Andrius Bronislav sat aboard the sleek private jet reading the current report that Colin Coldhouse had prepared for him. Colin’s company, Cold Methods Security, lived up to its name.
Colin had recently cleared a troubled area in Belarus and paved the way for a new manufacturing site. The new microchip factory would cost him billions, but it would eventually allow him to flood the market with chips designed with a specific flaw that would allow his company backdoor access to proprietary data around the world. Such information could be sold to the right people for trillions.
The issue he faced now was that he still needed the resources found in Jawahir. Whoever controlled that small country controlled the future of technology.
The only way forward was to overthrow the current ruling family or kill them off. Once they were gone, Rashid would be released from prison and succeed to the position of ruler—under Andrius’s control. First though, Andrius needed access to those trade secrets Jawahir was protecting. It wasn’t all about the minerals and gem stones in that country, though those were important. There was information to be had, information vital to manufacturing his own microchips.
His cell phone vibrated. Andrius connected and lifted it to his ear as he continued to thumb through the report on the compact serving tray in front of him.
“Excellent job in Belarus,” he said as a greeting.
“I always aim to please. Thank you for the generous payment,” Colin stated.
“I have another job for you,” Andrius replied, pausing on one image.
“I’m ready,” Colin answered.
“Qadir Saif-Ad-Din. I need specific information before he is terminated,” he said.
There was silence on the other end. Andrius knew that Colin was remembering how he had barely escaped Jawahir with his life. The man had the scars to prove it.
“This won’t be easy,” Colin replied. “He goes nowhere without his security team.”
Andrius’s eyebrow lifted. “Are you saying you can’t do the job?” he inquired.
“I said it wouldn’t be easy. This will cost you double the normal rate,” Colin answered in a terse tone.
Andrius smiled. “Agreed. I need him alive long enough to give me the information I require. I will send you what I need. I don’t care how you get it; just make sure you do, or there will be no payment. Terminate him when you have it. The rest of the Saif-Ad-Din family will follow.”
“Finally. Do you have a timeline?” Colin asked.
“On second thought, I want you to break Rashid out of prison first. Then, take care of Qadir. If things go south, we can always lay the blame at Rashid’s feet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Qadir, wait up,” Tarek called from the end of the hallway.
Qadir ground his teeth together. He was not in the mood to deal with any more family members. The meeting with his father had not gone well, and he needed time to calm down.
“What is it, Tarek?” he growled.
Tarek’s eyes were wary, and the crooked lift at the corner of his mouth told Qadir that his brother would avoid confrontation and try cajoling. Qadir rolled his shoulders and sighed deeply.
“I guess your conversation with father didn’t go any better than the first one,” Tarek commented.
Qadir shook his head. “No, if anything, it was worse. I’m thirty-three. I won’t have anyone, including our father, tell me who and when I’m to marry.”
“Did he reveal the unfortunate woman’s name?”
“No, which makes it even worse. He refuses, saying he knows exactly what I will do when I find out. He says he will reveal who he has chosen at the right moment and not until then. In the meantime, every press office and entertainment rag in the world is speculating about this.”
Tarek’s face twisted into a grimace of distaste. “I have to admit that I’m glad Father is focused on you. You know how he can be when he makes a decision.”
Qadir shot his brother a dark look. “I will be leaving this afternoon. I want to meet with the northern tribe leaders and review how the infrastructure is progressing. The new bridge over the Yakin River should be complete,” he said.
Tarek nodded. “I’ve cleared my schedule. I want to go with you.”
Qadir frowned. “Is there a problem?”
Tarek shook his head. “Rumors that I wish to check out.”
“You know we have personnel for that,” Qadir dryly replied.
Tarek laughed. “Yes, I know. This is a matter I would prefer to handle myself. Besides, going out into the field helps keep me sharp.”
Qadir chuckled and shook his head. “You are doing it to get away from the palace before Father finds a bride for you.”
Tarek grinned. “There are worse reasons to run away.”
Atlanta, Georgia
Aimee was in the middle of packing her backpack for her early morning flight back to L.A. when a knock on the door snapped her back from her gloomy thoughts. She glanced at the clock. It was almost eight in the evening. There was only one person who would be knocking—Habib.
She crossed the room and peered through the peek-hole. Habib was shifting from side to side like he had ants in his pants. She opened the door when she saw him raise his hand to knock again. Surprise gripped her when he impatiently pushed past her into the room. Habib was always polite and always nervous whenever she invited him into her room without having others there.
“What’s got you all riled up?” she demanded, shutting the door and facing him.
He was pacing back and forth in front of the window. He stopped and looked at her with a troubled expression. Concerned, she lifted her hand toward him and stepped closer.
“What happened, Habib? Did something happen to one of your sisters or brothers? Are your parents alright?”
He waved his hand in the air. “They are fine. They are all fine. It isn’t them. It’s the royal family!” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Two of the royal sons, Sheikh Qadir and Sheikh Tarek were targeted by terrorists as they were traveling north!” Habib rubbed his hands together in agitation.
Aimee grabbed his arms, propelled him to the edge of her bed, and made him sit down. She cupped his cheeks between her palms, and his eyes locked with hers.
“I want you to take a deep breath, and tell me exactly what happened,” she said.
He nodded and took several deep breaths. She pulled the rolling chair from her desk and sat down in front of him. He started to rise, but she held his hands to keep him still. He sank back on the bed and stared at her.
“The Jawahir people love our royal family. They have done so much for all of us. I would never have been able to come here and take the classes in a field I love if not for the scholarships they award each person,” he began.
“I know. You’ve told me this before. What I want to know is what happened to Qadir and Tarek,” she said.
Habib took another deep, calming breath and nodded. “I told you that my older sister, Rahat, works in the palace. She is a junior secretary to Queen Ihab. She swore me to secrecy. The news isn’t out to the media yet. She said Sheikh Qadir’s transports were attacked as they crossed the Aljibal Alsawda'.”
“Who attacked? Are they okay?”
Habib lifted his shoulders. “Tarek was gravely wounded. Nearly a dozen men were killed. Qadir was dragged out of the vehicle and taken. Rahat said—” He bit his lip and looked at her with worried eyes. “Rahat said the initial reports describe the men as foreigners. The leader sounded American.”
Ice swept through her veins and sent a chill down her spine. Aimee sat back in the chair and rubbed her arms. The photos she had given the FBI three years ago flashed through her mind. An American was behind those atrocities. An American who was still at large.
“Can you show me where the attack occurred?” she asked in a trembling voice.
“Yes,” Habib said, pulling out his cell phone.
Aimee switched from the chair to the bed so she could see the map.
“The Aljibal Alsawda', or the Black Mountains, are near the northern border. The territory is extremely harsh and rugged. It is well known for its extensive cave systems. “
Over the last three years she had read anything and everything she could about the country. Habib pointed to the region where the attack took place. There were hundreds of paths feathering out from the main road leading through the mountains. It would take months to find where the attackers went—if the Jawahir royal army ever did.
A niggling thought began bugging her. She took Habib’s phone and studied the map. She had seen a map very similar to this one—only with more detail.
Like a bubble bursting, she remembered the bloody envelope she found in Stanley’s office three years ago. The map inside had circles on it showing places where a hidden base might be.
“Habib, do you have any relatives in your country that might be interested in driving me somewhere? It… might be dangerous for them.”
Habib frowned. “You are going to my country?”
She looked at him with a shaky smile. “Yes. You see, I might know where this American took Qadir, but I’m going to need your help.”