Hide and Seek (16 page)

AMELIA KEPT JILDIZ MOVING
as fast as she could. There had been no time to grab the respirator mask she took from the hardware store. A half mile down the road, she saw Jildiz reach for her inhaler. She couldn’t blame the woman. Her own lungs burned from the stench of smoke.

The sound of distant, but not distant enough, gunfire rolled through the polluted air.

SARIEV DOOTKASY LET THE
chief administrative assistant announce his presence. The middle-aged, dowdy woman hesitated only a moment. Dootkasy had not called ahead. The phones were out, but the intercom system wasn’t dependent on an outside line. His unexpected appearance surprised her.

“I know President Oskonbaeva is very busy, but I need to see him immediately.”

“Yes, Mr. Prime Minister, but he is occupied with a meeting right now. The riots have—”

“I am well aware of the riots.” He kept his voice calm when what he wanted to do was slap the toady. “This pertains to that and a . . . personal matter.”

She hesitated a moment then reached for the button on the business phone to activate the intercom. She paused, then retracted the hand. “One moment, Mr. Prime Minister.” She rose and moved to the closed door separating her office from the president’s.

“Mr. President, please excuse the interruption, but the prime minister insists on seeing—”

Dootkasy’s patience snapped and he pushed past the aide and into Meklis’s office, stopping the woman midsentence.

“I need a moment, Mr. President.”

“Sariev, what is the meaning of this?”

Dootkasy loathed Meklis Oskonbaeva all the more for calling him by his first name instead of his title, especially with the others present, Chief of Police Emil Abirov and Boris Gubuz, head of Internal Security. Dootkasy was in the first meeting with these men and a few others; apparently he wasn’t wanted in this one.

“I need a moment, Mr. President.”

“I’m busy right now, Sariev.” He motioned at the others. “As you can see.”

The president and prime minister roles were a point of friction. The president appointed the prime minister, something which made previous prime ministers little more than lapdogs. Dootkasy made a lousy lapdog. The men never liked each other and were political rivals over the past ten years. Dootkasy wasted no energy fooling himself into believing that he was chosen because of his leadership expertise but because of his influence with opposition parties. Meklis pledged an open government bent on healing rifts and ending corruption. He failed on both counts, but to his credit, not for lack of trying.

“Yes, Mr. President, I am aware of that but I have news you need to hear.”

“News? What kind of news?”

“Privacy is required, Mr. President.”

Meklis shook his head. “We have our hands full right now, Sariev. Can’t it wait?”

“Sir, if it could wait, I wouldn’t be here.” He grew weary of the word play. He turned to Gubuz and Abirov. “Gentlemen, may we have the room?”

The vermin looked to Meklis for permission. He nodded, and the men rose.

Dootkasy draped his words in a tone of concern. “Please stay close, gentlemen. The president may have need of you in a moment.”

The men excused themselves and the administrative aide closed the door to the office, leaving the two most powerful men in Kyrgyzstan alone. The office. Twice the size of Dootkasy’s but, in his mind, filled with half the power.

“Sariev, this had better be good.” Meklis did not offer his PM a seat.

“I’m sorry to say there is nothing good about this.”

“News about the riots?”

“In a sense, but more pressing.” Dootkasy pointed at the president’s desktop computer. “May I, sir?”

Meklis narrowed his eyes but rose from his large executive chair, giving Dootkasy access to the device.

“I received this moments ago. It should have come to you first, but I haven’t had time to find out why it didn’t.” He inserted the flash drive into the USB port. “This is the only record of the event I know of although it was broadcast live.” He brought up the video but waited to hit play. “You may want to sit down for this, Mr. President.”

The impact of the statement showed on Meklis’s face. He did as Dootkasy said, lowering himself into the chair.

Dootkasy tapped the return key and the video began to play.

The female reporter.

The sporty red car.

The sudden appearance of a white van.

The abduction attempt.

The silver sedan rescuing Jildiz.

The gunfire. The wayward bullet fired by a man with a machine gun.

The blood and brains spatter of the reporter hitting the camera lens.

Meklis crossed himself, something Dootkasy couldn’t recall the man doing before.

The video ended and Dootkasy removed the video from the computer monitor. He left the flash drive in the computer for the moment.

“Look at me, Mr. President.”

Meklis didn’t move. Time for a more personal approach. “Meklis, my friend, look at me.”

The president raised his head. His skin was pale, his eyes wet, his body resembled a rag doll. “How . . . I mean . . . is she . . . dead?”

“No, sir. At least I don’t think so. I’ve been able to determine that your daughter and whoever helped her get away, I don’t know if . . .” He pretended to falter. “This is difficult. I don’t know if there are injuries. May I ask when you last heard from her?”

“Early afternoon. She was meeting with someone. We had tea before she left.”

“Forgive me for asking, but I am trying to help. With whom did she meet?”

“The woman from the United States. The military foreign affairs officer. Lennon. Amelia Lennon.”

Dootkasy spoke softly. “This may be important, Mr. President. Who asked for the meeting?”

“I don’t know. Why would that be important?”

“Sir, I will admit to being a little more suspicious than most. It is my Russian background. I am my father’s son and he had difficulty trusting anyone.” He drew a breath as if the next words took work to expel. “I wonder if the Americans are behind this.”

“The Americans? Certainly not. They need us.”

“But they are on the verge of losing rights to the Manas Airport. With the resurgence of al Qaeda in Afghanistan, they need the base all the more. Although they have been drawing down troops in Afghanistan and Iraq, they are still mired in their wars. With Iran feeding arms to Iraqi dissidents, hostilities are sure to break out again and you did say you were leaning toward revoking the Americans’ lease.”

