by Lynn Ames
“Will do. Make sure you get some sleep tonight, Vaughn. You won’t be any help to Sage if you’re dead on your feet.”
“These are the golden hours—if we don’t find her within the first forty-eight hours…” Vaughn let the thought trail off. Some things didn’t bear thinking about.
“Keep the faith. I’ll be there soon.”
“Thanks, Justine. Travel safely.”
The street was dark, but Vaughn’s eyes had long since adapted to the lack of light. Having arrived a half hour before, she stood in the shadows at the side of Sage’s house. She’d watched as people arrived home, presumably from work. There was no unusual activity on the street that she could discern. If anyone was paying particular attention to Sage’s house, it wasn’t obvious.
“Nice to see you too,” she said quietly to the man who had snuck up behind her.
“Damn, Vaughn Elliott. You’re still good.”
“Hello, Jackson. You’re lucky I knew it was you. If I hadn’t, you’d be dead by now.”
“Then I’ll consider myself fortunate. I assume there is a reason why we’re meeting here.”
“You always were a bright man. I want to show you a few things. Come with me.” Vaughn moved to the back of the house and used the key to get in. Night lights burned dimly in the kitchen and hallway. It was all the illumination they needed, and all that she would allow within sight of a window. There was no sense taking chances on being spotted.
Vaughn moved down the hall to Sage’s office. Since there were no windows in here, she clicked on the lamp. A quick survey of the area convinced her that no one had been there since she’d left that morning.
From the desk, she picked up a picture. Sage smiled up at her in a graduation cap and gown. Vaughn took a deep breath to settle the sharp, sudden ache in her heart. She held the photo out for Jackson.
“This is who we’re looking for. Her name is Sage McNally.”
Jackson, perhaps sensing something more than professional interest, put a beefy hand on Vaughn’s shoulder. “She seems like a lovely girl. We’ll get her back, mark my words.”
Rather than trust her voice, Vaughn simply nodded and moved to a map on the wall. She cleared her throat. “Okay, based on the pins she’s placed on the map, I’m assuming these are either places she’s visited, or they’re places with some sort of political significance.” Vaughn glanced at Jackson. “What’s your guess?”
Jackson studied the map. “Djenne, Mopti, Timbuktu. These are all major centers. I would not be surprised to know that she had visited all those regions. At the very least, she would have to be familiar with the politics in those parts of the country, and the politicians.”
“Are any of these areas politically volatile? I’ll be meeting with some Americans tomorrow to get their perspective, but I want to know what you hear on the ground.”
Jackson pursed his lips in thought. “I would say not. Truthfully, Mali has been very quiet lately. We patrol the border and keep an eye on things, but I have not heard any reports to alarm me.”
“What about splinter groups? Any of those?”
“There are, of course, factions. But there is no violent unrest or anti-American sentiment.”
Vaughn blew out an explosive breath and ran her fingers through her hair. Nothing. There’s nothing to go on here. “Let’s go.” Shutting off the light, she pulled Jackson along with her.
When they’d exited the house, he asked, “Where are we going?”
“First, we’re going down the street. I want to show you where she was taken.”
“You realize it is dark, Vaughn Elliott, right?”
“Mmm-hmm. Get in,” she said, gesturing to the passenger seat of Sage’s car.
They drove to the site of Sage’s abduction in silence. After driving around the block to ensure that they were alone, Vaughn parked the car at an angle so that the headlights would provide illumination.
“Take a look and tell me your impressions. Then I’ve got a question for you.”
“All right.” Jackson made a wide sweep of the area, then focused in on the drag marks and the blood. Several times he knelt down and put his face practically in the dirt. Finally, he stood up.
“What do you think?”
“Four, maybe five of them and her. All men, judging from the size of the feet.”
“I agree. And the feet are exactly what I want to talk about.” Vaughn knelt down and motioned for Jackson to join her. “Look here. This is a pretty distinctive footprint.”
