Movement from the corner of her eye caused Imani to turn her head to the left, but what she saw caused alarm to spring to life in her stomach. A group of six men approached swiftly on horseback, all of them wearing traditional clothes and riding as if the hounds of hell pursued them. She straightened in the seat and stared. They all wore their ghutras pinned across the bridge of their noses, hiding their features so only their eyes were visible.
What was happening?
The power locks on the limo engaged, and her gaze lifted to the rearview mirror again where they met the driver’s worried gaze. Without saying a word, his eyes darted to the right, and she saw five more men on horseback coming toward them from that direction.
The driver flung the vehicle into reverse and slammed into the SUV behind them filled with additional security. Imani gripped the seat and let out a soft cry at the impact. Her driver uttered a curse and quick, “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”
Then, shots rang out. Imani screamed and covered her ears.
The next series of events happened quickly. The limo sank toward the right as the tires were blown out. The same happened to the vehicle in front of them, and she was certain behind them as well, though she didn’t turn around to look. The cars were incapacitated and they couldn’t get away.
The bodyguards in the front vehicle hopped out, two on each side to combat the incoming men who’d gotten much closer in a matter of seconds. They fired off a series of shots, but instead of the men on horseback ending up with casualties, she watched in horror as three members of her security team collapsed to the roadway, clutching their necks as if someone had stabbed them with a knife.
More shots rang out in the front and behind the limo, and one of the men to the left tumbled from his horse. The lone remaining bodyguard scrambled to reload his weapon, and Imani’s eyes widened as the men on horseback pulled their animals to a stop and hopped down almost simultaneously.
Unexpectedly, the old farmer ran up the front hood of the SUV and stood on top of the roof. The old farmer wasn’t old after all. He moved with the speed and agility of a much younger man. He looked down at the guard, who shrunk against the outside of the vehicle, head twisting left to right as he took in the men who’d surrounded him. The farmer blew into a bamboo tube and the fourth bodyguard fell to the asphalt.
Using bamboo darts was a fighting tactic the Barrakeschis had borrowed from Zamibia during their long history of friendship. The poison came from a mollusk indigenous to Zamibia. Hunters had used the poison to take down wild game, but her tribe, the Mbutu, turned it into a weapon of war. The poison worked best when sent through the neck and quickly incapacitated its victim for several hours. The weapon was basic but effective and demonstrated these men didn’t want to seriously hurt anyone.
At least, that’s what she hoped. Because when she turned around, the same fate had befallen the guards in the SUV behind her. The men on horseback completely caged her and the driver in the limo. Hardly daring to breathe she was so frightened, Imani gripped the leather seat with both hands. Then she remembered her phone.
The farmer hopped off the top of the SUV and came walking slowly toward the limo. He definitely was young. She could see it in his eyes though she couldn’t see his whole face. He yelled something to one of the men to his left, and the man came forward and pointed a rifle at the right passenger window at the front.
Standing back to avoid ricocheting bullets, he fired off a shot, but the bulletproof glass didn’t break. Imani took the phone from her purse, and with trembling fingers hit redial to get Wasim. He was the last call she’d made that day. Unfortunately, she would not be reaching him now. Somehow, the men on horseback must have jammed the phones because she didn’t have a signal. There was no way she was going to make any kind of call—to Wasim, emergency, or otherwise.
Another shot went off, and she jumped. They were going to keep shooting in the same spot to weaken the window. It would only be a matter of time before they got in.
The driver reached for the glove compartment.
“No!” He was going for a gun but they would kill him if he pulled it out.
“Your Highness…”
She winced as another shot hit the glass. “Don’t. They’ll kill you. And I don’t think they want to kill anyone. They want me.”
Another shot. And another. Each loud bang brought them closer to getting inside and tightened the noose of fear that wound around her throat.
The glass didn’t break, but it absorbed the blows and splintered into a spiderweb-like pattern. When it was sufficiently damaged, the farmer came forward and held up a ball-peen hammer that appeared to have a piece of ceramic attached to it. He whacked the window several times and the glass broke into small pieces.
He reached in and opened the door, and blew the poison dart at the neck of the driver, who quickly collapsed against the seat. Then he turned cool, emotionless eyes to Imani. He climbed across the driver and unlocked the back doors. They were immediately swung open by men on either side.
“Get out,” one of the men said gruffly.
Before she could even think about responding, he caught her by the hand and dragged her from the vehicle. She let out a small yelp as she tumbled from the car.
“Be careful!” one of the men said, shoving the one who’d grabbed her.
The man’s grip on her upper arm tightened as she straightened. She swung her eyes from left to right. She was out here all alone, surrounded and without any assistance. Where were they taking her? What were they going to do with her? She had to get away.
Quickly, instinctively, she swung her fist at the man holding her arm. The blow landed to the side of his face, and he howled in surprise and pain and quickly stepped back. Someone else came up behind her and she elbowed him and swung her fist into his nose. He hollered and stumbled back.
“Let me go!” she yelled.
