Captive: A Novel

Captive

Captive
A NOVEL

Megan Lisa Jones

Polimedia Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. All Polimedia titles,imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fundraising, educational, or institutional use. Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or contact the office of Polimedia Publishing at: Polimedia Publishing 440 S. El Cielo Road ste. 3-670 Palm Springs, CA92262 info@polimediaent.com www.polimediaent.com 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Published by Polimedia Publishers © 2010 Megan Lisa Jones ISBN-10: 0-968617-6-3 ISBN-13: 978-0-9768617-6-8 Printed in the United States

Captive
Megan Lisa Jones
Megan Lisa Jones is a lawyer and investment banker who works primarily with companies in high growth, evolving or disrupted industries. A child of immigrants, shegrew up in California. Ms. Jones now lives near the beach in Santa Monica with her two children. An avid reader and traveler, she writes about issues which capture her attention and imagination.

To my two kids with love, Lauren and Jason.

The children of Adam are limbs of one another, created from a single substance. When one limb suffers misfortune, the others cannot be at rest. You whodo not suffer the pain of others do not deserve to be called human. -- Sa‘adi (Persian poet)

Stone Walls doe not a prison make, Nor Iron bars a Cage; Mindes innocent and quiet take That for a Hermitage; If I have freedome in my Love, And in my soule am free; Angels alone that sore above, Injoy such Liberty. -- Richard Lovelace

║ CHAPTER ONE REBELLION

LONDON The hand didn‘t belong on hisarm. Khalil squirmed, trying to wiggle free. The fingers just squeezed tighter until the knuckles bulged. Khalil turned and met the eyes of a man almost his own height. The man‘s lower lip was firm, and his round eyes protruded. He looked like the cook in a mural on an English manor wall. Khalil couldn‘t help feeling like the fish painted on a platter before him. His eyes shifted back to thehand. It was ghostly white and softly sprinkled with light brown hair. The man was in uniform, a proper bobby complete with billy club and handcuffs. Out of the corner of his eye Khalil noticed a rubbish bin. He lunged toward it, pulling himself free long enough to rest his hand on its metal

CAPTIVE: A NOVEL edge. The contents of his fist slipped free and fell in with the crumpled newspapers andcoffee cups. One lone Cadbury Flake lay discarded, half eaten and crumbling in its vibrant yellow and purple wrapper. Khalil didn‘t run. No point. He hadn‘t done anything visibly wrong – the bobby couldn‘t arrest him for walking down a crowded street. His crimes were protected by the softer laws that allowed for freedom of speech, religion and the right to associate with whomever he chose. Hadthe police in his own country stopped him he would be bleeding by now. But he wasn‘t in his own country. ―ID?‖ The tone was clipped, the accent lower class British, making the words undecipherable. Khalil moved slowly; didn‘t want the guy to turn violent, while he scanned the area. Just off Piccadilly Circus, the street bustled with the morning rush. It was almost opening time for the stores,though a number of breakfast places were already turning a crowd. A short, lumpy man shifted against a wall, his back brushing up against the whitewashed, barely crumbling building. So the bobby had backup. Why was that? They couldn‘t have fingered him in advance, could they? He had only just arrived in London, and had been avoiding the country for the past two years. Since the last bomb went off....