Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4)

by Manda Mellett

  Only a couple hours later I awake feeling as though I haven’t rested at all, and even the short time I’d been asleep fills me with guilt. Where are they? And are they still alive? Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling. Will I ever find them? Getting air into my lungs is an effort as my gut twists and my stomach rolls. will I ever hold my baby girl again? Or Nessa?

  There’s been complete silence. We are working on two options, one that Danielle arranged the abduction so she can take her daughter back, and the second that they are being held as hostages. Only the second holds the better chance that both of them are still breathing. But as the hours have passed and we’ve received no ransom demand, the former begins to seem the more likely. So where does that leave Nessa? Surplus to requirements? That thought sends a cold shiver down my spine.

  Sitting up I pull her pillow to me, breathing in deeply. It’s still full of a perfume that’s all her, and I remember those two nights we spent together, the nights I have every intention of repeating. Why did I tell her I would be happy limiting our liaisons to the dungeon? Who had I been kidding? I want her. My fist smashes against the pillow, why am I realising that only now, when she’s lost to me?

  There’s a strand of auburn hair on the pillowcase, I touch it reverently, remembering the touch of her pubes, so strangely enticing when I usually like my women bare. Nessa was so different from the subs I usually played with. Innocent and pure, just waiting for my corruption. Was I never going to have the chance to touch her again? No, I can’t think that way.

  But she’s still naïve. Despite her training, she’s no natural in the field, forgetting to set the alarm system, or going out without her gun. And there’s my worry, how she’ll be able to look after herself, let alone care for a baby. Her weapon’s missing, has she somehow managed to take it with her? No, it’s more likely, the abductors found it and took it away. And even if she managed to hold onto it, would, could she bring herself to use it? Or possibly worse, fire it when there’s no chance of escape? Fuck, she’s no idea how to handle herself in hostage situations, all her knowledge is theoretical.

  If we get them back, I’ll be talking to Ben. Nessa will be staying safe behind her desk for the rest of her life if I have my way. If she’s still alive.

  Oh Nessa, oh Mollie. Where are you?

  It’s coming up for nine, and the next scheduled meeting with Kadar. Maybe overnight there’s been some news, I can only hope.

  No one looks any more refreshed than I. In Kadar’s office, we take our seats, the mood sombre. With every passing hour, hope is rapidly fading.

  “The fire at the oil wells has been capped.” Kadar starts the meeting by giving us the update.

  Although it’s only five am in London, Ben and Jon have again joined us via video conferencing. “That’s good news, Kadar.” But Jon’s face betrays while that’s great for Amahad, on the more immediate front we’ve got nothing to be happy about, and he addresses our main problem, “We’ve gotten no further tracking down Danielle Smith. Any news from your end?”

  “I’ve spoken to Sultan Qudamah, he’s got eyes at the airport in Ezirad in case she tries to come in that way, and King Asad is monitoring Alair.” At least they’ve got the neighbouring countries covered.

  “She could be coming overland, or might already be here.” I nod at Hunter, who grimaces, we’d discussed this yesterday.

  “Are we sure she’ll be coming for the baby? They might have delivered Mollie to her.”

  Kadar frowns, “Everyone’s on the lookout for anyone taking a baby over the border.”

  Yes, but as we all know, the borders are almost impossible to control the entire length, particularly the southern desert between Amahad and Ezirad.

  Ma’mun swings the door open and enters, I don’t bother to look, expecting him to be bringing in yet another round of coffee, necessary now to keep us all awake and our senses sharp, but sit up straight when I hear a different voice and he usher in another person.

  Kadar stands to greet the newcomer, swinging around I see Sheikh Rais, the rugged looking sheikh who’s unofficial spokesman for the other nine tribal leaders.

  “Rais, my friend,” Kadar greets him warmly, but his eyes narrow fast, “Have you brought news?”

  “I have, Excellency, but I don’t know how useful it is.” As Kadar points him to a seat, the Sheikh pulls his robes under him as he sits down. He leans forward, putting his elbows on the table. “Sofian contacted me earlier; a man came and visited one of his nomadic tribes to buy goat’s milk, yesterday. He was a stranger, Arab, but not Amahadian.”

