Her head was pounding, and the room spun like a merry-go-round as Alex sat up in a completely unfamiliar bed. The bitter taste on her tongue and her dry mouth revealed that she had been drugged. She recalled being grabbed outside the restaurant and feeling the sharp pain of a needle in her neck, but nothing else. Gathering her orientation, she looked around the small room. She didn’t see Sam anywhere. Did they only take her, she suddenly doubted.
The room resembled that of a dreary basement. There was a steel spiral staircase in the middle of the room and several boxes and old pieces of furniture stacked in the corner under the stairs. It was dark and smelled of dirty laundry, yet there was no washing in sight. Careful not to lose her balance Alex slowly got up to walk to the stairs but was instantly yanked back onto the bed. She looked down at her arm to see a rusty metal cuff around her wrist. A chain was attached to the cuff and ran along the floor underneath her bed. She bent down to follow the chain where it stopped at the foot of her bed against the wall. Attached to this end of the chain was another cuff fastened around a steel pipe that had been bolted into the brick wall. She pulled her arm in a wishful attempt to break free delivering no surprise that nothing happened. She was chained down like a caged circus animal.
Fear gripped her insides as she surveyed the room for any signs of Sam. Apart from her bed, there was nothing else in the space that indicated he was or had ever been there. She searched for a window, but this too delivered no results. Her watch showed it was about four hours after she was kidnapped, so she had been knocked out for most of the night. She spotted a small server with a glass of water on the floor next to her feet. The tray was red with several small images of white and gold flowers printed all over it. It was typical of the cheap kitchen paraphernalia sold at almost every corner market. At least it proved she might still be in Cambodia and hadn’t been flown off to a country in the middle of nowhere. She licked her dry lips. Drinking from the glass of water was very tempting, but she couldn’t help wonder if the drink might be spiked. She picked it up and held it up against the light of the small bedside lamp that was on a crate next to the bed. There was no visible evidence of any particles or discoloration; at least not to her naked eye. It also didn’t have any odor. If they wanted her dead they could have killed her already, so worst case scenario, it would knock her out for another couple of hours. She took a small sip and swirled it in her mouth. It was tasteless, so she gulped down the glass, sat back and waited to see if it had any effect. Several minutes went by, and nothing happened. Satisfied she would survive it she started fiddling with the cuff and chain again. The chain was no more than ten feet in length, at best, which offered no opportunity for her to reach the bottom of the staircase and even if she could, then what? She was a sitting duck waiting for whatever they were planning. Her mind trailed to Sam, hoping he would be okay wherever he was. If her kidnappers only took her, he would have sought help from the Commissioner-General by now, and they’d be out looking for her. On the other hand, if they captured him too, he’d be somewhere locked up in a room also. She knocked on the wall behind her bed.
“Sam! Are you there?”
She listened, knocked and called several more times, but the bare brick wall stared back at her in silence. Her mind pushed away from the nagging thought of Sam lying dead next to the car on the restaurant’s curb. He was tall and athletic and even with his injured leg he would have fought them off for sure. Sam had become so much more than just a colleague. They were friends who depended on each other, and right now she depended on him to save her. The sudden realization that perhaps he could be worse off than her and depending on her to rescue him instead paused her trailing thoughts. She knelt down on the floor next to the bed and followed the chain to where it was fastened to the other steel cuff around the gutter pipe. The bed wasn’t fixed to the floor, so she pulled the shackle across the concrete and slipped it out from under the two legs of the bed allowing the chain to move freely up the pipe above her bed. It stopped at a join about halfway between the floor and the low ceiling. The join was fastened to the brick wall and covered by a metal clasp that was bolted in by two rusted screws. She yanked the chain back in an attempt to loosen the pipe from the wall. Fine cement dust escaped from the screws in the wall. It could work if she kept at it, she thought, so she yanked harder. The cuff clanged against the steel pipe and set off quite a racket. A cloud of dust puffed into the air. Her pulse raced uncontrollably, exhilarated at the prospect of breaking the conduit and having an opportunity to escape.
A sharp burning sensation radiated from under the rusty cuff around her wrist. Her skin was red and inflamed from the friction, but she couldn’t stop now. She had a chance, and she would have to take it. Another hard tug on the pipe and one screw popped halfway out of its socket. She gasped in excitement over her success that encouraged her to wrap her hands directly around the steel tube to pull it from the wall. Hearing a noise coming from the top of the staircase she froze. Someone was unlocking the door. She hurriedly pulled the chain back down to the floor and underneath the feet of the bed, pushed the screw back into the wall and sat down on her bed just in time to see a pair of black combat boots come down the spiraled steps. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she struggled to regain her composure. Moments later a man dressed from head to toe in black appeared at the end of the stairs. His face was covered with a black mask, and he didn’t utter a single word. In his hand, he carried another small tray with a bowl of noodles and a glass of water and swapped it with the other one on the floor. Alex caught her breath as she spotted the black tattoo on the back of his neck. It was a scorpion similar to the one Sam said he had noticed on the biker’s neck. Could it be the same man? Alex tensed up and leaned away from him toward the end of the bed. If this were the same man, he would have a score to settle with her for throwing him off the motorbike and almost killing him.
