Sanctuary: Delos Series, Book 9

by Lindsay McKenna

  *

  Uzan watched and waited. It was past noon, past prayers, and the village was a throbbing, crowded place. He saw the difference being made by the volunteer medical teams and watched Teren move from one area to another. She was always smiling, always providing translation. The people clearly knew her: the women came up to hug her effusively, and the children followed her around because she carried candy in her pockets and gave it out freely to them.

  What he didn’t like was that American male always nearby. Whoever he was, he looked lethal, probably a security contractor with a military background. Uzan knew his own kind, and it was easy to spot this man and separate him from everyone else. He tailed Lambert wherever she went. Not close, but at a distance, close enough to be a shield if she needed one. Yes, he was her bodyguard, no question.

  There were other men in the village he watched carefully, too. The Land Rovers had been parked behind a swampy area within the forest, out of sight, hidden by a huge stand of papyrus waving in the inconstant breeze. So far, no one had gone into that area, where his three drivers waited to be summoned. Under no circumstance did he want Nazir to show his face here for fear that the Kitra people would instantly recognize him.

  Uzan had a radio on him hidden in the folds of his robe. His other soldiers blended in well with the villagers. He stood out slightly because he was light-skinned, and more than a few villagers took a long, hard look at him because he was different from them. Still, he knew that Egyptians and other Middle Eastern tribes that walked with the camel caravans were his color, too. They probably thought he was one of them, which was fine with him. But he had no camels with him, so that made him suspect.

  One thing he had learned long ago was to pick up the pattern on a quarry. It took until late afternoon, just before the clinics would close up for the day, for him to identify all the players, understand the rhythm of Lambert’s activity, and call his men into certain areas of the village. Patience was definitely a virtue in this work, and Uzan felt confident that he could now create a diversion and know when to strike. He moved behind a round thatched hut, pulled out his radio, and told the drivers to get ready. They would meet him at a specific spot after he’d kidnapped Lambert. His heart began to pound in anticipation. He was going to enjoy this attack. It would catch all the villagers, including that American security contractor, completely off guard!

  *

  Teren was at the north end of the village with the medical doctors, standing outside one of the huts, translating for a physician who had just finished examining a young mother’s baby. She had lost sight of Nolan, but normally she didn’t see him around because he was able to blend in with others. Fifteen villagers had crowded around the doctor and mother, all relatives of the baby, listening intently as Teren spoke in their language to the anxious mother.

  Suddenly, Teren heard a high-pitched shriek.

  “Abu someet! Abu someet!” a woman screamed in the center of the village. She was panicked, jerking her finger in the direction of a stucco home, the door open.

  Teren turned, frowning. “Abu someet” was Arabic for “father of agate.” And it was specifically applied to the black-necked spitting cobra. They were common in this area—and deadly. Cobras lived in families, and normally they hunted at night, but not this particular cobra. They hunted in the pastures around the village during the day. Everyone feared cobras; she saw at least fifty people suddenly stampede, running as far away as they could get from the house where the cobra had been sighted.

  Suddenly, the mother next to her screamed, leaping away from the doctor, and Teren saw an olive-green cobra with a black upper body and white rings around its neck. Her eyes widened. She was within spitting distance of the snake!

  People squealed in terror and ran into one another, trying to get away from the cobra, which now stood, waving slowly back and forth with its strong upper body, right near Teren.

  Teren froze. She knew cobras lived in families. What didn’t make sense was that they would enter a busy village like this. Normally, cobras lived where it was quiet, so they wouldn’t be disturbed by too many humans.

  A third scream erupted deeper in the village, and now the whole community became like a huge, moving, panicked wave. Teren pushed the doctor, frozen in fear, away from the cobra. She turned, leaping back, not wanting contact with the cobra’s venom, which it could spit six feet. It could land in her eyes or on her skin. Terrified, she ran behind the hut to save herself.

