The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(79)

Parked about three feet from the warehouse, the bus was angled slightly so its front was closer to the wall. With Jaramogi’s troops loading the Jeeps with arms and equipment, he’d have to time his exit carefully. Getting to the warehouse roof was his only egress. From there, he’d find a way down the back of the building.

He waited until the next group passed with their load. Now. He scrambled out from under the chassis and jammed one foot against the warehouse wall, the other on the side of the bus. He shimmied upward, using his arms for support. His boot slid down the wall with a slight scuffling sound. He stabilized himself and kept moving.

Voices sounded. Another group was coming out. He reached the roof as the men appeared. He rolled over the edge and lay flat on his back, his chest heaving from the effort.

“Did you hear something?” one of the men asked.

“Check it out,” Jaramogi demanded.

Rif remained still, ignoring the pain of the roof’s blistering tarmac against his back.

“Footprints. Someone’s spying on us. Find him!”

So much for stealth. Rif jumped up and sprinted toward the back of the building while yanking out his belt and scanning for a way down. Seeing a large drainage pipe, he looped the belt around it and rappelled down the wall.

Once on the ground, he pressed his back against the brick and looked both ways. Clear. He moved closer to the propane tank that supplied the warehouse.

Fifty yards away, the open yard morphed into a heavily treed area.

He needed to reach the forest without being mowed down. He’d have to create a diversion.

Soft footsteps crunched on the gravel beside the warehouse. He rummaged in his backpack for a cigarette and lighter. Although he didn’t smoke, he always kept a few packs with him when traveling. They were an international trading commodity and a handy detonator. He stuck a Camel into his mouth and flicked the lighter. A quick inhale, and the end glowed. He yanked on the hose connected to the tank, releasing propane, then flicked the cigarette toward the tank and ran like hell.

Voices shouted, but before the men could take action, a loud blast obliterated all other sounds. A wave of heat washed over Rif’s head, burning his ears. He kept sprinting, zigzagging to make himself a hard target. He reached the forest line, two bullets punching into a tree right next to him. The near miss spurred him on, his legs pumping like pistons, his boots pounding against the forest floor.

He ran east, trying to determine the most direct path back to the hotel. Sweat soaked his shirt, and dust caked his skin. He had to reach Thea before it was too late.





Chapter Fifty-Eight



Gabrielle paced the hotel room, speaking on the phone to her lead analyst, Ernest. He had news about the Ares connection.

“I intercepted another communication regarding that end-user certificate. The content and originating location made me take a closer look.” Ernest’s voice was staccato—he always sounded like a machine gun on full auto when he had hit pay dirt.

“Tell me more.”

“The message came from Victoria Falls. It mentioned that Belgian company we’ve previously linked to Ares.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Not exactly a lot of traffic to decipher compared with, say, a place like New York City. Since you suspected the Kanzi negotiations were related to the kidnapper’s larger mission, we’ve been monitoring all the chatter about it.”

“So Ares is here?”

“Probably. And it’s possible that Christos Paris could be held captive nearby. If Ares is behind the kidnapping and somehow enmeshed in the oil negotiations, he might want access to his hostage and the insider information Christos could offer. I had the team build a geographic dossier of Victoria Falls. They’re monitoring the usual sources: satellite imagery, economic reports, and unusual traffic at transportation hubs. If we get any solid intel, we’ll call in a team to help you unearth the hostage.”

“I think we’re on to something. Report any further transmissions immediately.” She pressed the end button and spun around at the sound of the door opening.

“Good news?” Max stood on the threshold of their adjoining rooms.

“Potentially. It seems likely that Ares is here. The problem is, no one can ever describe the arms dealer; it’s like he—or she, for that matter—doesn’t really exist.”

“My friend in Harare told me Interpol has been trying to track Ares for eleven years and has no hint as to his identity.” Max entered the room and plunked down in the Queen Anne chair.

“Then why have we received two strong leads about him in a few days?”

“Perhaps he is distracted?”

“Possibly. Or maybe he’s decided to come out of hiding for some reason.”

“To make an entrance?” he asked.

“Our analysts have studied Ares’s deals. He has this David-and-Goliath penchant, always selling to the underdog, even if he makes less money. That tells me he has a mission, a cause.”

“We all do, no?”

She studied Max’s face. “Yes, I guess we do. I wanted the truth behind my parents’ deaths, but the Lebanese police gave me the runaround.”

“Don’t ever give up searching. For us, our families, our experiences . . . the pain scars us forever.” His face was hidden in the shadows, but she could feel his anguish.