Nafisa stared at her, and then her eyes squinted slightly, a flicker of something other than unadulterated hatred. “What injuries?”
For the first time of the day, Amira felt a glimmer of hope. There’s a chance, small, but now it’s there. Take it. “I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you. He’s a monster, Nafisa. A very real, evil monster. He doesn’t care about you. He’s just using you because that’s what he does.”
Amira witnessed the impact of the words, like invisible punches that made it through Nafisa’s defenses.
“I said, ‘What injuries?’”
“It wasn’t I who ambushed them,” Amira said, pausing for effect. “They stopped their pick-up in the middle of the road and opened fire on me. I did the only thing I could – I floored it and struck the driver, who was still shooting at me when I did. Turns out that was your husband. I swear to you, I thought I killed him when I hit him. I then used a stun grenade to subdue Omar, who was relatively uninjured.” Amira paused again. “I can see that he didn’t tell you any of this. It’s written all over your face, like your hatred for me.”
Nafisa didn’t reply, but she adjusted herself on the bed. The suppressed Glock in her right hand lay on her thigh, the muzzle still pointed at Amira.
“I had a choice to make – your husband or Omar. Omar was the leader, and your husband, I thought he was dying of internal injuries. He was in bad shape. I was shocked he’d survived.” Amira let the words sink in, knowing she had one last card to play. “You know, I gave Omar a choice – him or Asim. And you know what he said?”
A pained expression appeared on Nafisa’s face, softening the mask of hatred.
She’s on the ropes. Finish her. It’s your only chance. “He said he’d rather die. He didn’t try to plea for Asim’s life. He refused to make the choice. And do you know why? Because the only thing a man like Omar cares about is his so-called cause. He’s a true believer, but that makes everyone around him expendable, including your husband.” Amira stopped speaking, the truth hanging in the air between them.
Nafisa’s face was a portrait of pure torment, her hatred and anguish battling each other across the features of her beautiful face. Amira sat in silence as the struggle unfolded. She has to reach the conclusion herself. It’s the only way.
Nafisa suddenly ceased moving, the transformation complete, her eyes fixed on the carpet in front of Amira’s feet. “I told him Omar would get him killed. I knew the day would come. I tried to save him.” Nafisa looked up into Amira’s face, the pain and anguish now the prominent emotions displayed. “But he wouldn’t listen. They were best friends since they were little, inseparable. Unlike Omar, Asim was kind, gentle. He wanted to help people. He always did, but the idea of a free South Sudan was always the most important thing to Omar, and I told Asim, but he just…wouldn’t…listen.”
Amira gave her ten seconds to compose herself, and then spoke. “Nafisa, I am sorry for your loss. Truly. But if you don’t help me, many more people are going to die today because of Omar. If what you say about your husband is true, he wouldn’t want you to do this, to throw your life away for Omar. Please. Help me.”
The plea hung suspended between them, and Amira waited, the tension increasing by the moment. She could feel Nafisa’s desire to help, but something still held her back. You’re running out of time.
Nafisa looked into Amira’s face, a resolve set where none had been moments before. “But you still killed him. And I can’t forgive that, no matter how much I try. My husband was a good man, a strong man, but I’m not my husband.”
There’s your answer. Amira knew some people weren’t capable of forgiveness, even when they knew the alternative was self-destruction and damnation. Nafisa’s grief had been too much for her to bear. Amira saw it clearly, and she knew her fate had been sealed long ago. But she had to try, for Director Tooney, for herself, and most importantly, for John.
“Don’t do this. It’s wrong, and you know it,” Amira stated.
A knock at the door interrupted Nafisa before she could respond. She looked at her watch and then at Amira. “Only a few more minutes,” she said, and rose from the bed, her composure that of a woman once again in control.
“You still have time to save yourself.”
Nafisa stopped in the doorway and glanced back, resignation the sole expression left on her face. “No. It’s too late for me…and for you.”
