Blood Ransom (24 page)

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 9:15 P.M.

BOGAMA

Chad reread the first paragraph of the paperback for the fifth time, then flipped the front cover shut. If a suspense novel couldn’t keep his attention, nothing would.

With half a dozen marines guarding the embassy property to ensure no further problems, Chad had spent the last six hours helping Paul deal with the current crisis of a bombed embassy and an election hanging in the balance. The problem was that with little personnel and even fewer resources, there was only so much that could be done.

Eventually Paul had suggested they grab dinner and get some much-needed rest. They’d taken Joseph to his uncle’s, while Chad agreed to Paul’s offer to use his guest room. Not that he was going to be able to sleep. He might be safe in the walled, government-issued house, complete with a guard in the front yard, but he had no idea where Natalie would sleep tonight. Or if she was even alive.

Paul entered the living room with two mugs full of decaf coffee and handed him one. “Need anything else?”

“No. I’m fine, thanks. I appreciate your letting me crash here.” Chad grasped the offered mug and took a long sip. Hot and black, just like he drank it.

“Anytime. With my girls gone it’s nice to have a bit of company.”

“Not sure I’ll be good company tonight.” Chad shoved the book back into the bookshelf beside him and scanned the titles, but nothing interested him. He needed a distraction. Anything to escape the constant turmoil twisting inside his gut.

He turned back to Paul. Small talk seemed the easiest escape at the moment. “You’ve got quite a collection of books.”

“My wife’s determined we feel at home whether it’s Colorado or Bogama. And of course, Bogama meant no decent library, so she decided to bring the library here.” Paul sat down across from him and plopped his feet up on the edge of the coffee table. “You should see the kids’ rooms.”

“Normally I enjoy reading, but tonight—” Chad’s cell phone vibrated on the coffee table in front of him. He paused for a brief moment, then snapped it up off the table. “Natalie?”

“Natalie…no…My name is Gabby. Gabby Mackenzie.”

“Mackenzie?” Chad set his mug down. He knew that name. Where…

“We met briefly Monday night at Natalie Sinclair’s house. I was the journalist she invited.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” Chad rubbed his temples. “I’m just…surprised to hear from you.”

“And I am sorry to bother you so late, but it’s taken me a long time to track down your cell phone number. I’m trying to get ahold of Natalie.”

“Natalie…” Chad pressed his lips together, wishing this nightmare would end. “We don’t know where Natalie is. She was…she was kidnapped here in Bogama yesterday morning.”

“Kidnapped?” There was a long pause on the line. “What happened?”

Guilt raised its ugly head. Chad swallowed hard. “She was headed for the embassy and someone forced her into their car. All we know is that she’s being held for ransom and that her captors want some photos we have, but they didn’t show up for the agreed-on rendezvous.”

“So this does have something to do with the photos she sent me.”

“Just a minute.” Chad signaled for Paul to stay, then turned on the speaker. “I’m staying with Paul Hayes, who is from the U.S. Embassy here in Bogama, and I’d like him to listen in on our conversation if it’s all right. He’s aware of everything that’s going on.”

“That’s fine.” Thankfully, except for a slight delay, the connection was clear.

“She mentioned she’d sent you the photos,” Chad continued. “What do you know about them?”

“Nothing much more than that they documented an incident that took place in the mountains of the RD where soldiers raided a village. You probably know far more than I do.”

Chad spent the next ten minutes telling Gabby everything he knew about the raid of the village, ending with the threat against the president and the kidnapping of Natalie.

Gabby clicked her tongue. “So you believe the rumors of slave camps in the mountains are true?”

“Evidence certainly points that direction, though no camps have been located as of yet.” Chad worked to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “How are you involved in all of this?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Someone wasn’t happy with certain questions I asked on my trip. I’ve been involved in two recent attacks, one the night I left the RD, and the second this morning here in DC. They don’t want my series to run.” There was another pause on the line. “At first I didn’t think that the photos were involved, but I found out one of the men in the photos is Benjamin Ayres, who works for the man I’ve been trying to track down for an interview in regard to the series I’m writing. He works directly for Alexis Yasin.”

“Who is this Yasin?” Paul asked.

