Personal Assistance (Entangled Ignite)

by Louise Rose-Innes

  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.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hannah waited anxiously for her captor to come back. But he didn’t. Instead, a man she supposed was his commanding officer entered the tent. He had more badges on his pocket than the other men, a neat mustache as well as a beard, and an air of seniority about him. His beady eyes gleamed with anticipation.

  He licked his lips. “What is your name?”

  She didn’t answer. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Judging by his barely contained excitement, he already knew exactly who she was and was expecting a big fat promotion for finding her.

  “I said, what is your name?” He stepped forward and grabbed her chin, thrusting it up toward the light. She focused on the apex of the tent roof, trying to pretend she was somewhere else. Anywhere but here.

  He squeezed, hurting her. Still she stubbornly refused to acknowledge him. In disgust he released her face and yanked a piece of paper out of his breast pocket. He thrust it under her nose.

  “This is you, isn’t it? You are Hannah Evans, the English spy.” He practically spat out the words.

  She glanced at him in surprise. Traitor, maybe. Spy, no.

  “Ah-ha. I see you know what I’m talking about.” His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. His breath was warm and foul as he said, “Our esteemed Chief of Security, Anwar Abdul, gave me orders to hold you until he got here.”

  Just hearing that man’s name made her cringe with fear and loathing.

  The sergeant gloated. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Yes, he is on his way. You must be very important for him to come and collect you personally.” He chuckled evilly. “Most of our traitors we execute on sight.”

  She started hyperventilating.

  “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Miss Hannah Evans.” Her tormentor stood up and straightened out his uniform. “He won’t be merciful.”

  No, he wouldn’t. She could just guess what that monster was capable off. The last few days had opened her eyes to his maniacal and ruthless actions.

  She began to shake uncontrollably.

  …

  Tom prowled through the front lines, ignoring the shouts and commands echoing around him. Man, were these guys well equipped. He spotted several rocket launchers, tactical ballistic missiles, and even anti-aircraft artillery mounted on a small truck. The army was sparing no expense in getting this rebel town under control.

  He aimed for the administrative area to the rear of the encampment. He could see some khaki tents amid more trucks and army vehicles. That was the most logical place to hold her.

  If she was still alive.

  He was counting on the fact that they wouldn’t know who she was. Not at first, anyway. It would take some time before someone put two and two together. How long, was anyone’s guess.

  An officer barked a command at him as he skirted around a stationary armored fighting vehicle. Tom froze.

  Damn, he was hoping to reach her without incident. He turned slowly, at the same time unsheathing his fighting knife. It was important not to create a scene. It was too noticeable. He had to get to Hannah first.

  The soldier, who appeared to be a sergeant judging by the badges on his uniform, repeated the command, expecting his subordinate to reply. Tom shrugged, playing dumb, willing the man to come closer. He clenched the knife in his fist behind his back.

  Frowning at his subordinate’s incompetence, the sergeant marched right up to him, demanding to know either who he was or what he was doing. Tom’s Arabic wasn’t that good.

  He’d barely uttered one sentence when Tom brought his arm swiftly forward and plunged the knife directly into the man’s heart. It was a seamless, practiced move, designed to kill.

  As intended, the sergeant gasped, a look of confusion on his face. He had not been expecting that. Then slowly, he collapsed. Tom quickly pushed the body under the vehicle, then glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. The coast seemed clear.

  He exhaled slowly. Close call. The knife he wiped on his combat pants. Then keeping an eye out for any more surprise encounters, he proceeded toward the back of the encampment. To find Hannah.

  The first two tents he tried were empty. He got lucky with the third. A well-decorated officer marched out, a piece of paper in his hand. He barked a command to another soldier who promptly took up a position at the entrance. She must be inside. What else was important enough to guard in the middle of an attack?

  One thing worried him. The piece of paper. Had they already discovered who Hannah was? He checked his watch. Ten minutes until the distraction.

  He skirted the tent, staying out of the guard’s line of sight. There was a small opening at the back where the tent flap hadn’t been properly secured to the metal frame. Approaching quietly, Tom crouched down and peered through the slit.

  Another armed guard… And there, tied to a chair, was Hannah. His Hannah. Her beautiful face was pale and taut. He feasted his eyes for about ten seconds, but that’s all the time he allowed himself. The clock was ticking.

  Assess the risks.

  The guard would be easy. He clocked the plastic handcuffs around her wrists, tied to the chair. Not a problem.

  He judged the distance to the guard, then to the chair, and was about to slip inside when the throb of a helicopter overhead caught his attention. Tom glanced up. A Russian-built Mi-17 military chopper was coming in to land.

  It meant only one thing: They knew.

