A chain, linked through the cuffs, tethered her to the floor. Scattered through the hall of an old desert fortress in Algeria, other prisoners were similarly cuffed and tethered, the passengers, mostly American, of a hijacked airliner. The soft, crumbling walls of the ancient hall muffled scattered conversation, fear and distress in the snatched whispers. Many passengers kept quiet, not wanting to attract attention to themselves, knowing that it was not much protection against a jihadist beheading. Across the hall, a man called Digby, whose last name Marion did not know, rose and moved stealthily towards a group of heavily-armed terrorists sprawled over sofas. He was only metres away when they realised that one of their prisoners had freed himself. It was of no consequence. They gave it no thought. One of them raised his assault rifle and sent a burst of fire into the man. Miraculously, the bullets missed, although where they had actually gone couldn’t be discerned. Before any of the others could raise their weapons, a ghostly combat suit or spacesuit flickered and shimmered about Digby.
