Personal Assistance (Entangled Ignite) (13 page)

Jamal nodded slowly. “So you don’t know what the shipment was or who was supplying them with armaments?”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t recognize any of the dignitaries, and like I said, I wasn’t involved in the meeting. As a Westerner, I was only allowed to perform menial tasks. I had no real responsibility. I just booked the boardroom and arranged the tea and coffee.”

Jamal ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Sorry, believe me, after all you’ve done for us, if there was any way I could help you, I would,” she said. God willing, she would soon give the information she had to the Western forces, who were best equipped to take out Hakeem. After all, she had to try and make amends for her blunder. If the rebels had even an inkling about the information she held in her head, she would be interrogated and perhaps even tortured to tell what she knew. That was if Tom didn’t get to her first. His words came back to haunt her.

I can’t allow that to happen. It won’t get to that stage.

She shuddered at the thought.

There was a loud bang as a rocket-propelled grenade launched into the air, its trajectory curving right into the center of town. Seconds later, they heard a muted explosion.

“That’ll do some damage,” muttered Tom, obviously thankful for the distraction. “We’d better keep moving. The longer we stay here, the more chance we have of being discovered.”

“If we’re going into that”—she nodded toward the enemy line—“do you not think I should have a gun?”

“Do you know how to use one?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, but how hard can it be? I’ve seen teenagers shooting automatic rifles in the streets out there. If they can do it, so can I.”

“I’m not giving you an automatic rifle, because I don’t have a spare,” he said, unclipping the Sig Sauer 9mm pistol from his thigh holster. “But you can use this.” He looked at her ashen face. “Use two hands to keep it steady when you fire it. The safety is here.” He pointed to the little switch. “Make sure it’s off before you engage. Then all you have to do is aim and pull the trigger.”

It sounded simple enough. She took the gun, unprepared for the sheer weight of it. It was warm on the one side, from the heat of his thigh, and icy cold on the other. She gripped it tightly in her hand. Aim and fire, she repeated silently. She could do that.

He shot her a worried look. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded, trying to disguise the manic shaking of her hands. “But how are we going to get across the road?”

Jamal looked at Tom. “Grenades,” they both said simultaneously.

“Distraction tactics,” Tom informed her. “We’ll blast them with grenades, which they’ll think are coming from the rebels, and make a run for it. Aim for that bombed-out building over there. It looks vacant.”

“But it’s right next to the enemy,” she pointed out. “What if they see us?”

“They won’t. Not with our disturbance.”

Jamal added, “We won’t stay in the building. There’ll be an exit at the back.” He pointed to the road. “This is their perimeter. Once we get beyond these guys, we should be able to escape.” His eyes narrowed. “But stay low once you’re inside the building. Don’t let them see you through any of the windows.”

“Okay.” The urge to get to safety was overwhelming. She fingered the cool metal of the gun. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Right, I’m ready. Shall we do this?” Jamal asked.

He nodded. “Hannah, I want you to run for that building. Don’t look back; just run. We’ll meet you there.”

“You’d better.” She gave him a look that told him she meant it and got ready to run.

Tom gestured toward Jamal. “After you.”

Jamal skulked along the wall until he reached a deserted apartment block that was a shell of its former self. He disappeared inside. Tom followed after giving her once last nod of encouragement. Fat lot of good it did.

Her nerves were fraught with anticipation and her heart beat so violently, she could feel it in her throat.
I’m really doing this. I’m about to run through a hail of bullets into enemy territory.

A hand threw a grenade off the second or third story of the apartment block, she wasn’t sure which. Seconds later, there was a yell as the grenade erupted in the midst of the army soldiers. Bull’s-eye.

She forgot everything except to run. She flew across the road, ignoring the smoke and fire next to her. Her eyes were fixed on the building Tom had pointed out. It was only about thirty meters away, but it felt like thirty miles. The gun pressed into her palm, offering silent security. Head low, she weaved around yet another car carcass and ducked through a hole in a chicken-wire fence. Then with a final burst of speed, she threw herself into the doorway of the abandoned building.