“Agreed.”
“I want to know what kind of shoe or boot makes that. I can tell you right now, it’s no American military boot, and I’ve never seen a shoe that makes a mark like that.”
Jackson squinted closely at the print. “I’ll want to come back and have a look in the daylight to be sure, but my opinion would be that it’s consistent with what a Tuareg rebel would wear.”
“A Tuareg—I thought the Tuareg were nomads who rode around on camels up in Timbuktu?”
Jackson laughed. “It’s a little more complicated than that. As I said, I’d like to have a look in daylight.”
“All right.” Vaughn relented because she had no other choice. “Did you bring me what I asked?”
“And then some. I have a brother who lives on the outskirts of town. That’s where I’ll be staying for the next few days. I’ve got everything stashed there.”
“You won’t be missed?”
“Even I am entitled to visit family once in a while.” He clapped Vaughn on the shoulder. “It is very late. You should get some sleep. We will not find this woman tonight, but we will find her soon.”
“I hope you’re right, my friend.” Vaughn thought once again of Sage, scared, bleeding, and alone. “You have to be right.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ray Dumont stood on a balcony overlooking the city. His silk robe whispered in the breeze as the fabric brushed against the railing. It was late—very late—but his thoughts were churning and sleep would not come.
This posting was the pinnacle of his career. An ambassadorship. What would his father have said? He would’ve said the end justifies the means. If it took a little cash to tip the scales in his favor, what was the harm?
Ray had devoted his life to the diplomatic corps. It was only right that he should get something back in return. This nasty business would all be over soon, and he would be rewarded handsomely. The ambassadorship was only the beginning. He was going places in politics. Before long, his career would outshine his father’s reputation and he would move out from under that long shadow. Ray Dumont would be remembered for himself, not for his heritage.
Would his father have worried about the petty details? No. “Don’t sweat the small stuff, Ray.” That’s what he would’ve said. “Every person has to take care of himself. If mistakes are made, consequences must be paid.”
Ashton, Trindle, McNally. They made mistakes. The consequences weren’t on his conscience. Each of them was responsible for their own incompetence. Ashton and Trindle were lucky—their mistakes would be little more than black marks on their records. Dumont frowned. McNally was troubling. She had potential. It was a shame, really. But it couldn’t be helped. Tomorrow her place would be taken by someone hand-picked for the job by Washington.
Dumont ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the railing. Aaron Torgensen. According to his dossier, he spoke impeccable French, was a professor of International Studies at Johns Hopkins, and was an advisor to the president on African affairs. He was not, technically, in the diplomatic corps, but Washington was making an exception in this case. Torgensen’s presence was only temporary. When the delegation left the country, his work would be done.
It was important, in the face of the upcoming congressional visit, that the politics be handled by someone with extensive knowledge of the region, the political factions, and the history of the republic. The president wanted to ensure that the mission had every chance of success. This was important to the co
untry.
When it was over, Dumont could get out of this God-forsaken place and continue his ascension. Yes, he was on his way to big things. With a smile, he turned and walked back into his sumptuous bedroom. Sweet dreams, indeed.
Sage heard muffled sounds outside the tent. She bit the side of her cheek to keep from screaming as she tried unsuccessfully to stretch her cramped back muscles. She was curled on her side on the hard ground in the fetal position, her hands cuffed around a wooden pole and bound to her ankles with a short chain.
With the blindfold still in place, Sage had little concept of day or night, but the absolute blackness led her to believe that dawn had yet to break. Physical discomfort, a blinding headache caused by the blow to the head, and dehydration had made it impossible for her to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.
Despite her best efforts to identify sounds, she failed to pinpoint their location beyond knowing with certainty that they were not near any city or town. If there was water nearby, like the Niger River, she could neither hear it or smell it.
