Personal Assistance (Entangled Ignite) (5 page)

“Sounds good. Let’s go.” She made to stand up.

“Whoa! Hold on.” He motioned for her to sit down again. “We can’t leave now, there’s a curfew in place. It’s too dangerous to go strolling around the streets after dark. Early morning will be the best time, when everyone is on their way to work.”

She eased back into her seat. “Won’t it get harder to leave with the trouble escalating? What if the armed forces decide to attack Syman City, too? Then we’d be in danger. I’d rather leave and take my chance with the curfew.” She didn’t want to risk not being able to get out of town at all.

“Trust me, we won’t make it around the block. No one will be out, except Hakeem’s men, looking for you—and the army, patrolling the streets—which in your case amounts to the same thing. We wait for the morning and hide among the crowds, in plain sight.”

She was tired, and her feet hurt. Not going anywhere else tonight was very appealing. Hopefully, the city wouldn’t come under attack while they slept. “You’re the expert,” she conceded.

He spread his hand over the map. “Hakeem will have men on the lookout for you, so we must remain alert and try to blend in. If we go south,” he traced a route with his finger, “we can hitch a ride out of town on this arterial road. It will take us within a few miles of the Air Force base.”

“Won’t Hakeem’s men be watching the roads?”

“Yes, but they’ll be looking for a blond English woman. You’ll be disguised as a local. Your hair is black, you can wear your
souk
outfit and scarf, plus you speak the language. It is still risky, but there isn’t time to go cross country.” He didn’t need to elaborate. He’d briefed her after the phone call about the air strikes. She knew there was a great deal riding on them getting out in time to stop it.

A voice in her head told her she ought to give him the locations, but realistically, what good would that do? With the cellular network down he couldn’t relay the locations back to HQ. Besides, the information was her bargaining chip to ensure he got her safely out and didn’t leave her behind.

“What are you going to wear? Not that, I hope?” She cast her eye over his uniform.

That made him smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not going like this. I’ll be a freedom fighter on my way to support my rebel brothers in Al Teham. There are lots of rebels and sympathizers around. They’re all toting guns and rifles, so I shouldn’t stand out too much.”

“Al Teham?”

“That’s a village just outside of Syman City. I believe the rebels are amassing there, under the leader, Abu-al-Rashid. From there they’ll attack the head of Hakeem’s organization.”

“The royal compound?” she whispered. Thank God she’d gotten out when she did. Without that document, she’d have been oblivious to the imminent threat. Once the rebel fighters opened fire, she, and all the others, would have been trapped. She shivered, unwilling to think of what might have happened.

“Where else?” He confirmed with a nod. “Your old place of residence.”

“Please, don’t remind me.”

He gave her an odd look. “Why did you take the job with Prince Hakeem? You could have found a similar position in London. Why come here?”

She smiled, a wistful gaze in her eye. “It seemed exciting at the time. I want to go into public relations, so this was a great opportunity for me and would look impressive on my resume. Plus, he offered an excellent benefits package.”

Pity she only managed to earn six months of it. Not enough to start her own PR business. But on the other hand, at least she was still alive.

“You mentioned your grandfather was Symanian?”

He remembered. “That’s right. He practically raised me, which is why I’m fluent in Arabic, particularly the Symanian dialect. I always wanted to visit Syman, so it seemed like a perfect opportunity.”

Tom studied her thoughtfully. “Your ability to speak the language will be an asset. I know a few words here and there, but not enough to pass for a local.”

“Are you saying I should do all the talking?”

“If necessary. Let’s see how it goes. We’ll leave at first light.”

She tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. She’d been on the run for most of the day and had finally reached her limit. Drowsiness engulfed her.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” he suggested, leaning back in his chair. “You’re exhausted.”

She stood up. “I think I will, if you don’t mind.” She hesitated awkwardly. There was only one bed in the apartment. “Where should I sleep?”

He nodded toward the bedroom. “You take the bed. I’ll sleep in the lounge, on the couch. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe here tonight.”

Relieved, she made her way around the table. He went back to studying the map.