Amira’s last hope faded as Nafisa disappeared into the other room. She was out of options, frustration and hopelessness threatening to set in and drag her into the next life. No, her father said inside her head. There’s always a way. Right up to the end. She knew he was right, and she steeled herself. She would not cower in fear, even if it was her end.
She twisted her hands in a failed attempt to break the zip-tie behind the back of the chair, a rectangular, narrow cushion with a wooden frame. She rocked the chair to the side in an attempt to topple it, but the queen bed stopped her momentum. There’s not enough space between the beds to get you on the floor. She had to figure out a way to turn the chair ninety degrees in the confined space and then knock it over, but she knew Nafisa would be back before she succeeded. You have to try, for John, for your father, for yourself.
There was a muffled voice from outside the room, and Nafisa replied, “I’m sorry, but I don’t need service today. The sign is up.”
A second reply came back through the door, words Amira couldn’t understand. Housekeeping. Keep talking. I need more time, she thought desperately. She struggled to turn the chair, lifting up and down but unable to get the leverage she needed from the floor. This isn’t working.
“It must have fallen off. I don’t really know, but either way, we’re good for today. Thank you.”
Those were the last words Nafisa spoke as the door exploded inwards and the glass from the balcony door in the living room shattered. Nafisa was flung backwards several feet as the edge of the door caught her in the right shoulder. She stumbled sideways deeper into the suite but kept herself upright, the suppressed Glock still in her right hand. She regained her footing as she came face-to-face with a fearsome looking man in a dark sweater, khakis, and bright green eyes that danced with a righteous fury aimed directly at her. He’s some kind of devil, she thought. And he’s come for me.
“Drop it!” the man ordered, a pistol aimed directly at Nafisa.
Nafisa heard movement behind her, and she realized her moment had arrived – her life was over. But I’m not going alone. I have to avenge Asim, she thought, and swung her arm towards the object of her hatred and rage – Amira.
Amira watched in horror, as if in slow motion, through the doorway as Nafisa’s arm came up. I’m sorry, John. I tried. I love you, she thought, cleared her mind, and fixed her eyes on her executioner’s. She would face her death like a warrior, without apology.
A single suppressed gunshot rang out from the living room and struck Nafisa in the chest just left of center a split-second before she pulled the trigger on the suppressed Glock. The impact from the unseen shooter’s bullet knocked her aim off-center as she was spun to her left by the pain, and the round went wide, shattering the lamp on the nightstand behind Amira.
Amira flinched at the destruction behind her, but she kept her eyes fixed on Nafisa’s as her would-be killer collapsed on her side to the carpeted floor as if curling up for an afternoon nap. Blood spread quickly from the wound, soaking and darkening her shirt.
Shouts emanated from both sides of the doorway, but neither woman heard them, as each was fixed on the other.
She’s dying. She’s got seconds left, Amira thought, and was somehow filled with a sadness for the woman who’d tried to kill her in the last moments of her life. “I’m sorry. It didn’t have to be this way.”
Nafisa eye’s bored into Amira’s. “Yes…it did,” she said faintly as blood poured from her mouth. Her eyes dropped to the floor, her head suspended several inches above the carpet.
So much loss, Amira thought and
closed her eyes. So much.
“Clear!” she heard two men say in unison in the living room, and she recognized each voice, relief pouring over her as her eyes shot open.
“In here!”
Two men appeared in the doorway, but her eyes locked on the shorter of the two, a fit, rugged, handsome man with a short haircut and a look of concern that struck Amira like a punch. John Quick. My love.
Amira tried to speak but was overwhelmed with relief, and she reflexively stopped herself from breaking down, her body shaking with the effort.
John rushed forward and yanked a small black knife out of a Velcro sheath on his belt. He pressed the button, and the blade shot out, ready to work. “It’s okay. We’ve got you. You’re safe, now. I’ve got you.” His voice was thick with emotion as he wrapped his arms around her, comforting her.
