Chapter 13
T hey were dropped off on a straight stretch of highway twenty miles past the checkpoint. Hannah thanked the driver and his family, as Tom retrieved his weapon from beneath the car.
“What about your other gun?” she asked.
“It’s here.” He patted the small of his back. “I wasn’t going through a checkpoint unarmed.”
She didn’t ask what he would’ve done if things had gone wrong. They’d have been completely outnumbered. Not even a U.S. Marine could shoot his way out of that.
Hannah looked around. The landscape was barren and gravelly, with hardly any vegetation to speak of.
Worse still, it stretched endlessly in every direction, no buildings or cover in sight.
Whenever she left the compound with Prince Hakeem or his entourage, they’d traveled in armored vehicles, usually along the scenic coastline.
The island’s interior remained a mystery to her.
“How far from the base are we?” she asked.
“I’d estimate four or five miles.”
Tom glanced at his watch, then up at the sky. “We’ve got less than three hours before the sandstorm hits.”
Hannah peered up at the cloudless blue. Not a single gust stirred the air. Hard to believe a sandstorm was on the way.
“That should be enough time,” she said.
She’d been in Syman for six months, but she’d never experienced a sandstorm. They were a summer thing, and she’d arrived in January.
“Which way?” she asked.
“East.”
The midday sun scorched overhead. A trickle of sweat slid between her breasts. She realized she had no idea which way east was.
Tom set off, angling to the right. His boots crunched across the gravelly sand.
Okay, then. She quickened her pace to catch up and fell into step beside him, boiling in her full-length black robe.
“You can take it off.” Tom motioned toward it without looking. His eyes stayed locked on the horizon.
“Are you sure?” She glanced around, uneasy.
“Yeah. We’ll see anyone coming miles off.”
There was nothing here but wide-open space—and a lot of sand.
She pulled the robe over her head, sighing in relief. The light tunic and trousers underneath, in cream and beige, were far cooler. Unsure what to do with the robe, she tied it around her waist.
They walked for an hour, and with each step Hannah grew more hopeful. They had to be getting close.
Squinting into the distance, she spotted a shimmer on the horizon. “Is that it?” she asked, hopeful.
“Yep,” he confirmed, shielding his eyes from the sun.
They picked up speed. One of Tom’s long strides matched two of hers, but she hardly noticed her aching feet or the sweat on her skin. All she could think about was getting out of Syman and back to England, where she’d be safe.
Then a terrible thought struck her.
“You don’t think they’ll come after me in the U.S., do you?”
“I doubt it. Not with this going on,” he said, but his tone gave him away.
Oh, God. Hannah felt like crying. Would she ever be free of this?
The hard truth was, probably not. Not until she handed over the intel—and Hakeem and Anwar were behind bars. Or dead.
As they neared, she realized the shimmer was actually a long, low hangar made of corrugated metal, gleaming under the mid-morning sun. A short runway stretched out in front of it, black tarmac stark against the sea of beige. The perimeter was marked by a tall electric fence.
“We made it,” she breathed, clutching his arm. “We’re here!”
Tom didn’t respond.
She let go, glancing up at him. “What’s wrong? We made it with time to spare.”
“We’re not clear yet.” His eyes tracked the fence to the entrance on the far side. A guard tower loomed over heavy-duty wrought iron gates. Two flags drooped from poles on either side.
“What do you mean?” She was so desperate to get inside. “Come on, let’s go introduce ourselves.”
Tom held up a hand. “Wait. I need to check it out first. We can’t just waltz in unannounced. You see all that security?”
“Yes, but we’re the good guys, remember?”
“I’m not so sure.” He scanned the area. “Wait behind those dunes. They’ll give you a little cover. I’ll be right back.”
“But why? I don’t see?—”
She sighed as he waved her off and stalked toward a cluster of outbuildings a few hundred yards from the base, just outside the fencing. His rifle was slung low, in a ready position.
Surely he was overreacting. What trouble could there possibly be here? It was a UN Air Force base.
She trudged off toward the dunes. A soft breeze stirred and she lifted her face to it, savoring the touch of cool air on her overheated skin. What did a few more minutes matter?
She sat and pulled out her water bottle. Tom had made sure they each had one, though hers barely fit inside her bag. She took a drink and mentally counted the minutes.
Twenty minutes later, she was still waiting.
What the hell was he doing?
Peering out from behind the dune, she saw no movement near the outbuildings—only wind sweeping sand across the ground. The breeze had picked up, turning the dunes from refuge to obstacle. Grit stung her cheeks and got into her eyes.
To hell with this.
She stood and cautiously made her way toward the buildings. If Tom wasn’t there, she’d head to the main gate. No way was she getting caught in a sandstorm out here when she could be safe inside.
The outbuildings looked deserted.
She poked her head into the first one—a concrete shell, probably for storage. It was empty, so she moved on to the second.
That’s when she saw it. A man lying motionless on the floor.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Tom?
She rushed forward—then froze. It wasn’t him. The body was too small. The shape all wrong.
Thank God. She exhaled shakily. Then Tom must’ve been here. This had to be his doing.
But who was this guy? And why had Tom killed him?
Heart pounding, she bent down and grabbed a fist-sized rock—the only weapon she had.
No sign of Tom in the second building, and she didn’t dare call out. Who knew if others were nearby? She edged toward the side of the building facing the base—just as something cold pressed hard against her temple.
The barrel of a gun.