Page 20 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“Peter and I found a way out of the...place where they were keeping us, and we stumbled across it. It’s in a crate, just sitting in the middle of the floor in the basement.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so. It’s covered in Russian lettering and a bunch of symbols I couldn’t understand, but Peter seemed positive that’s what it is.”

Uncle Theo closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he wore a resigned expression.

“If that’s what he said, then believe him.”

The absolute conviction on his face confused Georgia. Why would Uncle Theo, a professional politician, have that much faith in a journalist? Had they met before when Peter was a soldier?

“This is important,” he continued. “Do whatever Peter tells you to do.”

She reached out to touch her uncle’s arm, to ask for an explanation, but a cold voice from the doorway stopped her.

“You’re awake. Good.”

Georgia glanced up. The leader was standing there with two men behind him. He gave his men an order and they grabbed Uncle Theo under the arms, forcing him to his feet, half carrying him into the larger office. Blood dripped from his shoe, leaving a breadcrumb trail across the floor.

Georgia followed, re-securing the belt and jacket around his thigh as soon as the men dropped him into a chair.

Across the room, Peter held a phone to his ear, but his gaze was locked on her, as if he was trying to tell her something.

“The journalist is speaking to the president,” the leader said proudly, as if it were a feat he had accomplished. In a sick way, he had.

Movement at the door caught everyone’s attention. Two more terrorists dragged in a man in a suit. Georgia recognized him as one of the clerks who sat at the front reception desk. In his early twenties, he’d come here because he’d wanted to make a difference.

He was forced to his knees in the middle of the room then the two men let go and stepped back.

“I want the president to understand fully our resolve,” the leader said. His expression would have been happy if it hadn’t been for the cruel anticipation curling his lips.

Georgia’s heart pounded so hard she was afraid it would break her ribs. Something horrible was about to happen.

No, oh no.

“I’m sure he understands,” Uncle Theo gasped.

“I don’t think he does.” The leader signaled another terrorist standing directly behind the kneeling man. The terrorist lifted his rifle and fired point-blank at the back of the clerk’s head. His body jerked with the bullet’s impact then thumped on the floor. Blood seeped out from underneath his skull in a molten river.

Georgia forgot to breathe, and her heart stopped cold. She stared at the dead man, terror clawing its way through her chest.

“Sir,” Peter said in a monotone into the phone. “That was the sound of a hostage being shot.”

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