Out-Foxxed. Debra Webb
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little girl, who was six or seven years old, Sabrina guessed, started to sob. Her mother tried to reassure her to no avail.
“Shut that kid up,” Goon Number Two growled, “or I’ll shut her up for you.”
Well, wasn’t he the tough guy. Terrifying women and children surely made him the man of the hour. Not.
Sabrina analyzed the dialect. Not Middle Eastern or European, she was reasonably sure. Even those who’d lived in this country for many years had a difficult time dumping the accents they’d learned growing up. There was training for that purpose, but these people sounded like heartland citizens. Midwestern U.S., maybe.
Were these guys homegrown terrorists? Somehow the idea made her all the more furious, sick to her stomach.
The woman picked up her little girl and held her close. But that left the little boy, who looked to be only four or five, standing alone and clinging to his mother’s leg. He would probably start crying, too, as soon as he figured out his mother would have trouble picking both him and his sister up at the same time. Poor kids. And at Christmas at that. Sabrina wanted to hurt these guys just for that.
But antagonizing these goons would not be helpful, though she already understood that their mission included killing not only Stavi but his wife and children, as well. Delaying that move as long as possible was essential. To do that, she had to play submissive and cooperative. Sabrina wanted the trouble to go down later rather than sooner. She needed time to prepare a strategy that included saving all the hostages.
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
The plan was hasty and lacked originality, came pretty much out of nowhere, but at least it was a step.
Goon Number Two glared at her. “Shut up,” he hissed from between clenched teeth.
Not to be thwarted so easily, she did this little bounce from the knees, the universal gotta-go gesture. “Please, I have to go.”
Another of those icy glares. “So go, just don’t step on the bodies.” He smirked and nodded toward the bathroom where the three men lay in a pile. “And leave the door open where I can see you.”
Making her way across the room, Sabrina stayed close to the wall, as far from Goon Number Two as possible. Once in the bathroom, she stepped over the dead men and scooted in next to the toilet. Knowing that her guard was likely watching, she hunkered down over the toilet which was, thankfully, shielded to some degree by the wide vanity and added plenty of realism to her ploy. While she pretended to relieve herself, she sized up the three men on the floor. Whatever weapons they’d been carrying appeared to have been taken.
She righted her clothes, tore off a piece of toilet paper and used it to protect the tips of her fingers as she flushed the toilet. She wouldn’t be leaving any prints lying around. The guard glanced in her direction but immediately returned his attention to the goings-on in the parlor. While the sound of rushing water provided some amount of cover, she whispered, “Four. Possibly American-born. Hostages still viable.”
“Roger that, Fox,” came Trainer’s voice in her earpiece. “We’re running voice analysis right now.”
There was always the chance that a terrorist would be in one or more data systems, including voice recordings, but the chances of a voice match were more unlikely than not.
Careful not to make any sudden moves, Sabrina eased back into the bedroom to join the other woman and her children in the corner between the king-size bed and the wall of windows. As in the parlor, the curtains were drawn for privacy, blocking out the magnificent view of the city she loved.
Goon Number Two opened one side of the French door and said something to his cohorts in what sounded like butchered Arabic. Since Sabrina was not that familiar with the language, she could only guess at some of the phrases. Hugh would keep her informed. She seized the opportunity and whispered to the woman, “I’m here to help you.”
The woman’s breath caught and her watery gaze locked with Sabrina’s. Her lips parted as if she might say something but, thankfully, she held back whatever had been on the tip of her tongue. Relief rushed into her wide dark eyes.
Sabrina’s options were pretty much limited at the moment. If she gave the word for the tear gas to be released, Stavi would likely end up dead. Maybe even the woman and children. And, of course, her.
Best thing to do was ride it out a few minutes more.
The exchange continued in the language she didn’t understand. The fact that they had stopped speaking in English was a bad sign.
“Fox, can you get a little closer to the man speaking? There appears to be a malfunction in the listening device we planted on the cart,” Big Hugh said in her ear piece.
She coughed, which meant not likely.
Goon Number Two glanced at her.
“The man nearest you has asked how the hell they plan to get out of there and why it’s taking so long. He’s nervous, it seems.”
Nervous was definitely a good assessment. Goon Number Two was antsy as hell, partially motivated by his feelings of being left out.
“We’re going to send Angie to the door with towels in an effort to get you back into the parlor.”
Sabrina cleared her throat, giving the “affirmative” signal.
Since Goon Number Two was still chatting with his friends, Sabrina decided to make some preparations for the children. She eased closer to the woman, keeping an eye on their guard while she whispered as softly as she could and still be heard, “Have the children sit down on the floor close to the bed. Tell them to crawl under the bed if anything happens.”
The woman nodded. She murmured in her daughter’s ear, since she still held the child in her arms. The mother settled the girl onto her feet and she immediately did as Sabrina had suggested. The little girl tugged her brother down to the floor next to the bed alongside her. Obviously knowing her children would not stay in that position unless she was as close as possible, the mother scooted in as near as she could.
The discussion between the four men appeared to be turning less and less friendly. Though Sabrina didn’t understand the words, she couldn’t have missed the tension in the exchange.
“Looks like we have a whole new ballgame here, Fox.”
Sabrina focused on Big Hugh’s voice while maintaining a visual on Goon Number Two.
“Our man Stavi apparently has some information these guys want. The man in the room with you mentioned that if he didn’t talk soon, they would have to move without the information or risk being captured.” That meant that the stakes had just been upped. If Stavi had intelligence these men needed, then allowing any one of them to leave this hotel room would be a mistake with ramifications more far-reaching than they’d first thought.
“Marx wants one alive if possible.”
Great. How the hell was she supposed to keep one goon alive?
She cleared her throat just loudly enough for Big Hugh to hear. She had her orders, no point arguing. All she could do was her best. Protecting the lives of the hostages was priority one as far as she was concerned.
The knock on the door to the room silenced the men.
“Housekeeping!”
The boss, looking annoyed and harried, appeared at the French doors and pointed at Sabrina. “You! Come!” he demanded harshly, his voice kept low to ensure that whoever was at the door didn’t hear him.
Sabrina, maintaining her scared-to-death demeanor, hurried over to the doors. “That’s my coworker with the extra towels I ordered for this room.” She moistened her shaking lips and drew in a ragged breath. “If I don’t go to the door, she’ll just assume I’m finished and come on in anyway.”
Fury streaked across the man’s face. “Get rid of her or she dies.”