by Lisa Harris
Her fingertips were numb by the time she found her car. She clicked the fob on her keychain and popped open the trunk. Her father had to be right. One person could make a difference—one person at a time. It was enough to keep her going.
He attacked from behind.
Gabby felt the air rush from her lungs as her assailant tried to shove her into the trunk. She blocked her fall with her arms, then swung around and slammed her elbow into his throat, knocking him off balance. He wavered, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. In an instant, he’d recovered and pinned her against the car. She swung her fists at the bulky figure, but he was too strong for her. She screamed, but he shoved something into her mouth.
Oh, God, not this way…
Gagging at the pungent scent of gasoline coming from the cloth, her mind fought to focus, because in order to survive she was going to have to fight to win. She caught the glimpse of his gun as he reached for it and countered by thrusting her fingers into his eyes. Her attacker let out a howl as he fell back and grabbed his face.
The gun slid beneath the truck beside her. Her attacker stumbled against the car behind him, one hand still on his face. She now had the few seconds she needed. She slid beneath the truck, skinning her knees in the process, but she didn’t feel a thing. Nor did she have time to think through what she needed to do.
She picked up the gun as he lunged toward her, then aimed and fired. The smell of gunpowder filled her senses as the man dropped to the ground. She let the gun clatter beneath her, while a pool of red liquid formed beneath him on the cold, gray pavement.
She couldn’t move. How many times had she reported on gunshot victims and murders in the past? She’d interviewed those very same victims’ families and even the murderers themselves, but she’d never aimed a gun at a person. Never shot a man.
The insistent shrill of a car alarm brought her back to the scene. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and stared at the blurred numbers.
“Miss, are you all right?”
Gabby tried to answer the woman standing beside her, but she couldn’t speak.
“You’re bleeding.”
“He…he attacked me…” She looked down at her hands. They were stained with blood.
“It looks as if you have a cut on your head. I think you’ll be fine, but you need to go to the hospital.” The woman led her away from the car…and the body that lay there. “My husband’s just called 911. Is there anyone else I can call for you? A boyfriend or husband?”
“I don’t know…I…”
Gabby tried to concentrate, but she couldn’t think. Her head felt as if it were about to explode. Hands trembling, she knew what she had to do.
She pulled out Mickey Chandler’s business card from the side pocket and handed it to the woman. “I need you to call this man. Tell him it’s an emergency.”
FIFTY-TWO
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 9:15 P.M.
BOGAMA
Chad reread the first paragraph of the paperback for the fifth time, then flipped the front cover shut. If a suspense novel couldn’t keep his attention, nothing would.
With half a dozen marines guarding the embassy property to ensure no further problems, Chad had spent the last six hours helping Paul deal with the current crisis of a bombed embassy and an election hanging in the balance. The problem was that with little personnel and even fewer resources, there was only so much that could be done.
Eventually Paul had suggested they grab dinner and get some much-needed rest. They’d taken Joseph to his uncle’s, while Chad agreed to Paul’s offer to use his guest room. Not that he was going to be able to sleep. He might be safe in the walled, government-issued house, complete with a guard in the front yard, but he had no idea where Natalie would sleep tonight. Or if she was even alive.
Paul entered the living room with two mugs full of decaf coffee and handed him one. “Need anything else?”
“No. I’m fine, thanks. I appreciate your letting me crash here.” Chad grasped the offered mug and took a long sip. Hot and black, just like he drank it.
“Anytime. With my girls gone it’s nice to have a bit of company.”
“Not sure I’ll be good company tonight.” Chad shoved the book back into the bookshelf beside him and scanned the titles, but nothing interested him. He needed a distraction. Anything to escape the constant turmoil twisting inside his gut.
He turned back to Paul. Small talk seemed the easiest escape at the moment. “You’ve got quite a collection of books.”
“My wife’s determined we feel at home whether it’s Colorado or Bogama. And of course, Bogama meant no decent library, so she decided to bring the library here.” Paul sat down across from him and plopped his feet up on the edge of the coffee table. “You should see the kids’ rooms.”
“Normally I enjoy reading, but tonight—” Chad’s cell phone vibrated on the coffee table in front of him. He paused for a brief moment, then snapped it up off the table. “Natalie?”
“Natalie…no…My name is Gabby. Gabby Mackenzie.”
“Mackenzie?” Chad set his mug down. He knew that name. Where…
“We met briefly Monday night at Natalie Sinclair’s house. I was the journalist she invited.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” Chad rubbed his temples. “I’m just…surprised to hear from you.”
“And I am sorry to bother you so late, but it’s taken me a long time to track down your cell phone number. I’m trying to get ahold of Natalie.”
“Natalie…” Chad pressed his lips together, wishing this nightmare would end. “We don’t know where Natalie is. She was…she was kidnapped here in Bogama yesterday morning.”
“Kidnapped?” There was a long pause on the line. “What happened?”
