by Angel Vane
“Good choice,” Mena said, giving him a smile.
Chapter Sixteen
Five hours later, Mena limped off the elevator onto the sixth floor of the Irungu Center. Her feet cried in agony from the heels she’d had on for too long. The tour had been a huge success. The European group had decided to allow the museum to house their collection and had canceled meetings with the other museums they had planned to visit. Mena winced. Just a few more feet and she’d be in the Conservators Room, where her Chanel flats waited underneath her workstation.
Voices grew louder as Mena neared the room. The unmistakable sound of Grace Kadenge and Isaac Gatobu engaging in yet another spirited debate. What were the two arguing about this time? Slipping through the doors, Mena headed toward her workstation.
“All I’m saying is that you are living in the city now. There is no need to limit yourself to Meru women. We are all Kenyans. Who cares what tribe the woman is from. If you don’t expand your horizons, you might not ever get married,” Grace said, her voice rising.
Mena rolled her eyes as she slipped into her chair. The last thing she wanted to listen to was a debate about marriage.
“Why don’t you understand that for me, finding a wife of my same tribe, with my same values and beliefs and history, is the only thing that matters. If other people want to date from other tribes, I don’t have a problem with that. It’s just not for me,” Isaac roared back, his voice shaking with indignation.
Mena dropped her purse in the desk drawer then turned her focus to the ivory bracelet. Anything was better than listening to Grace and Isaac arguing over their tribal differences. Mena had gotten a crash course shortly after she’d arrived. Many Kenyans still held deep attachment to their tribes, which led to divisions within politics, ideals, relationships, and neighborhoods, not unlike how some areas of America were still divided along racial lines.
Grace and Isaac were from different tribes. From what Mena had witnessed, their views on everything in life were diametrically opposed. Although, it wasn’t clear to Mena if their differences were fueled by tribal traditions or an underlying sexual tension that seemed to course between the two.
“Take Mena, for instance. She obviously didn’t sit around being single just because she couldn’t find a black man to date. She embraced racial and cultural differences by dating a white man, not worrying about what the world or tradition thought about her choices,” Grace said.
Mena’s head jerked up, and she turned back to face the dueling duo.
“Yes, but if you notice, she has not married that white man. Dating, shacking up, whatever, but marriage is a serious union, and even Mena realizes that becoming yoked with a man of a different race is not something to be entered into lightly. I’m guessing that’s why Julian is still her boyfriend and not her husband,” Isaac countered.
Were they using her private life as fuel for their debate? Or had she entered the twilight zone?
Grace continued, “Time, my dear Isaac, not race is why they aren’t married … yet. The relationship is new, and I understand Mena’s desire to get to know Julian more before she lets him put a ring on it. Do you want to keep being this miserable, lonely single guy because you can’t find a Meru woman or do you want to be happy in a relationship with a Kenyan woman without worrying about what tribe she’s in?”
“How about the two of you leave my relationship out of your debates,” Mena said, disturbed by how much of her private life had become fodder for office gossip.
Grace walked over to Mena and gave her a condescending squeeze around the shoulders. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have brought you into this.”
“I’m sorry too,” Isaac said, but Mena doubted his sincerity. “How are you and Julian doing after the craziness of the fundraising dinner? I’m so happy I decided to pass on attending.”
“I’m fine, and so is Julian,” Mena said.
“I didn’t realize he was an ex-Navy SEAL and had worked missions in Africa in the past,” Isaac said.
“Wangari said he’s part of her private security team, and her family is thrilled to have a bonafide hero protecting her. She said her father is planning to sign TIDES to a long-term contract because of their efforts at the event and give Julian a big fat bonus,” Grace said.
Mena forced herself to smile. Wangari had shared the same news with her, but it didn’t make her feel any better. The idea of Julian putting his life on the line to save her boss wasn’t sitting well with her, but there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“My father met with the TIDES team earlier this afternoon. I can’t thank Julian enough for everything he did to save lives and protect the museum,” Wangari said, floating into the room, holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Who are those for?” Grace asked, rushing toward the Director of the Irungu Center.
“Not you, this time,” Wangari said. “These are for Mena.”
“You got me flowers for closing the deal with the European investors?” Mena asked. “You really shouldn’t have.”
“Closed the deal?” Isaac asked, tension in his voice. “They agreed to let us house their collection of African art?”
“They did,” Wangari confirmed. “Lawyers are drawing up the paperwork and should have it signed within the week. But no, I didn’t get these flowers for you, Mena. Someone else sent them.”
“Maybe, Julian?” Grace asked.
“He’s not the flower type,” Mena said, a sickening feeling pooling in her stomach.
“Beautiful coral peonies. We don’t get many orders for these in Africa. It was a rare request, but my company aims to please,” Wangari said.
Mena’s throat constricted as she tried to swallow past the anger bubbling within her.
The text messages from a week ago made her shudder.
Need to see you
This could not be happening. Why now?
“Don’t just sit there, read the card,” Isaac said. He lifted the small card nestled inside the flowers and handed it to her.
Mena plastered on a fake smile, hiding her growing ire, and pulled the card from the envelope.
