by C. J. Miller
If they had limits, she would learn them and play within them.
“I suppose I only have one question and it’s really only relevant because it relates to me,” Saafir said.
Sarah waited for the question. She sensed it would be loaded.
“Are you in love with him?” Saafir asked.
“No.” It was her gut reaction. She’d thought about that question before she’d filed for divorce. Their romance had withered and most of their marriage had limped along with only their friendship holding it together. When her trust in Alec was broken time and again, that had been destroyed, as well. What remained was a sense of obligation and those words from her marriage vows, “in sickness and in health.” She couldn’t allow herself to stay with a man who was killing her, but she’d owed it to him to do whatever she could for as long as she could. “I remember good times with him,” she said. “From the first day I met him, Alec was someone who partied hard and drank. He was fun and exciting, and when I was with him, life was a good time. But after a while, it wasn’t just drinking. It was pot. Then cocaine. Then being late for work every day. Then not going to his job at all. The DUIs. The arrests. Failed rehab. Relapses. Lies. Financial problems.” From others in similar positions she had learned her story was common. The drugs of choice for the addict might be different, but the consequences were as severe.
“I am sorry you went through that.” Saafir extended his hand to her and Sarah stood and let him take her in his arms and into his lap. She cuddled against him on the chair, feeling something therapeutic about his non-judgment.
Saafir kissed the top of her head. His arms were wrapped around her waist in a protective, comforting gesture.
When Saafir returned home, he would meet his wife-to-be. Wife-to-be was no doubt beautiful and rich and lacking excessive baggage. Even if Sarah and Saafir stayed in touch over email, their friendship would drift away. An email a day, then once a week, then monthly, then one or two around the holidays. When he was married, having any interaction with him might be inappropriate. Plus, Saafir was the leader of a nation. How much free time did he have? A few hours a week? Those would be spent with his wife and family, not talking to a woman he’d met and had a brief affair with in America.
A mother who’d been estranged from her family and then had died when Sarah was eighteen, a deadbeat father who had never wanted Sarah in his life and a family who she’d lost when she divorced Alec weren’t the makings of a great family history.
Though she had been alone for a long time, Sarah wished she had someone stable to hold on to, someone to come home to and call her family.
Chapter 6
Sarah entered the office building carrying in one hand her large soft cooler filled with materials for breakfast and a jug of fresh-brewed coffee in the other. Though she wasn’t late, the last-minute change of venue—again—had thrown her. She’d had to travel across town to the caterer’s kitchen to pick up the food. Darting around the city was costing her time and adding confusion.
In addition to the trade agreement meetings, which were running longer due to delays, she was coordinating an outdoor wedding that night. She could handle the unexpected and unscheduled overlap of events, but the added stress the trade summit brought left her feeling frazzled. Looking at the sky, she hoped the weather held and the wedding guests weren’t forced to stay under the tents she’d rented for the outdoor ceremony and reception. The gardens where the wedding was being held set the stage for a quiet, romantic night.
Sarah was moving quickly, having lost time finding this new meeting location. She tried to calculate how long it would take her to get to the sixth floor by the stairwell or if waiting for the elevator would be easier.
The building had a grand foyer that stretched the length of the offices that ran up along four sides, ten stories high. Medical offices, law offices, insurance groups, financial groups and dozens of businesses were contained here. The nondescript and busy location was the perfect place for the members of the trade agreement committee to blend.
Perhaps Wasam and the extremists would focus on their protest in Qamsar. Owen had mentioned the possibility of everyone returning to their homes by the end of the week if no other problems or threats arose. The security team assembled to handle the situation was considering it. Since he was getting attention in Qamsar, Wasam may have decided to change tactics.
Getting home couldn’t happen soon enough. Sarah needed to clean her apartment and bring order back to her life. She felt like she was living someone else’s life, a life with a royal boyfriend and a crazy think-on-her-feet job that changed minute to minute. Her detailed plans and preparations were rearranged daily.
Jeff, her guard for the day, was two paces behind her. He had been her shadow all morning and she had started to forget he was with her.
She jumped at a loud noise, the sound of a heavy book falling on the glossy ceramic tile and echoing off the walls.
Sarah turned to check on Jeff and was knocked over. The jug of coffee fell to the ground, bursting open and splashing hot liquid on her legs. Before she recovered her balance, a hand went around her throat. She was dragged to her feet and something cold pressed to her temple. She dropped the cooler she was carrying.
A gun. Someone was holding a gun to her head. Movement went on around her as if no one else was seeing it.
“Everyone shut up and listen. Get on the ground or I will kill this woman and then open fire on anyone who moves. Do you understand?” An angry male voice Sarah didn’t recognize, but with an accent similar to Saafir and Adam’s.
She was being held too tight and she couldn’t look at the man clutching her against him. He smelled like a gym, sweaty and hot. She pulled on his arm, digging her nails into his skin and trying to force him to release her.
He tightened his hold. “Stop moving or I’ll kill you,” he whispered into her ear.