She clenched her fingers and muscle memory shifted her body into a fighting stance with both fists held at chin level. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
Quickly sizing up the men, she deduced they couldn’t be mercenaries or fighters. Their bodies were too relaxed because they assumed their size and number would be enough to intimidate her. They’d miscalculated.
She was scared but not intimidated. She was a fighter, a skill learned long ago thanks to the help of six brothers and Mbutu warrior blood running through her veins.
Yet even as she considered landing more blows, she noticed their hesitation. The way they looked from one to the other. They’d surrounded her but were afraid to hurt her. Not one of the punches she landed had received a retaliatory blow. They weren’t going to fight back.
“I’m pregnant,” she said, thinking that might help and they’d rethink this plan.
An awkward pause filled the air as they glanced quickly at each other and then turned their attention to the farmer, clearly the leader. None of them had expected this new development. They not only had the queen, they had her unborn child, too. The potential heir to the throne.
Too late, she saw movement at the corner of her eye, and something stung the back of her neck.
Then…lights out.
26
Wasim would never forget where he was when he learned that Imani’s caravan had been ambushed. He was seated on the sofa in his office, reviewing the specs for the metro rail line, the next major project to be completed now that the budget had been approved.
A forceful, rapid knock on his office door caused him to stare at it in shock that anyone would dare pound so hard.
“Yes?”
His head of security, Mohammed, rushed in. A giant of a man who was at least six inches taller than Wasim, he came in holding a phone. Then he told Wasim they had lost contact with Imani’s team, and there was a man on the line who said that he had Imani and a demand.
Wasim could feel the blood drain from his face. He jumped up from the sofa and snatched away the phone. He hit the Mute button. “Who is this?” he
demanded.
A mechanically distorted voice came on the line. “Never mind who I am. We have Her Royal Highness Queen Imani with us.”
“You must be insane,” Wasim said. To kidnap a member of the royal family was unheard of. The act was a crime punishable by death. Only a crazy person would commit such an offense.
The mechanical voice laughed. “I assure you, I am quite sane.”
“How is she? Is my wife safe?” He gripped the phone as fear surged within him.
“Yes.”
“Before you tell me what you want, I need to know that she’s safe. Nothing moves forward until you confirm that.”
“You don’t make the rules!”
“And you get nothing until I know my wife is safe.” He would not budge. He’d quickly read the situation and suspected that standing up to this reckless fool—whoever he was—would be the best way to handle this interaction.
There was a long pause. Wasim tensed, his gaze meeting Mohammed’s.
Finally, a response. “As you wish, Your Excellency.” The mechanical voice dripped with sarcasm and Wasim gritted this teeth. He couldn’t wait to put his hands around this man’s throat.
A few seconds later, a video came through on the phone while Wasim and Mohammed watched. Imani wore the same clothes she’d left in this morning. She lay on a filthy-looking cot, her hair wrapped in a black-and-cream scarf and wearing a cream pants suit. Her eyes were closed, but she was clearly breathing. His eyes zeroed in on the rope that bound her wrists together and his stomach lurched sickeningly.
“What do you want?” Fear filled him—fear for Imani and how this could affect their unborn child.
“Twenty-five million dollars in large bills to be delivered to a place and at a time you will learn about tomorrow. Not before. We will contact you at noon with the details.”
Twenty-five million seemed a paltry sum to request from a man with unfathomable wealth. Further, they’d kidnapped a queen. They’d taken a big risk, seemingly for no reason.
“And if I don’t deliver as you request?” he asked.
“Then you will never see your queen again. And you will lose your heir.”
Both sentences sent waves of shock through Wasim. How could this man—this stranger—possibly know that Imani was pregnant when she’d only told Wasim yesterday? Her pregnancy was to be kept quiet for now. Had this person seen the ultrasound she carried in her purse to surprise her Zamibian family with, or had Imani said something to him? And how dare he threaten the two of them?
A new emotion replaced the fear. Anger.
Wasim straightened to his full, regal height. “Do you know who you are speaking to? I am your king. She is your queen.”
“Yes, you are my king. But I have your queen. What will you do to get her back?”
“I will do whatever it takes to get her back. Everything in my infinite power,” Wasim snarled. “I will get your money and deliver it to the place and at the time that you request. And you will deliver her to me safe and sound. No harm will come to her or my unborn child. If either of them is hurt in any way, pray that the authorities find you before I do. If there is a single scratch or bruise on Imani’s body, or follicle of her hair removed because of your hands, I will rain down my wrath upon you and everyone you love—here and abroad. I will destroy you and everything you know and love. You will rue the day that you ever took from His Excellency King Wasim ibn Khalid al-Hassan. Your people will know my name and feel my wrath for generations to come!”
For tense seconds, there was silence on the line, and then it went dead.
Wasim glared at his head of security. “Get everyone in here. Now!”
The second security team discovered Imani’s guards on the roadway to the airport. They sent video and photos of the area to Wasim. He saw the two vehicles with the flattened tires, as well as her limo. He saw the shattered glass inside and outside of the limo.
