Page 27 of A Princess, Stolen
I recalled movies about hostage dramas in which they severed fingers.
“Send you to your beloved daddy in small chunks?” He seemed to think so too.
I couldn’t fight the horror inside me. Intense horrific images illuminated my darkness. My chin trembled, and for a few seconds, it was just as eerily quiet above me as it had been hours ago when I had whispered the word said by Troy.
“Hey—you don’t honestly believe that, do you?” Now he sounded genuinely appalled and that shock slightly calmed me.
“Is that so far-fetched?” I managed to utter.
“No…well, yes! Damn it, we won’t do anything like that!”
I forced myself to take a deep breath. Would he be so confused by my fears if he were serious about it? But then I recalled the others’ comments. “They said when it was over…you might ship me to China in a container?”
“Holy crap… Of course not.”
“But, someone…”
“Pan and Sparta were joking.”
Sparta—definitely the camphor man.
“That was a terrifyingly mean joke,” I dared to say.
He just laughed, this time, it sounded almost amused. “We’re hostage takers, not saints, princess.”
I thought of Dad’s connections, which extended all the way to the White House. Help was probably on the way. “Aren’t you afraid that the Coast Guard will track you at sea?” I asked anyway.
The man continued eating. “Not if the transponders are turned off, besides, we’re merely a harmless fishing boat.”
“What are transponders?”
“Tracking devices. Never heard of Iranian ghost ships?”
“No.” I didn’t like his casual tone.
“Iranian ghost ships are gigantic tankers that try to evade regulations in American waters. They regularly turn off their transponders. They’re practically invisible.” It sounded like he was smiling. “If such large ships manage to sail across the Atlantic undetected, it should be a piece of cake for our cutter.”
I swallowed hard and listened to him chew for a while. Dad certainly wouldn’t think I was at sea. When it comes to abductions, everyone automatically thinks of an underground dungeon or a remote cabin in the forest. No one had noticed where the taxi had taken me and Dad certainly wouldn’t be allowed to call the police. On the other hand, Dad had other connections and he might not need the police at all. He could hire hundreds of private specialists without their knowledge.
“Are you hungry?” the man above me asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“No,” I lied quickly as my stomach growled.
He laughed mockingly. “Really? Fine. Then you won’t get anything either. I had bread here for you… Strangely enough, you always seem to say the opposite of what you mean.” He held something in front of my nose that smelled like wonderfully fresh bread. But, he would have had to feed me and I didn’t wantthat. I would rather go hungry for three weeks than accept bread from him—and I didn’t know if it contained traces of nuts.
He went and closed the door but didn’t turn the key. “Let me know if you want anything. You won’t last three weeks without food.”
Exhausted, I rested my forehead on my bent knees. He was right, of course. But then I would have to tell him about my allergy and he could use that against me later.
Days passed. At least, in my universe. I had no idea how long I had actually been on board the ship. I cowered in a corner and froze. When I did fall asleep, it was on the floor, curled up like a hedgehog. I stared into space, dazed by fear of what would happen next.
The blindness was particularly hard on me. Again and again, I heard footsteps, men talking to each other and walking past, sometimes, even laughing. It was wearing me down. All of it: the smell of fish and sea, men’s sweat and salt, and the concentrated testosterone wafting around like stifling dung. My fear that one or more of them might touch me increased every time they strolled by and I felt their pressing gazes on me. However, nothing ever happened. The only one who came in was the leader, who regularly took me to the bathroom and made me drink water from the straw.
He hardly spoke to me, just kept asking if I wanted something to eat, but I always said no. Sometimes, I thought of the genuine shock in his voice.Hey—you don’t honestly believe that, do you?
At least, he didn’t sound like they had anything cruel planned for me. He wouldn’t give me water if they planned to kill me. And if the men had truly wanted to touch me, they would have done so already. Why would they wait?
I told myself all this to calm myself, not knowing if any of it had any meaning. The leader could be lying, but my gut told me he had been honest. Still, it didn’t make my situation any easier. I remained blind, tied up, helpless, and hungry, and I was cold and everything hurt.
