Blood Ransom

by Lisa Harris

  “To be honest, I’m not sure…” Natalie glanced around the room, still uncertain of what she was doing here. “I’m in trouble. I guess he thought you could help, and that it would be safe here. I need a way to contact the U.S. Embassy.”

  “You need a phone?”

  Natalie nodded.

  Malik called in Dha to a young woman in the back of the room, then glanced at Natalie’s shoulder. “If you ask me, you need more than a telephone. You’ve been hurt.”

  “It’s not too bad.”

  “What happened?”

  “I…” Natalie shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

  Malik peeled off the edge of the bandage “Long story or not, it’s infected.” Her frown deepened. “I have a room behind the shop where we can take care of this.”

  “It’s fine for now. Really.” For the moment, all Natalie wanted was a shower, a clean set of clothes, and a decent night’s sleep. That and Chad. She needed to let him know she was all right.

  “You’re as stubborn as my daughter, Camille, was.” Malik grasped Natalie’s hand. “Come. I’ve sent one of my girls to fetch my cell phone—my neighbor borrowed it this morning. For now, let me look at your wound.”

  Natalie followed her into a sitting room that opened up to a small courtyard. The cheap red-leather furniture filling the space could have been bought from one of dozens of street vendors sprinkled across the city. Instead of family photos or art, the walls were covered with glossy pictures of dress designs cut from magazines.

  Malik scooted aside some pillows and motioned for Natalie to sit. “I’m saving to buy a house outside the city where I can plant a garden and watch my sister’s grandchildren grow up.”

  “Does your daughter live here?”

  “Camille? No…She was murdered seventeen years ago.” Malik’s gaze dropped as she crossed the room. “Sometimes it seems like forever. Then there are days when I still expect her to walk into the room and eat supper with me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Natalie sank into the couch.

  Malik paused in the doorway leading outside. “I’m not the only one who suffered from her death. Stephen’s carried the guilt of Camille’s death all these years.”

  A moment later she returned with a bowl of water, a clean rag, and a small jar. She laid them on the end table, then sat down beside Natalie on the couch.

  “How was Stephen involved in your daughter’s death?” Natalie asked.

  “He’s never talked to you about Camille?”

  Natalie tried not to wince as the older woman pulled off the bandage. “No. He’s never spoken much about his private life.”

  “I heard he has two daughters now?”

  “They’re beautiful twin girls. Jahia and Nabilia turned seven this year.”

  Malik dipped the rag into the water, squeezed it, and began washing the wound. “The cut is deep, but it should heal.”

  Natalie debated on how many details she should divulge to the woman. If word got out that there was going to be an attempt on the president’s life, she was certain panic would ensue. Camille’s death might not have anything to do with what was going on today, but for the current crisis, she needed to know more about Stephen. Camille seemed to be the best place to start. “Tell me about your daughter.”

  “I lost Camille during the coup.” Malik squeezed out the rag again. “She planned to marry Stephen, but she was always so stubborn.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were told to leave the city if at all possible. We had a place for her at my sister’s house, but Camille refused to leave. She worked for a local mission that had a home for street children. She loved those kids so much. I told her there had to be a way to get them out as well, but she didn’t think things would get as bad as they ultimately did. She was an optimist. Convinced that things would turn out okay.”

  “But they didn’t turn out okay.”

  “I wasn’t the only one who lost her. They killed Camille in front of Stephen, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He ended up blaming himself.”

  Malik slowly rubbed ointment onto the wound. Natalie eyed the scentless paste. “What is that?”

  “A natural remedy my mother taught me how to make years ago from the African sausage tree.”

  While the medicinal qualities of the unique tree with its dark, bell-shaped flowers intrigued her, Natalie focused her thoughts on the situation at hand. “Why did he blame himself for her death? Because he couldn’t stop it?”

  Malik nodded. “He’d tried over and over again to get her to leave. Begged her, even, but she wouldn’t. If Camille would have listened, she’d be here today, and I’d have my own grandbabies to take care of.”

  “So she was your only child?”

  “The only one who survived past infancy. I lost my husband two years after Camille’s death, and my sister six months after that. I took in her four children. I had an apartment, but eventually I started this place so I could have enough money to feed them.”

  “You’ve been through a lot.”

  Malik set the cream down and picked up the bandage Natalie had handed her from her backpack. “What I’ve been through is no more than every other person in this country. We’ve all experienced loss. Children, parents, husbands…Life is hard. It’s what we expect.”

  Natalie rotated her shoulder slowly and thanked the older woman. The reality of what had happened to her made her all the more grateful she was alive. In eighteen months she’d witnessed more than her own share of heartache.

  A young girl entered the room and handed Natalie a cell phone. Thanking her, Natalie took the phone and flipped it open. She drew in a deep breath. Miles from the embassy and without enough money to get there, she dialed Chad’s number and prayed that he’d answer.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 12:26 P.M.

