Amanda chewed on her lower lip, as she absently placed her retrieved fork on the corner of the table. If this were a couple of months ago, I wouldn't be worried about Francine, I'd be sure that she was paying me back for worrying her this afternoon. Now that we're friends, life is much simpler…and so much more complicated, she keeps surprising me. She took a long, slow sip of water in an effort to calm her nerves. Something must have happened to her; she was looking forward to putting a lobster dinner on her Agency expense account. Convinced that her partner was in trouble, she grabbed her handbag and walked towards the restaurant's entrance, scanning the dining area as she went along.
"Is there a problem?" the hostess, who had seated the pair, asked as she approached.
"I'm not sure, my friend excused herself to make a phone call and she hasn't come back. Did she walk past you?"
"I took a break after I seated you, but maybe Rick saw her." She motioned towards a young man in a waiter's uniform, listening in on their conversation with interest. Amanda made eye contact with him, and offered a tentative smile.
"Hello, did you see my friend leave?"
"Is your friend a hot blonde?" The appalled hostess glared at him, but said nothing.
"Yes, she's been described that way," Amanda replied as the young waiter began to look embarrassed by his unfortunate choice of words. "Did you see her make a call?"
"She was standing by the phones, but I didn't actually see her make a call. A couple of minutes later, I saw her walking away with two strange women who were hovering by the entrance."
"That's enough, Rick," scolded the disgusted hostess. "We don't describe our guests as 'hot' or 'strange'."
"What was strange about the women," Amanda interrupted anxiously.
"They didn't have a reservation, and we didn't have a table immediately available, so I asked for a name to put on the list of diners who were waiting for tables. I suggested that they wait in the bar until their table was ready. One of them told me quite snippily that unlike Westerners, they don't drink. Before I could say anything else they walked away, but…"
"But what?" She clutched her handbag more tightly as she waited for his answer.
"They left, but they only walked a few feet from the entrance and I assumed that they were discussing where else they might dine. When I returned from seating a couple who did have a reservation, I saw the women walking away with your friend between them."
"Thank you for the information. I really must catch up with them; can you tell me what they look like?" Oh my gosh! After hearing his description of the women, she rushed from the restaurant, all of her senses on hyper-alert as she hurried back to their room. Once there, she quickly looked around in the faint hope that Francine had made it back safely. Sitting down on her bed, she reached for the phone and dialed the number for Billy's private line.
"Melrose," he barked into the phone, startling her as she was thinking about what she was going to say to him.
"Sir, it's Amanda-"
"Amanda," he uncharacteristically interrupted her, "I generally applaud your enthusiasm but in this instance, we need to tread lightly…the Jordanians-"
"Don't care about Francine; I do and I think she's in danger."
"What happened? I specifically ordered the two of you to go have a very public dinner together…were my orders followed?" he questioned, his volume increasing as his concern grew.
"Yes, Sir, we went to the restaurant together, but before we placed our dinner order, Francine excused herself to make a phone call. When she'd been gone for longer than she should have been, I went to look for her. She was seen walking away from the restaurant with two women who fit the description of the pair I followed earlier. We need to rescue her; this isn't just about the Queen's safety anymore."
"You're right; if one of my agents is in danger then I have every right to launch a rescue operation. Stay in your room, don't open the door to anyone, I'll have Lee on the next plane down."
"With all due respect, Sir, Francine needs help now…not in several hours. If she were in my place, you wouldn't tell her to stay on the sidelines and wait for Lee to save the day. I'm her partner, I need back-up now because I refuse to sit here and do nothing while she's in danger."
"Amanda, I know how you feel-"
"No, Sir, you don't…no one questions your qualifications as an agent. Lee once told me that he couldn't 'baby me' on a particular case; I never asked him or anyone else to baby me. You took my contributions to the Agency seriously before anyone else did, please let me see this case through. Will you arrange back-up for me now?" She said ram-rod straight as she waited for his reply, her mouth growing drier with each passing second.
"You leave me very little choice, if I don't arrange for local back-up, you'll go it alone…and I'll be stuck here with your worried husband, waiting to find out how things turn out." She could hear a mixture of fatherly pride and irritation in his voice. "I have an old friend at the FBI's Atlanta bureau; he owes me a few favors, so I think he'll agree to help us out. You WILL stay in your room until I call you back with the details of what I'm able to arrange with him, am I understood?"
"Yes, I'll wait here. Thank you, Sir." 'Stay in your room' is just as bad as 'stay in the car' She hung up the phone and fought the temptation to pace while she waited for Billy to call her back.
Ninety minutes after feeling the unmistakable sensation of a gun being shoved against her ribcage, Francine sat tied to a chair and gagged, in the far corner of her captors' hotel room. They stood several feet from her, arguing with each other in Arabic, unaware that she could understand most of what they were saying. A loud knocking on the door interrupted their dispute.
"Room service," shouted a woman with a heavy southern accent. The younger captor walked to the door and looked through the peephole. A young blonde woman, with a dinner cart, and an impatient expression on her face, stood outside the room.
"We did not order dinner," she replied through the locked door.
"I have the order right here; the meal has been charged to your room. I'll take it away if you've changed your mind, but you'll still be charged for it." Francine listened as the older captor said something unflattering about arrogant Americans, and instructed her companion to slip out into the hall, and threaten to complain to hotel management about the situation. The moment she unlocked the door, Amanda and a male FBI agent emerged from behind the dinner cart, and aimed their guns at her. The FBI man quickly grabbed her, while Amanda rushed into the room, and aimed her weapon at the other woman.
"Don't move, I don't want to have to use this!" She looked from her adversary to her partner and back again. "Francine, are you okay?"
"Mmmhmm," she replied as another agent entered the room, and aimed his weapon at their prisoner. Quickly handing over her gun, Amanda began removing the gag from Francine's mouth, as her adrenaline spike started to wane.
"I was so worried about you," she quietly gushed, as she moved on to untying her hands.
"You didn't need to be," the blonde agent replied while massaging her sore wrists, "they're even less comfortable handling a gun than you are. I wish I'd realized that sooner…I was looking forward to our dinner downstairs."
"What happened to you," questioned one of the FBI agents. "Is Queen Noor still in danger?"
"The Queen is safe…what happened is a long story. If you two will lock up the prisoners for the night, my partner and I will explain everything to you in the morning." She turned her attention from them to Amanda. "C'mon, I'm tired and hungry, let's go order room service, and call our men," the last part she whispered to her equally exhausted friend.