“Tom…” He looked up, his eyes startlingly blue in his tanned face. “Thank you for everything. I mean it. I don’t know what I would have done without you today.” Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

He stared at her for a long moment, then said, “You don’t have to thank me. It was my duty to protect you. I was just doing my job.”

She nodded slowly. “Well, I just wanted to say thank you.” And with that she walked stiffly into the bedroom.

Chapter Four

They set off straight after breakfast. Hannah was fully dressed in her traditional garments, complete with new headscarf and shoes. She felt a hundred times better after a solid night’s sleep in Tom’s bed. Knowing he was in the lounge, keeping watch, had made her feel as safe as she could under the circumstances. The result being she’d slept like a baby.

He strode down the street next to her, acting the part of a rebel sympathizer on his way to Al Teham. He neither walked too fast, nor too slow. Nothing to draw unwanted attention. He wore beige combat pants, with a black T-shirt, under a loose button-down shirt, with a bandana tied around his neck. On his back was a rucksack filled with supplies for their journey. He purposely hadn’t shaved, so his stubble was even longer today, covering the lower half of his face. With his hair slightly longer than the traditional military cut, tanned skin, and bright blue eyes, he looked every inch the dashing freedom fighter.

He still wore his rifle across his body, but when she looked around, Hannah realized many of the men carried weapons. This was a country in the throes of a civil war. Soldiers shared the streets with civilians on their way to work and men dressed like Tom, rebels on their way to gatherings and to fight the army.

No one looked twice at them as they made their way from Tom’s apartment through the residential area, but he wasn’t taking any chances. “Keep your head down. Hakeem’s men will have spies out looking for you; you can count on it.”

“If it wasn’t for my photographic memory, he would have let me go,” she murmured. “They must have found the document in the
souk
by now.”

Tom looked grim. “I’m afraid Hakeem’s going to come after you with everything he’s got. You’re a threat to national security. Not only can you tell the Allies what attacks the regime is planning, but you also know where they’re hiding—and operating—from.”

“I’m aware of all this,” she said, staring at the ground as they walked. “Believe me, if I could have done something to avert yesterday’s chemical attack, I would have. I didn’t realize they’d act so soon.”

“There’s no point in feeling guilty about that. You couldn’t have known.” He glanced sideways at her. “But you could give me the location of the safe houses. That would allow us to send in our special forces and end Hakeem’s reign of terror, before he does any more damage.”

She squared her shoulders. “I will give you the information. As soon as we’re on that plane. It’s not going to do you much good now; you can’t relay it back with the communications network down.”

“Yes, but if something happens to you, at least I can still get it out.” It was a valid point, but not one she wanted to hear.

She stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Exactly, Sergeant. That’s why I’d rather give it to you on the plane. That way I can be sure nothing
is
going to happen to me.”

He didn’t break his stride, obviously expecting her to say that. “Let’s keep moving then. The Allies are planning air strikes in forty-eight hours. We don’t have much time.”

A couple of blocks later they left the suburb where Tom lived and entered the fringes of the city. The buildings got taller and thinner. Wires crisscrossed the sky above them, suspended by long, wooden telegraph poles. Residential houses were replaced by stores, with boxes stacked outside their front doors, displaying their wares.

He stopped outside a newsstand. He picked up a local paper and scanned a headline halfway down the page. He pointed to it. “What does this say?”

The front page was covered with ghastly photographs of civilian casualties from the chemical mortar attack in Hamabad. Hannah tried not to look at them and focused on his finger. “It’s a sandstorm warning. For today. Oh no.”

Tom frowned. “What’s the estimated time of arrival?”

She scanned the article. “This afternoon. Three o’clock.”

“So we’ve got until 1500 hours to get to the base. That doesn’t leave us much time. Come on. Let’s move.” He strode off, a bit faster than before, but still not rushing. Still not doing anything to draw attention to them. He didn’t even take the most direct route to the southern motorway. Instead, they zigzagged through town, merging with other people, acting as normally as possible.

