Dangerous in Transit

by Sidney Bristol

  A man still wearing the green livery of the palace strode forward, a satellite phone in hand. Lemine intercepted him and snagged the phone.

  “You’ll see that my plan worked.” Samba thumbed at his chest.

  Zeina’s blank expression said more than words. Jackie wasn’t so sure Samba had thought of every angle. He’d certainly never realized that Jackie’s relationship with her father was strained.

  Lemine handed Samba the phone which he pressed to his ear and eased back in the seat.

  “Jackie?” Felix whispered.

  “They’re calling Dad.” She swallowed. “Felix?”

  “It’s going to be okay.” He reached over and took her hand.

  “No, it’s not.” She turned to stare at him. Blood had dried, clumping his blond locks together. One eye was a bit swollen. A pang of guilt stabbed her. She’d enjoyed getting to know Felix, talking to him. She hated how things were ending between them. “Dad’s not going to agree to anything. They’ll kill me then, won’t they?”

  “You don’t know that,” Felix said far too quickly.

  “But I do. If you get home in time, make sure the necklace is buried with Mom?”

  “Jackie—don’t say that.”

  “Quiet,” Samba snapped.

  “And Felix?” She opened her mouth, her wild, crazy words sticking to the back of her throat.

  “Bring her here,” Samba said.

  Lemine jerked her forward so hard she almost fell. The dick probably took joy in it, too. He hauled her next to the presidential chair, but didn’t let her go.

  “Tell your father you’re still alive and well. For now.” Samba extended the phone toward her.

  “I talk, Felix goes free,” she whispered in Arabic. Her father was barely conversant in this language, and hard of hearing to boot.

  Samba stared at her as though he hadn’t realized she could actually speak.

  “You do as I tell you, and he doesn’t die.” He leaned toward her, phone in hand. “Be a good girl. Take it.”

  “You say that to all your bitches, don’t you?” She snatched the phone out of his hand and pressed it to her ear. “Hi, Dad. Don’t give this sick fuck anything.”

  “Jackie—”

  Samba stood and flung his arm out, the back of his hand connecting with Jackie’s cheek. She reeled backward, the existing bruises hurting more than the actual blow.

  Hands grabbed at her and Lemine snatched the phone, giving it back to Samba.

  “You heard her. She’s alive, for now. Call your friends in parliament, or I’ll behead her myself, understood?”

  Jackie swallowed.

  That went about as well as she’d expected.

  “Take them down stairs. Now,” Lemine snapped.

  Uniformed PPM guards dragged Jackie out of the room, Felix on her heels.

  “Jackie? You okay?” Felix yelled.

  “Yeah. He hits like a bitch.” Her jaw throbbed a bit, but he’d landed the blow in the same spot she’d been backhanded last night, and by someone who knew how to throw a punch.

  Battery operated lanterns illuminated the stairs as they were escorted down at least one or two floors. In the semi darkness it was hard to tell. They walked for what felt like ages through a long hall, too long to just be under the main palace, and into what looked like some sort of dungeon from a bygone era. The walls were tan brick, ancient and uneven. Their guards shoved them into the first open door.

  Jackie stumbled forward, hands out, but she felt nothing in the darkness.

  Felix’s boots scraped the ground behind her.

  “Hey—hey? You can’t leave us here.” Jackie whirled around.

  The last guard yanked the door shut. Metal clanged against metal, sending shivers up her spine. She grasped the bars and watched the light fade away, down the long, arched corridor.

  “I hope you rot in hell,” she yelled, her voice echoing off the walls.

  “Jackie—stop.” Felix grasped her arm.

  The last of the light died, leaving them floating in a sea of darkness so complete it felt as though it were pressing in all around.

  “Where are we?” she asked. Her voice bounced off the brick and stone, echoing to sound louder than it needed to.

  “Some sort of fucking dungeon.”

  “No, I mean—where? We walked for too long to still be under the palace, so where are we?” She could picture the palace grounds in her mind, but she had no idea what structures were around the main building.

  “I don’t know.” He grunted. “Lock feels like it’s just an old, key entry.”

  “Can you pick it?”

  “Maybe? I don’t know.” Felix’s boot ground against the stones and the door shifted. “What the hell were you thinking to tell Samba to go fuck himself?”

  “I thought, hey, I’m going to die. Might as well say what I think?”

  “You are not going to die.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t know that.”

  “And neither do you.” He grunted and something pinged against the metal.

  “What are you doing? What’s going on?” She held out her hands and shuffled toward the sound until she could grasp the cold iron bars.

  “The key hole’s small. I need pins or something. If I could just see what the hell I still have in my pockets, this would be easier.”

  “You have a hundred and one pockets—and no flashlight?”

  “Not anymore.”

  She leaned her forehead on the bars.

  “Listen, Felix?” She blew out a breath. “Best case scenario? Dad refuses to play ball because it’ll cost him his gold source. They kill me. There’s no way my dad will risk losing his mines to save me.”

