by Angel Vane
“What about Grace Kadenge?” Assad asked, stepping onto the concrete landing next to Tubeec.
“Leave her. She’s no use to us now.” Tubeec headed toward the front cab of the truck.
Grabbing the handle, Tubeec opened the door and nodded to Cangrejos.
Cangrejos lifted his cell phone, speaking quickly, “Exiting in twenty seconds. Coordinate and deploy to your routes now.”
Tubeec grabbed the seat belt and clicked it into place.
Five identical East African Flower Company trucks were strategically located within one mile of the museum. The strike team and the bombers were to evacuate to the designated areas, each driving one of the trucks around the downtown area for five minutes until Cangrejos made it to the highway. The trucks would then take their pre-planned routes along the same highway to different destinations.
“Law enforcement on the ground, but all of our men have vacated the museum premises,” Cangrejos said.
As the truck pulled out of the docking area, passing through the narrow alley, Tubeec looked down at Grace’s bloody body lying limp on the ground. He could see the slight movement of her torso. She wasn’t dead … yet.
As Cangrejos steered the truck to the left, onto the main thoroughfare, Tubeec put his earpods in his ears, cranking up the American hip-hop music he loved. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed his cell phone and entered the six-digit code.
Seconds later, a giant burst of flames shot through the air.
Chapter Nineteen
Fumbling with his cell phone, Julian ran faster, pushing and shoving through hoards of screaming tourists and locals fleeing the museum and corporate buildings. Women clutched their purses, running barefoot down the crowded street. Men sprinted past, knocking over slower pedestrians. Panic and fear etched on their faces as they passed him.
The ringing in his ear continued until he heard Mena’s voice message … again.
Damn it!
Why wasn’t she answering her phone?
Two more blocks and he’d be at the museum. The acrid smell of gas and gunpowder intensified as he approached the last block.
Police officers, swinging their arms like windmills, ushered the crowds to safety far away from the museum.
While everyone was fleeing danger, Julian surged toward it. The heat brushed hot waves against his skin as he bumped and maneuvered through the bodies pressing past him.
Julian slowed his pace as he reached the end of the street. The Tribal Museum loomed ahead. The modern building, acclaimed as a museum of the future, was engulfed in flames. Shattered glass from the ground floor windows littered the road. Bushes, flowers, and trees disintegrated as orange flames danced across the sculptures adorning the front lawn of the museum, burning everything in sight. The air was thick with plumes of black smoke, choking his lungs.
A warzone stretched before him. Julian shielded his eyes, air pumping heavily in and out of his lungs. His mouth went dry as he tried to swallow past the smoke scratching his throat.
Would he ever see Mena’s stunning smile again?
Could he be left with nothing but memories of the woman he loved more than anything in this world?
Shaking the thoughts away, Julian skirted around the barricades and ran along the sidewalk across from the museum. Heavily armed Kenyan Police officers darted back and forth, trying to create a trail to evacuate people away from the museum as the front facade burned into the late evening sky. Sirens could be heard in the distance, battling the sounds of popping glass, crackling scorched earth, and twisting molten metal.
Julian couldn’t fathom what life would be like without Mena.
He would gladly sacrifice everything to know she was safe and—
A second explosion ripped through the air.
The wave of the blast slammed into Julian’s chest, knocking him backward, banging his head against the concrete street. Julian struggled to get his bearings as piercing screams erupted around him. Dozens of feet trampled past. He rolled over, shaking the dizziness from his head, his eyes drawn to a severed leg less than ten feet away. The street was bloodstained. Broken glass and metal littered the road as people ignored the directions of the police officers trying to maintain order.
The smell of burning gas smothered him as the truck parked in front of the museum ignited with fresh flames, the charred metal crumpling in the heat, leaving an ashy white hollow shell.
The Irungu Center extended out from the side of the museum, seemingly unaffected by the blasts burning the museum next to it.
Could Mena still be inside?
Her offices were in the Irungu Center, not in the museum. She could have heard the commotion and evacuated the building. He needed to make sure the people in the Irungu Center had gotten out safely.
Julian rose, checking the back of his head for any blood. A round knot was developing, but he was otherwise unharmed. Uniformed Kenyan police officers stood outside the revolving glass doors of the Irungu Center. Julian jogged across the street toward the officers.
“Is anyone still inside the Irungu Center, or were they all evacuated?” Julian demanded.
“This area is off-limits. You have to leave sir. Please follow the instructions of the police and exit the museum complex.” One of the officers responded, pointing across the street.
“You need to leave this area now,” another officer commanded.
“My girlfriend works in this building. I’m trying to find out if she’s okay. Can you at least tell me that?” Julian asked, growing frustrated.
“We can’t give any details. I’d suggest you call the police hotline that was set up to connect families with loved ones working in the area. You will be able to get the information you are looking for there,” the first officer said.
“It’s too dangerous for you to be in this area, please cross the street and follow the directions of the officers over there,” the second officer added, slipping a hand on his gun.
