part0032

“I need Yves and Sophie Marchand to step forward, please.” Peeters scanned the crowd from behind the podium, but nobody moved. He pointed his weapon at the nearest woman. “Come forward at the count of three, or she dies. One…two…”

“Wait!” A woman held up her hand and stepped forward. “I’m Sophie Marchand.”

He smiled. “Very good. And where is your husband?”

“I-I’m not sure. He was giving a private viewing of the Bible to some friends.”

His smile broadened. “Ahh, I see.” He pointed at Karl. “Go get him.”

Karl left, returning a couple of minutes later, dragging the rather unimpressive man by the arm, his mustache however anything but. Karl shoved him toward the wife, the two of them holding on to each other for emotional support.

He ignored them, instead leaning into the microphone. “Oh, Petra! Show yourself! I have your parents here!” He paused, hearing nothing beyond the whimpers of the parents who now realized why they had been summoned. “If you don’t show yourself, I’m going to shoot your mother in the head! You have sixty seconds to show yourself, otherwise you’ll never see your mother alive again.”

P etra trembled with fear, tears flowing as panic threatened to render her useless. She suddenly took a breath, oxygen flowing once again, her mind piercing the thundering in her ears.

She stood, and Jean Luc grabbed her by the arm.

“Don’t go, please.”

She stared down at her brother, the boy only a blur through her tears. “If I don’t go, they’ll kill Mom and Dad.”

“No, don’t go.” His eyes widened. “Take me with you!”

She shook her head, wiping the tears away. “No, they only asked for me. They might not even know about you.” She pointed at their hiding spot under the stairs. “Stay here. Only come out if you hear my voice, okay?”

He nodded, then scrambled deep under the stairs and out of sight. “You’ll come back for me?”

She stared into the dark consuming her brother. “I promise.”

She turned toward the atrium then stopped, pulling out her phone and restarting the live streaming, hoping that whatever she was about to see might help save her and her family, the eagerness of gaining a following on the Internet forgotten. This wasn’t her chance to be famous, this was her chance to show the police outside what they were facing, so they might rescue them all.

She rounded the corner and stepped into the atrium. Her mother spotted her first, crying out her name, tears erupting as an arm extended toward her.

“Mom! Dad!” She rushed past the terrorists and into her parents’ arms, feeling safe for the first time since this ordeal had begun, an ordeal barely fifteen minutes in.

She turned to see the man she had spotted earlier, letting his friends inside. He held out his hand.

“Give me your phone.”

She frowned, her phone an appendage. He flicked his fingers and she handed it over. To her horror, he dropped it on the floor then drove his heel into it several times, smashing it beyond recognition. She resisted the urge to claw his eyes out, and was about to say something unwise when he jabbed a finger at her.

“You caused me a lot of trouble, little girl. What did I say when I took this place?”

Her mind raced. She knew exactly what he had said, her vantage point allowing her to hear everything. But he couldn’t know that, could he? “I don’t know. I couldn’t hear what you were saying from where I was hiding.”

He eyed her and she trembled. “I’m not sure whether I believe that or not, but I’m not going to kill all these people over what a stupid little teenage girl did.” He glanced around. “Where’s your brother?”

She almost lost control of her bladder. “He’s not here. He wasn’t feeling well so he stayed at home with the nanny.”

The terrorist turned to her parents. “Where’s your son?”

“Like she said, at home,” replied her father.

The man pursed his lips. “Now, why don’t I believe you?” He pointed at the guests. “Back to the group.” Her father grabbed her by the arm and led her and her mother back to join the hostages in the center of the room.

“Where’s your brother?” Her father’s voice was barely a whisper.

“He’s hiding under the stairs.”

“Is he okay?” asked her mother.

“He’s scared but he’s okay.”

Another terrorist approached and held out a tablet computer to her, Instagram’s login page showing. “Log in.”

She was indignant at the thought. “Why?”

“So I can delete the damage you’ve done.”

Her father implored her with his eyes to obey. She sighed and logged in, handing the tablet back to the man who walked away, muttering obscenities.

P eeters’ phone vibrated and he answered it, heading out of the atrium. “Hello?”

“How are things going there?”

“We found the source of the leak.”

“The daughter of the professor who found the Bible. We got her. I destroyed her phone so no more information will be coming from inside here that we don’t control.”

“Good. I have a plan. I’m putting it into place now. Whatever you do, don’t do anything to harm that Bible.”

Peeters tensed, suspicious. “Why?”

“Just do what I say, and you’ll have enough money to fund your organization until the end of time.”