  “No. You’re his daughter. He’ll—”

  “If that ever mattered, don’t you think we’d have some sort of father-daughter bond by now? Felix, this is the man who would rather send one of his employees to my Father Daughter Dance than show up himself. He’s never going to value me on the same level as the business. End of story. We just need to accept that Zeina and Samba put the wrong eggs in this basket because Dad’s not budging. Which means they’re going to kill me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” She turned toward his voice, staring into the darkness so complete she could be alone. “Just—make sure the necklace gets buried with Mom? And tell Val to call my lawyer. She doesn’t know it yet, but she gets everything. I never told her because it felt weird and she’d say no, but...if anyone gets something from me, it should be her. God knows she’s put up with me enough.”

  “Stop talking like that, Jackie.” Felix’s hand wrapped around her arm and he pulled her toward him. “We’re going to figure this out.”

  “Yeah, but if we don’t—it’s okay. I got myself into this.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, giving into the urge to hang onto him no matter what.

  “Stop talking like you’re about to die.” He squeezed the back of her neck.

  “I’m trying to be a realist here.”

  “Yeah, well, your realism sucks.”

  “I don’t want Dad to support Samba, because that means a whole country will be worse off. I wouldn’t want to live in a world where that happens. I don’t want that blame on my shoulders.”

  “And I want your blood on my hands?”

  “None of this is your fault.”

  “And it’s yours?”

  Jackie opened her mouth, but she didn’t have a good answer to that question. She knew her life choices put her in the path of danger, but so did Felix’s.

  “You don’t get to be the martyr here. You die, I have to live with it. Me. If they’re going to kill you, they have to go through me first.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath stroking her skin.

  “No. No, I won’t let that happen.”

  “I’m not going to live with your blood on my hands.”

  “You don’t get to die for me—”

  “My job is to protect you with my life. I’ll d
o it, Jackie. If there’s a fighting chance to get you out of here, I’ll take it. And I don’t care what happens to me. Guys like me are a dime a dozen, but you? You’re something special.”

  Tuesday. Presidential Bunker Nouakchott, Mauritania.

  Val bit her lip and squeezed the syringe, plunging an extra dose of painkillers into the President’s system.

  “That should do it, Mr. President,” she said.

  Kossi Ould Maaouya had a kind face. He patted her hand and nodded, saving his strength for the moments to come. She glanced at the clock.

  Shit.

  Yenna had called half an hour ago about the forced vote and the narrow window of time they had.

  “Is he ready?” one of the presidential aids asked.

  “Yes. Be gentle with him. He’s going to be easily exhausted. In an hour, give him this.” She handed the man another syringe. Once they’d overthrown the coup, Kossi could have all the recuperation time he needed, but right now the people needed a strong leader.

  “Thank you.” He took the syringe. “Malick is waiting to lead you down to the dungeons where they’re holding the others. God speed.”

  “Thanks.” Val pushed to her feet and sprinted for the stairs.

  Everything had to be timed perfectly.

  Duke’s men had dispersed out to the refugee camps last night, spreading the word that the president was alive. That they needed to take back their city. Any minute now, those people would head straight for the Presidential Palace—where Duke would project a video of the president to inspire a patriotic uprising.

  If Yenna couldn’t stall the vote, they didn’t know what would happen, but nothing good for Jackie and Felix trapped in the honest-to-God dungeons.

  She reached the top of the stairs and pushed the door open peering out onto an alley.

  “Come on.” Kyle waved her toward a truck, loaded down with his American reinforcements. “We’ve got to go.”

  Val sprinted for the truck and prayed they still had time.

  Tuesday. Presidential Palace Nouakchott, Mauritania.

  She couldn’t fucking believe it.

  Zeina propped her elbow on the arm rest and listened to Samba’s side of the conversation. Everything had been so carefully arranged and then Samba pulled a God damn magic rabbit out of the hat. How had he done it?

  General Taleb was still a wild card. Samba didn’t have the manpower to stand against him, and the old man wasn’t going to support Samba. If Zeina had even the slightest idea, this would happen she’d have thrown her support behind the military.

  Lemine stared at her, his lips quirked up. She wanted to slap that smirk off his face. She could still destroy him. Samba would not stomach the treason, no matter who it came from.

  “Now, we wait,” Samba announced. He handed the phone to Lemine and eased back in his chair.

  “Is Davis cooperating?” Zeina asked. It didn’t hurt to have all the information.

  “He is. In a few hours, parliament will convene and appoint me president.” Samba grinned.

  Zeina could feel her control of the situation slipping. Before, she’d had a reasonable expectation of her rewards for supporting him, but Samba appeared determined to do this on his own.

  “Well, then, I must prepare an appropriate gift for our new leader.” She pushed to her feet. “To your victory, President Hamadi.”

  Samba grinned, too stupid to realize it was all a set up.

  She turned and strolled out of the room. Her mercenaries waited in the hall and followed her out the front.

  A car idled at the curb, waiting for her. It wasn’t one of hers, but the driver was one of the mercenaries. She didn’t need to know where it came from, only that it would get her from point A to B.

  “Where to?” The leader slid in next to her.

  “Take the scenic route to visit General Taleb. And radio the others, tell them to pull back. We will no longer be supporting Samba Hamadi. If he wants to believe he put himself at the top, then he can keep himself there.”

