Snatched Read online

  Throughout the twenty minute drive in the truck the prince could hear explosions and gunfire. It sounded like a full scale war had broken out!

  The prince didn’t know it, but he was taken to the Salween River just south of Mawlamyine city. He was dragged onto an old fishing boat and they sailed down the river to its mouth and into the Gulf of Martaban. Only then did the men take the sacking off his head. They sailed past the small island of Bilugyun at the mouth of the river and out into the Andaman Sea.

  There were five men on the boat; two Arabs and three locals. They all looked like fishermen, as did the prince himself, but they were all armed and the prince knew that they were not fishermen.

  “I am Azeez and this is my friend Kabeer. You will not be hurt as long as you do as we say” said the Arab with the scar down his right cheek.

  “May I ask where we are going?” asked the prince and Azeez was impressed with how calm he sounded.

  “It is not important for you to know.” Azeez threw a bundle of fishing net over the prince’s hands and knees. If anything passed overhead he would just look like a fisherman mending a net.

  The prince knew his geography and he knew from the position of the sun that they were heading on a course south, south east. That meant he could be heading to south Thailand or Malaysia, or possibly even further afield to Indonesia or Singapore. He thought that it would be unlikely that he was going to be taken to Singapore and the length of the boat trip would dictate if he was being taken to Indonesia or not.

  “………..Always leave as many clues as you can as to where you are. Try and leave a trail. Remember people will be out looking for you…..” McGinley had told him.

  The only things the prince was still wearing that were his own were his shoes. He kicked them off under the fishing net and flicked one over the side of the boat. The noise of the heavy diesel engine covered the splash. An hour later he kicked the other shoe overboard. He knew it wasn’t much but he was doing everything it was possible for him to do.

  Maaz stopped the car and got out. He went around to the back of the vehicle and opened the door, dragging Wolfgang out with one hand and pulled him into some jungle vegetation. Coconut trees reached high into the sky and there were sounds of birds and insects. Maaz pushed Wolfgang down onto his knees and then pulled a Glock G30S handgun from his belt. He had three bullets left of the original ten in the magazine, but he was only going to need one! He pointed the gun at Wolfgang’s forehead. Wolfgang thought there were going to be some words spoken, a last exchange between two human beings when one held the fate of the other in his hands, but there wasn’t. Maaz fired the gun and Wolfgang fell back. Dead. His legs tangled underneath his body. Maaz got back into the vehicle as the flies started settling on the hole in Wolfgang’s head and headed east. He crossed the lakes which marked the border between Myanmar and Kanchanaburi in Thailand by canoe.

  Chapter 3: The Response

  The news coming out of Myanmar was confusing and sporadic. It was still only 4:00am in England and in some parts of America it was still the night before.

  The Prime Minister’s telephone rang. He picked it up before the second ring.

  “Hello!”

  “Hello David, It’s William here” said the Foreign Secretary. There was no need for the Foreign Secretary to introduce himself. The Prime Minister knew from his monotone voice exactly who it was. “We may have a problem on our hands!”

  “What is the problem, William?”

  “We are getting some early reports that an uprising is taking place in Myanmar. There are explosions and heavy fighting taking place all over the country.”

  “Oh my God! What about Prince William? Have we got him safe?”

  “That is the problem, sir. We haven’t got him at all. At the moment we have no contact with the royal party. We know from the itinerary that he should be in Mawlamyine, but to be truthful, we don’t know where he is.”

  “Okay. I will phone Her Majesty and tell her what is happening in Myanmar. I want a C.O.B.R.A. meeting in half an hour. I want you and the Home Secretary there, head of national and international security and anyone else you think might be useful, William.”

  “Yes, Prime Minister.”

  After speaking to the Queen, the Prime Minister headed to number 70 Whitehall; the Cabinet Office building. Members of the public have got used to hearing the term ‘C.O.B.R.A. meeting’ in the news. Most people think it sounds dynamic and realise that, if a C.O.B.R.A. meeting takes place, then it must be serious.

  C.O.B.R.A. actually stands for Cabinet Office Briefing Room A. It used to just be called Briefing Room A, but somebody thought that, if they put the words Cabinet Office before that, it would make a more dramatic acronym. In reality the meeting is for the Civil Contingencies Committee, which is usually chaired by the Prime Minister or a senior cabinet minister, depending upon the crisis.

  The Prime Minister walked into briefing room A. Like all the briefing rooms it was secure and fitted with video and audio links. There were eight huge screens fixed to one wall displaying intelligence information and even BBC and CNN news channels if required. The screens were visible from anywhere in the elongated room. A huge, light oak-coloured table took up most of the room with comfortable chairs around it, enough to seat twenty people, with standing space behind for more if required. Numbered telephones were placed along the table, positioned in front of the chairs. The Prime Minister would always sit at the head of the table and the chairs moving away from him would be filled depending upon rank and seniority. The more important you were, the closer you got to sit to the Prime Minister. In the Gold, Silver and Bronze command structure, C.O.B.R.A.is known as Platinum Command.