The last thing Julian needed was to make a scene and get hauled off to jail before he could find Mena. Julian turned and walked along the length of the Center toward the back alley. He knew he could get inside and search himself if the police hadn’t locked down the building. Reaching the entrance to the alley, Julian watched as a group of paramedics emerged. A woman lay on the gurney being pushed by two of the EMTs, her yellow dress soaked in dark red blood. Julian focused on her face, recognizing her instantly. It was Mena’s co-worker from the fundraising dinner. He couldn’t remember her name.
Julian ran over to one of the EMTs, trailing the other paramedics.
“Are there any other casualties from inside the Irungu Center? I’m looking for my girlfriend,” Julian said, the words rushing from his mouth as his heart pounded in his chest.
The guy looked up at him, sympathy in his eyes as he shook his head. “Building was empty. We found her in the alley suffering from multiple gunshots. No other victims. I hope you find your girl. This massacre is one of the worst we’ve experienced in a hell of a long time.”
“Thanks,” Julian said, but he wasn’t sure if he meant it. He still had no idea where Mena was or if she was safe or lying somewhere with bullets riddling her body like the lady on the gurney.
“Montgomery!”
Julian spun around to see Sunny waving at him from across the street. A black Mercedes idled behind her as she ran toward him.
Sunny grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the parked car. “You have to come with me. While the bombs were going off outside the museum, a group of terrorists entered the Irungu Center and kidnapped Wangari Irungu. Her family wants us involved in the search.”
“I can’t. I have to find Mena. Once I know she’s okay, I’ll join you,” Julian said, pushing away from Sunny’s tight grip.
“Montgomery! Mena isn’t in there,” Sunny said.
“How do you know? Where is she?” Julian demanded.
“The terrorists detonated two bombs outside the museum and sent four gunmen inside to shoot at
innocent people—”
“I know all of that. Where is Mena?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. All of that was done to cover up the fact that another smaller team of terrorists entered the Irungu Center and kidnapped Wangari Irungu … you have to come with me. We need to start the search to find her,” Sunny insisted.
“I’m sorry that Wangari was kidnapped,” Julian said, and he meant it. The lengths this group had gone through to abduct one of the richest heiresses in Africa was mind-boggling. But Wangari couldn’t be his priority right now. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you in the search for her, but not until I find Mena. Do you know where she is?”
Sunny took a deep breath. “That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. They didn’t just kidnap Wangari …”
“They took Mena?” Julian asked, gripping Sunny’s shoulders. “The fuckers took Mena, too?”
Sunny nodded slowly. “You help us save Wangari Irungu’s life and you’ll also save Mena’s.”
Chapter Twenty
Easing back against the soft leather of the Mercedes, Julian pondered the assessment of the report completed by the Irungu Family’s security team. He was convinced the attack on the museum was related to the botched suicide bombing he’d thwarted three days ago, even though no terrorist group had claimed responsibility for it.
The report indicated skepticism that terrorists were behind the kidnapping of the Irungu Center employees. It presented a different conclusion, one Julian hadn’t anticipated or considered.
Non-terrorist conspired kidnapping with political revenge motive.
Summoned to the corporate headquarters of the Irungu horticultural conglomerate, Julian had spent the past hour with Sunny and the rest of the TIDES team. In a large conference room, they were debriefed on the latest news about the shooting and bombing at the museum and the kidnapping of Wangari and her team of conservators. The family was keen to get TIDES involved in the search. Sunny would remain at the Irungu’s sprawling estate in Runda, working side-by-side with the head of their security team. Timothy Irungu had specifically asked Julian to lead the field teams and liaise with the African Special Forces on behalf of the family.
Julian had accepted without hesitation.
There was no subtlety in the patriarch’s urgent request. Timothy Irungu knew Julian had as much to lose as he did, which was why he wanted Julian on the ground leading the search and rescue efforts with the ASF. In addition to Mena and Wangari, a third conservator, Isaac Gatobu, was also kidnapped. The fourth conservator, Grace Kadenge, was the woman the EMTs had placed into the back of an ambulance. Her injuries were serious, but initial reports from the hospital indicated that she would survive.
Flipping through the report, Julian re-read the section on Wangari’s husband, Okeyo Lagat. The scathing assessment of the current Director of Public Prosecutions and his unintended role in the kidnapping was alarming. Lagat was credited for his aggressive efforts to get rid of the financial corruption that had crippled the Kenyan government for decades, but the assessment also blamed him. Over the past four years, Lagat had prosecuted many high ranking members of government and local business leaders—any one of whom might be seeking revenge for their loss of status, money, and in certain cases, freedom. The Irungu security team had concluded that Wangari’s kidnapping was likely orchestrated by an enemy of her husband.
Julian exhaled.
If revenge really was the motive, the kidnappers wouldn’t be swayed by money. They’d be hell-bent on making Lagat pay.
Focusing on the report again, Julian considered another disturbing detail. The kidnappers had taken extra hostages. Expendables. Mena and the other conservator, Isaac, might be killed if the kidnappers wanted to prove a point. The point being that they were serious and not to be fucked with.
Julian wasn’t going to let Mena be an unwitting victim of a political fight that had nothing to do with her. He couldn’t let her suffer the consequences of being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not again.