  Zeina could still get what she wanted. Papis desired a trophy. She could get him one and still keep her freedom.

  18.

  Tuesday. Presidential Palace Dungeons Nouakchott, Mauritania.

  Felix knew exactly what was in every pocket, could recite their resources down to pocket lint, and still—they didn’t have anything to help them escape.

  By his estimation the cell was twenty feet by fifteen feet with two bunk beds. There was a toilet and a sink, but other than that, nothing. No one else was in the other cells that they could tell. No replies or sounds of occupants moving around.

  The hardest part was losing track of the passage of time. In the dark, cut off from everything, a second could be a day or a year for all he could tell.

  “Okay, so when they come, we should pretend I’ve passed out.” Jackie’s feet thumped against the stone as she made another circuit around the cell. “You jump them from behind, I’ll fight back. We lock them in—”

  “Jackie, this isn’t a TV show. Those things don’t work.”

  “I’m brainstorming.”

  “What we need is for a single person to come in here. We could take on one, but not more than that.”

  “Okay—how?”

  Felix blinked a few times.

  The darkness played tricks on his eyes, but this trick wasn’t going away.

  “Is it just me...or is there—”

  “Someone’s coming,” Jackie whispered.

  Bit by bit, a pale light stretched across the chamber, chasing away the darkest of night.

  “Tell them you can’t wake me up,” Jackie whispered. She stretched out on the bunk.

  Felix wasn’t sold, but if this was the only card they had, might as well try it.

  He crossed to the door and grasped the bars.

  “Hey? Hello? Someone there?” he called out.

  The light was coming from the opposite direction they’d entered the dungeon. He could make out an arch and—stairs?

  Two feet and a white hemline came into sight.

  Felix squinted, his eyes unaccustomed to even the least bit of light.

  A dark skinned man padded around the corner and into view.

  “Hey—you speak English?” Felix asked. This was such a dumb plan. “She’s hurt. She’s passed out. She needs help.”

  The man stopped just out of reach on the other side of the door. His lantern light was weak, maybe because the battery was dying, or something else. He peered past Felix, holding the light up, and stared into the cell. He spoke words that meant nothing to Felix and only further frustrated him.

  “I said she’s hurt, man. Hurt, understand?”

  The guy kept talking, but not to Felix.

  Jackie’s head popped up, and she said something Felix still couldn’t understand. He’d never been so frustrated not understanding what people were saying as he was now.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  Jackie scrambled out of bed and across the cell.

  “His name is Malick. He used to work at the mines, for my Dad’s company in the admin office,” she said, as though that would explain it all. “Before that, he was a slave.”

  That made a little more sense.

  “Okay—what’s he saying now?”

  “He thinks he can get one of us out of here, maybe both.”

  “Just open the gate and we’ll walk out.” Felix pulled on the bars.

  “Sh.” Jackie slapped his arm. “It’s not that easy. There’s PPM guards all over the place, plus a lot of the palace staff is scared.”

  “Okay, then he gets you out and I’ll find a closet to hide in until later. If we’re both getting out of here, it has to be soon, and we can’t leave one person in this cell.”

  Jackie translated, she and the man going back and forth.

  Their would-be rescuer seemed hesitant, from the lines on his face to the nervous glances over his shoulder. If Felix thought he could reach out and grab the guy, he’d force
things along, but the other man was too cautious.

  Jackie clapped her hands together, then winced.

  “He’s going to take us up one floor. He thinks he knows a place we can hide for now, but he has to go get the keys.”

  “Shit,” Felix muttered.

  Jackie said something else to the man, then he turned and walked away, leaving them in darkness.

  “What all did he say?” Felix asked.

  “Just that the word is parliament is going to vote Samba into office, but no one wants him. There are people gathering outside the palace to protest—and that’s a big deal. They don’t allow protesters here.”

  “So if—or when—Hamadi is president, things are going to get bad?”

  “From the sound of it, yeah.”

  “We could use that to our advantage then.” In chaos, it was easy to slip away. He could hustle Jackie out—to the airport or head south again. If Hamadi were dealing with an uprising of his own, he wouldn’t care about them.

  Their luck might very well be changing.

  “How long until he’s back?” Felix asked.

  “He didn’t say.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “One of Dad’s employees had a bunch of slaves, people complained, I complained and Dad had a sit down with him. He let the slaves go. Dad hired two—and here we are. I haven’t seen him in years.”

  Felix shook his head.

  The light filtered back down, chasing away the darkness.

  The same man returned, quicker this time.

  “What’s he saying?” Felix asked.

  “We have to hurry. A bunch of PPM guards showed up with more prisoners—he thinks they’re parliament members who won’t support Samba—and they’re headed this way.”

  The cell door swung open, and he drew a somewhat easier breath.

  The new prisoners could very well include the rest of his team.

  “Let’s go.” He put his hand on Jackie’s lower back and ushered her forward.

  If he survived this, he was taking a week of lying on the sofa, soak in the hot tub and drink beer. That was if he survived, of which there was no guarantee.

  “You make it out of here, go to the airport. Or see if your friend, that Yonni guy, can help get you out of here.”