There was less talking, though. He issued instructions on which way to go, and when to stay in the shadows, but apart from that, he remained silent. She didn’t feel much like speaking anyway. She was still trying to get her head around the fact that she was a walking memory stick of information, vital to ending this war.

He put a hand on her back and pointed down a short road, bustling with pedestrians. “Watch out!” he called, gripping her arm and pulling her out of the way as four men stormed past at a run.

Although he was doing a supreme job of looking after her, she was very much aware that his priority—his duty—was to get the information into the right hands as quickly as possible.

If something happens to you, at least I can still get it out.

The road widened into a busy square, where the two main roads from the east and the west connected in a giant circular intersection. Intended as a recreational area for workers from this business district, it contained some impressive modern architecture, mixed with ancient buildings from centuries past, bordered by a five-lane traffic circle. Right now, however, it was packed with angry civilians and rebels.

“This doesn’t look good.” She watched as a man fired his rifle into the sky. Someone else yelled an anti-government slogan, and soon a group of them were chanting it, waving their guns in the air.

The crowd got thicker as they watched from the approach street. There was a feminine cry behind them, and both Hannah and Tom spun around. A woman had been pushed to the pavement by two burly men in suits. She was pale-skinned, with dyed blond hair in a ponytail.

“Oh my God, it’s Anwar Abdul’s men. I recognize them from the compound.”

“Don’t look at them,” barked Tom, but it was too late. They saw her face and broke into a run toward them, one touching his earpiece.

Breathless with panic, she dug her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “What should we do?”

“We’re going in,” he said, grabbing her hand and running into the square toward the excited mob. “Hopefully we can lose them in the rally.”

An array of bullets pinged off the wall next to them, sending fragments of paint and concrete falling to the ground. “They’re shooting at us,” yelled Hannah in disbelief, not that he wouldn’t already have figured that out.

He gripped her hand even harder. “Keep going. A moving target is harder to hit.”

It better be.

He weaved around pedestrians on their way to join the rally, and she tried her best to keep up with his long strides without stumbling. Eventually they had to slow down as they melded with the thickest part of the crowd.

The mob was two or three hundred men-deep and growing by the minute. There didn’t appear to be any women around. She glanced over her shoulder, but because of the animated nature of the crowd, she couldn’t make out the two men that were following them.

“They won’t risk shooting here,” he told her. “Come on. Let’s get to the other side.” He squinted at her, and whatever he saw in her expression caused him to add, “It’s going to be fine, just… Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

Don’t let go.
She gulped and gripped his hand as if her life depended on it. The swarm of protesters was packed so tightly into the square that it buzzed with a life force of its own. The mob propelled them forward, toward the center of the chaos. Several times she lost her footing, and had she not been clinging to Tom, she would have been crushed underfoot.

Protesters fired their weapons up at the sky, egging on their fellow freedom fighters. Amidst the general roar of the crowd, she could hear chants of “Free Syman!” in Arabic.

A loud bang sounded as someone discharged a shotgun only meters away. The noise of the crowd dimmed, and she clutched her head, knowing as she did so that it wouldn’t do anything to stop the sudden, shrill ringing in her ears. Tom didn’t miss a beat. He linked an arm around her waist and thrust her through the mass of protesters, using his bulk as a shield and his incredible strength to barrage his way through.

She let him half guide, half carry her to the opposite side. She felt battered and bruised, and more than a little disoriented by the time they got to the relative safety of a mosque entrance, which was set back from the square.

He still held her around the waist, which she was grateful for, as she felt rather off balance. She put a hand against his chest to steady herself. His heart beat solidly under her palm. Its steady rhythm fed strength back into her body.

“We’ll wait here until you get your bearings.”

She rested her forehead on his shoulder, waiting for the ringing in her ears to subside. “I’ll be okay in a minute”.

Then something changed in the way he held her. His arm went from supportive to tender, holding her gently against him, rather than merely upright. Still trembling from the onslaught of the mob, she leaned into his hard body for support. The faint scent of his aftershave filtered into her nostrils, overriding her senses. He smelled and felt so good, she wanted to cling on forever and forget where she was and the dangers that lie ahead.