  UNITED STATES EMBASSY, BOGAMA

  Ernest Ademola was dead.

  It took a few moments for the reality of what Mercy said to sink in. Chad noted the stunned expressions on the faces of the two other men. Their looks of disbelief mirrored his own feelings of shock.

  “This isn’t a coincidence.” Paul spoke aloud the obvious. He smacked his fingers against the table. “If you had doubts, Frank, that this election was in trouble…Well, I don’t know what further evidence you need.”

  Chad glanced down at his half-eaten lunch. Rachel and Ademola were dead—both likely murdered by the opposition. And it seemed just as certain that Natalie was being held by the same people. He closed his eyes, afraid of how hard that thought hit him. How had her brown eyes and bright smile managed to capture his heart in such a short time? He couldn’t erase her image…nor the fact that she might not even be alive—because these people had no qualms in killing those who got in the way.

  The pungent scent of fried fish filled his senses and turned his stomach. He pushed his plate away. More than likely when this was over—if they both managed to make it out alive—life would go back to normal. He’d finish out his commitment at the hospital, return to the States, and never see her again.

  Except that’s not what he wanted. Maybe it was only the intensity of the situation they’d been thrust into, but he could no longer deny the feelings he felt toward her. Nor the fact that for the first time in a long time he’d found a woman worth holding onto. No. He might not know what the future held, but he didn’t want to lose her yet. Not this way, anyway.

  “What are they calling his death? Murder or suicide?” Paul’s question yanked Chad from his thoughts.

  Mercy clasped her hands behind her. “An official statement hasn’t been released. I…I just thought you should know.”

  “Then how did you find out?” Paul’s brow rose.

  Mercy cleared her throat. “My brother has connections with several of the president’s staff. I asked him to call if anything happened.”

  “Then well done.”

  Mercy smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

  F
rank stood and moved to the window. “From what I’ve heard so far, I’m guessing that calling this a suicide isn’t an option in this situation.”

  “But if they are calling it a suicide—” Paul began.

  “Someone wants the situation to disappear.” Chad finished for him. “Like the photos. Another loose end swept under the carpet and forgotten. At least that’s what someone wants to happen.”

  “And I’m determined not to let that happen. We’ve got to do something.” Paul scratched his chin. “I’ve got a hole in the west wing of the embassy, an American being held for ransom, and now a dead head of security for a president who’s been targeted for assassination.”

  Chad groaned. “It’s beginning to sound like some B-rated movie review.”

  “I wish it was. Then I could simply push the Off button so all of this would disappear.” Paul glanced at his watch. “Mercy, let the staff know that I’ll be holding an emergency meeting in fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Paul leaned against the table. “Your people should be here as well, Frank. If we’re going to do something to stop this, we’re going to have to work together to come up with a strategy. We’re running out of time.”

  Frank nodded and pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll get them here as fast as I can.”

  “Did you mention to the president Patrick Seko’s possible involvement with the opposition?” Chad asked.

  Paul took a sip of his drink. “Yes, but the problem is we still don’t have any solid evidence at this point to back up those claims.”

  “What about the e-mails Mercy gave us?”

  “While I think our case is strong, apparently the president doesn’t believe it. We still need something more concrete.”

  “A dead president would be pretty concrete.” Chad rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you have his detailed itinerary for the rest of the day?”

  Paul glanced at the notebook in front of him and flipped back a couple of pages. “He’s got a private luncheon at one, press conference at three-thirty, then a brief stop at the orphanage with the vice president before the gala at seven.”

  Chad rubbed his chin and ran the scenarios. “The press conference will be his most public appearance.”

  “True.”

  “And all they’ll need is one sharpshooter.”

  “A scenario I’d probably dismiss, except for the fact that it looks as if we’ve got more behind this plot than just a handful of rogue mercenaries.”

  “What about the FBI attaché?” Chad grabbed another bottle of Coke from the table behind him and popped off the cap. While saving the life of the president was important, finding Natalie was his priority at the moment. He was tired of sitting around doing nothing.

  Paul glanced at his watch. “I was told to expect them within the next two hours, but according to the latest memo I received, planes are currently being delayed both in and out of the country.”

  Great. Delays in this country might be commonplace, but he was ready for a bit of efficiency.

  His cell phone rang. Caller unknown.

  He pressed the button to take the call. “Hello?”

  Static clogged the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Chad?”

  “Natalie?” His voice caught at the relief that flooded through him at the sound of her voice. She was alive. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I…I managed to escape.”

  Chad gave Paul a thumbs-up, then said a prayer of thanksgiving. “Tell me where you are, and we’ll come pick you up.”

  He jotted down the address she gave him. “Did they hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine. Really.”

