All about them

Mousa came to a halt when he saw the wall ahead of him. Cursing robustly, he spun around and came to an abrupt halt.

Hila Zaidi stood at the end of the dimly lit corridor, the backlight framing her still figure. The sounds around them had dulled, for they were in the North Wing, an area housing just the offices of Lucien and his close associates. But Mousa had not known that. He had fled from Hila, knowing that she was tailing him relentlessly.

For a long moment, neither of them said a word. Then she began to move forward, slowly, taking her time, like an animal stalking her prey.

She had all the time in the world. Her face was blank, impassive. Not the expression of a person who had finally sighted the man who had tortured and raped her brutally, the most savage and cruel of all the so-called fighters.

Mousa drew himself up to his full height, his lips drawn back in a sneer as he spoke,

“Hila Zaidi. Well, well, well, so you are here, eh?’

She was unarmed, he thought, doing a quick ca