“America, the land of opportunity—if you’re handsome enough. Who cares what your leaders do with their power as long as it’s an attractive person wielding it over you. The American people don’t even care about platform issues as much as its leaders think. They’ll swing from one party’s leader to the next just as long as he—or, maybe one day, she—looks the part.”
Young grimaced as she continued speaking. At one point, the camera zoomed in on him, showing just how uncomfortable and terrified he was. He squirmed, fighting against the ropes that secured him to his seat.
Upon noticing Young’s blatant resistance, Evana rolled her eyes and resumed walking around him.
“Now, let’s cut to the chase, President Young. I’m sure the American people would be keenly interested in how you’re invading their privacy, a right so many people here hold dear.”
Blunt kicked over a nearby chair. “Turn it off. I can’t stand to watch her do this him. She’s going to torture him and kill him unless we can do something about it. Where are you at on identifying their location?”
Alex continued typing, refusing to look up. “I’m still comparing all the locations with the pictures just before all the cameras went dark and the most recent satellite images.
"What I don't understand is if Al Fatihin has the technology to disrupt all these closed-circuit cameras, why are they all working again?" Blunt asked.
“That’s a good question. The only working theory I can offer on that is if they were using some type of magnetic source strong enough to affect all these cameras, they may not have the energy source required to keep it constant. However, for their purposes, it was plenty effective. We weren’t able to follow them anywhere.”
Alex glanced up at the television, and her mouth fell agape. Blunt saw her and slowly turned to look with her, even though he didn’t want to.
The scene depicted made him so angry that he clenched his fists and started shaking with rage. “I wish I could put her down myself.”
Alex nodded. “You and me both.”
Young was still tied up, but Evana had placed electrode pads all over his body. She held up a small device with a button, pressing it intermittently and laughing maniacally as Young shook and convulsed.
Blunt turned away. “Is there any way you can track that feed? There has to be some way to figure out where they are.”
“Pinpointing the location of that stream source would take quite a while, and I’m not sure we have that much time.”
Blunt glanced back at the television and saw Young enduring longer stretches of Evana’s torture device.
“You’re right,” Blunt said. “We don’t have much time at all.”
CHAPTER 18
A’ISHA STOOD ALONE in the Capitol Building, where just an hour earlier she was on stage, smiling and basking in the warmth of American kindness and generosity. But all of that goodwill had vanished with the information that Evana Bahar had filled her prosthetic leg with explosives. At least, that was the story. No one had bothered to check if that was true.
She sat down on the end of the stage and was about to unlatch her leg when she felt something crinkle in her pocket.
That’s odd. I don’t remember having anything in my pocket.
Tucked inside her dress pocket was a small envelope addressed to her. She tore it open and read a letter.
Dear A’isha,
I know you’re probably scared right now and wondering what’s happening to you. Just know it is all for the best and that your mother loves you very much.
Forever yours,
Jahedah
P.S. Whatever you do, don’t remove your leg.
A’isha was confused. Her mother’s notes were always warm and tender. And she never called herself Jahedah. It was always al’umu. But using her first name seemed rather odd. For a moment, A’isha wondered if her mother even wrote the note, though a quick inspection of the handwriting confirmed that the message was indeed penned by Jahedah.
Adding to A'isha's confusion was the fact that she didn't know where to go. She refolded the note and shoved it back into her pocket before breaking down and heaving. Hot tears streaked down her face, which she buried in her hands. What difference did a leg make if she was going to be treated like a pariah or left to die in isolation?
After a few minutes, she stopped crying and started to study her leg more closely. She thought the nurse who helped her earlier in the day had done something to the leg since it was noticeably heavier. When A’isha had complained about the weight, the nurse told her that it would help her strengthen her muscles and it’d only be necessary for a few days.
But now A’isha knew that was all a lie. Whoever the woman was, she had somehow inserted a bomb inside the prosthetic.
She hiked up her skirt and peered at the bindings. Anxious to remove it, she searched for the latches when she read a message scrawled in English and Arabic on a piece of tape near the latch. It read: “Do not remove under any circumstances.”
A’isha stopped, fearful of what might happen if she forged ahead and tried to take it off.
“That was a smart move,” said a man in Arabic from across the room.
She glanced around in an attempt to find his location. When she looked forward again, he was standing in front of her.
“A’isha, my name is Agent Nelson. I’ve been asked to give you a ride and get you to safety.”
She eyed him closely, narrowing her eyes. “How do I know you are who you say you are?”
He reached into his pocket and produced an identification badge that he gave her. While she had no idea what a CIA official’s badge looked like, she noticed a sticker in the center that changed colors when she rotated it beneath the bright overhead lights. And the
