Blood Ransom

by Lisa Harris

  Cautiously, she picked up her backpack and tried to orient herself according to what she’d observed during her time in the shack. The guard had spent most of his time on the other side of the structure. A couple of banana trees grew against the wall a dozen feet or so from the broken-down car that sat to her left. Straight ahead of her was the way out.

  Hurrying across the yard, Natalie shoved open the door and ran into the alley. Just as she thought she’d made her escape, she heard footsteps pounding on the hard dirt behind her. Her heart raced even faster than before. The guard had seen her. He would catch her.

  Running as hard as she could between the high walls and its occasional wooden doorways leading into other compounds, she tore down the narrow alley toward the street. She didn’t dare look back; that would slow her down. But it wasn’t enough. As she neared the street, someone grabbed her arm. She opened her mouth to scream, and a hand covered her mouth.

  No. It couldn’t end this way.

  As she struggled to free herself, someone else hollered behind them. The grip across her mouth loosened. Natalie gasped for air and struggled to catch her balance as she pushed as hard as she could against her captor. He stumbled. A second later, a shot rang out. The man, still clutching the edge of her dress, dropped to the ground. Natalie pulled loose from his grip and ran.

  “Wait!”

  Fear of being shot again stopped her in midstride. She turned around. In the yellow glow of the sun, Stephen stood at the back of the alley with a gun pointed at her. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her as anger replaced fear. While she’d felt betrayed by Patrick, a part of her had already accepted the fact that he’d deserted to the other side. But not Stephen. She’d trusted him, and he’d completely betrayed her.

  The gun shook as he lowered it to his side and held up his hand. “Wait. You don’t understand. Patrick told me where he was holding you. I’ve been waiting to find a way to get to you. I saw the guard leave and thought I had my chance.”

  She took a step back. Even the fear of the gun wasn’t going to stop her from taking her only chance at escape. “You’re in on this with Patrick.”

  He started to bridge the gap between them, but Natalie kept moving backward.

  “Please,” he begged. “There’s so much you don’t know, but there’s no time right now. They’ll be here any minute…I made a mistake.”

  “By partnering with Patrick? I’d say that was a mistake. And I trusted you.”

  “You don’t understand, Natalie. I saw your determination to do what was right no matter what the cost.” He glanced behind him. “And it made me realize how I always take the easy way. I’ve spent the past twenty years looking the other way and in the process lost everything. Camille, my wife, my daughters…I’ve lost it all.”

  “I don’t understand.” She glanced at the body at her feet. The man lay on his back, motionless, a red stain on his chest. Had Stephen really meant to shoot her, or had his aim reached his target?

  “They’re planning to assassinate the president tonight.”

  “Assassinate?” Natalie’s chin jerked up, and her empty stomach heaved. “I thought…we thought there was a plan to rig the election, but an assassination…”

  He shook his head. “Killing the president will throw the RD into a civil war, but the consequences go far beyond this country.”

  Natalie shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t have time to explain now.” He bridged the gap between them and shoved a crumpled piece of paper and some money into her hands. “I want you to go to this address. She’s a friend of mine you can trust.”

  “Why should I believe you? Besides, I need to go to the embassy—”

  “I don’t think it’s safe there. I just heard on the radio that they bombed part of it last night. They’ll be looking for you to go there once they find out you’re missing. You can call from this place and tell them what I’ve told you. Let them decide where you should go.”

  “What about the assassination? What’s the plan?”

  “It’s going to be during the president’s gala.” He glanced behind him.

  Someone yelled Stephen’s name.

  “What else do you know?”

  He squeezed her arm. “The main road is straight ahead. Find a taxi and go to the address I gave you. Now run.”

  Natalie ran without looking back. All she could do now was trust Stephen and pray she wasn’t walking into a trap.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 11:33 A.M.

  UNITED STATES EMBASSY, BOGAMA

  Chad slid into the seat beside Paul at the embassy’s large conference table and eyed his lunch. While he could have done without the head and its beady eyes staring up at him, the fish and fries still looked good after three days of eating little besides roadside fare.

  He’d hoped for a decent night’s sleep, but his dreams had been anything but restful. Now that he was awake, nothing had changed. Natalie continued to hover at the forefront of his mind. He had to find her.

  Mercy set the last plate of food they’d ordered in front of Frank Anderson, a thin man with a mop of curly hair currently staying in the RD to educate the voters as well as facilitate the actual election process. For the past two and a half months he’d trained clerks, monitored the nomination of political party candidates, and ensured that all important election information reached the public.

  “Anything else?” Mercy asked.

  Paul looked up. “While we’re meeting, I want you to keep me informed on anything newsworthy that happens outside these four walls.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Frank stared at his plate for a few seconds, then cut off a piece of his fish. “Up until your phone call an hour ago, I had a peaceful pre-election process underway. Obviously you know something I don’t.”

  “You didn’t miss the riots yesterday and this morning, did you?” Paul asked. “Or the fact that my embassy was bombed?”

