by Lynn Ames
Sage angled herself around until her back was against the wall. Her new position provided a minor bit of relief from the pain in her shoulder. She leaned her head back against the wall. Without any imminent threat hanging over her head, and with the comfort of sight, she was able to relax for the first time since she’d been taken.
Her mind drifted for several minutes, until it settled on the one question that had been lurking just behind the fear. What in the world did the Tuareg want with her? The organized nature of the assault made it seem unlikely that hers was a random abduction. No, she was definitely the one they wanted. Yet, no one had given her any indication what this was all about—at least not in a language that Sage understood.
She wracked her brain. The Tuareg hadn’t been antagonistic toward any American that she knew of. There’d been no reports of unrest among the tribes. The Americans hadn’t done anything to provoke the wrath of the Tuareg. So why take a chance on creating an international incident? It didn’t make sense. Surely, by now people were searching for her. Vaughn would’ve alerted the ambassador. Don would’ve called the regional security officer. Washington would’ve been notified.
Taking her was too much of a risk. So why do it? The stakes had to be incredibly high, as would the rewards. Who was in a position to make promises to the Tuareg? Was it about money? Were they looking for ransom? That didn’t fit with anything she knew about them. They were traders, nomads. “Descended from a long line of warriors,” she reminded herself. Even so, the last Tuareg uprising had been settled more than a decade ago.
Sage sighed. What a mess. She did her best to stretch out her legs and find a relatively comfortable position. She would think more about it all later, after she’d had a chance to rest. Within seconds, she was fast asleep.
“What do you mean, Elliott’s gone?” The voice was ominously low and full of danger.
“She must’ve known we were coming for her. The room is completely empty, and she’s nowhere to be found.” Torgensen was out of breath.
“Unacceptable.”
“I’ll find her. I’m tracking her.”
“You’d better be.”
“Yes, sir,” Torgensen said, although the line already had gone dead.
“Yes?” A sleepy Ray Dumont answered the phone on the fifth ring. Why did people insist on calling him in the middle of the night?
“Plans have changed.”
At the sound of the voice, Dumont immediately came wide awake. “Yes, sir.”
“I need you to contact your man. The detention order is now a termination.”
“I-I’m sorry?” Dumont couldn’t believe his ears.
“Do you have a hearing problem? I said kill her.”
“It-it will take time.”
“You don’t know how to find your man?”
“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, I do.” Dumont was beginning to sweat. “But it will take time, once I get in touch with him, for him to travel to the…detention center. There is no regular cell reception inside. They don’t have satellite phones. He’ll have to go there personally.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was more uncomfortable for Dumont than any words could’ve been.
Finally, the voice said, “How long will it take?”
“At least twelve hours.”
“You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood. I’ll give you fourteen. God help you if the assignment is not complete by then. Oh, and Dumont?”
“Yes, sir?”
“There will be a new DS assigned to the congressional visit in the next couple of days.”
“But I thought that Vaughn Elliott—”
“Elliott is no longer your concern.”
“Yes, sir.”
“However, tell your man that if she shows up, I want her killed on sight.”
“Um, right. Got it.”
The line went dead.
Dumont mopped his brow. He depressed the button for an outside line and dialed a number from memory. As he did so, he saw his dreams and aspirations vanishing before his eyes.
“Sabastien? Where are you?” Vaughn held the phone tightly to her ear and plugged the other ear with a finger to block out the noise of the road and the truck.
“Never mind that. I think I have something for you.”
“What are you talking about? And why do you sound like you’re out of breath?”
“You told me to move, remember? So I’m moving. Listen to me, Elliott. You asked me for a log of all of the ambassador’s calls.”
“Yes.”
“You know me. I can never do things halfway.”
“So?”
“So you’re going to want to kiss me. I didn’t just stop at a log. I bugged his phone.”
“How did you—never mind. I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
“Communications are computer based, aren’t they? I simply tapped into the source. Anyway, I’ve got two calls for you. The first was inbound to the ambassador’s residence ten minutes ago. It was from an untraceable number in D.C.”
“How do you know it was from D.C. if it was untraceable?”
“Are you going to ask questions or are you going to listen to what I have to tell you?”
“I’m listening.”
“Whoever it was has some juice, I can tell you that much. The ambassador was practically wetting himself.”
“What did they say?”
“That’s the problem.”
“What is it, Sabastien?” Vaughn thought she might go through the phone line and strangle him.
“It was an order to have your friend killed.”
Vaughn doubled over as the air rushed out of her lungs. Oh, God. Sage. I’m so sorry. She thought she might be sick and struggled for control.
“Vaughn?” Justine’s voice was full of concern. It was enough to galvanize Vaughn into action.
Vaughn straightened up with difficulty and swallowed the bile. “The order was given to the ambassador? You’re sure?”
“Positive. But the ambassador told him it might take up to twelve hours to get it done because ‘his man,’ as he called him, needs to get up there and it would take that long. Seems there’s no regular cell phone service wherever they are.”