Guilt raised its ugly head. Chad swallowed hard. “She was headed for the embassy and someone forced her into their car. All we know is that she’s being held for ransom and that her captors want some photos we have, but they didn’t show up for the agreed-on rendezvous.”
“So this does have something to do with the photos she sent me.”
“Just a minute.” Chad signaled for Paul to stay, then turned on the speaker. “I’m staying with Paul Hayes, who is from the U.S. Embassy here in Bogama, and I’d like him to listen in on our conversation if it’s all right. He’s aware of everything that’s going on.”
“That’s fine.” Thankfully, except for a slight delay, the connection was clear.
“She mentioned she’d sent you the photos,” Chad continued. “What do you know about them?”
“Nothing much more than that they documented an incident that took place in the mountains of the RD where soldiers raided a village. You probably know far more than I do.”
Chad spent the next ten minutes telling Gabby everything he knew about the raid of the village, ending with the threat against the president and the kidnapping of Natalie.
Gabby clicked her tongue. “So you believe the rumors of slave camps in the mountains are true?”
“Evidence certainly points that direction, though no camps have been located as of yet.” Chad worked to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “How are you involved in all of this?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Someone wasn’t happy with certain questions I asked on my trip. I’ve been involved in two recent attacks, one the night I left the RD, and the second this morning here in DC. They don’t want my series to run.” There was another pause on the line. “At first I didn’t think that the photos were involved, but I found out one of the men in the photos is Benjamin Ayres, who works for the man I’ve been trying to track down for an interview in regard to the series I’m writing. He works directly for Alexis Yasin.”
“Who is this Yasin?” Paul asked.
“I found out today that Interpol is looking for him in connection with money laundering throughout Africa and Europe. I believe Yasin is using the RD as a hiding place for his money-laundering racket and using slaves to run his mines.”
“It would make sense. The country has its share of natural resources and if tapped into by the wrong person…” Chad’s mind began to spin.
“I won’t keep you any longer, but why don’t you write down my number in case you need to get ahold of me,” Gabby said.
Chad grabbed the piece of paper and pen Paul handed him and scribbled down the number she gave him.
“Let me know when you find Natalie,” she continued, “and I’ll keep you updated with what I find out on this side.”
“I appreciate that.” Chad let out a sharp breath. “And, Gabby…be careful.”
Chad flipped his phone shut and dropped it onto the table. Whatever they were dealing with had just exploded beyond the borders of this country.
FIFTY-THREE
THURSDYA, NOVEMBER 19, 11:24 P.M. EST
ROSA’S CAFÉ, WASHINGTON, DC
“When’s the last time you took a day off?”
Gabby looked up from her mug of hot chocolate to her editor Ty Guillory’s heavyset stature and shrugged off the question. “Thanks for coming.”
Guillory slid onto the empty red booth across from her, and for a moment neither of them spoke. A group of late-night patrons laughed over something on the other side of the café, but besides them, the elevator music playing in the background, and the sound of rain turning the early evening snow into a messy slush, the place was quiet.
“My flight from LA was delayed, or I would have been here sooner.” Guillory took off his wool scarf and leaned back against the padded back of the booth. “Are you okay?”
Gabby touched the thin lesion running across her hairline. “That and a slightly sprained wrist, but I’ll be fine.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
“Two things. Alexis Yasin and the Republic of Dhambizao.” Gabby smacked a red folder onto the table between them.
Guillory eyed the folder but didn’t pick it up. “First, you need to know I’m considering pulling the second article in your series. I won’t have you killed over this.”
“You’ve got to trust me on this, Ty. You can’t pull it.” Gabby zipped up the top of her fleece jacket, trying to shake the late-night chill. “I’ve just spent the past ten hours calling in every favor I could finagle, and I’m in the process of uncovering a story far bigger than profits taken from mines and the exploitation of workers.”
Guillory rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve got your father’s passion, and you’re also just as stubborn.”
She matched his hard stare. “I consider that a compliment.”
He dropped his gaze. “Then tell me, what’s the connection between a philanthropist and some third-world country nobody’s ever heard of?”
“Millions of dollars a year in natural resources gained through illegal slave labor camps, for one.”
His head snapped up. She had his attention now.
She slapped open the folder to the photos Natalie had sent her. “I was finally able to get ahold of someone in the RD who knew about these photos. They believe that this village was raided by a group of rogue mercenaries called Ghost Soldiers. I also found out that Natalie’s been kidnapped in regard to the photos.”
“Kidnapped?” Guillory waved off the waitress’s offer for coffee. “I don’t like any of this, Gabby. In the past forty-eight hours you’ve been carjacked, shot at, and threatened, and now you’re talking about powerful men involved in an illegal slave trade? Your mother’s not going to forgive me if you end up in a body bag like your father—”
“The story of those villagers deserves to be heard. And if that doesn’t hit close enough to home, I can give you more.”
“Like?”
“They took the man who tried to shoot me into custody today. His name’s Kahil Naser, and it turns out the man’s wanted in several countries. Without a deal, Naser knows he’s potentially facing extradition, and in some of these countries that means the death sentence.”