  “I’ve been involved in the monitoring of a dozen other elections in third-world settings, and the last time I looked a few clashes and demonstrations are to be expected.”

  “Maybe, but most election riots take place after the election, not before.”

  “We both know that because of the continuing efforts of my staff—”

  “And General Dumasi,” Paul prompted.

  “I’ll admit he deserves some credit,” Frank said. “His actions these past two days have managed to help get things under control.”

  “That’s a bit of an understatement.” Paul picked up a fry. “I understand that the general’s well-chosen words not only managed to placate both sides, but put an end to the worst of the riots as well. The people are heralding the man a hero.”

  Frank took a sip of his water. “Considering the way he stepped in and pacified both sides, I suppose I have to agree.”

  Chad chomped on a fry and listened to the banter. While he preferred working the familiar setting of the hospital over a terse political exchange, the discussion did intrigue him. Frank hesitated to give too much credit to someone not on his team, yet General Dumasi had managed a miracle. Only time would tell, but for the moment the voting appeared to be going smoothly without any further reports of violence.

  Frank wiped his mouth with his napkin. “So if everything’s so hunky-dory now with the amazing intervention from the general, why am I here? I know you didn’t invite me to talk about the weather—or the general’s achievements in diplomacy, for that matter. And you know that with the election in full swing, I don’t have time for chitchat.”

  Paul leaned forward. “While the people of this country are expecting a free and fair election, we have proof that something is going to happen to interfere with the results.”

  Frank’s napkin dropped into his lap. “You’re not one to mince words, are you?”

  “Like you said. You don’t have time for chitchat. Well, neither do I.”

  “But you can’t be serious.” Frank’s
face reddened. “I’ve had my hand on every stage of this election process and except for outbursts from a few constituents, it continues to move forward without a hitch.”

  His lunch forgotten for the moment, Paul pulled Joseph’s photos from a folder beside him. He held up one. “Do you know this man?”

  Frank scratched the back of his neck. “I believe his name is Daniel Biyoya. A senior military officer.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “It’s my job to know.”

  Paul slid the photo across the table in front of Frank. “His picture was taken five days ago on a suspected raid on a remote village. He was with this other man, Benjamin Ayres, who is currently tied to money laundering throughout Europe and Africa.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. For starters, we recently found out that Mr. Biyoya is the cousin and close friend of none other than the opposition party’s leading candidate, Bernard Okella.”

  “Which implies nothing.”

  “Or perhaps everything. Especially when you stop to consider why he was meeting in secret while a group of soldiers wiped out an entire village. A fifteen-year-old boy from the village took these photos and overheard a conversation between these two men that there was nothing to worry about because the election was ‘set.’ Someone, it seems, has a lot of confidence that the votes are going to go their way.”

  Frank blew out a sharp breath. “My staff has been all over this country setting up places for the people to vote, and I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

  “So the fact that someone might interfere with the election means nothing to you?”

  Frank tapped his finger against the photo. “It’s not possible.”

  “So you’re going to ignore everything that I’ve just told you and hope it goes away?”

  Chad took another bite of his fish and caught the worried expression on Frank’s face.

  “What do you want me to do?” Frank’s bottle clanked against the table. “I have secure voter boxes with dozens of volunteers in place right now to ensure everything goes off like clockwork. I don’t have time to chase a bunch of rumors right now.”

  “You can ignore this, but it’s not going away. And somehow I don’t think you want to be remembered as the man who threw this country into another civil war because he didn’t pay attention to these ‘rumors,’ as you call them.”

  “That’s not fair—”

  “There’s nothing fair about this entire situation.” Paul glanced at Chad. “Tell Frank exactly what you’ve gone through this past week.”

  Chad’s knife and fork hovered above the fish’s head. He glanced at the two men, not sure he wanted to get involved in the discussion. A verbal black belt he wasn’t.

  A glance at the stack of photos reminded him of what was more important. He set the silverware against the sides of the plate and, as briefly as he could, explained what had happened. As he spoke, Frank looked through the photos Joseph had taken.

  When Chad finished, Frank slapped the last picture against the edge of the table and shook his head. “And you’re basing all of this on the word of a fifteen-year-old?”

  “What reason does he have to lie, Frank?” Paul was clearly getting irritated.

  “I can think of a dozen off the top of my head. Bribery, extortion—”

  “Joseph’s resting in the other room if you’d like to talk to him, but for now…” Paul held up his hand. “These photos are for real. You can’t deny that.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then let’s assume that what Chad just told you is true, as I believe it to be. What might the opposition be planning?”

  “I don’t know…” Frank shook his head. “Anything from stuffing ballot boxes to changing votes to intimidation.”

  “What about an assassination?” Chad threw out.

  “Or a coup?” Paul added.

  “A coup…” Frank’s brow began to sweat.

  “What kind of security does the president have at the moment?” Paul asked.

  “That’s not my department.”