A single date, written in handwriting she thought she’d forgotten years ago, was scrawled on the card.
January 13th.
Today’s date.
For the first time in forever, she hadn’t thought of what this day represented. She’d been focused on Julian and her new life. Not her past.
Mena slipped the card back into the envelope as her cell phone vibrated on the table. The text message flashed on the screen.
Meet me in Uhuru Park to celebrate.
Blood rushed through her head as heat radiated on her skin. Her hands trembled as she lifted her purse from the desk drawer.
The coral peonies glowed beautifully in the sunlight flooding the room from the windows. Disgusted, Mena threw the card on the floor, then grabbed the flowers with her fists, crushing them within her fingers and threw them into the trashcan.
“Mena? What’s wrong?” Wangari asked, concern etched across her face. Isaac and Grace stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Mena said as she sprinted across the room.
Chapter Seventeen
“Who knew you would be my good luck charm?” Sunny’s voice whispered in his ear, her hands resting on his shoulders as her hair brushed against his neck.
Julian lifted the coffee mug to his lips and sipped the bitter black brew. Earlier that morning, Timothy Irungu had wired him a six-figure bonus for saving his daughter’s life. But with the payment came a new expectation. One he knew Mena wasn’t going to be happy about.
“I hate it when you make me worry,” Sunny said, then signaled for the waiter as she took the seat across from him. “Why are you so quiet? What’s wrong?”
“Mena’s not going to be happy about this,” Julian admitted.
Sunny raised both eyebrows as the waiter greeted her at the table. She ordered a plate of nyama na irio, a flavorful dish of mashed green pea
s and potatoes with stewed meat, and a glass of water then sent the waiter away.
“You talked to her? What did she say exactly?” Sunny asked.
Julian shook his head. “No, I haven’t talked to her about any of this, but I know how she was feeling this weekend. Watching me do what I’ve done hundreds of times as a SEAL scared her. It was different than what happened to us in St. Basil.”
“How so?” Sunny asked, a skeptical look crossing her face.
“I was trapped just like she was. I had to save my life and hers,” Julian said.
“But you went into a dangerous situation on purpose to save her when you were otherwise safe,” Sunny countered.
“Because I love her,” Julian whispered.
Sunny shrunk back, the weight of his words affecting her in ways he didn’t want to comprehend.
“You think because you risked your life for a bunch of strangers, that makes it different for her? She knows you did countless missions as a SEAL, most of them infinitely more dangerous than what happened Friday night. You are a highly trained, special operative. You don’t lose those skills after being a SEAL for as long as you were. It’s in your DNA now,” Sunny said.
“I know that. You know that. But I think Mena just realized that and she doesn’t like it. She didn’t say this at all, but I know she wants me to quit working at TIDES,” Julian said.
The waiter returned, placing a steaming plate in front of Sunny. She thanked him, then grabbed the empty plate in front of Julian, pushing half the food onto it and then sat it back in front of him. “And what do you want, Montgomery?”
Lifting a fork, Julian took a bite of the food, but couldn’t enjoy the intense flavors.
“You can’t deny it, can you? Being on the rooftop doing the things you were trained to do felt right. You miss it and you want to do more of it. It’s what you love to do and that’s nothing wrong with that. Why do you think I created TIDES in the first place?” Sunny asked. “I needed that rush, that intensity of helping others without the restrictions of government protocol. That’s what you have working with my team.”
“You didn’t see the look in her eyes. The fundraising event was supposed to be low key, babysitting a bunch of rich people as they fawned over the President of Kenya. Nothing was supposed to happen Friday night. Enzo and I should have collected a big ass check for very little work. But instead—”
“A hundred guests’ lives were saved because you were in the right place at the right time,” Sunny said.
“Mena’s going to wonder and stress and worry every time I go out on another assignment if it’s more dangerous than what it seems. If I’ll be in a life or death situation again. If she’ll get a phone call telling her I’m dead because I risked my life to save some stranger. I can’t put her through that,” Julian said. He needed to walk away from TIDES for Mena, but he didn’t want to. He needed Mena to understand that being a special operative was all he ever wanted. He missed the thrill and the danger and the excitement.
“If you quit, how are you going to stop yourself from resenting her?” Sunny asked
“What are you talking about?” Julian dropped his fork onto the table. “I’d never resent her for wanting me to be safe.”
“You don’t think so? What are you going to do with yourself? Go back to being Mena’s house boyfriend, taking care of her honey-do list, and being the eye candy on her arm as you escort her to different dinners. How long is that going to keep you happy? A month? Maybe two? It’s too late for you Montgomery. The itch is back and you can’t help but scratch it,” Sunny said.
Julian clenched his jaw, hating how her words resonated within him. Could he walk away from the opportunity to work with the TIDES team? Did he want to throw away a chance to protect the world from terrorists and criminals?
“I’m sure Timothy Irungu won’t cancel his contract with you if I’m not leading the team. He’ll allow you to swap me out with one of your other team members,” Julian said, pushing the words out of his mouth before he said something different. Something he would regret.