Vaughn shoved the fear for Sage’s safety to the far recesses of her mind. Sage needed her to be clearheaded now. “Did they name the man?”
“No.”
“Well, one thing we know is it isn’t Torgensen. If it was, the ambassador wouldn’t have been the one giving him the order. It would’ve come directly from D.C. with no intermediary. The man they’re referring to must be Tuareg or at least working with them. Jackson was right.” Vaughn was thinking out loud. She looked at Justine. “Remember when you told me that Dumont had served in Mali before?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder if Dumont’s connections with the Tuareg kidnappers date from that time.”
“Elliott, it doesn’t matter,” Sabastien broke in. “I told you there was a second call tonight. The ambassador called his man. I was able to put a trace on that number. We’ve got him.”
“We do?” Vaughn’s heart rate accelerated.
“We do. First, I think you’re right about the man being Tuareg. His French was halting and crude. Second, his number is Bamako-based, even though it’s a cell. So, if you’re already heading north, you’ll have a head start on him.”
Vaughn addressed Jackson. “We’re heading north, right?”
“We are heading east at the moment.”
“Head north. Now.” Vaughn put the phone back to her ear. “Sabastien, do you know where he’s going, exactly?”
“No, they never said. But they said it would take him twelve to thirteen hours by car.”
“That narrows it down.”
“I’ve already done the calculations. My best estimate says they are somewhere in the region around either Timbuktu or Gao.”
“Timbuktu or Gao. Jackson? How long would it take to drive from Bamako to Timbuktu?”
>
“Somewhere in the neighborhood of twelve to thirteen hours, give or take,” Jackson said.
“If they were going to Timbuktu, why wouldn’t the man just fly?” Vaughn directed the question to Jackson. “There’s an airport in Timbuktu.”
“The Tuareg are a poor people. They would not have the money to fly. If someone were to give him the money to fly, he would stick out, how would you say it, like a sore finger.”
“Sore thumb, Jackson. Sore thumb, but I get the idea.”
“He wouldn’t disguise himself to get there quicker?” Justine asked.
“The Tuareg are a very proud people. They would not hide themselves.”
“Okay, so he’s driving. What are the chances that he’s going to Timbuktu and not Gao?”
“Gao is more like a fourteen or fifteen hour drive,” Jackson answered, “and it would be more difficult to hide someone there. Fewer people and lots of police activity because it’s near the border with Algeria.”
“Okay, Jackson. Take us to Timbuktu.” Vaughn addressed Sabastien. “Wouldn’t a major city like Timbuktu have cell signal?”
“In some spots, perhaps, but likely not in most, and not if they were inside a fairly secure structure.”
“What makes you think they’re in a secure structure?”
“The ambassador used the expression ‘detention center.’ I’ve been investigating the area, looking for anything that fits the description.”
“I think I love you.”
“All the women say that, Elliott. So far, I don’t have anything. But I’m also working on the theory that they’d want to be somewhere outside of town so as to draw less attention to themselves.”
“Makes sense,” Vaughn said. “And?”
“I’m still working on that. I’ll call you back as soon as I have anything or if I pick up any other calls.”
“You’re my hero.”
“I know. There’s one more thing.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Wherever this is, they’ve got orders to shoot and kill you on sight.”
“Is that all? Call me when you have something else.”
“Goodbye, Elliott. Be careful out there.”
“You too.”
When she’d hung up the phone, Vaughn told Justine and Jackson, “There’s good news and there’s bad news.”
“Give me the good news, first,” Justine said.
“Okay. We know that, at the moment, Sage is alive.” That’s something, anyway. “Not only that, but we have a much stronger idea of her general location and a head start, I hope.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“The bad news is that they’re going to kill her when the guy with the orders gets there. That would be twelve hours from now, and he knows exactly where he’s going.”
“Great.”
Vaughn stared out the window at the inky darkness. “There’s more, and I think it’s only fair to share it.”
“What is it?” Jackson asked.
Vaughn met Jackson’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “The man will also bring with him orders to kill me on sight. When they see that I’m not alone, you’ll become targets too. I can’t ask you to take that kind of risk.”
“Vaughn Elliott, I am with you all the way in this.”
“Me too,” Justine added. “They may be expecting you, but the two of us will be a surprise. That’s a real advantage.”
“Please do not forget the supplies I took the liberty of packing for us,” Jackson said.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that, my friend.” Vaughn was impressed at the amount and variety of firepower Jackson had loaded in a hidden compartment under the bed liner of the truck. It would come in handy now.
“You should both get some sleep while I am driving. It has been a long few days, and you will need to be at your best. There is nothing to do now but watch the desert go by. Use your time wisely.”
Although Vaughn knew Jackson was right, she was reluctant to close her eyes.
Jackson met her gaze again in the mirror. “I am fine. Wide awake. I promise you will not miss anything. If you do, I will wake you.”
“Vaughn,” Justine said softly, “if we don’t get some shuteye, we won’t be clearheaded. If we’re not, this could end very badly. Don’t we owe it to Sage to be at our best?”