How frightened she must have been in that situation. Eight men—nine if he counted the driver—and still she had been taken hostage by a bunch of amateurs on horseback with handmade poison darts. It didn’t matter to him that the captors were also armed. His guards were professionals and should have been able to handle them.
Wasim paced Imani’s apartment. He’d come in here to feel closer to her. Her perfume idled in the air, and all the little touches that she’d brought to the apartment caught his eye—a bookshelf stocked with African classics and literature she’d read as a child and the tapestries that hung on the wall. The patterns showcased the artistic talent of the women whose products she promoted to help them achieve economic independence.
The ransom had already been counted and placed into sacks, and now they waited to hear from the kidnappers about when and where to deliver the funds so they could formulate a plan to arrest them as soon as they picked up the money. But Wasim was restless, and he couldn’t simply wait. There had to be something he could do. He wandered into Imani’s bedroom, looking for what he didn’t know. Something, anything that could help him help her.
Then it dawned on him that she had been enthralled by the Australian’s security location gadget. So enthralled that she had accepted his offer to beta test the technology. Was she wearing any jewelry that used one of Heath’s devices? He distinctly remembered her wearing at least one piece that contained the tracking device because she had mentioned a glitch when her head of security had tried to find her with it on.
Wasim rushed to her jewelry closet on the far side of the room hidden behind a panel and entered the code. As soon as he stepped inside, the lights came on in the room. He rummaged through the drawers, lifting out bracelets and necklaces heavy with precious stones. There was so much—including newer pieces sitting next to heirlooms. How could he tell which one was missing—or if it was gone at all?
Wasim stopped. He had to slow down and think. Imani was organized. She would keep them separate. Frantically, he pulled open each draw and finally found what he was looking for. Several pieces in a drawer with Heath’s business card resting on top of them. An opal bracelet, the matching necklace, and—the ring! The ring was gone.
Was she wearing it?
He whipped out the video of her lying on the dark cot and saw the ring on her hand. Yes!
But since the program was in beta, there were bugs. With encryption and other issues, it might not work at all. He didn’t have time to work with his security team and hers to figure all this out. Every minute, every second counted while Imani and his child were out there somewhere. He’d have to go to the source.
He picked up the business card and called the handwritten number on the front, assuming it was a private line Heath had given to Imani to reach him directly.
“Hello?” The man’s nasal voice sounded tired and a bit disoriented. There was a seven-hour time difference, and Wasim had probably woken him up.
He rushed through an explanation and emphasized how important it was to keep everything he’d shared confidential. He ended with, “If you could get this program up and running by tomorrow morning and find her, I will pay you an obscene amount of money.”
He named a figure and Heath gasped.
“I’ll get everything up and running tonight,” he promised.
27
Imani took the cup of water from the man who came in to check on her. This was the second time he’d been in here since she woke up from the poison they’d shot into her. Both times he’d been very kind, apologetic, and downright deferential. He had offered her food, which she declined because she simply didn’t have an appetite.
She handed him back the cup. “Why am I here? What is it that you want?”
He refused to answer with a shake of his head and walked out without saying a word. The lock engaged with a loud click, and she blew out a frustrated breath.
Could her abduction be related to the conservative factions in the government who didn’t want Wasim to marry her in the first place? The ones who thought his programs were too progressive
and his actions reckless? Were they making demands in exchange for her release? Not knowing was driving her crazy.
Imani lowered onto her side in the dark room and curled on the cot with her back pressed against the brick wall. She wasn’t cold, but that position made her feel protected. She deduced that she was somewhere in the older part of the country because of the design of the room, illuminated by the street light coming in the single window at the top of the far wall.
At least they’d removed the rope from her wrists. She placed a hand on her belly, thinking for a moment about the baby that grew inside her. Thinking about how excited she and Wasim had been the day before.
Did he know where she was? Would he come get her soon?
She had no idea what time it was or how long she had been there, but the stressful nature of her predicament had worn her out. Her eyes fluttered closed. She only hoped that she would not be there much longer. These men were kind now, but what would happen if they didn’t get whatever it was they wanted?
She fell into an uneasy sleep, one filled with dreams of men on horseback, icy eyes, and stinging pain to the neck that knocked her unconscious.
A loud boom startled her awake. Her eyes flew open, and she held her breath as the entire building trembled. She heard yelling and gunshots. Then quiet.
Her eyes darted around the room. Natural light came through the window, so it must be morning. Just after dawn was what she assumed.
Tense, she strained her ears, listening for the next sounds to let her know what was going on.
Shouting.
Male voices.
Then, “Your Excellency, wait!”
Another voice, achingly familiar and filled with anxiety. “Imani!”
“Wasim?” she whispered.
As she sat up on the cot, the lock disengaged, and the door burst open. She instinctively shrank into the corner until she saw the person in the doorway. It was him! Wasim stood for a moment at the door, wearing the same clothes she’d seen him in when she left for the airport. His hair was uncombed, there were bags under his eyes, and yet he’d never been more beautiful to her.
Queen of Barrakesch Page 15