It took a few moments for a hush to fall over the lobby. Movement slowed to a halt.
The man holding her yanked her in a three-hundred-sixty-degree turn. Jeff was on the ground, red blood leaking from under his body. A scream rose in her throat and fear tightened her voice. The noise came out strangled. The loud bang she’d heard had been gunfire aimed at Jeff. “Jeff! Please, someone help him!” She struggled to get free, but it was impossible.
No one moved toward Jeff to offer aid, and Sarah thrashed against the man confining her. “Please let me help him. He needs an ambulance.” The pool of red was growing larger. Sarah had never seen someone losing so much blood and the sight terrified her. The longer he lay there, the worse it would be. Was it too late? Sarah wouldn’t think about Jeff already being dead. Someone would help him.
The attacker tightened his arm around her. “Shut your filthy mouth. I will kill you and then kill everyone in this room.” He was shouting, rage heavy in his voice and the words spreading across the silent lobby.
The response was more chaos as people ran for the exits. The man fired his gun three times in the air. Glass shattered and rained to the ground, the pieces rolling and bouncing. Silence fell again. The people remaining in the lobby didn’t move.
“Please,” Sarah said, trying to move his arm off of her and managing to get a look at his face. “What do you want?”
“Call your boyfriend,” the man said.
Saafir. This was one of the men targeting Saafir. From the pictures she had seen of Rabah Wasam, this wasn’t him. It was one of his followers. At least as a politician, Wasam had some public accountability for his actions. This man had none.
Sarah wouldn’t call Saafir to this lobby to be gunned down. Should she deny Saafir was her boyfriend? Pretend he had the wrong woman? Her life wasn’t the only one in danger. “He won’t answer if I call. He’s in meetings.”
The man pressed the gun harder against her head. “You better hope he answers or you’
re about to have a very bad, final morning.”
* * *
Saafir hadn’t gotten enough sleep and drinking the strongly caffeinated coffee Evelyn had served had given him a headache. He usually didn’t drink coffee, for that reason.
Little compromise had been reached on the trade agreement. Owen was doing his best to find middle ground, but Virginia Anderson, the rep from the oil company, was holding fast that Stateside Oil wanted complete control of the oil refinery in Qamsar. Virginia passed around colorful booklets of pie charts and bar graphs to show how the oil company would bring jobs to Qamsar and the United States, how they would provide education and job training, and how they were in the best position to invest in this endeavor.
Charts were useless. Statistics could be made up, skewed and presented in whatever light made one party appear stronger than another. Saafir had his bottom line and Virginia was campaigning for more than he was willing to give.
“Perhaps Qamsar should run their refinery. It’s their environment and their laws,” Henry said.
“Based on my numbers, I’m not seeing one side over the other gaining a huge advantage by running the refinery,” Thomas Nelson said.
Frederick snorted. He knew where Saafir stood on matters and they were unlikely to give in to Stateside Oil.
Saafir didn’t like where the negotiations were leading. Frederick was becoming prickly and increasingly irritated during discussions. Rescheduling meetings and living out of hotel rooms was grating on everyone. People missed their families and the comforts of their homes.
“Thomas, do you have the analysis of the costs to staff and run the refinery operations in Qamsar?” Virginia asked.
Saafir kept his patience. They had been over the numbers. It was an expense both sides were willing to shoulder because the upside was huge. Virginia continued to twist the facts and figures to show how Stateside Oil would handle the operations in Qamsar better and more efficiently.
It didn’t matter to Saafir if another company could run the refinery better. It was about bringing jobs and pride to Qamsar. That couldn’t be done if he allowed another country to take over their oil fields.
Saafir’s phone vibrated. He had changed the settings so that only Sarah’s number would ring through during his meeting. “Excuse me,” he said to the room, interrupting the conversation. Walking away would give him a minute to clear his head. Based on the circular nature of the conversation, he wasn’t missing anything.
“Hey, you,” he said into the phone, quickly stepping into the hallway and pulling the door closed behind him. The two security guards, one his and another hired by the Americans, were posted outside the door.
“Saafir?” Sarah asked.
The moment she spoke his name, he knew something was wrong.
“I’m here. What’s happened?” Saafir asked.
His voice must have been louder than he thought because the meeting room went silent.
“I’m in the lobby. There’s someone demanding to see you. He says if you don’t come down in fifteen minutes, he’ll kill me and open fire on everyone around me.” A small sob escaped at the end of her words.
“Where’s Jeff?” Saafir asked, thinking of her security detail.
A sharp intake of breath. “Hurt. Send help. Call the police. Don’t come down here. No! Stop! Please!”
The clatter of the phone striking something hard and then the line went dead.
Panic engulfed him, but Saafir marshaled his emotional response. He threw open the door to the meeting room. He wanted to race into the lobby to be with Sarah and to find out what was happening, but he had to think like a leader, not a lover. Every face swerved in his direction. “Owen, please call the American police. Someone is holding Sarah and others hostage in the lobby and demanding to speak to me.”
His next call was to Adham.