  “Come on, Frank.” Paul drummed his fingers on the table. “You’re involved deeply enough in this election to know who’s guarding the president today, and we need to look at all the options.”

  “Fine.” Frank wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Here’s what I do know. His security team is headed up by Ernest Ademola, who’s worked for the president for over nine years.”

  “Is the man trustworthy?”

  “As trustworthy as any other employee of a corrupt government.”

  “You’re very reassuring.”

  Frank shrugged.

  “What about the gala the president is hosting tonight?” Paul continued.

  “Guests have been screened and will only be allowed inside the building with an invitation.”

  “What about the guards, the kitchen staff, the servers—”

  “Again, you’re talking to the wrong person. All I know is that security will be tight.”

  “Just suppose, for a moment, that all I’ve just said is true.”

  Frank paused. “If it is true, I wouldn’t know where to begin trying to stop it. Logistically, I’d say a would-be assassin would have a dozen opportunities to do his work. President Tau doesn’t believe in hiding behind the walls of his presidential palace. Despite our warnings, he has meetings set up all day, including a visit to a local orphanage and an afternoon press conference.”

  “None of the options we’ve discussed so far will go over well for any of us.”

  “So what are you proposing? That we work together on this one?”

  “To put it bluntly,” Paul continued, “I don’t want to be stuck here in the middle of a civil war while my wife and daughters celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas with my parents back in the States. And you don’t want your reputation as an election official marred because of some crazy plot to take over the government.”

  Chad felt his shoulders tense. The whole situation was sounding far too real, and Natalie was still out there somewhere in the middle of it.

  “Okay, so I admit you have a point.” Frank rubbed his chin. “You’re really convinced that someone is trying to take over the presidency?”

  “After what I’ve seen the past twenty-four hours?” Paul asked. “You bet.”

  “So where do you propose we go from here?”

  Paul took a sip of his soft drink. “I’ve been in contact with the president’s staff and have promised to keep them updated with any new findings we have. But like I said earlier, the president’s planning to keep to his schedule for now.”

  “What about security?” Frank asked.

  “We only have half a dozen marines here. We’re going to need all the reinforcements we can get. We’re in touch with Washington, but the additional troops they’re sending might end up being too late. At least to stop anything that’s attempted in the next few hours.”

  Frank tapped his fork against the edge of his plate. “We’ve got roughly four hundred United Nations troops scattered throughout the country. A hundred of those are in Bogama, but they are all stationed at the various voting locations.”

  There was a soft rap on the door. It was Mercy.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir.”

  “That’s fine. What is it?”

  Mercy’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I just received a call.”

  From the somber expression on her face, Chad wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she had to say.

  She pressed her lips together. “Ernest Ademola, head of the president’s security detail, was found in his apartment less than an hour ago. The man’s dead.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 12:05 P.M.

  LENBO, SUBURB OF BOGAMA

  Natalie stood on the sidewalk in front of a narrow dress shop and looked up at the hand-painted sign hanging lopsided above the door. Malik’s Number One Sewing Shop. She’d assumed that the address Stephen had given
her was for a residence, but a second glance at the number on the building confirmed that she was at the right place.

  An older woman appeared in the doorway, her bosom as ample as her smile. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” Natalie shoved the address into her pocket. “I’m looking for a Mrs. Komaga.”

  “I’m Mrs. Komaga, but please, call me Malik. Everyone does.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Malik.” Natalie hesitated. The long taxi ride had given her plenty of time to consider what she should do. In the end, she’d decided to trust Stephen. Considering the circumstances, she wasn’t sure she had a choice. “I was sent here by Stephen Moyo.”

  “Stephen?” The broad smile on the woman’s face faded.

  “You know him?”

  “Of course I know him. He was like family once, but it’s been so many years now. I…” Malik pressed her hand against her heart and shook her head. “Please, come in.”

  Natalie followed the woman into a small workroom where a half dozen young women in tailored uniforms clattered away on old-fashioned pedal-style sewing machines. Finished dresses, in a rainbow of fabrics, hung from the ceiling on the sides of the room. In the front corner were sample photographs of outfits clients could choose from.

  Natalie set her backpack on the edge of a table piled high with fabric, then ran her fingers across the sleeve of a colorful dress with an intricately embroidered collar. It was amazing how a tiny shop with no electricity in the middle of a rundown suburb could create something so beautiful. “This is stunning work, Mrs…Malik.”

  Malik’s own loose-fitting blouse and skirt ensemble, made from traditional green-and-blue handwoven cloth, was just as beautiful, with its contrasting yellow embroidered stitches along the bottom of the skirt and sleeves.

  Malik held up a photo. “All I need is a photograph and a few measurements, and I can create for you anything you want.” She dropped the photo back onto the table and frowned. “But if Stephen sent you, you didn’t come here in search of a new dress, did you?”

  “No.”

  “It’s been so many years since I’ve seen him.” She pressed her lips together. “Why did he send you?”