“Have you been feeding her inside information about Paris Industries?” she asked.
“Father never let me inside the business, so what could I tell her? Xi-Ping and I met during that import/export deal I told you about, the one involving Bucharest. It helped grease the wheels to have a personal relationship. I promise you, no wedding bells are on the horizon.”
She believed him. No way would any woman be able to work her brother. Still, she sensed he was up to something. “I need a few minutes alone in my room. I’ll meet you back here in fifteen.”
He nodded. “Don’t worry, sis, we’ll find him.”
A rush of empathy again filled her as she remembered Nikos’s heartbreaking notes. She touched his arm. “Sorry. Papa’s kidnapping must be stirring up difficult memories for you.”
“Full circle from twenty years ago, except this time the father is kidnapped instead of the son. We can never escape our pasts, I guess,” he said.
She couldn’t agree more. Nikos’s kidnapping had set her on a life path devoted to helping others. But her greatest fear was failing, yet again, to protect her own family.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The bus squeaked to a stop, and the football players filed out. Rif released the straps securing him to the chassis and lowered himself to the ground. His mouth tasted like a dust bowl, and his shoulders were on fire from the strain of supporting himself for the entire ride.
He flexed his cramping fingers. Dropping down and flipping onto his stomach, he crawled toward the side of the bus now adjacent to a building and peeked out. Jaramogi and the other men entered an abandoned warehouse. White paint flaked off wooden planks, and fluorescent lights shone through rusty steel doors. He shimmied forward to get a better look.
Several open-air Jeeps sat in the dirt parking lot. The unmistakable sound of rifles being locked and loaded caught his attention. A few men wandered out of the warehouse. They’d traded their football uniforms and bags for fatigues and AK-47s.
Other men filed out. Had to be at least thirty of them.
“Load the equipment into the Jeeps,” Jaramogi said to the troops.
Rif assumed they’d be heading for the Victoria Falls Hotel. Was General Jemwa planning a coup? As if the oil negotiations and Christos’s kidnapping weren’t enough to handle. He’d better warn Thea.
He tried to text her but had no bars on his phone. African telecom wasn’t stellar at the best of times. Dammit. He needed to run back to the hotel, but first he had to escape unnoticed.
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.