Bodyguard Lockdown(20)

“Maybe you aren’t so smart, McKnight. You’re on the wrong side.” Boba smiled, revealing two gold incisors.

“I really thought you were decent men.” Anger shook Sandra’s voice.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Doctor Haddad. We like you. You’ve done many good things for our people,” Boba admitted. “This isn’t personal. It’s business. Isn’t that right, Madu?”



“That’s right,” the older brother agreed and cocked the revolver. “Now it’s time to take care of some other business, McKnight.”

“We weren’t supposed to kill him, Madu.”

“A million dollars will help a lot of our people, Boba,” Madu rationalized. “We’ll tell the boss you got caught in a crossfire trying to be a hero. You understand.”

“Actually, Madu, I don’t think I do,” Booker drawled, then glanced at Sandra. His eyes flashed with warning. “Down!”

Sandra dropped to the ground. The explosion pounded the air, sucking it dry of oxygen, clogged it with heat and smoke.

The air buzzed around her head, muffled her ears.

Booker rolled, grabbed his gun. Both Madu and his brother staggered to their feet. Madu groaned and doubled over.

Booker grabbed Sandra’s arm. “Go!”

He pulled her out into the street and into a nearby alley. “What do we do now?” Sandra bent over, dragged oxygen into her lungs.

Booker held up a set of car keys, gave them a shake. “Where did you get those?”

“From Madu’s guard. Yemesi.” Booker clicked the button. Heard the beep of an alarm, saw the flash of headlights on a nearby silver-colored jeep.

“I think we just found our ride.”

* * *

SENATOR KEITH HARPER TUGGED at his suit for the hundredth time. It was the middle of the night. The fact that he didn’t have to battle the heat was little consolation.

Impatient, he reminded himself that this deal wouldn’t be made unless he traveled over to this forsaken land.

He was a big man, more than six four, barrel-chested and broad shouldered. The muscle beneath was more solid than slackened from age.

At sixty-five, his face was creased from years of stress and politics, not from the harsh elements of field operations.

He’d come from ten generations of military strategists and diplomats, spent a few decades as a career officer, but many more as a senator on Capitol Hill, dealing with bureaucrats and their self-righteous rhetoric, buying their wives a nice dinner, their mistresses’ even nicer jewelry.

The tent door rustled. A moment later, a man stepped in. He wore dark riding pants, a matching shirt and black leather boots. A scarf, bloodred, covered all but his granite-black eyes.

“General. I’m sorry for the delay,” the man called Minos said, with no apology in the slow, drawn-out words.

He carried a whip, touched it to his forehead in a friendly salute. “You understand that most in our position have very little time between business dealings.”

Instead of approaching the general, he crossed to a table set at the far end of the tent.

“Two hours is more than a little late, Minos.”

“It could not be helped. One of my warehouses just went up in flames. I had to deal with the damage control. I lost thousands of American dollars’ worth of merchandise,” the Al Asheera leader stated unequivocally, then dropped the whip on the table. He grabbed the whiskey bottle, unscrewed the top and poured himself two fingers high. “Would you care for a drink?”

“No,” Harper replied, his tone sharp, his impatience clear. He lifted the briefcase up slightly. “You’ve wasted too much of my time already. I have a flight to the States later tonight. And I don’t want to be spotted here. Not when we are so close to our goal.”

“You don’t need to be concerned. The Sahara is vast, General. The twin-engine planes traveling to and from my camp are never noticed. I make sure of it. It’s bad for business.” Minos set the bottle down, raised his glass in a silent toast, then downed the whiskey under the scarf in one gulp.

“No one knows you are here.” The black eyes narrowed, opaque and cool. “Unless you told them, of course,” Minos said, his tone silky and sharp-edged.

“And why would I do that? I’ve invested a lot of time and money into this operation,” Harper snapped. “I’m not about to watch it all go to hell simply because some random civilian recognizes my face.”

He poured himself another drink. “My man offered you a face scarf and caftan. You turned him down.”

Minos walked over to a nearby couch and settled back into the low, red cushions.

Harper eyed the man, annoyed when the Al Asheera leader didn’t remove his scarf. “Keeping up this charade to the end?”

“I find that it’s better for my...health, to let my skills build my reputation. One doesn’t need a face to establish credibility. Correct?” Minos asked.

“I’d prefer to know whom I am dealing with—”

“Then we’re done.” Minos rose from his seat. “All deals are off.”

“I said I would prefer it—I didn’t say it was necessary, damn it.”

Both understood the general had just retreated. Red flushed his cheeks. He did not like being on the defensive. But he needed this business taken care of.

“Then I owe you an apology,” Minos said easily, but his eyes remained narrow, unyielding. “I misunderstood. Since we are in agreement with the boundaries of our partnership, we may continue.”

“My point exactly,” Harper responded tersely. “We have wasted enough time.”

“Please have a seat.” Minos waved to the closest velvet straight-back chair. “My men told me that you have brought the equipment.”

“Yes. General Trygg needs it delivered tomorrow,” Harper replied. “Make sure it is not damaged in the transportation. It’s fragile and expensive equipment.”

“And the other part of our transaction?”

“I have it here.” Harper opened his briefcase on the table. Slowly, he turned the briefcase around until Minos saw its contents. “And three million in bearer bonds.”

“For Booker McKnight, Sandra Haddad and Riorden Trygg dead,” Minos murmured. “That’s quite a bounty for three people.”

“Do we have a deal?” Senator Harper handed Minos the piece of paper. “These are the coordinates to his camp.”

“That leaves McKnight and Sandra Haddad.”

“Chances are if you find Trygg, you will find McKnight and Omar’s daughter,” Harper snapped. “Trygg is hunting them down.”

“He is that close?”

“Close enough,” Harper replied. “Trygg is planning on moving his laboratory. Very soon. If that happens, you might not be able to track him.”

“Move?”

“He’s built his lab in the belly of the airbus we managed to acquire for him,” Harper explained. “I didn’t think the son of a bitch could pull it off, but he did. He plans on dumping the CIRCADIAN on Taer.”

“He wants to wipe out the royal family?”

“He wants to decimate them, along with most of the country,” Harper corrected. “And frankly, I don’t care if he does or not. Just so long as you take care of him soon. That’s our deal, Minos.”

“Yes, General. We have a deal.” Minos paused, thinking.

“Who knows, Minos? If you play your cards right, once Trygg hits Taer with the CIRCADIAN, there might be enough left for you to finally have the country for the Al Asheera.”

“You can’t rule the dead, Senator,” Minos murmured. He took a short sip of his whiskey. “What about Omar Haddad?”

Harper’s eyes went cold. “I am meeting with him in a few hours.”

“A meeting?”

“More like a conversation about old times,” Harper corrected. “Don’t worry about Omar. I’ll take care of him.”

“He is not a man who is easily taken care of,” Minos pointed out. He placed his drink on a nearby table. “And he, like you, is a father who will stop at nothing to avenge his daughter.”





Chapter Thirteen



They traveled most of the day until the heat of the sun forced them to seek shade.

After taking a small break to relieve her bladder, Sandra settled cross-legged on a nearby boulder, closed her eyes and listened.

The wind kicked and howled across the desert floor, stirring sand, loose scrub...and memories.

Its restlessness touched something in her, made her feel connected to the desert more than anything—or anyone—could.

She spent many hours sitting on top of the boulders, when the need to be alone became too much.