“So, that’s it?” Sunny asked, looking disappointed. “You’re going to walk away.”
“I am,” Julian said. He was going to put Mena first, show her that she was more important to him than anything else in his life.
“I hope she’s worth it,” Sunny said, taking a sip of her water.
A wail erupted from a woman at the bar to the left of their table. Julian turned to look at her, an anguished expression etched on her face as she stared at the television screen.
“Turn up the television,” a man shouted as patrons of the restaurant stood from their tables and clustered around the bar where a series of flat-screen televisions displayed a gruesome scene.
Julian felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as his brain struggled to process what was happening.
The newscaster’s voice filled the air. “There has been another attack on the Tribal Museum near downtown. Witnesses say bombs exploded at the museum building and gunmen stormed inside, shooting indiscriminately at patrons. There are reports that more than two dozen tourists and workers in the area have sustained severe wounds from shattered glass that rained down to the street below. We have reporters headed to the scene to bring you more details on this tragedy.”
Julian jumped up from the table and rushed out of the restaurant.
Chapter Eighteen
Strategically placed bombs planted around the perimeter of the Tribal Museum detonated on cue as Tubeec, and his men exited the truck parked in the alley at the Irungu Center loading dock. Yasir, Liban, and Zahi sprinted around to the front entrance of the museum. The sound of scattered pops from assault rifles marred the air as they shot indiscriminately at tourists and museum patrons. Tubeec hoped they remembered to minimize damage to the artwork inside. He didn’t want to senselessly destroy cultural and artistic treasures of African history if it could be avoided.
He watched his extraction team sprint inside the Irungu Center, then turn into an inner stairwell. Their feet pounded the metal steps as they ascended to the top floor. The security cameras had been hacked to show a loop of the same time from the day before. Anyone monitoring the video feed would be oblivious to their entrance. Tubeec stepped over two dead men, unarmed security attendants.
Tubeec followed his men, taking the stairs two at a time. Pushing through the oversized door, he watched as the men cornered the four hostages, capturing them easily. Crying and wailing, the targets lost their motor function, collapsing in terror into the arms of his men, unable to resist being taken.
Glancing at his watch, Tubeec was pleased that they were ahead of schedule. He nodded to the men as they forced the hostages out of the Conservators Room and headed back down the stairwell.
He glanced into the now empty space, eyes drawn to an overturned trash can with crushed and torn coral flowers scattered across the floor. His curiosity piqued, he wondered if he should have gotten more details on the flower delivery. He hadn’t asked who the flowers were being delivered to or who had sent them. The intel on deliveries from the flower shop to the Irungu Center had saved him the trouble of placing a fake order. The flowers had apparently found the intended recipient and were not a welcomed gift.
He suspected the flowers had been for Mena Nix. She showed the most signs of exposure, her muscles limp and barely responsive as Rahim had carried her down the stairs. Wangari had been sluggish, indicating a minor level of exposure, while Grace and Isaac had walked mostly under their own power with rifles pointed at their heads.
Drawn toward the flowers, Tubeec walked slowly into the room until his foot rested against the crushed petals. He reached down, careful not to touch any and picked up the card from the floor. The logo of Wangari’s famous flower shop was emblazoned in the corner.
Clenching his jaw, he stared at the date scrawled on the card. Was this a hidden message for him? Had someone learned of his plan? Was this some kind of warning?
A beep
emitted from his watch.
Tubeec slipped the envelope and the card into his pocket and exited the Conservators Room. He raced down the six flights of stairs until he reached the loading dock. A shaft of light illuminated the masked men, dressed in dark green from head-to-toe, toting rifles and maneuvering the hostages toward the back of the truck. The stench of exhaust wafted from the sleek black vehicle, painted with the recognizable logo of the most prominent flower growers in Kenya, the East African Flower Company. The trucks were common sights, not just on the streets of Nairobi but all across Kenya. No one would take a second glance at them as the trucks exited the alleyway behind the Irungu Center.
Sharp beeps of the truck reversing screeched as Tubeec reached the bottom floor. One of the men rolled the trailer door up with a loud bang. Two other men carried Mena Nix and Wangari Irungu inside. Neither woman struggled, terror in their eyes as they were helplessly dragged into the dark opening of the truck.
The patriarch of the Irungu Family would be desperate to get his sole heir back. Offering Tubeec piles of money for her safe return. But money was useless for this mission. The ransom would be for something more important than cash.
“Help us!” Grace cried, pushing away from Assad, moving quickly, running out of her heels as she staggered toward the street.
“Grace, don’t!” Isaac screamed, trying to jerk away from Rahim and Nadifa, who restrained him.
Assad raised the assault rifle, aiming it toward Grace.
Two shots rang out.
Blood spread across the back of the pale yellow dress Grace wore as she stumbled to the ground, collapsing in a heap along the curb in the alley.
“No!!!” Isaac screamed, his voice loud and hoarse, tears clouding his eyes as he bucked against the men holding him back.
Tubeec nodded at Geesi.
A swift blow to the back of Isaac’s head with the butt of the assault rifle knocked Isaac out, and he was dragged into the back of the truck.