Footsteps came closer, and Sage gritted her teeth. At least to that point she’d been alone in the tent—or so she believed. Her heart rate spiked and she could not stifle a scream as something sharp was jabbed into her back. My God! Although she had no frame of reference for it, Sage could’ve sworn it felt like the point of a sword.
Harsh words rolled over her as her ankles were unshackled and she was yanked to her feet.
The pulse pounded in Sage’s ears. Relax, if they’d wanted you dead, they wouldn’t have let you sleep first. The point of the sword dug into the small of her back. Her legs felt like Jell-O.
Careful not to move too quickly, she took advantage of being upright and flexed her shoulders, then arched her back. She could hear the nervous shuffle of feet behind her, and so decided not to push her luck any further.
Other footsteps and voices approached. She heard the unmistakable metallic click of a gun being cocked. Sweat popped out on her forehead. Instinctively she thrashed against the handcuffs that tethered her to the pole. No, I’m not ready to die. Not here. Not like this. She whipped her head first right, then left, but the blindfold held.
A voice shouted, and Sage froze as the barrel of the gun touched her temple. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and cringed. A hand clamped down on her shoulder. Her breath came in short rasps, sounding loud in her ears. Then the pressure of the handcuffs was gone. An arm wrapped around her neck and dragged her backward. Behind the blindfold, her eyes popped open wide.
The change in the air told her she was outside the tent. Before she could register any other impressions, the ground disappeared out from underneath her feet, and she gasped. The gun barrel stayed against her ear as the arm around her neck tightened. She fought for breath, choking. The pressure eased when her feet touched the ground, and she realized with a rush of relief that she’d been dropped into the “bathroom” again. When she was done, hands under her elbows lifted her back out.
She didn’t struggle as she was marched forward, nor when she was hoisted atop the camel and her hands were fastened once again to the saddle. All that mattered was that she was still alive. She said a prayer of thanks.
Nothing made any sense. Vaughn slapped her note pad hard on the table. If Jackson was right and the abductors were Tuareg and not American, then why was the ambassador so jumpy? What was the connection? Was there one?
“Damn it.” Vaughn got up so quickly the chair toppled over backward and landed with a thud on the carpeted floor. She kicked it for good measure, paused, then kicked it again. The clock on the wall read 5:42 a.m. Sage had been gone for twenty-four hours. Where are you, Sage? Are you okay?
“Stupid question, Elliott. She’s bleeding and frightened out of her mind. No, she’s not okay.”
Vaughn replayed, yet again, her meeting with Dumont. There was no question that he’d been nervous and deceptive. She hadn’t imagined that. After interrogating hundreds of individuals over the years, she’d developed a keen sense for knowing when someone wasn’t on the up and up. Dumont was definitely one of those. But what was he hiding? And, maybe more importantly, why?
More information. That was what she needed. Without it, she was just spinning her wheels. Sage had shared some of her background, but Vaughn needed to know more. Was there something in Sage’s past that made her a target? Although it didn’t feel to Vaughn as if the abduction was the result of an old grudge, she couldn’t rule it out. Maybe Sage and the ambassador had a history of some kind.
Vaughn frowned. It could just as easily be that Sage had made a faux pas that had enraged some Malian political leader. Or that the kidnapping was purely political and not at all personal. As an American and the political officer, Sage was a symbol. Taking her would send a message to the American government.
Perhaps the ambassador had received a note from the kidnappers and feared for his own safety. That would’ve shaken him up. If they’d told him he would be next if he didn’t cooperate, or that if he told anyone about Sage’s abduction they’d kill her or him, it would account for his odd behavior.
But it didn’t account for the ambassador being able to secure a replacement for Sage so quickly. It would remain to be seen who that replacement was. If it was someone from within the embassy or from a neighboring country, it would follow that he or she could’ve arrived within twenty-four hours. If not…well, that would certainly raise more questions in Vaughn’s mind.
In any case, she was no closer to understanding why Sage had been taken, or where she was, than she had been when all this started.