  As she did, a hand closed over her mouth, yanking her backward off her feet. Teren screamed, and her hands flew up as a man’s hard-muscled arm closed across her throat. She was jerked off her feet and she saw a flash. Too late, she realized it was a needle! It sank deep into her upper arm and she fought, panic rising in her. Her boots struck the ground, and she felt herself being dragged farther away from the hut. She tried to scream, but the man’s hand was covering her mouth and nose. And then Teren felt her legs becoming weak. She heard the roar of vehicles suddenly surround her as dust rolled over the area. People were screaming and running. Nolan! Where was Nolan!

  Suddenly, gunfire split the panicked air and Teren saw two dark-skinned men with hatred in their eyes advancing upon her. In seconds, they’d lifted her up into the back of a Land Rover, dumping her inside. Her head slammed onto the metal floor, stunning her, and she collapsed into a heap, unable to move. Drugged! She’d been drugged! Again! It was the last thing Teren remembered before she lost consciousness.

  *

  Nolan fired as the spitting cobra was lifting its upper body to strike at the nearby doctor. He blew its head off, then, cursing, he swung around, trying to locate Teren. She’d been there a split second before. People were in turmoil, panic filling the air. At least three cobras had suddenly appeared in different parts of the village as pandemonium reigned.

  He heard the roar of engines and turned on his heel. There were three Land Rovers racing toward him, just outside the village. He barked into the radio to Ayman, knowing instinctively that this was a distraction. Teren had been captured!

  Where was she?

  He jerked to the left; the last place he’d seen her was at the hut. A boy came running up, screaming that Teren had been taken by bad men in a Land Rover.

  Gunfire suddenly whined past his head and Nolan shoved the boy to the ground, ordering him to stay down and cover his head. The child instantly obeyed while Nolan hit the earth, rolling and trying to see where the shooter was. He saw one Land Rover, windows down, filled with men with AK-47s firing into his immediate area.

  People cried out. Some fell, wounded. More bullets spat around him, temporarily blinding him as he shot back.

  Where was Teren?

  More rounds, clearly focused on him. He had to move! Nolan rolled twice more as the Land Rover raced toward him. He heard Ayman’s shout of orders over the tumult, saw him pushing through the terrified crowd, getting shoved back by people who saw the vehicles, saw the winking of yellow and red as bullets spat from the rifles at them.

  The world had suddenly exploded around Nolan. He heard the dreaded thunk of a rocket propelled grenade, or RPG, being triggered. Shit! He hunkered against the dusty earth, hands over his ears, mouth open. If he didn’t keep his mouth open, the pressure that RPG created would turn his lungs to jelly. And then he’d die of suffocation.

  The RPG sailed between two other round huts, both exploding into fire, the reeds flying like a thousand needles into the air. The powerful wave pulsated like an invisible fist through the northern part of the village as people were hurled off their feet.

  Screams!

  Shouts!

  The smell of burning huts invaded Nolan’s nostrils as he rolled over, gripping his Glock, shoving himself up to his feet. He heard the screech of tires. Heard the wail of engines behind the hut, where he staggered to his feet. His nose was bleeding, the blood running over his lips and chin as he raced around the hut.

  He slid to a halt as he saw three Land Rovers hightailing it ac
ross the yellowed grassland, heading north on the road leading to Khartoum. There was no way he could fire, because he knew instinctively that Teren was in one of those vehicles. And he couldn’t see anything because of the rising, boiling yellow clouds of dust as they made good in their escape.

  Sonofabitch!

  Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, Nolan gripped the radio, telling Ayman to get to one of the medical vans. Teren had been kidnapped! They had to go after them! Worse, the drone that was being sent to Kitra had not yet arrived. Nolan ran toward the nearest van, dodging people and flames from the two burning huts. He remained on the radio, telling Ayman where to meet him. Within three minutes, Ayman arrived with his six men. Nolan jumped into the driver’s seat, and in moments the entire team was in the vehicle. Nolan stomped on the accelerator, the van fishtailing and roaring out of the village, heading in pursuit of the vehicles, which were now at least a mile ahead of them.

  Ayman was on the radio again, calling the Sudanese Army for help. He turned to Nolan. “Has that drone arrived yet to Kitra?”

