Chapter 3
C rumbled before the embassy gate, Hannah glanced over her shoulder. The State Security force could arrive any minute—and her only safe haven in the entire country had locked her out. She was officially out of options.
“Can I help you?”
Thank God.
She sprang to her feet, drinking in the sight of a U.S. soldier approaching the gate from the inside. He wore desert camouflage and carried a serious-looking rifle slung across his chest. Muscular, alert, and armed, there was nothing soft about him, but she’d never seen anyone more reassuring.
“Please,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m an American citizen. I need help. There are dangerous people after me. If they find me, they’ll kill me.”
His gaze swept over her from head to toe. He took in the robe, the headscarf, her bare, dust-covered feet and hesitated, trying to make sense of the contradiction.
Damn, he might think she was a local woman.
Yanking the scarf down, she revealed her pale face and blonde hair. His eyes widened in surprise. They were pretty nice eyes, to be fair. Clear, sharp and a vivid shade of blue. Not unlike the Arabic sky. Fumbling in her purse, she managed to pull out her U.S. passport and wave it at the hot guard.
“See? I’m American. Please let me in. It’s a matter of life and death.”
She glanced back down the street, bracing for the screech of tires or the glint of a patrol car.
He followed her gaze, checking the street. For now, it was quiet.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, clearing his throat. “You’re too late. This embassy is closed due to the current unrest. All personnel were evacuated back to the States. There’s no one here.”
“What?” Her breath caught.
No! Please, no.
She pleaded with him. “But… I have to get in. I have information… critical intel about the regime. Please,” her voice cracked, “you have to let me in before they find me.”
If only she still had the damn letter.
“Calm down, ma’am,” the soldier said, not unkindly. “Who’s coming after you?” He still hadn’t moved toward the gate.
“The authorities,” she whispered. “If they catch me, I’ll be arrested. I’ve committed treason.”
He blinked. “Treason? That’s a serious crime. Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she snapped. Maybe he wasn’t so hot after all. “It’s the memorandum?—”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowing as they flicked back to her. She could see it in his expression. She must appear completely unhinged. A lone woman in a disguise, dusty and barefoot, rambling about treason and stolen documents. Not exactly the image of someone trustworthy.
“I’ve got orders,” he said finally. “No one gets in. I wish I could help, but... maybe try contacting the State Department in D.C. They’ll know you’re still here and send someone.”
“I don’t have time,” she hissed. He was obviously dense, as well as not hot. “They’ll be here any second?—”
As if summoned by her words, the wail of sirens rose in the distance. She tensed and gripped the bars.
“That for you?” he asked, already reading the panic on her face.
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
It was game over.
The soldier turned toward the sound and they both saw the ominous blue lights flashing at the far end of the avenue. The security operatives were close enough to see the gates. Had they spotted her? Did they know she’d come here?
The not hot guard checked his weapon with one fluid motion and squared his stance. His legs were planted, his rifle ready. Impressive reflexes, despite the sick twist in her gut. He wasn’t going to let her in.
“Thanks for nothing.”
With a low, desperate moan, she turned to run.
“See the alley at two o’clock?” he called after her.
“What?” She barely heard him over the thundering in her head. The police vehicles, having spotted her, jumped the curb on the far side of the park. Instead of taking the approach road, they chose the direct route—straight across the grass.
She stared in dismay as stall owners scrambled for cover as their goods went flying. She had seconds to react.
“Look, do you want my help or not?” His voice was sharp now, urgent.
She forced herself to focus on him.
He pointed. “Go down the alley. It’s too narrow for a car, so they’ll have to follow on foot. That’ll buy you some time.”
She glanced to her right. The alley was half-hidden behind a thick hibiscus bush, but she spotted it.
He continued, “At the end, turn left. Keep going until the road forks. Take the left fork. At the end is a metal gate. Wait there.”
Without checking to see if she’d understood, he stepped back into the shadows of the date palms beside the guard hut.
Wait there?
Was he insane? With those guys after her?
“I don’t think so,” she muttered, casting one last glance at the oncoming disco of police vehicles before sprinting for the alley.
The unhelpful, not hot guard was right about one thing, though, it was her best shot.
The narrow path wouldn’t fit a vehicle or even two men running side by side.
As she charged down it, instinct took over.
With her pursuers forced to follow on foot, she might just have a chance. All she needed now was a place to hide.
A shout made her glance back. Two burly policemen had entered the alley behind her. She caught only a glimpse before she whipped around the next corner, but it was enough to fill her with dread.
As she’d suspected, these weren’t regular Symanian police or palace security.
They were the high-level, scarier version: State Security operatives.
These guys were elite soldiers, trained in close combat.
She’d heard stories about their brutality, and she knew they were loyal to the prince without question.
If they caught her, she wouldn’t get a second chance.
Perspiration dripped into her eyes, but she blinked and kept going. The not hot soldier’s directions echoing in her mind.
Turn left. Follow the road until it forks. Take the left fork.
Why would he tell her to wait by an exposed gate? Was he going to send someone to meet her? There was no time to question it.
It was a hard truth. She was on her own. Not even her embassy had let her in.
She ran harder, scanning ahead for the fork.
There it was!
The men hadn’t rounded the turn yet, but she felt them behind her like heat at her back. Every second mattered.
The road to the left curved sharply, a narrow stretch winding like a river through the old quarter. As she rounded the bend and nearly collided with a man on an ancient Vespa. He swerved and narrowly missed, swearing at her in Arabic.
“Sorry!” she yelled, her legs pumping, her chest burning.
Did they see which way she went?
She hoped not. She needed more time.
On the right side of the road, a line of squat concrete houses loomed, jammed together like Lego. Their windows were shuttered, their balconies strung with laundry. There were no yards, which meant no trees, and no cover.
To the left, a high hedge ran alongside the path, woven with bougainvillea and topped with curling strands of razor wire. No way she was getting over that.
Her eyes darted everywhere, searching for the gate the soldier had mentioned. Why she was still following his directions, she had no idea. The guy was deranged. Standing out in the open felt like suicide.
But there was nowhere else to go. The hedge was too dense, and the houses were sealed tight. Aside from the moped rider and the men chasing her, the entire street was deserted.
Then she heard the faint, rhythmic sound of chanting. Prayer time.
That explained the lack of people. She sprinted on, the road curving beneath her feet. Still no gate in sight.
He did say the left fork… right?
A shout rang out. She turned.
Shit.
One of the men had spotted her, and he was charging up the road. At least he was alone, which meant they must’ve split up.
Adrenaline surged. Her legs burned. She pushed herself harder, and flew around the final bend?—
And saw it.
A plain wrought iron gate, about six feet tall, tucked into a recess at the end of the hedge. It was easy to miss, camouflaged by tangled bougainvillea and a stretch of chicken wire across the top.
She stumbled toward it, chest on fire. Her hand reached for the latch?—
The gate swung open from the inside.
A figure stepped out of the shadows. A man.
He seized her around the waist in one smooth motion, yanking her through the opening. Her scream caught in her throat as a hand clamped over her mouth.
“Be quiet,” a voice growled in her ear.