Her chest burned from the sudden exertion, and she coughed involuntarily. Then she realized the building was filled with thick, acrid smoke. Ripping her scarf from her head, she tied it around her nose and mouth. One thing was certain, she couldn’t stay here or she’d suffocate.

Moving carefully through the debris inside the building, she headed toward the back of the room. The wall had been blown away, so she stepped through a rough arch and into another room, similar in size. It was slightly less smoky. Again, half of the room had been destroyed, so she climbed over some rubble until she was in a dusty hallway. The smoke dissipated as she made her way down it. There was a room at the end, the door hanging off its hinges. She peered into the room. No smoke, but there was a big window with half the glass missing. Remembering Jamal’s words, she sank to her knees and took great big gulps of air, trying to expel the smoke from her lungs.

Her throat was ragged and parched, so she put down the gun and took off her bag to get out the small bottle of water she’d brought along.

Would they find her here? She crouched below the window so if anyone glanced in they wouldn’t see her. It looked right over the action. There were army patrol cars in a semi-circle at the top of the street leading out of town. Soldiers swarmed around, carrying an assortment of heavy weapons. A couple of them were helping wounded men to the backline, as a result of Tom and Jamal’s grenades. This was a good vantage point.

“Who are you?” An angry voice in Arabic surprised her.

She looked up to see an army soldier standing a few meters away with his gun pointed at her head.

Chapter Ten

Hannah stared at the soldier, dressed in the dark green and brown army fatigues of the Symanian Army. He had short hair, covered by an army cap, and stubble, not a beard like many of his compatriots. His eyes were dark and suspicious.

“I’m trapped. I need to get back to my family,” she said, hoping to talk her way out. If he thought she was a local woman, perhaps he wouldn’t report her to his commanding officer. She knew there was a high chance he’d seen her photo or been briefed about her.

The soldier frowned, eyeing the scarf around her nose and mouth. Hannah hurriedly pulled it back up over her hair. She slid the gun behind her back out of sight.

“Get up,” he ordered, gesturing with his weapon for her to stand.

“Will you take me back to my family?” she asked, wobbling as she got to her feet, still holding the gun behind her back. “I was too scared to go outside with all the fighting.”

The soldier was fairly smart. “Which part of the neighborhood are you from?” he asked, lowering his weapon only slightly.

“Al-Mahilyah” she replied, recalling one of the northern districts on the map. Thank goodness for her memory.

The soldier studied her face, then gave a curt nod. “Come with me.”

He reholstered his weapon and gripped her arm to escort her out of the building. She hurriedly kicked her bag behind what was left of an overturned table. In this situation, her British passport would be a death sentence. Unfortunately she couldn’t get rid of the weapon. There wasn’t time.

It was only seconds before the army officer noticed the revolver she was trying to hide.

“What?” His hand flew to his holster.

She raised the gun and pointed it at him. She didn’t have a choice. He’d seen it, so her cover was blown. Why had she taken the damn thing?

If only her hand would stop shaking. Damn, it was heavy. Her arm ached. She supported her shuddering wrist with her other hand.

“Leave it. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”

He studied her warily. “Where did you get the gun?”

She nodded toward the door. “I found it in the front room. I’m from al-Mahilyah, I told you. All I want is it go back to my family.”

“You are lying,” he spat, taking a step closer, his hand still hovering over his own gun.

“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.” She stiffened her spine. In desperation, she realized she would indeed pull the trigger if she had to.
I’m not going to die here
.
If I have to kill him to get away, so be it.

She was already wanted for treason, a crime punishable by death. What did it matter if she was wanted for murder, too?

The soldier paused, sensing her determination. Then his gaze flickered over the gun, and a sly smile spread across his face. “No you won’t,” he said quietly.

She looked into his eyes and knew he was going to attack her. She pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. She pulled it again.

Nothing but a dull click.

“Wha…?”

It was too late. Before she could blink, the soldier was on top of her, wrestling the gun out of her hands.