“Where am I?” She braved.
The man didn’t answer or even look at her. Alex could hardly breathe, but she held firm even though her body was trembling with fear. She clenched her fists together to hide her shaking hands.
“Hey I’m speaking to you! Where am I and where is Sam? I demand that you tell me.”
The man who had already walked toward the staircase stopped and turned to face her. His black eyes stared at her intently without answering before ascending the stairs, sending a shiver down her spine. The door locked behind him and she was left alone again.
She stared down at the bowl of noodles and then glanced at her watch. It was five thirty a.m. They were keeping her alive and making sure she was nourished. Why? What did they want from her? She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t know what lay ahead. The thought that the food might be poisoned or drugged crossed her mind again. Nothing had happened after the water she drank earlier. The food should be adequate too, so she decided to eat, all the while looking back at the loose screw in the wall. She needed to be smart about this. Should she manage to successfully free herself from the pipe, she’d still have the chain cuffed to her hand and the door at the top of the stairs to unlock. Any kidnapper with half a brain cell would have at least one man guarding the exit. She scoured the room for some sort of weapon that could work. There was nothing she could see. It was hardly surprising they would leave anything that might pose as a weapon.
She slumped back onto the bed and decided she’d wait. Sooner or later they would be back to make their demands known.
Her thoughts were barely a memory when she heard the key in the lock at the top of the stairs. Her eyes remained fixed on the steps which this time, presented two pairs of legs descending. They were both dressed identically; black pants, shirts, and masks. Alex felt her body tense up as the two men approached her and proceeded to unlock the cuff around her wrist. The one with the black eyes paused and stared at her red chafed skin before looking directly at her. She bit the inside of her bottom lip, careful not to show any fear. The men flanked her on both sides and grabbed her by her arms before shoving her toward the stairs. Neither spoke. Eager to get out of the room she didn’t resist and climbed the metal steps to where she opened the door at the top of the stairs. A third masked man stopped her dead in her tracks. The door had opened up to a corridor. To her right was a kitchen and at the end of the passage to her left, several more doors; possibly bedrooms. She paused to silently question if Sam was likely to be in any of those rooms but found herself being pushed toward the kitchen that was small and poorly decorated with the most ghastly bright green walls. Days worth of dirty dishes lay in the sink, and the four-seated round dining table in the center of the room displayed ivory colored domino-like game pieces of a traditional Asian pastime. Evidence that the three men were living upstairs confirmed that there would have been no way on earth she would have been able to escape. She was more likely to have been killed trying.
They pushed her past the table and out the other end of the kitchen into an equally dated lounge. The television in the corner was tuned to a program showing two bloody men fighting in a ring circled by several spectators cheering them on. The commentary was in Mandarin. Alex relaxed slightly knowing now that she was still in Cambodia. The man with the black eyes pointed to one of the kitchen chairs he had placed in the middle of the lounge for her to sit. The second one tied both her hands behind her back while the third guard covered her eyes with a blindfold.
She didn’t fight them off even though every fiber of her terrified body wanted to. Instinctively she knew this was in preparation for a meeting with the man in charge. She needed to know what they did with Sam and what they demanded of her.
With her eyes blinded she listened intently and heard the creaking of a door to her right followed by several footsteps shuffling on the wooden floor around her. She had been aware of the three guards so knew, at the very least, they were in the room, however, she had no idea how many other people had joined them. Several moments later, a voice cut through the silence.
“Well, well, well. Miss Hunt. The famous Alexandra Hunt.”
Alex tensed at the calm male voice that spoke with a mocking tone across from her.
“What do you want?” she said with a voice that sounded grittier than usual trying her level best to hide her fear.
“Tst Tst Tst, that’s hardly a polite way to welcome your business partner,” the stranger continued.
“You’re sorely mistaken, mister. I don’t do business with people I don’t trust or know,” Alex bit back. There was something about this man's voice that was very recognizable. She just couldn’t quite place the similarity.
“Well, my dear. I don’t think you will have many choices in the matter. You see. I have something you want, and you have something I want.”
The man kept quiet. Alex could only think of Sam. Her parents in all likelihood would be safely back home. Choosing not to take his bait she suppressed the instinct to answer. In some way she was grateful he could not see her eyes behind the blindfold. Equally, she wished she could see his so she could read his next move. Her stomach turned with fear that this man and his thugs might have hurt Sam, but she dared not show it.