  “What is the latest situation report?” asked the Prime Minister as he sat down and opened the blank notebook in front of him. He lifted the pen that was also waiting there for him and took the top off in readiness to write down anything that he might need to make a note of.

  The Foreign Secretary was about to speak when the Prime Minister held his hand up. One of the eight screens on the end wall was showing BBC news. The words ‘Breaking News’ started scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

  “Get some sound on that.” The Prime Minister nodded towards the TV screen. Somebody pressed the remote and they all listened in silence. There were no pictures but the solemn faced female newsreader made the very first announcement about the events taking place in Myanmar.

  “We have a breaking news story just coming in from Myanmar. Huge explosions and heavy gunfire are being reported from all over the country. Many people, civilians and soldiers have been reported as being killed in the fighting. It appears to be a full scale civil war. His Royal Highness Prince William, the Duke of Cambridge, is currently in Myanmar on a three day state visit. It is not known at this time if the prince has been caught up in the fighting. The President of Myanmar, Thein Sein, has declared a state of emergency and imposed a 24 hour curfew under Martial Law. Buckingham Palace and the government’s press office have been unavailable for comment. We will bring you further news on the story as soon as we have it.”

  The Prime Minister waved his hand and the sound on the TV was turned down to nothing.

  “Well, Prime Minister,” started the Foreign Secretary, “we really don’t have a lot more than what you have just heard.”

  “Okay. Well then, what are we doing about it?”

  The Foreign Secretary was an intelligent man. He had even been a former leader of the conservative party before the current prime minister. He had already done everything that he could think of and he reeled off a list.

  “I have got all the British embassies in south-east Asia on standby. I have the SAS on standby and waiting for a call. We have a platoon of Royal Marine Commandos on R&R in Pattaya, Thailand, who are currently being rounded up and are returning to HMS Illustrious, (An air
craft carrier that was due to be decommissioned in 2014). We also have a troop of SBS (Special Boat Service) in Sattahip, Thailand carrying out exercises with the Thai navy. They are also on standby and assure me they can be inside Myanmar in a few hours. I have authorized all our overseas intelligence and diplomatic services to open up all the back channels and report to me directly with any information. I have also asked the Home Secretary to inform all the national security agencies to do the same.”

  The Prime Minister looked at the Home Secretary. He had always found her to be an irritating woman. If the truth be known she was only in the post because of political correctness and not on ability, but the Prime Minister had to have females in his cabinet and there wasn’t a lot to choose from. She was an old woman with a young woman’s hair style, dyed blonde, but the bags under her eyes gave away her age and made her nose look like it was wearing a saddle.

  “Theresa!” said the Prime Minister, inviting a contribution from her.

  “It’s all in hand, Prime Minister” was all she said. The Prime Minister wasn’t expecting a lot from her and he wasn’t disappointed. He turned back to the Foreign Secretary.

  “William, get somebody from the Embassy in Myanmar to trace the route of the prince’s convoy from Rangoon to Mawlamyine to see if they can see anything.”

  “Yes sir, but it seems like there is a civil war breaking out over there and now it seems there is a curfew!”

  “I don’t care. I will speak to the President and the leader of the opposition in Myanmar. I’ll contact the Whitehouse and see if they have anything. I’ll get the press office to release a statement…….We are obviously concerned for the prince’s safety and we are doing everything we can to ensure his speedy return to the United Kingdom……, well that sort of thing anyway. Okay, let’s get to work and keep me informed of everything.” The Prime Minister got up from the table. He hadn’t written anything in the notepad!

  ~2~

  Prince William had arrived on Thai soil unnoticed and undetected via the straits of Malacca. He was hooded again on the approach to dry land and then dragged from the boat and placed inside a blue plastic barrel on the back of a waiting delivery truck. The journey in the truck was a long and bumpy ride. The prince felt the truck making many steep climbs, slowing almost to a standstill at times on some of them, as the engine and gears struggled to push the truck onwards. It was dark when the truck finally stopped and the prince was released from the barrel. He was in a tropical rainforest and it was dense. The trees made a huge green canopy above his head; they would not be seen from the air! The prince guessed that they must be in Malaysia, but he was wrong. Malaysia was another 30 kilometres to the south. He was in some kind of camp. There was a building, which was more than a hut, but not quite a house. It may have been a house at one time, but it must have been a long time ago. It had been patched up many times with bamboo, cement and sheets of corrugated tin that had rusted in the damp, humid tropical jungle air. There were three army style tents. A burnt patch on the ground, surrounded by rocks and covered with ashes was obviously the camp fire, but it was not burning now. There was some corrugated tin sheeting that had been fixed together to make a shower room and toilet. There was something stored at the side of the dilapidated house, but the prince didn’t know what it was. Whatever it was, it was stored in a neat square 6’ x 6’ and about four foot high. It was covered in a green tarpaulin, which was tied down securely. There were a few gas lamps on the ground, which gave off just enough light to be able to see. There were four Arabs there. The two from the boat, who the prince remembered were called Kabeer and Azeez, the one who did the talking and had a scar down his face.

