The truth of his own gullibility shamed him. The number of potential victims sent him into shock. Twenty-five thousand fatalities. Even more.
Blair wondered how Khalid Yassin could reach this point, how anyone could be this devious, so utterly demented.
The man had done an excellent job in conning him, twisting the truth in such a way that it was all made believable.
Blair knew he couldn’t turn back the clock. He had played perfectly into Yassin’s hands. And for that there was no forgiveness.
He sat in the chair, his mind reeling. He didn’t want to hear any more of his questions answered.
He watched now as the men removed the table. Then Khalid Yassin turned back to him. “Let me explain the balance of my plans,” he said.
Blair had found his accent faint but perceptible the first time they had met. Yet most of the time, Yassin spoke English like an American. “Were you educated in the States, John?” he asked.
The Arab’s face twitched with anger. “You know my name,” he said. “Why do you persist in insulting me?”
“Sorry. It was a slip of the tongue. Tell me where you went to school.”
“You are not in a position to be asking questions.”
“Oh? Why is that? Don’t you want me to understand you? So that I can better cooperate? Obey your every command?”
Khalid Yassin’s smile was more a smirk. “Obey you will,” he said. “Whether you like it or not.”
Blair’s temper ramped up a notch. “What makes you so sure?”
“Who is strapped in this chair? Me or you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course, it matters. Have you lost your mind?”
“No, but you’ve definitely lost yours!”
In one leap, Yassin was in his face, tightly squeezing his shoulders. “Show some respect! Infidel!”
“And if I don’t?”
“You don’t want to go there.”
“Oh, yes, I do, I want to go there very badly. Because there is nothing more you can get me to do. Capisce? Any chance of my cooperating further is kaput! Fini!”
The man leaned even closer. “Don’t push your luck,” he warned, spittle running from his mouth.
And Blair’s control was gone. “I am pushing it, you bastard!”
The Arab moved back, pulled a remote switch from beneath his robe, and pressed it.
Suddenly, a blue light streaked across the front of Blair’s chair. He noticed it before the pain, before an excruciating force attacked his lower extremities. His body convulsed. Once, twice, a third time. And he lost consciousness.
When he came to, the severity of the assault had been such that it took an effort to move.
“No more of your insolence,” Yassin was saying. “Do we understand each other?”
He didn’t reply.
“I will not ask again.”
He nodded.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “We understand each other.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Khalid.”
“Khalid Yassin.”
“Khalid Yassin,” Blair repeated, disgusted with himself.
His attention was drawn through the window to the adjoining room. One of Yassin’s men came into view. He was pulling someone behind him.
Reality hit Blair with such power, he wanted to scream. He had failed. At the one thing that mattered the most.
Sandra was hardly able to walk.
The second man appeared, holding something metallic-looking in his hand.
Yassin pointed to the computer monitor.
A picture filled the screen, a close-up of Sandra’s face. Blair noticed how pale his daughter was. She seemed worn out. And frightened.
The camera panned the room. It zoomed in on the object in the second man’s hand. An instrument was exposed that resembled a dentist’s pliers.
A knot formed in Blair’s stomach and started to burn. He turned in Yassin’s direction. “What are you doing?” he asked.
There was no reply.
“You need to be taught a lesson.”
“She’s only a child,” Blair said, feeling faint.
The picture on the monitor changed. It flipped from Sandra’s face to her hand. It was now being held by one of the men in what seemed a viselike grip.
“Three weeks before Cyber-tech is to be released to the public,” Yassin said in a blasé tone of voice, “you will be driven to your distribution center. There you will give the okay to ship the product to the retailers’ various warehouses across America. If you do not follow our instructions, your daughter will be made to suffer.” He paused. “Let me show you what I mean.”
Blair’s heart fluttered. “No, John,” he began to say, then quickly caught himself: “I’m sorry. I mean Khalid. Mr. Khalid Yassin. Please. Whatever it is you want me to do, I will do. I understand you perfectly well now. Only don’t hurt my daughter. She means you no harm. Please…”
An unknown force drew Blair’s attention to the computer monitor. The more he watched, the more his eyes felt physically assaulted.
The pliers were not pliers at all, at least not in the conventional sense. The tip of the bottom arm was ultra narrow. It was flattened and seemed as sharp as a razor. The man inserted this part beneath the nail on Sandra’s pinky finger of her left hand.
Blair was surprised that it fit, her nail being so tiny.
The upper arm of the pliers had a serrated edge. The man brought it down until it closed on the nail. And he gave the instrument a vicious pull.
Blair’s mouth flew open in shock. He saw the nail being yanked free, then blood squirting, Sandra’s blood, as her holler filled the room.
The bile rose in Blair’s throat and he knew it wouldn’t stop there.
“This is the least painful part,” Yassin said as if he were describing an everyday occurrence. “If you disobey us, if you become incapacitated before the ship date, if you cause any delay in our plans whatsoever, your daughter will be torn apart, limb by limb, leaving nothing left for you to bury. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Dizzy, the bile not only rose to Blair’s mouth, it came spewing out.