  Goat’s milk? I don’t immediately see what that’s got to do with anything. My brow creases as I look at Rais, he sees my unspoken question and answers it.

  “It was mentioned that he was buying milk for a baby.” Rais nods as he sees we’re all catching up with him. “The villages didn’t know the man, or where he could have come from. The woman who gave him the milk said she didn’t care for him.”

  Goats milk! “If it’s for Mollie, would it be safe for her to drink?” That’s my first thought.

  He raises his shoulders, “If they’ve run out of her normal feed. How much did she have with her?”

  I’d made up the bottles myself, “Six,” I tell him, “Enough for a day and night.” Mollie prefers to drink little and often, but if she was sensible, Nessa could have eked it out a little longer. But she doesn’t know the first thing about looking after a baby. And those bottles should have been refrigerated. Christ, Mollie, I hope you’re alright. I shudder. But surely, anyone who kidnapped a baby should have been prepared to look after it?

  Ben butts in, “Where is the village, Rais?”

  “Map?” Rais jerks his chin toward Kadar, who summons Ma’mun and tells him what we need. Very shortly he returns with a large-scale map of the southern desert and lays it on the table, efficiently anchoring it down with cups. Leaving our seats, we all crowd around it. He points to an area which has nothing marked on it, and, in the way of someone who knows the desolate region like the back of his hand, circles an area which to the untrained eye, appears to be completely void. “Some of the Alah, Sofian’s tribe, have made camp here. That’s where the milk was purchased.”

  “Is it a permanent camp, Rais?” Ryan asks.

  Rais waggles his hand, “Semi,” he explains, “They’re farmers, herders. For now, they are based around an oasis, so they’ll stay a while.”

  “So, anyone in the area would know they were there.” Ryan’s nodding, thoughtfully.

  “Quite possibly, yes, especially if they’d flown over it.”

  “Have they heard a helicopter?”

  “Sorry, that’s all the information I’ve got. There’s no phone signal in the desert, and the tribe doesn’t have a satellite phone.”

  “How did they get the message out?”

  “Sofian and all the other desert sheikhs sent messengers out to their nomadic tribes. We’re doing what you asked, Kadar, covering as much of the desert as we can. One of the Alah rode to the nearest permanent settlement and found someone with a phone.”

  Kadar taps on the table with his fingers, “It’s not much, but as it’s the only thing we’ve got, it’s worth following up. Let’s think this through. All conjecture, but if they flew over the camp and noted it when they needed supplies they would have gone to the closest place. So,” he breaks off, and circles an area around the place that Rais had pointed out, “We send up a helicopter and search in this area.”

  “They’ll hear a helicopter coming, Kadar.” It worries me that if they think we’re closing in on them, they might not leave anyone alive.

  “The tribespeople will help us search on the ground.”

  “Give us the coordinates and we’ll use satellite images,” Ben suggests.

  Rais quickly rattles the information off.

  “Hold on, and we’ll get back to you in a few. Christ, I wish Van was here, Nafisa’s good, but not…” His voice trails off; it seems he’d been
talking to Jon, not us. The view on the video is of an empty room now, both men in London have gone off to see what they can do to help.

  It’s not long before they’re back, then suddenly there’s a big screen shot displayed in front of us, “There’s one structure that’s of interest. Rais, I don’t know if you can shed any light on this? There seem to be a few derelict adobe buildings about ten miles north north-west from the nomad’s camp. There’s no sign of movement, though; I can’t tell if there’s anyone inside.” He rings it on the image with a pointer. “Other than that, I can make nothing else out. There’s rocks behind. Do you know the area, Rais, are there caves in those hills?”

  Rais is shaking his head, “I’d have to check with Sofian, I don’t have much knowledge of that locality.” He magics his phone from somewhere out of his robes and shows it to Kadar, “May I?”

  “Please.”