Amira welcomed the embrace and buried her head into his shoulder. She struggled to speak, and she forced herself to regain her composure. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”
She felt the zip-tie break behind her, and her arms were suddenly free. She wrapped them around John and squeezed, cherishing the moment, as she knew it wouldn’t last.
“I love you, too,” John replied, moving back and gripping the sides of her face. “Always.”
“I know,” Amira said, her eyes glistening but not relinquishing the tears that lingered there. She smiled, and for one brief moment, all felt right in the world, even as Nafisa’s blood stained the carpet behind them. “But we have to move. They’re trying to assassinate Director Tooney, and we’re almost out of time.”
“Who is?” the human force of nature known as Logan West asked as he stood watching the two people that he loved dearly as friends and fellow members of Task Force Ares.
Amira stood up, unsteady for a moment, but pushed John’s arms away. “I’ve got this.”
“Don’t I know it,” John said, a hint of his natural sarcasm back in his voice.
“I’m pretty sure it’s the Chinese, and it’s all because of what happened in Sudan, what I did before we met. We need to get downstairs to the convention center. I’ll fill you in on the way down, but Logan, you need to call Tooney and tell him he’s in imminent danger out there in the Riverview Ballroom, as in right now, and then, you two can tell me how you tracked me. There’s a conference, and he’s a keynote speaker about to talk, and once he starts, they’re going to kill him.”
“On it,” Logan said, and slid out his encrypted iPhone from his back pocket.
A third man, a tall, good-looking white male with a shock of gray hair in his fifties appeared from around the corner, staring in bewilderment at the death that had occurred inside the room.
Amira nodded. “Who’s that?”
“That?” John said, smiling, “that’s Chris Hauty, and he’s the head of security for the Gaylord. You owe him dinner, babe, as he’s the one who helped us locate you.”
“In that case,” Amira said, smiling, her pale blue eyes flashing, “it’s nice to meet you. Now, can someone please get me a gun? We’ve got work to do.”
Chapter 19
As the glass elevator descended, Amira studied the lower atrium and fountain nineteen stories below. The impressive cavernous space left most first-time visitors awestruck at the scale of the hotel and the atrium. The elevator in which they rode was on the south wing of the hotel, which was a typical u-shaped building with two tiers on each wing. The first part that extended out from each side of the main building had nineteen-floors, but then two lower additions – like arms reaching out towards the Potomac River – had seven floors each. With two thousand guest rooms, the architects had applied their creative genius and enclosed the first nineteen-floor space with a glass wall that rose up from the roof of the lower sections at the end of each wing and connected to a curved glass roof. Similarly, at the end of the lower sections, another glass wall covered by a second curved glass roof stood as the final barrier to the outside. The construction created an enormous glass and girder bubble, and it drew visitors who ate, shopped, and gawked at the architectural feat.
Hundreds of people moved over the walkways, in between shops, under the indoor trees, and around the fountain, soaking in the atmosphere and the holiday decorations the Gaylord had already put up. So many people. What a nightmare. There’s no way to spot anyone in this crowd.
“You reach Tooney?” Amira asked Logan. Logan, John, and Amira held their suppressed pistols beneath open jackets.
“Negative, but I reached Jake, and he’s reaching out to Langley to see if they can contact the director’s personal security detail. And Chris here has already radioed the hotel security manning the entrance to the Riverview Ballroom, which is where the summit is. Tooney should be in there somewhere, getting ready to talk. His detail should be able to handle any threat.”
“You don’t get it – there’s someone in there who looks like me who’s going to use my identity to get close to him, and no matter how good they are, they won’t stop her. We all know that. Also, Emerson said that his contacts were in the hotel’s security. You may have just let the bad guys know we’re on the way. Let’s just pray we get there in time.” Amira had reclaimed her iPhone from the hotel room – where her abductors had removed her SIM card and turned off her phone – and she checked the time. “We have four minutes.” She placed it back in the black Oakley daypack they’d taken, as well. Some women liked Michael Kors chic; Amira preferred Oakley tactical.