“What does he have to offer?”
“Alexis Yasin’s head on a plate. There was a hole in my data on Yasin from 1992 until 1993. Turns out, according to Naser, he was busy training in a terrorist training camp in northern Africa at the time.” She paused for a moment to let what she’d said sink in. “Naser admitted that Yasin is involved in rigging the RD’s presidential elections tomorrow. And trust me, no one needs a man like Yasin running a third-world country, even if it is behind the scenes.”
“So you’re implying that Yasin’s trying to manipulate control of the RD for an even bigger piece of the profits?”
“Imagine the sizeable amounts of funding plus a protected base for his illegal dealings, and you’ve got a grasp on what he’s planning to do.”
Ty’s expression hardened. “If you can give me credible evidence that this is true, I’ll consider running the article, but realize that you’ll be putting yourself and the paper at risk. More than likely Naser’s just a pawn in Yasin’s hand, which means he’s got a dozen more to replace him.”
“So we let fear stop us?”
“Never. I just want you alive to report the next big story.” Guillory scuffed his foot against the floor and slid out of the booth to leave. “And find a way to get some rest. You’ll be worthless if you don’t.”
She nodded, then gulped down the rest of her drink. He was right. Somehow, she had to find a way to save boys like Samuel—and her own life at the same time.
FIFTY-FOUR
FIRDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 9:18 A.M.
SHACK OUTSIDE BOGAMA
Natalie glanced up at the ceiling and continued to formulate her plan. The trusses above her were the one escape route she hadn’t yet tried. With the added rays of sunlight from the narrow cracks in the wall, she could see well enough to move the table against the wall and try out her idea. With a chair on top of the table, she should be able to reach high enough to loosen the tin sheeting. Maybe that would give her room to slip out over the wall.
She turned and felt the sting of her shoulder. The bandage from her wound needed to be changed, and more than likely she needed a strong round of antibiotics. But at least she was still alive. For now, anyway.
As good as her plan might be, though, there were still two major obstacles standing between her and freedom: the presence of a guard outside and the ropes around her wrists. She glanced down in frustration. She’d made progress loosening the bonds, but couldn’t help but wonder if it would make a difference. Knowing Rachel was probably dead and Patrick was most likely planning the same fate for her was enough motivation for her to keep trying despite the risks.
Fatigue washed over her as she sat back down on the wooden chair and started on the ropes again. She’d woken up a dozen times throughout the long night with mosquitoes buzzing in her ear. Each time, as she stared up at the dark ceiling and remembered where she was, she’d worked to loosen the ropes, while praying for strength. The few times she slept, Chad had filled her dreams, working feverishly on the other side of the wall swinging an ax to get her out. But his efforts to save her had proved futile. She’d continued to pray until, somehow, in the middle of the night, a veil of peace had surrounded her and she’d finally drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Until daylight brought with it renewed fears.
If Patrick had killed Rachel, he wouldn’t think twice about killing her. She had to find a way out. Stretching her tired muscles, she shuffled to the wall and peered through one of the thin cracks, pressing her forehead against the wall and waiting for her eyes to focus. The guard was gone. She skirted around the bag of cornmeal another four feet to the left to another crack. There was no sign of anyone. Making a complete circle around the room, she paused at the dozen tiny gaps in the boards that gave her a limited view of outside. For the first time in close to twenty-four hours, no one was in sight.
Natalie started working on the ropes with a renewed vigor, pausing every few minutes to check and see if the guard had returned. Twenty minutes later the ropes dropped to the floor. With no sign
of the guard, she disregarded the pain in her shoulder, shoved the table against the wall, and set a chair on top. Now she was high enough to reach the roof. Balancing the wobbly chair, she glanced down at her backpack. She had the can of tuna in her hand that she planned to use as a hammer, but it seemed foolish to leave the rest of her things.
A minute later, she was back on the chair with the backpack slung across her good shoulder. A dozen precise blows with the tuna can were enough to loosen the nails so she could move one section of the roof. The nails screeched in protest as she pushed up the sheet of tin, then pulled out each nail until there was enough room for her to squeeze through. The pain in her shoulder intensified as she used the trusses to swing up onto the wall and through the gap. Tin scraped against her back.
Her heart pounded as she paused to catch her breath. From this vantage point, she could see over the cinderblock wall and into the maze of compounds that spread out beyond her. There was a door in the middle of the wall that led to a narrow alley…and beyond that, a main street.
The alley would be her way out.
Something rustled behind her. Natalie glanced down at the ground and watched as a rat scurried by. She squeezed her eyes shut, thankful it wasn’t the guard. If he caught her up here trying to escape…No. She pushed the thought aside and prayed instead. She could do this.
Dropping her backpack onto the ground, she slid down the wall and landed beside it. She caught her balance, then brushed off her hands. A dog barked, but she couldn’t tell where it was. As long as it kept its distance, she wasn’t going to worry about it.