“You forgot the safety,” he jeered, as he held her in a vice-like grip from behind. The gun he threw across the floor out of reach.

She nearly wept.
Idiot, s
he berated herself. Tom had warned her about the safety.

He tore the scarf from her head and pulled her hair roughly backward so her face was pointing upward, in clear view. “You are not from here. Your skin is too pale for a local woman.”

She remained silent. It was best not to talk anymore lest she give something away. Oh where were Tom and Jamal? What was keeping them?

All the other times she’d been in danger, Tom had miraculously appeared to rescue her. He was her savior. Her eyes darted to the door in hopes of seeing his brawny frame walk through it, rifle at the ready.

Except he didn’t come.

“Are you a spy? A traitor to the regime?” The soldier gripped her robe under the arm and ripped it downward, creating a gaping hole through which her skirt and blouse could easily be seen. It seemed to infuriate him. “Woman in Syman do not dress like this.”

“The ones that work do,” she retorted, thinking of the secretaries and PAs she’d dealt with in Syman City.

He sneered. “But not in Jemah. This is a poor town. You don’t belong here.”

Roughly, he pulled her out of the building. She strained her neck to see if she could spot Tom or Jamal down the smoky corridor, but there was no sign of them.

“Help!” she screamed, overcome by fear. Perhaps they’d hear her and come running. It was her last chance at rescue.

The soldier frowned and twisted her arm behind her back.

She gasped from the pain.

“Shut up, or I’ll break it,” he warned. He wasn’t kidding. Her shoulder was about to pop out of its joint. She bit her tongue and fought back the tears. No one was coming to her rescue. This time Tom wouldn’t be able to save her.

She was half marched, half dragged through the busy front lines. Men walked quickly in all directions, draped with enough heavy artillery to blast away for hours if needs be. Many crouched beneath man-made walls of rubble and sandbags, waiting for the command to resume firing or to throw a grenade into the midst of the rebel fighters.

She thought of Jamal and his cause. Did they stand a chance against these well-armed troops?

The soldier led her to the rear of the encampment where a group of large tents had been erected. It was quieter here with less frenetic activity but still a sense of urgency. The army was fighting for control over the rebel-held town, and every soldier wore an expression of determination as they went about their business.

He pushed her into one of the tents. It was fairly spacious with a wooden table in the center, covered with maps and rulers.

“Sit down,” he ordered, pushing her into the only chair in the tent. He secured her hands behind her back with plastic handcuffs. She had seen them on TV in cop shows but had never in a million years envisioned that one day they’d be used on her. They were tight and cut into her wrists.

“Wait here,” he barked, leaving her alone. Her hopes surged. She tried to get up but realized the bastard had tied her to the wooden frame of the chair. She wasn’t going anywhere without dragging the chair with her.

Her hopes were further dashed when another soldier came in seconds later. This one was tall, with a beard and bad teeth. He leered at her, a large semi-automatic rifle, not unlike Tom’s, slung over his shoulder.

“So you don’t go anywhere,” he said maliciously, nodding to his weapon.

How would Tom ever find her here? Would he even try? Probably not. It was far too dangerous. He couldn’t blast his way across a sea of Symanian Army soldiers to get her. It was simply not possible.

No, he would have to be logical and think of the mission. There was nothing he could do to save her. She was on her own.

She felt like a cat that had used up all its nine lives. Hot tears ran down her face. She didn’t even bother to curtail them, despite the guard’s snickering. What was the point? It was well and truly game over.

…

“Where is she?” Jamal turned to Tom, who had just ducked into the abandoned building behind him. “She was supposed to wait here.”

Tom quickly looked around. The place was still acrid with smoke. “She would have gone farther into the building,” he said. “The smoke is too heavy here.”

They moved to the next room. There was no sign of her.

Tom beckoned to Jamal to follow him down the corridor. Both men had their weapons raised and trod lightly on their feet, expecting the unexpected.

Tom’s rifle was the first thing to enter the room with the open window.

“Clear,” he called, as he crouched down out of view.