Vaughn shook her head. What she needed was a half-hour power nap and a shower. It was going to be a long day.
“Vaughn Elliott?”
“Good morning, Jackson.” Vaughn dodged an old man riding a bike on the sidewalk and switched the cell phone to her other ear. “What do you have for me?”
“Ah, direct and to the point as always.”
“When there’s no time to waste, yes.”
“I went back to the scene at daybreak. The footprints are definitely Tuareg, or at the very least, consistent with the Tuareg. I still believe there were four or five of them. That’s a lot for one small woman, in my opinion. Don’t you agree?”
“I do agree. What I can’t figure out is, why was that necessary? To involve that many people would seem to indicate that they needed to be sure of success and that she was a high-value target.”
“True,” Jackson said.
“Why? What could be so important about a mid-level, seemingly well-liked, career diplomat who’s never held a position more important than political officer?”
“You would know better than I. While you are working on that, I will map all of the known Tuareg enclaves anywhere within a one hundred mile radius of Bamako. My local contacts can make some very discreet inquiries. If anyone saw the woman or knows anything about what happened to her, I will find out.”
“Thank you, my friend.” While Jackson’s approach was the only logical and practical way to proceed, they both knew it would take days, not hours, of detective work.
As if reading her thoughts, Jackson said, “I promise you, we will work as fast as we can.”
“I know. Be careful. I’d rather not tip off anyone that we’re searching.”
“Understood. I will call you as soon as I know anything.”
“Actually, I’ve got another member of the team flying in later today. I’d like us all to get together tonight, but not at my hotel.”
“My brother’s house is available.”
“It’s out of the way?”
“It’s safe.”
“Then we’ll make it our headquarters. We’ll meet where we did last night…1930 hours. You can drive us to your brother’s.” Vaughn closed the phone. She rubbed the sore spot over her heart. Slow, deliberate progress leading to Sage’s eventual return wasn’t good enough—not by a long shot. Every fiber of Vaughn’s being demanded that she go out in the fiel
d immediately and turn over every grain of sand until she found her.
Running off blindly with no clear idea of where she is and no clue as to the motivations or capabilities of the kidnappers. Brilliant, Elliott. Stop thinking with your heart and use your head. Your heart won’t save Sage now.
Vaughn shoved her hands in her pockets. Intellectually, she knew that finding Sage without gathering more information would be next to impossible. The embassy building loomed before her. Her gut told her the answers she needed were inside. Besides, Justine was right—the congressional visit had to be her priority—except that in her heart, it wasn’t.
Aaron Torgensen was a tall, slim man. His dress pants were sharply creased and there were no wrinkles in his silk shirt. Vaughn noted the Gucci loafers and the expensive belt. Not exactly the attire of a government employee.
When he shook her hand, his grip was fish-like. But there was something else. Calluses. He’s got calluses on the inside and outside edge of his palms. Vaughn tucked the impression away for later examination. Something else about him was bothering her. She couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that she’d met him before.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vaughn. You don’t mind if I call you Vaughn, do you?”
“Not at all, Aaron. You don’t mind if I call you Aaron?”
“Of course not. I’d prefer it, in fact.”
Even apart from her suspicions, something about the man irritated her. She chalked it up to the fact that he wasn’t Sage. Get over it, Elliott.
“Did you have a pleasant flight?” Vaughn helped herself to a seat at the small conference table. They were tucked away in a corner room on the second floor that Vaughn imagined doubled as a break room for embassy employees.
“As pleasant as flights ever get.” He joined her at the table. Although he smiled, his eyes remained cool.
“Where did they pluck you from?”
“Baltimore.”
“Wow. That’s rough. You couldn’t have had much notice.”
“No. But then, I didn’t need much.”
“I didn’t realize political officers moved around so quickly.” Vaughn would have a thorough background check completed on Aaron Torgensen before the day was out, but she was interested to hear what he would volunteer.
