by Angel Vane
“Where did the truck go?” Reggie asked.
“That’s where things get tricky. The truck merged onto the A104, and within minutes, five other identical trucks with identical license plates entered as well. The trucks maneuvered in a virtual shell game along the freeway and then exited at different points, where our intel ends. It’s impossible for us to know which of the trucks contained the hostages based on the video footage we currently have,” Agent Betts explained.
“Analyze close-ups of the photos and see if you can ID Tubeec Hirad or any militants known to work with him,” Reggie directed.
Julian shook his head. “Don’t bother.”
Reggie’s penchant for over-analyzing information would cost them valuable time. Two hours had passed since the attack. Tubeec could have hidden the hostages in Kenya or any number of the surrounding countries by now.
Reggie scowled. “Excuse me?”
Julian said, “You need to find out if Tubeec made contact with anyone in Kenya. Search the dark web for communications anywhere from a week before the attack up until now.”
“An attack of this magnitude would take careful planning, but Tubeec Hirad wouldn’t be so kind as to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for us to follow through the dark web,” Reggie said, dismissing Julian’s request.
“Every attack has a fingerprint, a modus operandi, that can be identified if you look carefully. Even Tubeec Hirad can’t pull something like this off without leaving some shred of evidence behind. In fact, I’d start with the suicide bombing that I stopped last Friday,” Julian said.
“No one has claimed responsibility for that attack,” Reggie said.
“My point exactly,” Julian said.
The agents hesitated, their gazes shifting toward Reggie.
The special agent in charge gave a quick nod. Several agents scurried toward their computers to start the search.
“That won’t be necessary,” a deep, sensual female voice interrupted.
Julian turned to see Sunny walking into ComCentral, her gun trained at the back of Okeyo Lagat’s head. Three secret service agents followed her, their guns pointed at her as they barked orders, demanding that she release DPP Lagat, which she ignored.
Reggie screamed at the agents, “Put your weapons down!”
Julian walked to Lagat. “Has Tubeec Hirad made contact with you?”
Lagat glared back at Julian, refusing to answer.
Sunny took the butt of her gun and slammed it against his head, sending Lagat down to one knee. “Answer him! Tell him and all of these wonderful ASF agents how you received a direct request from Tubeec Hirad to spare your wife’s life that you decided to ignore!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“What did he say?” Julian asked, stepping in front of the chief special agent.
Reggie gave him a cursory glance, then pushed past him into ComCentral. Julian watched as Reggie looked around the room, searching, then turned back toward him.
“Where’s Sunny? I need to speak to her,” Reggie said.
“Tim Irungu summoned her back at the family compound in Runda. Did Okeyo tell you what Tubeec Hirad wants from him?” Julian asked. For the last hour, Reggie and a team of agents had been locked in the conference room, questioning Okeyo Lagat about his communications with Tubeec Hirad.
Sunny had admitted that the proof the Irungu security team had gathered indicating a point of contact between Okeyo and Tubeec was circumstantial at best. But once she’d heard that Lazirprene was used in the kidnapping, she’d been convinced that the unknown calls to Okeyo Lagat’s phone earlier that morning were from Hirad.
Julian wasn’t convinced … yet.
Reggie turned and walked toward his office in the corner of the command room, with Julian on his heels.
Julian continued, “I didn’t create this fucked up situation. Your organization got in bed with the one percent to get off the ground, which means you have to deal with me.”
ASF had been the brainchild of a small group of the wealthiest Africans working in concert with the governments of several nations to create an elite special operatives group to protect the continent from the growing presence of terrorism. This legacy made the group beholden to two interests—those of the countries they served and those of the wealthy families who’d made their existence possible.
Reggie crossed his arms over his chest. “Sunny was wrong. DPP Lagat doesn’t know anything that can help with our investigation. The phone calls he took this morning were official governmental business and not from Hirad. He was on a plane when the attack occurred, and he didn’t learn about it until he landed.”
“You believe Sunny was wrong about him?” Julian asked.
“It’s no secret that Tim Irungu is not fond of his son-in-law, despite his prestigious position in the Kenyan government. Okeyo Lagat has breathed life into the Office of the Department of Public Prosecutions. He was the first in his role to actually go after corrupt officials and put them in jail. He is one of the good guys. While I understand the family’s need to suspect and blame him, suspicion and flimsy evidence doesn’t make it true.”
“What kind of proof did Lagat give that the calls were government business?” Julian asked.
Reggie ignored the question and walked into his office, sinking down into his leather chair as his eyes focused on the computer monitors.
Julian stepped inside, leaning against the doorframe. “I can do a whole hell of a lot to help if you just drop the grudge and bring me into the fold.”
“I’m well aware that you believe your skill set is superior to mine and my team’s, but I can assure you that we don’t need a former SEAL who hasn’t seen action in the past four years,” Reggie said.
“Even one who taught you everything you know,” Julian countered.