  Rais places a call, and in quick fire Arabic is questioning Sheikh Sofian about the adobe buildings. When he ends the call, he gives us the gist of the other side of the conversation. “It’s an ancient settlement, abandoned about five hundred years ago, when the oasis dried up. In its time, it was fairly prestigious hence the permanent structures. While they look ramshackle from the air, it’s possible at least one of the buildings is still habitable.”

  “They’re that old?” Nat asks.

  “Adobe buildings can last millennia,” Rais informs him, “Mud bricks are some one of the most durable building materials you can get. They may have had to remove blown sand from the inside, but otherwise, they could still be used.”

  “Why don’t we check the buildings out anyway? It makes sense that they would have travelled to the nearest camp to get the milk, and if nothing else is showing up on the satellite image, it seems possible that’s where they could be.”

  It’s the only thing we have to go on, and I’m anxious to start doing something, anything, rather than just waiting around. Even if it turns out to be a dead end.

  “Nafisa’s just pulled something up that we missed earlier, there’s a Jeep that’s about halfway between the nomad camp and the adobe huts. It looks like it was heading toward them.” The picture on the screen zooms out, and a pointer appears near what at first seems a very small black dot. When it zooms back in we can all see it’s an old Jeep of some sort.

  “It must be it. Why else would there be movement in such a desolate area?” My knuckles are white, my hands clenched in frustration from sitting here doing nothing. I can’t face many more hours like this.

  “We can fly into the nomad’s camp, Sean, then go by whatever transport we can scrounge off them from there.” I raise my chin to show my appreciation of Rais’s suggestion.

  Hunter is looking at me, “At this point I’d rather go on a wild goose chase than sit here twiddling my thumbs.” It warms me that he’s thinking along the same lines, “Sometimes you have to go with a gut feeling and the smallest clue before waiting for everything to drop into place.”

  The satellite image of the huts disappears to be replaced by the faces of Ben and Jon, “Sean, you go along with Hunter, Nat and Ryan.”

  “I’ll go too,” Rais offers, “The desert’s my home.” Now I lift my chin in his direction; he’ll be an extremely useful man to have along.

  Kadar wastes no time; he’s already on the intercom to Ma’mum asking for one of the larger choppers to be made ready for us. “Do you want any of my men with you?” he offers, once he’s finished with his assistant.

  Looking at my colleagues, I shake my head, “We’ll need to sneak up on them. We’re skilled, Kadar, if we go in numbers, it might be too easy for them to spot us.”

  “I’ll be in contact via satellite phone,” Jon’s voice captures our attention, “Once you can give me the layout I’ll talk you through the best method to extract them.” Having been a member of the British army’s elite force, the SAS or Special Air Services, and an expert in hostage extraction, Jon’s input will be invaluable.

  Taking advantage of Kadar’s offer we swing by his well-stocked armoury, before making our way to the helipad, collecting a variety of weapons as well as suiting ourselves up in lightweight Kevlar body armour. It will be hot wearing it in these temperatures, but better sweating than taking a bullet to the chest. At last prepared, we go to where the helicopter is waiting for us, the pilot already in his seat. Rais sits up beside him, and for a while, they look at the map and set coordinates for the nomads’ camp.

  The journey isn’t quite as far as the desert city, but will still take an hour and three-quarters to get there. My leg starts to bounce; I’m anxious to get on my way. At last, the rotors start spinning, and we lift into the air.

  Conversation is stilted and then fades away altogether, each of us thinking our own thoughts. If we’re right, and we have to be, we could be going into a fight, and it’s possible not all of us will be coming back. None of us can guess what we’ll find when we arrive. Or if it is indeed the right place. And, of course, even if I find my girls, there’s no guarantee both or either of them will still be alive.

  In a sombre mood, I look out of the window. The endless miles of barren desert pass beneath us, broken only by the shadow of the helicopter itself, but the emptiness of the landscape is nothing compared to the hole in my heart. They’ve got to be safe and still breathing. Both of them.