  It was Azeez who introduced the other two Arab men.

  “These are my friends, Kahlam and Haadee. Do you want some food Prince Charming?”

  “Yes please. I’ll have les canard aux orange. It’s a French dish.”

  “Charming, you are a funny man. I think we will be friends.”

  “I doubt that………. You don’t do French food!”

  “Yes.” Azeez laughed out loud. “Very funny man, Charming. Kabeer get Charming some food.”

  The prince looked at the other two Arab men. He knew it was important to remember as much as he could.

  The one called Kahlam was about 30 years old or maybe a couple of years older than that. He was slim and he had a moustache and a crescent moon tattoo on the inside of his forearm, just above the wrist, but that was his only noticeable feature. He had a calmness about him and the prince had a feeling that this was an educated man, but that was just a feeling. The other man named Haadee was a little older, maybe mid to late thirties. He was the tallest amongst the men and also the thinnest. All the men were heavily armed and the two who were waiting at the camp for them had ammunition belts slung over their shoulders.

  Azeez untied the prince.

  “Hey! Charming. Where are your shoes?”

  “I thought you had taken them!”

  “Haha! No, I not steal shoes. I have good shoes. Rockports.”

  “Oh! Mine were hand made” smiled the prince.

  “Haha! I like you Charming. Come on, sit down. We all eat together now.”

  The prince sat down on the ground with the three men. They were joined by Kabeer who had brought out a pot of lamb curry and some flat breads from one of the tents. The prince was pleasantly surprised at how relaxed the atmosphere seemed to be. The curried lamb tasted as good as it smelled.

  “This is good. I might stay a couple of days” smiled the prince.

  “Yes, it’s better than French food. You are most welcome to stay, Charming.”

  “What if I escape?”

  “You won’t escape. I will kill you first. Besides, there are landmines and trip wires everywhere. The only safe place is in the camp. As soon as you step beyond the tree line….Boom! You are dead. If the landmines don‘t get you, then our Muslim brothers who are patrolling these mountains certainly will. They have orders to shoot you on sight, or anybody else that may come looking for you.”

  “Just as I thought. Will I be sleeping in the house or in one of the tents?”

  “You sleep in the house.”

  “Will I be tied up?”

  “At night time you will be chained to the bed, but it is a long chain so you can still move around the room. In day time you are free to move around the camp, because we will be watching you.”

  “Is there air conditioning in my room?” the prince said with a chuckle.

  “Haha! Air conditioning. You are really a very funny man, Charming. I really hope that I don’t have to kill you.”

  “I was rather hoping that myself. Is there anymore curry please?”

  After eating, the prince was taken to his quarters. Inside it was a pleasant surprise. The room was just a square and was very basic, but one corner of the room had two newly built dividing walls erected and a door, which had made a bathroom……of sorts! Inside the bathroom were a squat toilet and a big blue plastic barrel, the same size as the one he had been packed into for the journey on the back of the truck. The plastic barrel was full of water and a couple of small plastic buckets floated on top; one yellow, the other red. The barrel of water was to be used for flushing the toilet and showering, but at least the prince would have some privacy. Right in the centre of the room was an old iron framed bed. It had newly been cemented into the ground and a long chain was attached to one of the bed legs at the foot of the bed. The chain was long enough to reach all around the room. An iron clasp was fitted to the other end and Azeez locked it onto the prince’s ankle. On the bed were a thin mattress, which looked pretty clean and almost new and an army style sleeping bag, which certainly was new and still in its plastic wrapper. Hanging from the low ceiling and covering all the bed was a green coloured mosquito net. There was no fan or light in the room and
the room was even hotter than the jungle outside. There was no window and just the one door.

  “I like it” the prince said looking around the room. “You know if this place was in central London you could sell it for a small fortune.”

  “Haha! You are alright, Charming. Goodnight my friend.” Azeez closed the door and the prince could hear the heavy bolts on the outside being locked.

  The prince didn’t sleep. Well, not much anyway! The room was too hot. The air was thick and humid. It tasted of dampness and the iron leg lock was cutting into his ankle. He heard the rain. At first he could hear it thrashing on the leaves in the upper canopy of the tropical rain forest. Then he heard it banging on the tin roof above his head. Lightning lit up the room with an eerie light and the thunder clap that followed instantly made the prince jump. He decided that he wasn’t going to be able to escape tonight and he fought again to try and find sleep.

  The next morning he had already been awake since before first light and, when first light did come, it was comforting. Kahlam came into the building to unlock the prince and he followed Kahlam outside for breakfast. During the day another Arab man arrived. His name was Maaz. He wasn’t as friendly as the others, who were now all calling the prince ‘Charming’. Maaz didn’t call him anything. He never spoke to him. He had a menacing presence about him and the prince knew that, if he was going to be killed, then that job would probably fall to Maaz. He got the feeling that Maaz would enjoy the job. The prince decided that he was the main threat to his safety.

  During the early evening the prince sat around the camp fire with the five Arab men. They chatted amongst themselves in Arabic mostly, but every now and then they would speak in English and invite the prince into the conversation.