The glass elevator continued to descend, steel girders passing by with each floor.
“How did you find me? And make it quick.”
“Yes, ma’am,” John said. “When you didn’t respond to my texts after lunch, I checked your last location on the Find My app. It showed the garage, and then it disappeared. Considering our line of work, I knew something was wrong. I called Logan, and since Cole is on leave visiting his parents in North Carolina,” he said, referring to the former chief of the CIA’s Special Activities Division, one-time Delta operator, and fellow core member of Task Force Ares, “the two of us showed up at the National Harbor’s private security company’s command center. Turns out having FBI badges helps. Security camera footage showed you enter the garage, walk, and disappear into a blind spot. Fifteen seconds later, two men did the same thing. It was the last time you were seen on camera, and they have most of the place covered. The only thing that left within minutes was a white panel van, which cameras tracked to the service entrance to the hotel. We hustled over here, linked up with Chris, and used the hotel’s cameras to identify the van in the back. Two men rolled out a laundry cart – with unfolded laundry in it; not what you’d be taking into a hotel – and passed it off to a member of the housekeeping staff. We looked at footage of every floor from the service elevators and finally spotted her moving the cart on the nineteenth. When she got to that suite, she entered and left within a minute, and the cart was noticeable lighter. Once we identified the room – which took serious time, looking at all of that footage – we started watching the live stream of that hallway’s camera to see who went in and out. We still weren’t sure, until we saw a white male with a gun in a concealed holster as he adjusted his jacket. At that point, Logan climbed up from the room below – which I’m sure was a sight, if anyone was paying attention – and I kicked the door in. Honestly, we weren’t sure you were here, but Chris gave me a key card and the green light. Sorry if we cut it close, hon.”
“But how did you know there was only one person in there?”
“With this,” John said, and pulled out a device from his own backpack. It looked like a dark-green oversized satellite phone, but it had a handle sticking out at an angle from the back and a digital display above the handle. “Borrowed this awhile back from our HRT friends. While it doesn’t show pictures of what’s inside a room through walls – that non-sense is for Hollywood – it does detect the number of people and approximately how far from the wall or door you place this bad boy on.”
Amira nodded, impressed.
The elevator announced their arrival with an audible ding, and the doors slid open.
“You made it. That’s all that matters.” She smiled at him. “And that’s some solid police work. You two would’ve made a good pair of detectives.”
John laughed. “Police? Too many rules. Too many so-called rights for the bad guys.” He paused, suddenly serious. “Besides, your dad was the best cop I knew, and I could never live up to that.”
Amira smiled as the familiar sensation that her father’s spirit was with her, a presence she’d felt several times since his death. “None of us can, but we can still try. Let’s go.”
They stepped out into the roaring noise of people talking, dishes clanging, footsteps, and other background noises that formed one constant stream of sound. Logan, John, and Amira held their pistols – suppressors removed in the elevator – low and wore FBI badges on chains around their necks. Logan had his Kimber Tactical II Pro.45-caliber pistol; John carried his M1911 .45-cal pistol he’d used since his days in the Marine Corps; Amira held her SIGSAUER P229 9mm pistol, a favorite since her days in Africa; and Chris Hauty held the Glock they’d retrieved from Nafisa. As Logan had said, “The more firepower, the better.” While he wasn’t technically law enforcement, a man trained to use a gun was still a force multiplier.
Chapter 20
Just as Samuel predicted, which means Nafisa is either dead or under arrest. Either way, Omar knew it was now up to him to delay Amira and the three men that accompanied her down the glass elevator. No matter what happened, he would not leave her alive.
Amira and her companions exited the elevator and turned right, moving through the crowd towards the Riverview Ballroom.
“Open fire when I do,” Omar said quietly to the private contractor Trevor Emerson had assigned to him.
AMIRA Page 8