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Decker cringed as she heard the footsteps of a guard in the outside hallway. They were down to four in the room. The bodies and heads of her former fellow hostages were piled in the center of the room. Some had bullet holes in their temple. Some were just decapitated heads. But she recognized all of them. The hostage takers were systematically killing all of the agents that had survived the initial attack.
The only thing that gave her comfort was that she hadn’t seen Cal among the half dozen dead. It was of little consolation, as she realized he could easily have been killed elsewhere on the island, but it gave her enough hope to stay alive. She had nothing else.
The Air Force airman continued blabbering in the corner. Decker had long since given up on trying to understand him. He was no longer making sense as he mumbled about nuclear weapons and executions. The stress of captivity and the horror of the mutilated bodies had gotten to him.
It had gotten to Decker too. She felt as if she were floating above her own body most of the time. She had no idea how long she had been in captivity, but she felt as if she had long since disconnected. She tried to snap herself back into reality, but her moments of clarity were few and fleeting. She found herself drifting off and dreaming of her days alone with Cal.
The footsteps grew louder until they stopped outside the doorway. Three men entered as the door was forced open. The light from the hallways was blinding. Decker withdrew as she saw a shadow approaching her.
The man grabbed her forcefully and unchained her. She wondered for a moment if he were somehow there to rescue them, but the hope vanished when he dragged her to her feet by her hair and bound her hands behind her back.
The Air Force airman pled for his life as they grabbed him as well. After several pleas, the man responsible for him pulled out a gag and gagged him before the men walked the four hostages out into the bright hallway.
Decker stumbled as they pushed her out into the hallway behind another male hostage. She didn’t recognize him from the aircraft, but she assumed he was part of the President’s protective detail. The men escorted the four hostages down the hall and into one of the rooms.
It appeared to have once been a dorm of some sort. The furniture was all gone and the walls were bare, but there was a kitchenette in the corner that they passed as the guards pushed them into the room and brought them to their knees.
There was a flag on the back of the wall with bright lighting setup near a camera on a tripod. Blood stained the carpeted floors. Decker guessed that this had been the place where the other agents had been executed. The thought sent chills up her spine.
Once they were on their knees, Decker watched as the men set up the camera. It was connected to a laptop that was sitting on hardened cases behind the camera. After setting it up, the apparent leader of the group grabbed the man that had been in front of Decker and forced him to the makeshift stage.
The man kicked the hostage’s leg out from underneath him and pushed him down to his knees. The hostage was shaking. His orange jumpsuit was stained from sweat and urine. The man pulled his mask down over his face, showing just his eyes as he stood next to the kneeling hostage.
Another guard took up a position behind the camera as the other two mercenaries watched near Decker and the two other remaining two hostages. The leader removed the hostage’s gag and then waited for the cameraman to give him a nod as he held the trembling hostage’s neck. When the cameraman was ready, he pointed at the leader.
“State your name,” the leader ordered the hostage.
“Spec... Special... Agent... Larry Cooks,” the agent responded.
“Right now, you are an infidel, Agent Cooks. You have been found guilty in the eyes of Allah. But Allah, the God of all people, is more merciful than you or I or anyone else on this Earth. You have been given a chance to convert to Islam. If you convert, you will become a Muslim and you will have rights. This is the only way to prevent burning in the fires of hell,” the man said.
Agent Cooks trembled in silence. His eyes were closed as he held his head down.
The leader pulled Cooks’s head up by the hair to face the camera. “Do you wish to convert and embrace Allah’s mercy?”
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven, give—”
Before Cooks could finish, the leader withdrew his handgun from its holster, placed it against Cooks’s temple as he continued the Lord’s Prayer, and fired. The gunshot rang out in the tiny dorm, causing Decker’s ears to ring. She closed her eyes as Cooks’s lifeless body fell face first into the blood-soaked carpet.
“The will of Allah will not be subverted,” the man said as he looked into the camera.
The guard standing next to Decker walked forward and helped the cameraman drag the body out of view. They dropped him where he had once been kneeling next to Decker. She looked away after catching a glimpse of his lifeless face. A tear rolled down her cheek as she realized there would be no escape.
The leader walked up to Decker and grabbed her by her blonde hair, pulling her to her feet. He pushed her forward; her bare feet felt the warm blood on the tan carpet as the man walked her to the filming area.
Once she was in position, the man pushed Decker down to her knees and removed the gag. It was a momentary feeling of relief, but Decker knew the relief would soon be permanent. It was calming to think of death as her escape. It was her only release from the hell she was experiencing. She was ready to embrace it.
The cameraman pointed to the leader as the red light illuminated on the front of the small camera. Decker waited, expecting the same script as before. She was sure they would kill her, but her training as an agent kicked in. She would cooperate to give investigators proof of life.
“State your name,” the man ordered.
“Michelle Decker,” Decker said hoarsely. Her mouth was still dry from dehydration and the gag. She could barely get the words out.
“And do you have a husband?”
Decker was confused by the question, expecting the same song and dance as the agent killed before her. “No,” she mumbled.
“And will you convert to Islam and accept me as your husband?” the man asked as he unsheathed his double-edged knife.
“What?” Decker asked.
The man squatted down behind Decker and wrapped his arm around her neck, pressing the cool blade against her throat. “In order to save yourself, you may accept me as your husband in jihad under Sharia law,” he said as he pushed the knife against her jugular.
“But I don’t even know your name,” Decker said quickly.
“You are unclean and not worthy of such an honor,” the man said as he began to draw blood from her neck. “Under Sharia law, I sentence you to death by beheading. Allahu Akbar!”