“I found out today that Interpol is looking for him in connection with money laundering throughout Africa and Europe. I believe Yasin is using the RD as a hiding place for his money-laundering racket and using slaves to run his mines.”

“It would make sense. The country has its share of natural resources and if tapped into by the wrong person…” Chad’s mind began to spin.

“I won’t keep you any longer, but why don’t you write down my number in case you need to get ahold of me,” Gabby said.

Chad grabbed the piece of paper and pen Paul handed him and scribbled down the number she gave him.

“Let me know when you find Natalie,” she continued, “and I’ll keep you updated with what I find out on this side.”

“I appreciate that.” Chad let out a sharp breath. “And, Gabby…be careful.”

Chad flipped his phone shut and dropped it onto the table. Whatever they were dealing with had just exploded beyond the borders of this country.

THURSDYA, NOVEMBER 19, 11:24 P.M. EST

ROSA’S CAFÉ, WASHINGTON, DC

“When’s the last time you took a day off?”

Gabby looked up from her mug of hot chocolate to her editor Ty Guillory’s heavyset stature and shrugged off the question. “Thanks for coming.”

Guillory slid onto the empty red booth across from her, and for a moment neither of them spoke. A group of late-night patrons laughed over something on the other side of the café, but besides them, the elevator music playing in the background, and the sound of rain turning the early evening snow into a messy slush, the place was quiet.

“My flight from LA was delayed, or I would have been here sooner.” Guillory took off his wool scarf and leaned back against the padded back of the booth. “Are you okay?”

Gabby touched the thin lesion running across her hairline. “That and a slightly sprained wrist, but I’ll be fine.”

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

“Two things. Alexis Yasin and the Republic of Dhambizao.” Gabby smacked a red folder onto the table between them.

Guillory eyed the folder but didn’t pick it up. “First, you need to know I’m considering pulling the second article in your series. I won’t have you killed over this.”

“You’ve got to trust me on this, Ty. You can’t pull it.” Gabby zipped up the top of her fleece jacket, trying to shake the late-night chill. “I’ve just spent the past ten hours calling in every favor I could finagle, and I’m in the process of uncovering a story far bigger than profits taken from mines and the exploitation of workers.”

Guillory rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve got your father’s passion, and you’re also just as stubborn.”

She matched his hard stare. “I consider that a compliment.”

He dropped his gaze. “Then tell me, what’s the connection between a philanthropist and some third-world country nobody’s ever heard of?”

“Millions of dollars a year in natural resources gained through illegal slave labor camps, for one.”

His head snapped up. She had his attention now.

She slapped open the folder to the photos Natalie had sent her. “I was finally able to get ahold of someone in the RD who knew about these photos. They believe that this village was raided by a group of rogue mercenaries called Ghost Soldiers. I also found out that Natalie’s been kidnapped in regard to the photos.”

“Kidnapped?” Guillory waved off the waitress’s offer for coffee. “I don’t like any of this, Gabby. In the past forty-eight hours you’ve been carjacked, shot at, and threatened, and now you’re talking about powerful men involved in an illegal slave trade? Your mother’s not going to forgive me if you end up in a body bag like your father—”

“The story of those villagers deserves to be heard. And if that doesn’t hit close enough to home, I can give you more.”

“Like?”

“They took the man who tried to shoot me into custody today. His name’s Kahil Naser, and it turns out the man’s wanted in several countries. Without a deal, Naser knows he’s potentially facing extradition, and in some of these countries that means the death sentence.”

“What does he have to offer?”

“Alexis Yasin’s head on a plate. There was a hole in my data on
Yasin from 1992 until 1993. Turns out, according to Naser, he was busy training in a terrorist training camp in northern Africa at the time.” She paused for a moment to let what she’d said sink in. “Naser admitted that Yasin is involved in rigging the RD’s presidential elections tomorrow. And trust me, no one needs a man like Yasin running a third-world country, even if it is behind the scenes.”

“So you’re implying that Yasin’s trying to manipulate control of the RD for an even bigger piece of the profits?”

“Imagine the sizeable amounts of funding plus a protected base for his illegal dealings, and you’ve got a grasp on what he’s planning to do.”