  “Hell no!” he snarled, both hands on the wheel, holding the van steady over the uneven dirt road. Everything in the van shook and trembled. The sound of gravel crunching under the tires filled the air.

  “Did you see Teren?” Ayman shouted to Nolan.

  “No. But a boy came running up to me, telling me she was dragged fighting into a Land Rover.”

  Ayman yelled over the wind whipping through the van, “Someone threw those cobras into the village to create a diversion.”

  Mouth flattening, Nolan said, “It damn well worked, too!”

  “Did you see any of the enemy?”

  “Just some soldiers in white robes in the third van. They were carrying AK-47s. They were disguised as villagers. Just like we were,” he added, swallowing hard.

  The worst had happened: Teren had been kidnapped! Nolan was sure it had to be someone that Zakir Sharan had sent to do just that—Enver Uzan, most likely. Why hadn’t they seen and identified them? He knew part of the answer: distraction.

  Teren had been moving constantly from one location to another. She had a pattern of movement, and whoever had observed her saw it and then used it against her. The bastard knew where to create the diversion by releasing those cobras from gunnysacks, letting them loose in the crowds.

  His twisting gut nearly made him cry out, but Nolan stuffed it down. His whole focus was on catching up to that fleet of fleeing vehicles. The more he pushed the van, the more dangerous it became for all of them. One wrong move on a gravel road and the van could skid and flip over several times before stopping. They could all be killed. Nolan had to weigh their lives against the speed necessary to catch up to the kidnappers who held Teren. Was she all right? Had they killed her already? Wounded her? Drugged her? His mind went to the darkest corners of possibility, and then he shut it all down. He couldn’t go there and remain focused. It could kill him and the rest of these men if he didn’t stop right now.

  “It has to be Uzan,” Ayman shouted, his face sweaty and dirt encrusted. He gripped the doorframe with his hand, his mouth contorted. “They wanted Teren!”

  Nolan’s mouth pulled in deeply at the corners. His knuckles were white as he skillfully guided the van over the jarring road. They weren’t catching up with them, but they weren’t being left behind, either. What he’d have liked to do was call in an air strike, though he knew he couldn’t have the jet hit the vehicles because Teren was in one of them. But a well-placed air strike in front of the lead Land Rover could force the vehicle to stop or slow down just enough so they could reach them.

  “How many men, do you think?” Ayman demanded.

  “I saw six in that last vehicle. There were three vehicles. Eighteen men?”

  “Yes.” Ayman turned, grim. “And we have eight.”

  “Good odds,” Nolan growled, his eyes slitted, focused on the straight road ahead of them. There was nothing but yellow dust clouds spiraling and billowing above to show them the enemy’s location.

  Ayman ordered his soldiers to get ready for combat. Luckily, they had put a cardboard box in each van filled with M4 magazines and extra mags for their Glock pistols as well. The soldiers tore off their outerwear, revealing their Sudanese Army uniforms. Another man crawled into the rear of the van, dragging the heavy ammo box forward. The soldiers began to pass the clips around between themselves. Another man handed Ayman magazines for his and Nolan’s Glock pistols.

  Teren…God, I love you. Hang on, hang on…we’ll get you out of this…

  It was a litany in Nolan’s head, sweat rolling down his temples, dust collecting on him with the windows open. He cursed himself. He hadn’t told Teren yet that he loved her. He had wanted to but felt it was too soon. She was still climbing out of that foxhole where she’d lived so long alone, abandoned by her family. They’d only had three weeks with one another. Three weeks. And now he didn’t know if they’d ever share another moment together.

  CHAPTER 18

  Nolan’s mind whirled, considering his strategies. They couldn’t see through the clouds of dust to take a shot, and he wanted to blow the tires to slow down the nearest vehicle. But a stray bullet might wound or kill Teren, and he wouldn’t risk it. And yet, as fast as they were going, some sixty miles per hour, twice the speed they should have been driving on this road, they weren’t closing the gap on the fleeing enemy vehicles, either.

  “I wish,” Ayman growled, “that we had that drone Wyatt Lockwood was sending us. It would help so much.”

