Hostage Read Free

and neatly cut. A mesh of ancient, childhood scar tissue showed at the back of his neck. Too neat to be accidental.
    Normally, his jaw was rough with stubble and the only glasses he needed were shades to protect his eyes from the sun. His hair usually hung down past the nape of his neck and he had to wear a baseball cap just to keep his straggly fringe from getting in his eyes.
    Normally, he also kept the scar tissue on the back of his neck hidden by growing his hair over it. Likewise, he preferred to keep the deep pale scar on his right thigh concealed. This was the one the Paper Stone Scissors Killer had given him on the same day he’d torn Danny’s family apart.
    But Danny had got himself smartened up two days ago. Pimped. Just for them, the kidnappers. So that he now looked exactly like the kind of man they were expecting to deliver their ransom. A smart, big-city lawyer.
    Inspecting him now, they might also notice, however, that Danny was surprisingly toned for a desk jockey. Lithe and muscular. In all probability, they’d mark him down as one of those spoilt yuppie types with a personal trainer. Either that, or a fag.
    Whichever, Danny looked like he could jog better than punch. Not much of a threat to anyone. Least of all them.
    Other aspects of Danny they’d miss entirely. Like the fact that his nose was crooked, not as a result of some genetic kink, but because it had been badly broken twice in the last five years.
    And they’d certainly miss the tiny tattoo beneath the heel of his left foot. An intricate depiction of a dragon devouring its own tail, which Danny had inked himself during a temporary incarceration in a Columbian jail in 1994.
    Danny kept chewing. Another thirty seconds had passed. Nineteen and a half minutes in total.
    Not good news for Mary, he was thinking. Because the longer the kidnappers failed to make contact, the greater the chances of them carrying out their threats. And what they’d informed Ricky Watts they’d do to his wife if their demands weren’t met was this:
    â€¦ film her rape and torture. Shoot her in the stomach. Film her slow death. Post the footage on the internet …
    They’d told Watts to tell his lawyer to check into Room 12 at the Colonial Inn, where a car would then pick him up. The lawyer was to strip off his clothes at whatever location the car dropped him off.
    All of which Danny had done. To the letter. He could think of no way they might have yet guessed that he wasn’t really a lawyer.
    The kidnappers had also specified the exact model of the blast-proof attaché case the bearers’ bonds were to be carried in. A Toritech Slim-1. But they’d left no instruction for the case to be opened for inspection.
    Which was remarkable, Danny considered, staring down at it now, seeing as how the attaché case was big enough to hold weapons, explosives and tracking devices.
    All of which meant, he figured, that what the kidnappers were doing now – making him stand here naked – had nothing to do with checking him for weapons, wires, or GPS.
    This was all about manipulation and domination.
    Headgames.
    Tell the monkey to jump. If it obeyed now, the chances were it would jump again when you told it to later. Humiliating Danny like this was designed to make him easy to control. The same as using female prison guards for male political prisoners and suspected terrorists. The best way to get them to crack was for female guards to strip them and shame them. Embarrass them. Make them feel like children Make them believe they were weak.
    These kidnappers were copying this exact same tactic. They were proving to the supposed big city lawyer just how weak he really was. And how out of his depth. So he’d be even more likely to do precisely what they said.
    It was a smart tactic. And if their positions had been reversed, Danny might have done exactly the same.
    He felt his muscles beginning to spasm. The last time he’d