Vaughn didn’t answer. She simply nodded around the lump in her throat.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He had turned the city upside down looking for her. If Vaughn Elliott was anywhere in Bamako, she was well hidden. Torgensen was a man who trusted his instincts; they’d kept him alive for many years. His instincts told him she was long gone. What he didn’t know, and couldn’t seem to figure out, was where.
It was possible that she’d fled the country to save her own ass, but Torgensen didn’t think so. Everything in her service record and psychological profile indicated that she was more likely to stay and fight than run. That left two possibilities. Either she was biding her time and would turn him into the hunted instead of the hunter, or she was going after the McNally woman.
Washington was convinced that Elliott would try to save the hostage for altruistic reasons. Torgensen had it figured differently. McNally had been an unfortunate complication. If she hadn’t stumbled across that message, she would still be at the embassy doing her job. Elliott couldn’t know that. Most likely, she was exhausting resources trying to figure out the motive behind taking an unremarkable political officer. It would’ve stunk to high heaven to someone with Elliott’s experience.
She’d go after McNally all right, but because she would deduce that McNally had a piece of information she needed, not because Vaughn Elliott was softhearted. People in their line of work couldn’t afford to be softhearted.
He picked up the vibrating phone.
“Report.”
“I need to know where McNally is being held. I believe Elliott is on her way there.”
“So she slipped past you.”
“No, sir. She was gone before I was given the order to take her out.”
“And she has managed to elude you since.”
“I will complete the assignment as soon as you give me the information I need.” His voice was clipped.
“I have other people on that end looking for her. Why do I need you?”
Torgensen clamped down on his temper. “Because I am the best at what I do. Are they trained assassins?”
The silence on the other end of the line grated on Torgensen’s nerves.
“Very well. An extra bit of insurance wouldn’t hurt. But Torgensen, I want you to fly under the radar. We can’t have you interfering with anything else. I want you to do it from a distance, and only, I repeat, only if others fail.”
“Elliott is my assignment. You brought me in—”
“Enough.”
Torgensen wrote the location on a scrap of paper as it was related to him.
“If I find out you haven’t followed my instructions, there’s no place you’ll be able to hide that I won’t find you.”
The call terminated in his ear. Torgensen hated that. He packed up his few belongings. He would go to the airport, fly north, finish the job, and be done with it.
Sage closed and opened her eyes. Experimentally, she turned her head. The pain was still there, but the sharpness had turned into a dull thudding behind her eyes. She supposed the sleep had helped. Yeah, that and being stationary.
A door opened and she blinked hard as a beam of light shined directly in her eyes. She tried to raise her hands to block the brightness, but the chain was too short.
“I am sorry,” a soft male voice said in broken French, “but you cannot see what we look like. I thought this would be better than the blindfold.”
“Yes. Thank you,” Sage said. Her voice was harsh from disuse.
“I have brought you some food and water.”
“Thank you.”
“And a bucket, in case you need it. I regret that the
lodgings are not what you are used to. It is nothing personal.”
“I understand.” Sage considered asking questions but feared that doing so would stop the meager flow of conversation altogether.
“Well, here you are.”
A tray was pushed in front of her from a different angle and Sage realized for the first time that two men, not one, had entered the room. She supposed that was for security purposes. As if she could be a threat to them given her current position.
As the men backed out of the room, Sage said, “Wait! Can you tell me what time it is?”
The man who had spoken to her hesitated but didn’t answer. In another couple of seconds, the door closed and Sage was plunged once again into the dark.
She waited for her eyes to readjust and then examined the items on the tray. Vegetables, some kind of flatbread, some unidentifiable food product, and water. Suddenly, she was famished. The short length of chain attached to the ring at the base of the wall required that she bend in half to shovel the food into her mouth. She tried to pick up the bread in her left hand and dropped it as a lance of pain started at her shoulder and seared a path down her arm to her fingers.
Sage sucked in a quick breath and held it until the throbbing eased. She picked up the bread in her right hand and scooped up a paste-like substance with it. The food wasn’t particularly tasty, but to Sage it was manna from heaven.
When she’d eaten everything on the plate and drunk half the water, she sat back. She would save the rest of the water and ration it. Who knew when her captors next would feed her.
As she shifted to make herself more comfortable, she went over the brief bit of conversation she’d had with the soft-spoken man. Something stuck in her mind. “It’s nothing personal,” he’d said. Sage mulled that over. Nothing personal.
“You’re losing it. That only confirms what you already know—it wasn’t specifically about you.” And yet, she’d been the target. What if he’d used the word “personal” to indicate that it was professional? Sage reviewed everything she had been working on in the past month. There was nothing remotely controversial. She went back to one of her core questions. Was it just that she was an American? Again, that made no sense.
Maybe if she reviewed the meetings she’d had, the reports she’d written, the appointments she’d planned. It wasn’t the most exciting way to pass the time, but at least it would be productive. Perhaps if she could determine why she’d been taken, she could talk her way out.