  Nolan grimaced. “You got any ideas on how to stop these dudes? I’m not going to be able to drive any faster or I’ll wreck the van and probably kill all of us.”

  Ayman tugged at the black baseball cap he wore. “No. Just follow them. Maybe one of them will run out of gas. Maybe crash. That road leads past Kitra and on to Khartoum. Teren is in one of those vehicles. We don’t know which one. We can’t take a chance of firing and possibly hitting her.” Exasperation was plainly written all over his face. “And even if we could get close enough, we can’t ram them to stop them, either.”

  “I can’t get close enough to do anything,” Nolan muttered, even more frustrated.

  “Something will happen. They can’t keep up that speed. They’ll wreck themselves,” Ayman told him, scowling.

  Yes, and what would happen to Teren if she was in the vehicle that crashed? Nolan wanted to ask, but bit it back. He’d had such dreams for them. And damn it, from the moment he’d met Teren, he’d started seeing a future with her. Hope had infused him when he thought he’d lost the capacity to ever feel it again after his family’s murder. There was something so bright, so idealistic and innocent inside her that she had breathed new, hopeful life back into him. Now she was his life.

  Nolan had dared to hope once again…

  But now?

  As an operator, he knew all the possible playbook strategies in a situation like this—and not one of them held a good outcome for Teren. He felt his heart ripping open, the pain excruciating across his chest. He couldn’t go through this again! He just couldn’t! And yet, here he was: facing the ruthless reality of possibly losing Teren. Losing her before he’d ever had a chance to dream and build a life with her.

  Nolan knew that she loved him. She’d never said the words, but that didn’t matter. He’d seen it in her eyes, and in the way those perfectly shaped lips that sent him into such heat and instant need, would tilt. Yes, Teren loved him.

  He wasn’t a man to pray, because he’d seen too much. He’d survived when others hadn’t. Prayers had never helped him or the fellow Delta operators whom he’d befriended over the years. They braved death so many times together. Then, suddenly, one would be ripped out of his life in a split second. Gone. He would never hear him laugh or speak again. No, normally Nolan didn’t pray because it didn’t do any good.

  And yet, he was praying that something…someone…some twist of fate would intervene to save Teren’s life, keep her from dying
. Because if this fleet of enemy vehicles reached Khartoum, Teren would be lost to him forever. They’d hide her in those miserable slums, and even if Ayman asked the Sudanese Army to go tent by tent searching for Teren, they would never find her.

  The loss would be unbearable.

  Teren, I love you. Hang on…just hang on…I can’t lose you…I can’t…

  *

  Meanwhile, Teren was jolted heavily, shaking her out of unconsciousness. She was thrown halfway across the back of the Land Rover, bruising her thigh. Dazed, feeling the heavy jolt, the noise outside sounding like she was in a blender with gravel, she slowly blinked. At first, everything was blurred as Teren heard yelling. Men were screaming at one another above the grinding, earsplitting noises. The vehicle she was in was sliding back and forth and bumping violently up and down, then side to side once more.

  What on earth? Where was she, and where were they taking her?

  Her mind spun in circles, refusing to work. She lay on the dusty corrugated metal floor. Closing her eyes, Teren tried desperately to think, placing her palm between her head and that hard, unforgiving metal deck. Her heart was thudding heavily in her chest. She tasted terror along with the dirt in her mouth. Opening her eyes again, she realized that she was in a Land Rover, and everything suddenly became starkly clear.

  Then her vision blurred, and it took another five minutes before Teren put it all together. She had been drugged and kidnapped.

  Her captor was Uzan, whom she recognized from the photo Nolan had shown her. His black eyes were filled with hatred. It was the last thing Teren remembered. She had fought hard to get loose from his chokehold, but the syringe he’d punched into her arm had rendered her too weak to resist him.

  Oh God. Her greatest nightmare had arrived.

  She was in trouble. Where was Nolan? Her mind shorted out, then cleared. Her mouth was dry, her skin sweaty, grit sticking to it. Lifting her other hand, she felt more strength returning. Not much, but more than she had before. The vehicle swerved, jumped, and then fishtailed as she was slapped against a side panel with bruising force.