* * *
The police were scrambling to make sense of the scene, and Saafir was entirely frustrated with the response. Sarah was inside with a gun to her head. Mistakes and oversights would get her killed.
Saafir left the two guards to watch over the committee, knowing they could also be a target.
SWAT had been called, but all four local teams were working other emergencies. They promised to send available personnel as soon as possible. As soon as possible wasn’t good enough for Saafir. He needed action now.
Saafir had ordered Adham to rest that morning, and he’d been happy to learn Adham had been sleeping when he’d called. Adham had seemed off to Saafir since the shooting, and while Saafir knew he wouldn’t admit anything was wrong, Saafir was worried. Injured or not, Adham arrived in ten minutes looking every bit the soldier he’d been groomed to be.
Something in Adham’s eyes concerned Saafir when he was in protect-and-defend mode, almost as if he could kill without thinking twice. Adham could have a deadly focus and a cold detachment. To date, it had saved Saafir’s life on multiple occasions.
It was why Adham made a better soldier. He could block any thread of empathy or compassion. He could think with a single intent: to kill. While qualified in his own right, if Saafir hadn’t been the son of the emir, Adham would have been selected to run the urban assault unit over him. It was a fact that had put Adham initially at odds with Saafir, but in addition to their family relation they’d overcome it to form a solid friendship.
Adham and Saafir approached the policeman attempting to control the scene and introduced themselves.
“We’re trying to split one of the SWAT teams and we’re calling available resources to assist. Every wacko in the city has decided to start a problem today,” the policeman told Saafir, wiping at the sweat that ran down his face. His badge read “Sinclair.”
“Adham is the head of my security team. We’ve been combat-trained in urban environments and we have experience negotiating with terrorists. Adham has expertise in tactics and weaponry. We can help.”
Sinclair seemed relieved to have someone to help him and who could provide information. Every moment that passed was another moment Sarah was in danger.
Saafir would press until he got what he wanted. “If the hostage taker has political motivations, he only needs Sarah until he’s brought attention to his cause. That’s why he asked for fifteen minutes. That’s enough time to get the media and cameras here. He will kill Sarah and himself if he believes it will help him.” The larger and more dramatic the show, the more media coverage he’d get.
Adham nodded his agreement. They had seen it too many times in their country. Desperate men sometimes chose violent means to meet their goals. Most of the time, those goals remained too far out of reach, driven by poor planning and emotional decisions rooted in anger.
The media was arriving, driving their vans close to the scene and pushing their way up to the police wood post blockade.
“What are you suggesting?” Sinclair asked, rubbing his forehead and appearing overwhelmed. He was flushed and not in control.
“Continue to evacuate the building. Let Adham and me near the scene to contain the hostage taker. Let me talk to this man and find out what he wants. Until your SWAT team can assess the situation and defuse it, Adham and I will delay him. You don’t want an active shooter running around the building and finding a place to hole up.”
The American police had jurisdiction and they wouldn’t appreciate an outsider stepping in and taking charge. He had to make Sinclair see the benefits Adham and Saafir brought to addressing the problem.
Sinclair looked at his watch. “This is not my area of expertise. I’ve been assigned crowd control until SWAT arrives. I’ll allow you inside to keep this woman alive. When SWAT comes, you do exactly what they say, exactly how they say it, all right?”
Sinclair’s inexperience was showing. It was a stroke of luck for Saafir and Adham. No skilled professional in hostage negotiati
ons would have allowed him and Adham to interfere. “Agreed,” Saafir said. He wanted to see Sarah and know she was okay. He checked his emotions, knowing if he was upset, his judgment would be skewed.
Adham and Saafir entered the building through a back stairwell.
Adham glanced at his watch. “It’s been twelve minutes since you called me.”
That left three minutes. The clock was working against them. “He wanted fifteen minutes, but he’ll want the most media coverage possible. He’s got a message and he wants to deliver it internationally. I’ll bring that up when I speak to him. I’ll distract him with the news coverage, you take him out,” Saafir said.
Adham paused. “It’s my job to keep you away from danger. You’re walking directly into it.”
“I’ll be fine. I have my body armor.”
“That won’t help you if he shoots you in the head.”
“I know how to handle myself,” Saafir said.
Adham shook his head. “I can’t let you get hurt.”
“I won’t. I’ll be careful,” Saafir said. “I have the best sniper in Qamsar watching my back.”
Appearing reluctant, Adham handed him an earpiece. “You’ll be able to hear me. I’ll let you know when I’m in position.”
“He’ll expect marksmen,” Saafir said.
“I’m sure he will,” Adham said. “If I think he’s planning to shoot you, he’s done. I will take him out and never have a moment of unrest over it.”
“Understood. You’re my brother. I trust you to make the right decision.”
They clasped hands. “Brothers,” Adham agreed.
Though Adham and Saafir never mentioned their family ties in public at Adham’s request, it was that connection that formed the basis of their trust. They had shared a father and not much else until they’d served together, but the bond was unseverable.