As the car slowed near a gated parking garage, Julian scanned the area around the building. The United Nations Complex and the U.S. embassy loomed in the distance. The metal gate lifted, and the driver turned the car into the garage, descending down the ramp of the darkened structure. Slowly proceeding past rows of dark luxury vehicles with black tinted windows, neatly parked in the center of the spaces, the Mercedes descended two more levels before stopping in front of a set of glass doors.
Sliding across the leather seats, Julian left the report on the floorboard of the backseat and exited the sedan.
A soldier dressed in gray military fatigues greeted him. “This way.”
Julian followed him through the glass doors and down a short hallway to an open elevator. Stepping inside, Julian stood between two armed guards in the oversized compartment. The metal doors slid together silently, and the elevator began its descent. Surrounded by the three ASF agents, Julian located the infrared camera in the corner of the elevator, which was undetectable to the untrained eye. There were no buttons on the side panels of the elevator car. The elevator was remotely controlled by agents from ComCentral. The entire compartment was pristine and clean. No smudges or fingerprints on the walls. The floor free of dust, dirt, and debris.
The soft metallic hum of cables moving the elevator lower ended abruptly, and the doors opened.
The unarmed soldier exited first, beckoning Julian to follow him. The armed soldiers followed close behind, the ends of their assault rifles grazing Julian’s back as they proceeded down the brightly lit hallway. Julian rested his arms behind him, touching the Beretta M9 tucked in his waistband, ready to grab it if needed. Following the soldier, twisting and turning through several corridors, they finally approached a single wooden door.
“Search him,” the unarmed soldier demanded.
Julian turned, holding up his hand to stop the soldiers. He removed the Beretta from his waistband and lifted the leg of his pants to dislodge the butterfly knife. “That’s all I got fellas.”
Now was not the time to be cagey about weaponry. Finding Mena was more important than keeping equipment he didn’t need. He could take out the ASF agents with or without weapons.
One of the soldiers grabbed the weapons, then looked past him at the unarmed soldier.
The unarmed soldier nodded his approval, then opened the door and motioned for Julian to enter. Stepping into the small conference room, Julian’s eyes were drawn to the warrior masks that adorned the left and right walls. Near the door, a widescreen television covered most of the width of the wall.
Across the room toward the far end was an oblong table surrounded with six chairs. A built-in bookshelf filled with tactical guides lined the back wall, surrounding a cutout space where the seal of the African Special Forces rested in the middle.
Julian rolled his eyes at the pretentiousness of the organization. The ASF was far from being on the same caliber as the elite special operative organizations of some of the world’s greatest militaries.
Iregi Kamau, Chief Special Agent in Charge, sat at the table. A phone glued to his ear as he nodded absently, he scribbled on a notepad. Julian turned to see the door closing behind him. Once again, he’d be one on one with Reggie, and he didn’t expect the conversation to be amicable.
Play nice.
Focus on what was important—bringing Mena home safely. He couldn’t let the past interfere with his present goal.
Reggie ended his call, then rested the phone on the table. He focused on Julian, not bothering to hide his distrust. “What are you doing here? Where is Sunny?”
“I’m leading the field team assisting ASF on behalf of the Irungu Family,” Julian said, walking over to the table. He eased a chair from underneath, sliding it against the expensive carpet, then sat down.
“I’m not working with you. Tell Sunny to get down here now.” Reggie turned his back to Julian and begin to shuffle through file folders haphazardly strewn on one of the shelv
es.
Julian took a deep breath. “Timothy Irungu insisted that Sunny stay with him to oversee the Irungu Security Team while the kidnapping is being investigated. He placed me in charge of his field team.”
Reggie turned back to face Julian. “You should return to the Irungu mansion. I will keep Tim apprised of our efforts to rescue his daughter.”
“Why are we wasting time here?” Julian asked as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “We both know you’re stuck with me. The faster we can find Wangari and the other hostages and rescue them, the faster we can get the hell out of each other’s lives.”
Swiveling around in the chair, Reggie folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “I’m surprised Tim picked you.”
Julian scoffed. “You know better than anybody that I’m the best at finding people others don’t want to be found. I found you when al-Harakat ambushed your team in Somalia, didn’t I?”
A steely coldness infected Reggie’s gaze as he stiffened in his chair. Julian hadn’t wanted to play that card, but he needed to level the playing field and force Reggie to work with him.
“What has the Irungu security team told you so far?” Reggie asked.
Julian recounted the results of the preliminary assessment. “Ultimately, the ransom request will indicate which is the more likely scenario. If the request is for money, the family is liquidating assets as we speak. Fifty million will be available in unmarked bills within the next hour. If the request is for something … different, we’ll have to assess the plan of action at that time. Is any of this different from what your team determined?”
Reggie shook his head. “We agree, but we don’t think the kidnapping is politically motivated. Taking extra hostages is the calling card of al-Harakat and other rebel groups in Kenya. More hostages mean more families to demand ransom money from.”
“Al-Harakat meticulously researches the people they intend to target. Neither of the other two targets has families that could pay what the jihadist group would demand for their release,” Julian countered. “What evidence did your team find at the location of the attack? I need to review all your reports.”