“The Navy’s assistance to our organization is much appreciated, but we’ve moved past those early days. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, my team is recognized as one of the top operative groups in the world. We’ve continued to refine and improve on the foundation we were given and are not inferior to other comparable groups,” Reggie said. “I will keep you informed of our progress, but I advise you to stay out of our way. I don’t need your help.”
“Tell that to your team. They were floundering, trying to triangulate the locations of the six East Africa Flower Company trucks on the A104. With my help, we located the two trucks most likely to have contained Tubeec and the hostages and tracked them to a rarely used airstrip outside of Nairobi,” Julian said.
“If Tubeec had access to a plane, they could be anywhere right now,” Reggie said, pushing up from his chair.
“Which is why I told them to search all the flight plans filed for that airstrip and review radar maps for any non-commercial planes flying within a 50-mile radius of the area,” Julian said.
Reggie paced. “The search area needs to be expanded, and media blackout extended to neighboring countries.”
“Media blackout?” Julian asked.
“The media hasn’t been told about the kidnapping of Wangari Irungu or her staff, and I plan to keep it that way. We secured an executive order to ban the release of that information to the press, giving us a bigger advantage in locating Tubeec Hirad and negotiating the release of the hostages,” Reggie said.
The hostages.
Another group of innocent victims ASF was charged with rescuing, like so many before and so many that would come after. No different from the civilians that Julian had vowed to protect from terrorist forces as a SEAL. The nameless civilians who were an amalgamation of an ideal, but not real to him. Even when he’d been pulling them from danger, feeling the warmth of their skin against his, seeing the tears streaming down their faces as they effusively thanked him for his protection. They still hadn’t been human to him. They couldn’t be. If he’d taken a moment to think about who they were, that they were people with friends and family and hopes and dreams, he would have lost all semblance of the laser focus needed t
o complete his missions.
Rage raced up the back of Julian’s neck.
He wasn’t a SEAL on a mission.
He was a man in love with a woman who’d been taken due to no fault of her own. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time … again. Just like she had been with Ella … and Zak Webber … and Priscilla Dumay.
Negotiating with Tubeec Hirad was pointless. The man was unstable and unpredictable, his actions motivated equally by a whim as they were by a rational strategic approach. Three hours had passed since the kidnapping. Mena could be anywhere, and they didn’t have the slightest clue of where to start looking.
Julian had to switch tactics. He couldn’t afford to push Reggie’s buttons. He needed ASF operating at their best, gathering intel that could lead him to Mena.
Raising his hands in the air as a sign of mock surrender, Julian stepped out of Reggie’s office. “I’m going to respect your authority and stay out of the way. But know this—I am available if you need my expertise.”
Reggie looked skeptical as he stood, then brushed past Julian and walked back out onto the main floor of ComCentral.
Turning around, Julian watched as Reggie barked orders to his team. Julian took a quick glance around. Each agent in the room hurried to complete their assigned tasks, preoccupied with their own investigations.
An idea struck Julian, one he couldn’t resist. One that could get him the answers that Reggie and the ASF had failed to get.
Satisfied that no one was paying attention to him, Julian walked slowly around the perimeter of ComCentral. Exiting through to the hall, he glanced swiftly left and then right. Empty. Picking up the pace, he walked toward the conference room and opened the door, slipping inside.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Okeyo glanced up, pausing the feverish texting on his cell phone. “Julian, right? You’re part of the additional security detail that Tim hired to protect us at the fundraising dinner.”
“That’s right. Mr. Irungu has requested that I assist ASF in the investigation of the kidnapping of his daughter,” Julian said, sitting next to Okeyo.
Slipping the cell phone into the inner pocket of his jacket, Okeyo said, “I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
“Did Agent Kamau brief you on the method used in the attack?” Julian asked.
The DPP nodded. “He mentioned that a chemical nerve agent was used that rendered Wangari and her team paralyzed, making it easy for the men to capture them.”
“Lazirprene is a dangerous compound. Only one man is known to have the formula to produce it—Tubeec Hirad,” Julian said.
“Tubeec is one of the most dangerous criminals in Africa. I can’t imagine why he would target my wife,” Okeyo said.
“Really?” Julian asked, turning his chair and leaning forward, closing the space between Okeyo and himself.
A puzzled look settled on Okeyo’s face. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t seem like a man who is surprised that his wife was kidnapped by one of Africa’s most wanted,” Julian said.
“I assure you that my heart is breaking, but like you, I’ve been trained to manage my emotions since they are not useful in solving anything. Similar to the lessons you must have learned as a former Navy SEAL, I presume,” Okeyo said.
“Being a SEAL taught me a lot of things that are proving to be useful right now, like how to spot a liar,” Julian responded, scrutinizing Okeyo for the reaction he expected—a flash of anger that disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
“Are you implying that I had something to do with this kidnapping?” Okeyo asked, his voice calm and curious. He stood, took his jacket off, and laid it across the arm of the chair, then walked toward the opposite corner of the room.
Julian knew he was getting to the DPP. He was nervous, desperate to increase the distance between them to possibly shield himself from further scrutiny.