“Oh come on Miss Hunt. Your silence is hardly going to sway me from getting what I want. Trust me. This is one bluff you don’t want to call.”
Alex felt her throat tighten. She knew she didn’t have it in her to gamble with Sam’s life or wellbeing.
“What do you want?” She answered with the slightest quiver in her voice.
“The location of the urn of course. Tell me where to find it, and I’ll let you go.”
“Where’s Sam?”
“Dr. Quinn is…well, let’s just say he’s hanging on for you to give me what I want.”
Alex couldn’t move or speak. Her heart pounded in her chest. Stiffened with the knowledge that the kidnapper was indeed holding Sam captive, she contemplated her next move. Finding the golden urn, which they now knew was the authentic relic, was crucial. Its rightful place was back in the Royal family. Having it end up in the hands of criminals only meant trouble. She was torn between the fate of returning a two thousand five hundred year old lost relic and saving the life of her dearest friend and colleague.
Her mind was racing with scenarios. Perhaps they wouldn’t kill Sam, after all, he was leverage. But every instinct of hers knew not to trust this man. He could be calling her bluff. It wasn’t impossible to believe that Sam could have easily escaped or—she paused her thoughts for a brief moment—he could already be dead.
She took a deep breath and concluded that she would stand her ground and play it out as confidently as she possibly could.
“The urn is a sacred relic that belongs to the Royal family of Cambodia. You have no right to claim and abuse it to serve your malicious, selfish intentions. Besides, I don’t have it.”
She decided to hold back her plea for Sam’s life to circumvent showing any vulnerability or weakness that could be exploited for his gain.
The man let out an arrogant laugh. “I am no man, ahem, or woman’s fool, Miss Hunt. You have been given an ancient scroll which was reserved for secret communications between kings only. You cracked its code and now you know where to find the original golden urn.”
Alex caught her breath in her throat. He knew! This man knew about the scroll and that she and Sam managed to translate its contents. How was that possible? As if a cloud lifted from her blinded eyes, in that instant, she knew. These guys were unmistakably the same people who had been following them around Cambodia and all the way to Vietnam. She frantically searched her memory for a clue as to whom this man might be. His voice was definitely familiar, but his accent wasn’t. He wasn’t Asian or British, yet he spoke fluent and perfect English. He was calm and over-confident. The faint smell of a cigar hung in the air. It was likely his. She detected the slightest whiff of cologne, but that could have been any of the guard’s scents.
“I honestly don’t feel it necessary to subject you to torture, Miss Hunt. Your colleague, on the other hand, I have no use for. So the choice is really yours. One way or another, my methods WILL get you to co-operate. I am a businessman, Miss Hunt, and I usually get my way. Prolonging it will just lead to innocent people getting hurt. It can all be prevented. Save your dearest Sam and us a lot of unnecessary time wasting and blood spill and give me the scroll.”
Her bluff failed hopelessly, they had Sam, and if she didn’t comply with his demands, he would be tortured and killed. Saving the precious gold relic wasn’t anywhere as important as preserving Sam’s life. She could live without the urn’s discovery, but she couldn’t live without Sam. She knew this now and impulsively wriggled her wrists in a futile attempt to loosen the tightly bound ropes.
As if to ensure she exerted sufficient authority to withstand this man’s emotional blackmail, she straightened in the chair and replied,
“I don’t have the scroll. We weren’t allowed to take it.”
She heard a shuffling from the couch opposite her where she guessed the kidnapper sat. Her answer apparently caught him by surprise. He was under the impression that she had the actual scroll. She should seize this opportunity and prey on his vulnerability, so she added.
“In fact, there are two scrolls. The second one burned in the fire when the Khmer Rouge attacked the Royal Temple. So you see, Mr. whoever you are, there is no possible way the urn can be found. It is lost forever.”
The room fell eerily silent. To the point where Alex wasn’t even sure if there was anyone left in the lounge with her. Perhaps the shuffling wasn’t his discomfort with her revelation but him leaving the room. She sat silently waiting it out. The knowledge that there was a second scroll needed to find the urn might have derailed the kidnapper’s plans entirely. It could be her and Sam’s saving grace. A flicker of enthusiasm bubbled within and gently pushed her fears aside. Could it be that his plan had backfired and he was now forced to let them go? He would have no further use for them. Likewise, he could just as quickly kill them both.
She was aware of someone breathing behind her. The cigar smell still hung in the air, thicker than before. She knew her kidnapper must still be there. She had a distinct feeling that he was watching her every move. Like a poker player surveying his opponent or a lion ready to charge. Either way, it was his move now.
The idea of being eyeballed by a criminal made her very uncomfortable, primarily because she couldn’t see him from underneath the blindfold. She dared not show her fear now. If she could maintain her confidence, he would know she was telling the truth and that could mean the difference between life and death.