  Without further hesitation, he peeled back the flap and entered the tent. He covered the two meters to the guard quickly and silently. With a hand over the guard’s mouth, Tom sliced his throat. The man died instantly. Tom caught him as he fell and lowered him gently to the ground.

  Hannah turned her head at the scuffle, and her eyes widened with shock.

  “Oh my God. You…. You came.” She was so choked up she could hardly speak. Her eyes were bright with relief and gratitude.

  As much as he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and kiss all her fear and anxiety away, he restrained himself. That could come later. First, he had to get her away from here, before whoever was in that chopper came for her. “Don’t make a sound. There’s a guard outside.”

  He cut through her bonds and helped her out of the chair. “Did they harm you?”

  She was shaky and clung to him. “No. Not yet. Although Anwar Abdul is coming.” Her fear was palpable, and her eyes the size of saucers as she whispered his name.

  “I know. I saw the chopper
. He’s here. We’ve got to move.” They exited the way he’d come in, through the back of the tent. Tom held her arm for support. She was still very unsteady.

  …

  Hannah blinked as they emerged into the bright afternoon sunlight. It felt like an eternity since the wailing siren of the mortar attack had woken them that morning. So much had happened.

  She glanced at Tom, who was scanning the area. His eyes narrowed and focused as he absorbed and assessed their surroundings, looking for a way out.

  It was so wonderful to see him again. She ached to hold him in her arms and tell him how much she loved him, and how grateful she was that he came for her, but she couldn’t. He wouldn’t want the distraction. Maybe later, when they were safe, she would tell him how she felt. For now, she would let him do his thing and get them out of here.

  “Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her, at a crouching run, across a sandy patch of ground to the relative safety between two well-used army SUVs. He tried the door of the first one. It was locked.

  “Stay here,” he whispered, darting off to the other vehicle. The door opened with a hard tug. He beckoned her over.

  “Get in and stay low.” She crawled inside. The backseat was narrow and stank of stale sweat.

  “Keep your head down. Things are going to get rough in about thirty seconds.”

  “Thirty seconds? What do you mean?”

  But Tom had jumped in the driver’s seat and was fiddling with wires underneath the dashboard.

  “Are we stealing this car?”

  He turned to grin at her. “Do you have a better idea?”

  She shook her head vigorously. “No, go for it.”

  They were going to drive out of the Symanian Army base in broad daylight. Would it work? She scarcely dared to hope. She clenched her hands together and sent a prayer heavenward.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  An enormous fireball erupted less than a hundred meters in front of them, right in the midst of the front lines. It created a thick, dark cloud that seeped over the fighting soldiers, obscuring vision but at the same time causing the perfect distraction.

  Everywhere men were running toward the blaze.

  She wondered whether Anwar Abdul had discovered she was missing yet. It wouldn’t be long.

  Tom put his foot down, and the SUV jerked forward. The sandy ground didn’t have much traction, and the wheels spun, kicking up a deluge of sand behind them as they sped off. She held on for dear life as they bumped along over the small dunes out of the base.

  “Was that you back there?” She had to shout to make herself heard over the rattling of the engine.

  “Jamal,” he confirmed, twisting the steering wheel to maneuver around a pumping station on the outskirts of the base. “It’s more for show than effect. I doubt anyone was injured.”

  “Still, it worked for us.” She turned in her seat to peer out of the back window. “We may have gotten away.”

  “Don’t speak too soon. They have a chopper, remember?”

  “Oh yes.” Her heart sank. How would they ever outrun that?

  “Do you remember the map we looked at?” he called from the front.

  “Yes.” In minute detail.

  “Wasn’t there some sort of farming structure nearby? I seem to recall something like that on the map.”

  She filed through the memorized images in her brain. “Yes, there was. You’re right. It was a grain production facility. It must be approximately two miles west of here.”

  “Right.” He swung the wheel and headed on a westward bearing. “I’m going to head for that. It will give us some cover from an air assault.”

  They weren’t out of danger yet, by any means. She hung on as the SUV bumped and jiggled over the uneven landscape.

  Five minutes later, the grain handling facility came into view. It was hard to miss. Twelve individual steel corrugated silos shone like reflective mirrors in the stark sunlight.

  They were constructed in two, six-silo lines. On the far end, each row of six silos had its very own truck-receiving station and elevator to elevate grain into a chain conveyor running along the top of the line of silos. Four crane structures positioned at each end of the two rows provided access to the overhead conveyer.

  The whole thing was situated on a concrete base about a kilometer long by half a kilometer wide. It looked completely out of place in the otherwise barren desert.

  As they approached, they saw another structure about five hundred meters behind the silos. It was a warehouse, with large open garage doors—perfect for hiding a vehicle.

  “Let’s head for that,” he said, accelerating across the smoother surface of the complex.

