The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(90)



“Good to see you, Thea.”

Johansson. She almost collapsed in relief. “About time you showed up.”

“Hello to you too. By the way, you’re officially godmother to my son.”

“Congrats. Champagne later.”

Jo removed his hand from Mamadou’s mouth. “Sorry, mate, just wanted to make sure you didn’t scream. Thea has lightning reflexes, and I didn’t want another hole in my shoulder.”

Leave it to Jo to joke around at a time like this. “Please take Prime Minister Kimweri to safety. Where’s the team?”

“They’re trying to save Rif’s sorry ass. He’s somewhere inside the hotel. You coming with us?”

“No, I have to handle something else first.”

“You don’t look so good.”

“Just need some rest.” And some insulin.

“Take this for good measure.” Jo passed her a Glock.

Mamadou squeezed her hand. “Don’t do any more jumps without me.”

She smiled. “You’re pretty tough for a prime minister.”

“Once a bush boy, always a bush boy.”

“You’re in excellent hands now. Jo will get you back to Kanzi.”

“Thank you, Thea. I wouldn’t be alive without you.”

“See you soon.”

Looping around the main building, she searched for a way back into the conference space. Ominous black smoke rose from the eastern side of the hotel.





Chapter Seventy-One



Gabrielle ran down the main hotel stairs, her feet padding on the carpeted steps. On the landing, she came face-to-face with a rebel. He froze for a millisecond, a fatal mistake. She fired two quick shots into his chest.

She rushed outside, anxious to reach the Victoria Falls Bridge.

Her cell vibrated. She read the text: Max’s sister, Laila, wasn’t in a car crash. She was severely injured in an industrial accident and died two years ago at the Heros family estate. Let me know if you need more.

Two years? It had been eighteen months since she and Max had had their intimate conversation about their sisters, and he’d told her Laila was alive and suffering. An ache settled in her chest. Why would he lie to her, especially about that?





Chapter Seventy-Two



Thea’s vision blurred, her head throbbed, and her mind churned. She’d only felt like this once before, and it meant serious trouble. A quick check of her smartphone. Blood sugar 437 mg/dL. Dangerously high.

Bone-weary, she plodded, one foot in front of the other, circumnavigating the hotel to avoid the few remaining rebels battling with the prime minister’s guards. Except now, her special-ops team would give Mamadou’s men a decisive edge. She hoped the team had found Rif. She wondered where her brother was.

A cry shattered her thoughts—it sounded like an injured animal in unbearable pain. Funnels of dark, greasy smoke billowed out of the jungle a few hundred yards away. What the hell was going on?

She had to get back inside and find her supplies. She couldn’t help Rif, Nikos, or anyone else until she stabilized her blood sugar. The hotel was fifty yards away, but the distance felt more like five hundred. She scanned the area. No soldiers. The battle was raging on the other side of the complex.

Smoke from the hotel drifted with the shifting wind and mixed with pelting rain. She reached the door closest to the conference room they’d been in earlier. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, but her palm told her it was too hot to touch. She’d have to work her way around to the front, take her chances there.

She stumbled along the hotel’s exterior, Glock in hand. The building was a fuzzy white block. The world felt surreal, as if she was Alice in Wonderland, falling through the rabbit hole. She could almost visualize sugar crystallizing in her cells.

One more corner to go.

Carefully she inched forward, checking that the coast was clear. A young soldier slumped against the wall, an AK-47 in his hands. Blood oozed from a leg wound. His eyes scanned back and forth, on full alert. A rat cornered.

She pulled behind the corner, trying to think. She had to get past him. What to do? She didn’t have the energy to climb a water pipe to avoid him.

No time to waste. She raised her Glock and focused the sights on the largest exposed section of his AK-47, just above the trigger guard. Her hands didn’t feel steady, but the distance was only twenty yards. She could make that shot.

Her finger caressed the trigger.

A sharp metal clang. Bull’s-eye. The rifle bounced out of the soldier’s hands, the ricochet nicking his forearm. He screamed. Glock raised for protection, she stumbled across the yard. His eyes widened in fear, but she held her fire. The kid wasn’t a serious threat, given his leg wound, and she didn’t want to kill him for nothing. All she could think about was securing that syringe. She stumbled to the double doors at the front of the hotel, holding on to the wall for support. Fumbling with a knob, which was cool to the touch, she managed to open one side.

A blast of smoke greeted her as she entered the lobby. She crouched low, lifting her shirttail to breathe through it. Fire licked the walls, singeing wallpaper. A wave of dizziness hit her hard.

She had to keep moving. Dropping onto all fours, she crawled toward the conference room. Ceiling beams creaked and groaned. She tried to hurry, but her limbs felt heavy, as if she were slogging through heavy muck.

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