  Chapter 31

  Vanessa

  I’d known as soon as she started being indiscreet that my time was running out, she’d implicated herself too deeply for her to let simply let me go. I’m prepared, understanding it’s take action now, or do nothing and let them kill me. Knowing I’ve nothing to lose, as soon as she starts to voice her instruction to her companion, I jump to one side so that any return fire won’t be directed toward the baby, and in one swift move pull out my gun and drop into a firing stance. I shoot Nasir with no regrets; made in his father’s mould he’s no loss to the world. It’s an unfamiliar gun and pulls slightly to the right as I fire, missing his heart, but it’s done sufficient damage that he collapses to the floor. I adjust my aim, firing again and this time place an accurate shot to his forehead.

  There’s a stunned silence. Then Danielle gasps, her eyes narrowed at me in horror then she lets out a scream, but the shots have frightened the baby and have elicited such loud shrieks from her, they drown those of her mother right out. With absolutely no remorse I pistol whip Danielle hard to keep her quiet, feeling no regret when she too falls to the floor. Quickly, I check she’s out for the count, but just to be sure, pocket Nasir’s weapon and check he’s carrying nothing else she could use. Danielle, herself, is unarmed as I’d suspected.

  Mollie’s cries decrease to pitiful wailing, but I force myself to ignore her, moving cautiously to the door, trying desperately to remember the layout of the building when I’d been brought in. I hear footsteps, and a voice outside shouting. Fuck, I’d forgotten there was probably at least one pilot with the helicopter. There are at least four men, I know of, who I’ll need to deal with.

  I stay still, glad when Mollie quiets, as I’m hoping if someone comes down the short hallway to investigate the shots, I’ll hear them. A moment passes, and but no sounds reach me. Then I hear two voices outside laughing. It suddenly hits me why no one’s come at the sound of the gun; they were going to kill me. Presumably, the shots fired have been dismissed as being from the execution they were expecting Nasir to carry out.

  Inching along carefully, keeping up close to the rough stone wall, I make my way to the front of the building moving slowly and cautiously through the doorway and spinning around with my gun in front of me to check the entry room is clear. Then I cross to the door which is open to the outside. The third of my guards and a man who I assume to be the pilot are smoking cigarettes a few paces away from me, and looking at the helicopter instead of in my direction. For some reason, the thought that they’re casually smoking and sharing a joke just after Nasir’s apparently murdered me causes my rage to rise. I take aim, shooting
the guard first, firing three times until he hits the ground. It would have been better to keep the pilot alive, but he’s recovered from the shock fast, and already his hand’s gone to a holster. At the second his weapon appears I put two bullets through his head.

  Loud shouting now. By my reckoning, there are at least two men left alive. Investigating the shooting a head peers around the corner but disappears before I can take aim. They know where I am now, and that I’ve killed their comrades.

  Quickly I check my ammunition; I’ve got eleven bullets left in my Glock 18, my preferred weapon as it’s lighter than the Sig Sauers the men tend to favour. The voices go silent as I slide myself back into the safety of the doorway. As shots fire through both windows, I drop to the floor, hoping not to be hit by any ricochet. There’s a man either side of the house. How the fuck do I get out of this?

  Taking a rock, I throw it through the doorway as hard as I can. It hits the Jeep waiting outside. The sound draws a hail of bullets in that direction. In the confusion, I come out from my hiding place and carefully sidle around keeping my back to the outer wall. At the corner, I turn, aim, and shoot as soon as I’m lined up on my target. I’m faster than he is and I keep firing until he drops to the ground. That took four bullets. I’m down to seven.

  And there’s at least one man left. Carrying on round the oblong house, I throw another rock toward the front then run around the back as quietly as I can, thanking God I’ve got on my sneakers and that the sounds are absorbed by the soft desert sand. Swinging around the last corner I immediately see a man with his back to the wall, his gun wavering left and right in front of him, his erratic movements showing I’m not up against a trained soldier. For the final time, I take aim and fire.

  As the echoes of the gunshots fade, the only sound breaking the silence of the desert air that of the baby, still crying inside. I wait and watch, listening for the slightest noise that would indicate there were any other men, straining to hear anything over Mollie’s cries. But there’s nothing. I’ve left no man alive.