“No, you’re too smart for that. If you were behind the kidnapping, you’d need the media to know, wouldn’t you? You’d need all of Kenya on their hands and knees praying that the wife of their dear Director of Public Prosecutions was found quickly and safely. But there is no news coverage. President Thairu and ASF have made sure of that,” Julian said.
“What exactly do you think I’m lying about?” Okeyo challenged.
“I’ve encountered Tubeec Hirad a few times in my missions as a SEAL. If this was about money, he would have sent the ransom request immediately. But the Irungus haven’t heard anything from Hirad, despite sending him messages through channels he is known to monitor. I have no doubt that Tubeec knows they’re willing to pay fifty million for the return of their daughter, but he hasn’t taken the offer,” Julian explained.
Julian stood and leaned against the chair vacated by Okeyo, staring across the room at the lying asshole.
“I don’t understand how that equates to me telling lies.”
“When Tubeec wants something other than money, he adopts a particular style. He has a target, but he doesn’t attack. Instead, he prefers to weaken the resolve of the target by attacking loved ones, using them as bait to get what he wants. So, the way I see it, Wangari is the bait, and you are the target,” Julian said.
“While your theory may prove to be true, I can assure you that if I had any information that would help ASF find my wife, I would have freely given it to Chief Special Agent Kamau. You are wasting precious time thinking I know anything that could be useful,” Okeyo responded.
“What did Tubeec Hirad ask for when he called you?” Julian asked, growing impatient.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Okeyo looked away, toward the door, then back at Julian. “No one has contacted me.”
Julian jerked up from his seat, his feet slamming to the ground in a thunderous bang as he towered over Okeyo.
Okeyo stiffened, his breath quickening as he grabbed the armrests of the chair.
“Tubeec presents an offer before every attack. He called you before you got on the plane this morning. He wanted something from you in exchange for your wife’s life. How are you going to feel if we find her body riddled with bullets because you didn’t want to tell us what was really going on? How heartbroken will you be then? Or is whatever he wants from you worth her dying?” Julian demanded.
“No! It’s not worth her dying at all! I love my wife dearly. I never meant for any of this to happen,” Okeyo said, pushing away from Julian.
“What the fuck did he want from you?” Julian asked through gritted teeth, disgusted by the confirmation that Okeyo had lied to Reggie and the ASF.
“From the moment I was appointed as DPP, I have been the subject of bribes, extortion, and death threats … on my life and that of my family. After four years of living under the constant threat of harm, you become somewhat immune. I was born to be a civil servant, and I’m committed to serving the people of Kenya. Nothing means more to me, so I live with the risks knowing that there are dedicated men and women who will keep my family and me safe,” Okeyo said.
Julian leaned over, bringing his face mere inches away from Okeyo’s. “You think that justifies you withholding information from the ASF? You allowed Tubeec to blow up the Tribal Museum, killing innocent people today! You allowed your wife to be kidnapped! All because you presumed it was another empty threat on your life. How the hell are you going to sleep tonight knowing that you could have prevented all of this from happening?”
Okeyo flinched at Julian’s words, his shoulders slumping as he glanced off into the distance. “I get threats monthly, sometimes weekly. Why would I have believed that this time would be different? Why would I have ever thought that this crazy bastard would actually follow through on the threat?”
“Because this time, you were talking to Tubeec Hirad,” Julian said.
“If I had realized that, I would have done everything in my power to protect Wangari and her staff. I would do anything to save her!”
“Anything?” Julian sat back down in the leath
er chair, pressing his hands against the table to prevent himself from squeezing them around Okeyo’s neck. “What did Tubeec ask for?”
Okeyo was silent.
Julian kept his eyes focused on the man, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
Seconds ticked by loudly from the clock hanging on the wall. Julian was prepared to wait as long as necessary to get Okeyo to reveal what Tubeec wanted.
Ten minutes passed before Okeyo finally succumbed to Julian’s withering glare.
“It was an impossible request. A betrayal of my country, my people. Something that I could never—”
The door to the conference room opened.
“Tubeec Hirad has made contact,” Reggie said, beckoning for them to come forward. “He’s insisting on speaking with you, DPP Lagat.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The pungent odor of sweat was stagnant in the room as the gunmen moved about, connecting wires and plugs to extension cords that stretched out of a window at the front of the house and presumably connected to the generator outside.
Mena took a deep breath. Now that they’d found Okeyo Lagat, maybe she would find out why they’d been kidnapped and when they would be released. Not knowing was torture. What did the leader, Tubeec Hirad, want? What would he do if Okeyo couldn’t or wouldn’t comply with his demands?
A pale guard with a long matted beard stalked toward them. Xirsi, they’d called him. Snatching Isaac to a standing position, Xirsi dragged him across the room toward a sidewall. His wrists and ankles still bound with the coarse ropes, Isaac stumbled and almost fell. Xirsi returned, yanking Wangari from the chair. Her shriek drew the attention of two other guards as she demanded to know what was happening. Her questions were ignored as she was lined up along the wall next to Isaac.