“I think we lost them,” he murmured, gently extracting himself from her embrace. “No one could have followed us through that.”

She straightened and stepped back, out of his personal space and back into reality. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She managed a thin smile. “I’m fine now.”

The mob was becoming more agitated. One man had climbed up on a statue and was shouting chants at the crowd, who yelled back in unison. Men poured in from all directions. Everyone had guns or a weapon of some kind. A youth threw a rock at a glass shop window, which smashed all over the pavement.

“It’s turning ugly,” he cautioned. “Let’s get out of here. I can’t see our friends anywhere.”

After the busy intersection, they stuck to back alleys, finally emerging in front of a small pavement café that looked out at Highway 80, the four-lane, north-south highway that coincidentally shared the same number as Iraq’s “Highway of Death.” She hoped that wasn’t an omen.

“The air base is ten miles south on 80.” He stared out at the road from under the shadows of the café’s dirty awning. It was a good spot to survey the freeway and keep out of direct view. “Let’s see if we can hitch a ride.”

“From here?” She looked doubtfully at the steady stream of traffic turning onto the highway. There was no stopping until the traffic lights turned red, and it would be too obvious to try and hitch a lift then. Someone would spot them for sure.

“No, we’ll cross over onto the hard shoulder and walk for a while up the road. We can wait in a rest stop, out of sight. That’s the safest bet.”

A steady stream of people, mostly families and elderly couples, also trudged along the edge of the highway. The men carried suitcases and travel bags, while mothers gripped onto tiny hands to prevent the children from running into the road—their aim being to leave the city before the violence began.

She wanted to reassure them that it was going to be okay. That once she got back to England and relayed what was in her head, special forces would capture Hakeem and his government, and the violence would end. There would be no air strikes, no ongoing civil war, like in Syria. But she didn’t dare, because what if she was wrong? What if they couldn’t get out in time or if she was captured? What then?

“Won’t Hakeem’s men be expecting this?” She felt sick to her stomach. In a way, all these people depended on her, and she in turn depended on Tom. She glanced at the SAS soldier, so confident, so capable. But would he be able to protect her from a regime that couldn’t afford to let her live?

“They’re looking for a blond Westerner, not a local woman with a rebel sympathizer. Those two guys in the square wouldn’t have seen your hair, and if they did, they wouldn’t have had time to relay the information back to their colleagues yet. We’ve got a narrow margin in which to exit this city. We must use it well.”

They crossed at the traffic lights, Hannah keeping her head well down, while Tom remained alert, his head moving slowly from left to right like a radio beacon. No one stopped them, and so they blended with the civilian exodus from Syman City.

They were almost at the first rest area when five or six police vehicles roared past, sirens wailing and blue lights flashing. Tom muttered an expletive and pulled her back into the sparse vegetation that lined the dusty off-road patch.

They watched as the cars came to a screeching halt about a mile up ahead. The blue lights could clearly be seen from their position. And they weren’t getting any smaller.

“They’re setting up an army checkpoint.” His expression was grim.

She felt like crying. “We nearly made it.” The blue lights spread out across the road and the traffic started backing up. “Now what?”

“They’re going to stop more rebels from entering the city and joining the rallies.”

“You mean it’s not for me?”

“Not officially, no. But they’ll have orders to watch out for you.”

With the cars reducing speed in lieu of the checkpoint, it was easier to flag someone down. The first car was a lone driver, a man. He let that one pass.

The second was a smart Mercedes with two businessmen inside. While she was tempted to shove Tom out into the road to get their attention, he didn’t stop them, either.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Something they’re not expecting,” he replied, his eyes squinting at the next car, a silver sedan, slightly run down, not the latest model. There was a woman next to the driver and another two people in the back. Tom jumped out into the road, waving his hand and forcing the driver to stop. The army definitely wouldn’t be looking for a family.

Tom beckoned Hannah over. “Ask him where he’s going.”

She did as she was told, in flawlessly accented Arabic. The man didn’t seem to realize she was a Westerner. She took that as a good sign.