Ty’s expression hardened. “If you can give me credible evidence that this is true, I’ll consider running the article, but realize that you’ll be putting yourself and the paper at risk. More than likely Naser’s just a pawn in Yasin’s hand, which means he’s got a dozen more to replace him.”

“So we let fear stop us?”

“Never. I just want you alive to report the next big story.” Guillory scuffed his foot against the floor and slid out of the booth to leave. “And find a way to get some rest. You’ll be worthless if you don’t.”

She nodded, then gulped down the rest of her drink. He was right. Somehow, she had to find a way to save boys like Samuel—and her own life at the same time.

FIRDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 9:18 A.M.

SHACK OUTSIDE BOGAMA

Natalie glanced up at the ceiling and continued to formulate her plan. The trusses above her were the one escape route she hadn’t yet tried. With the added rays of sunlight from the narrow cracks in the wall, she could see well enough to move the table against the wall and try out her idea. With a chair on top of the table, she should be able to reach high enough to loosen the tin sheeting. Maybe that would give her room to slip out over the wall.

She turned and felt the sting of her shoulder. The bandage from her wound needed to be changed, and more than likely she needed a strong round of antibiotics. But at least she was still alive. For now, anyway.

As good as her plan might be, though, there were still two major obstacles standing between her and freedom: the presence of a guard outside and the ropes around her wrists. She glanced down in frustration. She’d made progress loosening the bonds, but couldn’t help but wonder if it would make a difference. Knowing Rachel was probably dead and Patrick was most likely planning the same fate for her was enough motivation for her to keep trying despite the risks.

Fatigue washed over her as she sat back down on the wooden chair and started on the ropes again. She’d woken up a dozen times
throughout the long night with mosquitoes buzzing in her ear. Each time, as she stared up at the dark ceiling and remembered where she was, she’d worked to loosen the ropes, while praying for strength. The few times she slept, Chad had filled her dreams, working feverishly on the other side of the wall swinging an ax to get her out. But his efforts to save her had proved futile. She’d continued to pray until, somehow, in the middle of the night, a veil of peace had surrounded her and she’d finally drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Until daylight brought with it renewed fears.

If Patrick had killed Rachel, he wouldn’t think twice about killing her. She had to find a way out. Stretching her tired muscles, she shuffled to the wall and peered through one of the thin cracks, pressing her forehead against the wall and waiting for her eyes to focus. The guard was gone. She skirted around the bag of cornmeal another four feet to the left to another crack. There was no sign of anyone. Making a complete circle around the room, she paused at the dozen tiny gaps in the boards that gave her a limited view of outside. For the first time in close to twenty-four hours, no one was in sight.

Natalie started working on the ropes with a renewed vigor, pausing every few minutes to check and see if the guard had returned. Twenty minutes later the ropes dropped to the floor. With no sign of the guard, she disregarded the pain in her shoulder, shoved the table against the wall, and set a chair on top. Now she was high enough to reach the roof. Balancing the wobbly chair, she glanced down at her backpack. She had the can of tuna in her hand that she planned to use as a hammer, but it seemed foolish to leave the rest of her things.

A minute later, she was back on the chair with the backpack slung across her good shoulder. A dozen precise blows with the tuna can were enough to loosen the nails so she could move one section of the roof. The nails screeched in protest as she pushed up the sheet of tin, then pulled out each nail until there was enough room for her to squeeze through. The pain in her shoulder intensified as she used the
trusses to swing up onto the wall and through the gap. Tin scraped against her back.

Her heart pounded as she paused to catch her breath. From this vantage point, she could see over the cinderblock wall and into the maze of compounds that spread out beyond her. There was a door in the middle of the wall that led to a narrow alley…and beyond that, a main street.

The alley would be her way out.

Something rustled behind her. Natalie glanced down at the ground and watched as a rat scurried by. She squeezed her eyes shut, thankful it wasn’t the guard. If he caught her up here trying to escape…No. She pushed the thought aside and prayed instead. She could do this.

Dropping her backpack onto the ground, she slid down the wall and landed beside it. She caught her balance, then brushed off her hands. A dog barked, but she couldn’t tell where it was. As long as it kept its distance, she wasn’t going to worry about it.

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.