  Her blood froze as she heard the dreaded beat of helicopter rotor blades. “Oh no. They’ve found us.”

  “Must have followed our dust trail,” he gritted out. “We may as well have left a line of breadcrumbs.”

  He screeched to a halt just inside the warehouse, the car still fully visible from outside. “Shouldn’t we try to hide it, at least?” she asked. She felt sick with fear.

  “No. Leave it. Let’s go.” He climbed out and grabbed her hand. Together they ran to a side door. It was locked. One mighty heave from Tom’s shoulder and it popped open as if it were a door on a doll’s house.

  “Follow me. We need to find cover before they spot us.”

  He took off at a run toward the silos. She followed, sprinting as fast as she could. The silver containers were hard to look at, they were so bright, so she kept her gaze lowered and followed Tom as he zigzagged around the end two of the row closest to them. He came to a halt sandwiched between the third and the fourth. At several hundred metric tons each, they were fat and bulky, and offered a good degree of cover.

  The helicopter had just come into view.

  “Hopefully they didn’t see us run for it.” He wasn’t remotely out of breath, while she was panting like she’d just run a four-minute mile.

  “What about the dust trail from the car?” she gasped. “They’ll know we’re here.”

  “They know we’re here anyway. There’s no point in hiding the fact.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “Stay where we are. The reflection off the silos will obscure us. Hopefully they’ll assume we’re still in the SUV or the warehouse.”

  They crouched down under the curvature of the silo, their backs flush against the warm steel, and waited for the chopper to approach.

  Within seconds it was directly above them, circling the facility from the air.

  She jumped as the helicopter pilot opened fire on the warehouse. The rat-tat of the helicopter guns reverberated off the structures around them, and she watched in morbid fascination at the carnage in front of them. Everything happened in slow motion.

  First the SUV exploded, lifting a clear foot off the ground before it burst into flames. Then they blasted the warehouse itself for a good few minutes. A large portion of the roof collapsed, all the windows shattered, and a section caught on fire. She stared in disbelief at what they’d done to the place. Thank God she and Tom weren’t still in there.

  She gripped Tom’s hand as the helicopter lowered itself menacingly until it was in line with the open garage door. She saw the orange sparks fly from the front two automatic guns as the aircraft opened fire once again, this time aiming inside the warehouse.

  “They’re taking no prisoners,” he said, watching grimly. The SUV was a burned-out wreck, while the warehouse looked like a category-five tornado had hit it.

  “No one could have survived that,” she murmured, when the shooting stopped.

  “That’s what they’re counting on.”

  The chopper rose then seemed to pause in midair.

  “Stay low,” he hissed. She crouched down farther and held her breath.

  Please don’t let them see us, she prayed.

  The chopper hesitated for a moment before swooping down for a closer look. They could see Anwar Abdul
in the passenger seat. He was scanning the ground through a pair of binoculars.

  Would the glare be enough to mask their figures from the air?

  Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the chopper gained altitude. She felt Tom exhale slowly, and it gave her hope.

  They watched it circle above the complex once more, before heading off in a northerly direction.

  Neither Hannah nor Tom moved until it was a tiny black speck in the cobalt blue sky.

  “Oh thank God,” she mumbled, going floppy.

  Tom wrapped her in his arms and held her against him. She took comfort from his warmth and the steady rhythmic beat of his heart. Hers was racing.

  “They’re gone. You can relax. You’re safe,” he murmured in her ear.

  She tried to relax. As she did so, a muffled sob escaped her. It was so hard to control the deluge of emotions flowing through her system. Anxiety, fear, and relief seemed to be on perpetual repeat. It was all too much.

  “I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “I’m just so relieved to be alive.” She looked up into his strong, determined face. “And I can’t believe you came for me.”

  The urge to tell him how she felt became too strong to bear. She had to tell him that she was so unbelievably grateful that he hadn’t abandoned her for the sake of the mission. That she loved him even though he might not love her back. Life was too short to keep these things inside. Today was proof of that. He had the safe house information. He should have kept going, but he’d risked his life for her.

  She ran a hand over his cheek. His gaze flickered, and the muscles in his jaw worked. He placed his hand over hers and gave a little squeeze.

  “Tom…” she whispered, not knowing where to start.

  He gazed at her tenderly. “Shh… Now’s not the time. I’ve still got to get you off this island. We’ve lost precious time, and the clock is ticking. We’ve got to stay focused.”

  Ah yes. The mission. Of course he’d put that first.

  She gritted her teeth and gave a nod. “Sorry, I’m just feeling emotional. I’ll be okay.”

  He gave her a quick squeeze and helped her to her feet. “I know you’ll be okay, because you’re a survivor. I’m proud of you, Hannah Evans. You did good back there.”