  She sounded shaken, but who wouldn’t be, given what she’d gone through the past few days? “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Her answer relieved him, but he wouldn’t totally relax until he could see her for himself. He glanced at the address. “Where are you, exactly?”

  “I’m with a friend of Stephen’s. At her sewing shop on the south side of the city.” There was a pause on the line. “But, Chad…there’s something else you need to know.”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a plan to assassinate the president tonight. I talked to Stephen, and while I don’t understand how he’s involved, I believe he’s telling the truth.”

  Chad frowned. At this point he trusted Stephen as much as he trusted Patrick. If this was another trap…He swallowed hard. “You really think you can trust him?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “How does Stephen know about the plan if he isn’t involved?”

  “I don’t know, but he told me it’s going to happen tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “At the president’s gala.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll make sure that this information is passed on to the right people, but for now, all I am concerned about is getting you here.”

  “Thank you.” There was a pause on the line. “And, Chad…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Please hurry.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1:15 P.M.

  MALIK’S NUMBER ONE DRESS SHOP, BOGAMA

  Natalie sat in the early-afternoon shadows of the dress shop and watched the passing cars for Chad. She knew that the last few days had set her nerves on edge, but even with that knowledge it was becoming more and more difficult to suppress the nagging fear that Patrick would find her here.

  Lord, I sure could use an extra dose of peace right now.

  She peered toward the busy street, past the colorful row of embroidered shirts hanging in the warm afternoon sun, but there was still no sign of Chad. Like every other day, the road was congested with dozens of taxis, cars, and motorcycles filling the air with their thick exhaust. Side streets were busy with the commotion of sellers and buyers, and while there had been no signs of any political rallies or demonstrations on her taxi ride to the dress shop, that hadn’t alleviated her concerns.

  The hum of the sewing machines buzzed around her as the young women worked. Malik had excused herself to speak to a client, leaving Natalie to watch for Chad—and to ponder another growing concern. How well did she really know Stephen?

  While she’d worked closely with Stephen for eighteen months, the events of this past week had brought into question who he really was. She’d described him to Chad as organized, educated, and well respected. Malik, on the other hand, spoke of him like the prodigal son who’d yet to return home. A man haunted with demons, he’d never come to terms with his past.

  While Stephen had never mentioned Camille to her, Natalie couldn’t help but wonder if these ghosts from the past civil unrest had in turn affected his own marriage. Stephen had only hinted of problems between him and his wife, but Natalie hadn’t seen Anna or his girls for weeks. The last she’d heard they’d come to Bogama for a visit with her parents…and had yet to return.

  But from what Stephen had told her in their brief exchange, she believed his inner turmoil went far beyond his family. Today Stephen had hinted at compromises he’d made, decisions he’d regretted making, and how he’d lost everything. Was it guilt that had made him willing to risk his life to save her? And if so, what else was he willing to risk?

  Caution continued to prevail against logic. While she longed to trust Stephen, deep wounds from Patrick’s betrayal still stung.

  She unzipped the front pocket of her backpack and pulled out a piece of gum. Her conversation with Rachel on forgiveness replayed in her mind. It was easy to talk about, but granting forgiveness was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment. And if Patrick had killed Rachel, it would be even harder.

  Five minutes later, a vehicle pulled up to the curb in front of the shop. Chad jumped out with a uniformed marine right behind him.

  “Chad!” Relief flooding though her, Natalie rushed out of the s
hop and into the sunlight.

  Chad caught her gaze and his lips curled into a smile. She stepped into his arms, and for the first time in twenty-four hours she felt safe. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Memories of the last time she’d seen him overwhelmed her. Part of her wanted to explore the feelings that had intensified while they’d been apart, but for the moment the fact that he’d found her was all that mattered.

  He pulled back slightly without letting go of her waist and reached up with one hand to cup her cheek. “Are you really okay?”

  “I am now.”

  “I’ve been so worried.” He pushed back a wisp of her hair from her forehead, then wiped her tear away. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of this.”

  She shook her head. “None of this was your fault.”

  “Maybe not, but wish I could have been there with you.”

  She buried her head into his shoulder again. “It’s over now.”

  “Miss Sinclair?”

  She turned to the officer standing beside them. “Yes?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m Corporal Wingate from the United States Embassy. Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?”

  “Yes. I’m tired, but fine.”

  “Then I suggest we get out of here. It’s not safe for either of you.”

  “Just one more minute, please.” Natalie turned to Malik, who stood in the doorway, and hugged the older woman. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Malik reached out and grasped her hand. “Promise me that you’ll tell Stephen I forgive him. I don’t want pain haunting him for the rest of his life. And if he ever decides to stop by and see me…I just want him to know that I don’t hold anything against him.”

  Natalie nodded. “I’ll tell him. I promise.”

  Corporal Wingate opened the back door of the car and waved them both inside. “Let’s get out of here.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 2:06 P.M.

  UNITED STATES EMBASSY, BOGAMA