“That’s . . . um . . . that’s why Jildiz was meeting with the American. They have developed a friendship and she wanted to personally tell her of my inclinations. She felt she owed the woman a face-to-face talk. Something without lawyers and diplomats.”

None of this was news to Dootkasy but he needed to keep up the appearance. “The driver who came to her rescue, could that be the American negotiator?”

Meklis shook his head. “I don’t know. All I saw was the car. I couldn’t make out the driver.”

“I understand, but I had to ask.” Dootkasy raised a finger to his chin.

“We have to find her. I need Emil and Boris in here.” He stood.

“Just a minute, Mr. President.”

“We don’t have minutes, Sariev. My little girl is in danger.”

“I understand, and I want you to know I have people working on it. Right now. I set things in motion the moment I received this.”

“You? I should be the one—”

“No, Mr. President, you shouldn’t.” He put a hand on Meklis’s shoulder, gently pushing him back to the chair. “Listen to me for a moment, then you can do as you see fit.”

“Make it fast.”

“There are many questions. This looks planned to me. Somehow, someone knew the road your daughter would be taking.”
Easy enough with the right spies and lookouts.
“Why do that? What do they have to gain? Why do this in the middle of riots?”

“Do you have answers?”

“Not yet, Mr. President. If she has been abducted, then someone will contact you. Maybe for a ransom. Who knows? Perhaps to force you to make a political concession. Maybe for some other reason. There are a dozen groups who hate your administration—”
A mistake.
“I should say,
the
administration. I don’t need to tell you how common this is in our history. I can tell by your surprise at this video that no one has contacted you.”

“True.”

“If they have her, they will. If they don’t, then she’s somewhere on the streets, alone.”

“Not alone. Someone came to her aid.”

“Perhaps, Mr. President. Assuming the Good Samaritan isn’t part of the plan—a diversion to buy time.”

“I see.”

“There is more.” He started to speak, pretending to search for just the right words. “Mr. President, I am normally a man good with words, but I’m not sure how to phrase this. May I speak plainly for a moment?”

“Yes.”

“You are now compromised and compromised at the worst time.” Dootkasy moved to a chair, sat, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “If you allocate police to find your daughter—which is my first inclination—you will be seen as putting her needs above the other citizens endangered by the violence in the streets. The same is true if you send soldiers to search for her. If we lose this building again, as we nearly did in 2010, then you will be blamed for valuing your daughter over country.”

“What father wouldn’t?”

“Not every father is the leader of a country in crisis.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I would not suggest this under any other circumstance, Mr. President. I have not had time to think this through, so I make this statement only as a suggestion to consider. When I leave, I will send in Gubuz and Abirov. Consult with them. Call in the leader of your party and discuss this with him if you wish. There may be details I’m overlooking.”

“The point, Mr. Prime Minister?”

“Let me take the lead on this. I already have men headed to the scene. They are good men. People I served with when I was an officer in our army. This way, you can keep police and soldiers protecting government buildings and other key areas. We’ve already lost phones and cell service. If this riot is as well organized as it seems, then we can expect to lose power too. Think of the problems that would create. The police and soldiers must be used to protect these installations and government buildings.”

He leaned back in the chair. “Now the words I don’t want to say. If your daughter is or has been abducted, then you will be . . . compromised. Any state decision you make will be suspect.”

“Your suggestion?”

“And at this point, that is all it is, Mr. President.” He sighed. “You may wish to consider transferring state power to me until your daughter is safely home.”

“You cannot be serious.” Meklis’s face flushed.

“Please understand, Mr. President. I am not thinking of myself. This goes beyond our past political squabbles. This is your family. By transferring power to me you will be taking the advantage away from the abductors.” He rose. “You will need some time to think about this. Please know I am here for you. I will inform you as soon as I hear from my men in the field.” He moved to the door. “One more thing, Mr. President. If the person in the silver sedan was indeed the American negotiator, then she is either part of the plot or a victim. If she is a victim, the U.S. military will send people after her.”

“They have been told they cannot interfere in our civil matters. That is part of our agreement.”

“Yes, sir, of course. But remember, this is not a civil matter to them. This Lennon woman is probably CIA or military. In either case, people are going to go searching for her.”

“If they know about the problem.”

“Sir, we know. And if we know, we can bet they know.”

Dootkasy walked from the office he felt was rightly his.

IT WAS AMELIA'S WORST
fear. She did her best to block the rear door, the one she took a sledgehammer to, but she couldn’t disguise the damage. Her hope was that anyone passing might blame the rioters for the destruction, but as yet, the mobs hadn’t reached this area. On the one hand that was good; on the other it meant the busted door here and the broken window in the hardware store opposite the alley might raise the attention of the guy searching for them.

When the teacups hit the floor and the boxes began to scrape along the storage room floor, Jildiz gasped. Amelia clamped a hand over her mouth, harder than she intended, then immediately relaxed her grip. She put her mouth by Jildiz’s ear. “No noise. Calm. Focus. Do as I say.”

Jildiz nodded and Amelia lowered her hand and gently pulled Jildiz from the chair. The woman shook but kept silent. Keeping her head low, she led Jildiz back into the drug prep room where the pharmacist bottled his pills for clients, the same area where she found the rescue inhaler for Jildiz.

“Stay low. Stay here.” Amelia’s statement was barely audible. She made sure Jildiz had the box cutter.

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea.” Amelia scooted along the floor, rounded the counter, and moved into the consumer area of the store, scanning the shelves for an idea, anything that could be used as a weapon. She grabbed a plastic bottle and a can of something she thought might be baby formula but didn’t take time to read the label.