Mahoud ignored him, pushing the American aside
His resistance was futile as the group rushed to meet him, beating him to his knees with rifle butts and barrels, the brutal blows driving him down, blood streaking his face.
Bolan had his own weapon snatched from his hands. He was searched for any other weapons, but all that was found was the GPS unit and Bolanâs cell phone. He watched as they were thrown to the cave floor and crushed under heavy boots.
âThey will not be of use to you any longer, American. You are in the hands of the Taliban now. We will give the orders.â
Bolan looked him in the eye. âIâll try to remember that.â
The Taliban leader laughed. âBe certain, American. You will remember. I promise you.â
They tracked Jamal Mehet to Paris, caught up with him when he emerged from a Métro station, followed him until he was alone on a quiet side street, grabbed him and bundled him into the rear of a Citroën delivery truck. Even as the vehicle was pulling away from the curb, a hypo needle was jabbed into Mehetâs neck. It held a liberal dose of a powerful drug that rendered him unconscious. By the time he woke up he was far away from the city, locked in a room that had a mattress on the bare floor and nothing else. When he regained consciousness he was violently ill, emptying what little food his stomach held on to the floorboards. The aftereffects of the drug werenât pleasant, and he spent most of the day curled up on the mattress, drifting in and out of sleep. When his senses allowed him to focus he tried to work out how long he had been in the room.
A day?
Two?
He couldnât be sure. His watch was missing, so he had to judge the time of day by the passage of light he could see through the grubby window set in the roof over his head. It had already started to grow dark when he heard a key rattle in the lock and the door was flung open wide, banging against the inner wall with hard force.
Mehet rolled over so he could see the doorway. He had to blink his eyes to sharpen the image, and that was when he made out two figures stepping into the room. Beyond them he saw a third. Someone stood watch. The three figures separated and he could see them in detail now. The man just outside the door was holding a weapon. The two inside the room he didnât recognize. They were unknown to him. Both wore expensive, well-cut suits, complete with shirts and ties. He even found himself looking down at their polished shoes.
When he looked into their faces his first impression was they were business executives. Everything about them spoke of wealth. And they were Westerners with their light-colored, clean-shaved skin and benign expressions.
One of the pair moved farther into the room, his actions controlled and precise. He stopped at the foot of the bed, his hands crossed in front of him. Mehet noticed the manâs fingernails. Neat and well manicured. Odd details that seemed very important to Mehet at that moment.
âWe know who you are, Jamal Mehet,â the man said. âWe know all about your connections to Sharif Mahoud. We know he trusts you more than any man alive. That he trusts you with his life. Iâm sure you will realize by now why you are here and what we want.â
Mehet did realize what this was all about even as the man mouthed the words. He had been taken because of his intimate knowledge of Sharif Mahoud. These men, whoever they were, wanted the knowledge he carried inside his head. He also realized they were Mahoudâs enemies. They wanted to locate Mahoud and not for any good reason.
If they found his friend, they would most likely kill him.
A small realization pushed into Mehetâs mind at that moment.
The man speaking to him had an American accent. Quiet, refined almost, but most definitely American.
âYou have had enough time to think over what Iâve just said, so Iâll tell you what happens next. Iâm going to ask you a simple question. I will ask it once, and you will have the opportunity to answer. Give me what I want or I walk out of here and place you in the hands of my associates who are waiting in the cellar below. In the end you will deliver your friend Sharif Mahoud to us. Choose the second option, and you will live longer but the experience will not be pleasant. I believe I have explained everything clearly.â The man paused for a short time. âYou know the current whereabouts of Mahoud. I need that location. Will you tell me where he is?â