision blurred.
His arm went slack and he jerked away from her, slumping to the ground. She swayed, gasping for air, her legs trembling. Somebody reached out and put an arm around her waist. “Take it easy, kid. It’s over. It’s all over.”
She gazed up at a uniformed man who probably wasn’t a lot older than she was. “Mom? Dad?”
He smiled. “They’re okay. But you’ve been hit in the shoulder.”
She had? Yes, she had. Her shoulder throbbed and her arm felt weak.
“Come on. The doctor will fix it.”
She took a step and stumbled, grabbing at him for support.
Mister Awful lay face up in the gravel, part of his forehead missing. Bile rose into Isabella’s throat and she vomited.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the soldier murmured.
He led her back toward the front door. One prisoner lay on the ground, motionless. The other two were in binders. Bellamy lay face down on the carpet, a blackened hole in his back.
Forsyth, his wrists in binders behind his back, was being led toward a police skimmer. He looked at her as she stumbled past him, his lips curled in a snarl. “Smart little bitch. I’ll get you for this.”
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