Jamal entered in similar style, a worried expression on his face. “This is not good.”

The SAS soldier glanced around the room, his trained eye looking for anomalies. His entire body went cold when he spotted the discarded headscarf. An electric shock reverberated through him.

“She’s been taken,” he said in a strangled whisper.

“Look. Over here.” Jamal picked up the gun. “She must have tried to defend herself.”

“Unsuccessfully, it seems.” Tom picked up her bag from behind the table. She must have hidden it when she was discovered.
Clever girl.
His heart swelled with pride at her quick thinking. To have her identity known would be tantamount to an arrest warrant. She was playing for time.

He studied the room. There were no bloodstains anywhere. No sign of a struggle, although it would be hard to tell in this dilapidated old building where the floor was already littered with wood shavings, blown-apart remnants of furniture, and broken glass.

He shut his eyes and replayed the events that must have taken place.

Hannah takes refuge in this room to escape the smoke. The window is open. She’s spotted from the outside. A soldier comes in and surprises her. She hides the bag and tries to act dumb, but it doesn’t work. Then she points the gun at him, but he’s too quick. He takes it off her, easily. She has no training. The soldier removes her scarf and sees her Western features, pale skin, and clothes. He’s been well trained. He knows something is wrong. He takes her to his supervisor.

From his vantage point behind the open window, Tom peered into the dusty interior of the Symanian army camp.

“Where are you, Hannah?” he murmured.

He couldn’t bear to think of her at the mercy of the Symanian Army. She must be so frightened. Rage and fear threatened to engulf him. With a superhuman effort, he banished the destructive emotions from his mind and forced himself to think clearly.

Analyze the situation. Get the facts. Assess the risks.

“She must be in one of the administrative areas. My guess is one of those tents on the outer rim of the camp.”

Jamal nodded, coming to the same conclusion. “The only consolation is she won’t be anywhere near the front line. Not if they want to keep her alive.”

Once they found out who she was, they’d kill her instantly. Hakeem couldn’t afford to let her live. Which meant they didn’t have much time. He kicked the table in frustration. “I’ve got to get her out.”

Jamal rubbed his head but didn’t contradict Tom or try to talk him out of it. It wouldn’t have done any good. Perhaps the freedom fighter knew that. “This complicates things,” he said carefully. “You can’t just stroll in there and take her back. You look like one of us. You’ll be shot before you get close enough to do any damage.”

“Then I’ll look like one of them.”

His friend instantly comprehended the plan. He rubbed his chin. “That could work to find her. But you’ll have to work fast, and you’ll need some sort of a distraction on the way out. She’s too noticeable. Plus, she’ll be under guard.”

“Perhaps if you can talk to Abu-al-Rashid’s men, you can arrange a little distraction?”

Jamal, his dark eyes wary, said, “That shouldn’t be a problem. Not after what we did for his nephew. The only problem is timing. How will we know when you’ve found her?”

Tom appreciated that he’d said “when,” not “if.”

He glanced at his watch and then made a decision.

“Give me half an hour. If I haven’t found her by then…” He shrugged, unable to utter the words out loud.

Thirty minutes should be more than enough. There were only so many places she could be.

“Good luck.”

The two men shook hands, and Jamal retraced his steps out of the smoke-filled building and back to Abu-al-Rashid and his troops.

Tom focused all his energy and training on the task ahead. He darted out the back and crept up to the corner of the street, staying close to the wall. He waited in the shadows until an unsuspecting soldier walked past. Then without warning, sprang into action.

The soldier didn’t see it coming. Within seconds he’d been bashed on the head with the butt of Tom’s rifle, dragged behind the blown-up building, stripped of his uniform, and trussed up against a window frame.

Shortly afterward, Tom emerged, playing the part of a Symanian army officer, complete with maroon cap and standard issue AK-47 rifle. His own G3 rifle he hid inside the building under a pile of rubble. Regretfully, it might draw suspicions.

He checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes remaining. He had to find her so they could escape in the convenient distraction that Jamal and Abu-al-Rashid’s men would provide.