101 Nights Box Set: Volume Two Read online

  Chapter Six: George

  I’ve cared about Layla since taking her in when she was nine. The first month, we stashed her in an exclusive medical facility where she went through more operations than any person ever should in a lifetime. They were necessary and saved her life when she was given the prognosis of not surviving the homicide attempt. I was with her every day first the first six months, because EJ was absolutely terrified his father would find her and finish off the job.

  Aside from Natalie’s disappearance, that period was the only other time in our long acquaintance where I saw him really fear for or grieve anyone. Even if he hadn’t asked me to guard her with my life, I would’ve done it for the brother I’ve been protecting from the world since we were in school.

  Seeing her again awakened feelings I thought were gone, the lingering worry I’ve suppressed for the child whose security and safety have been my primary purpose for so many years. I care about her almost as much as Elijah does, and my relief at knowing she’s safe has jarred something loose inside me. Alisha pried the door to my heart open, and Layla’s sweet hug ripped the door off its hinges.

  I love Layla. It’s impossible for me not to after watching over her for so long. I was with her when she took her first step after the doctors said she’d never walk again.

  I nearly wept that day, and I feel that intense emotion again now without fully understanding it.

  I’m also drowning in guilt. I was the one charged with preventing this all from happening. I want to hate Alisha for her part in this, but any negative emotion towards her fizzles before it fully forms.

  It’s not her fault that she loved her friend enough to want to protect her. It’s an instinct I understand. I would’ve gone much further than she did in her place. I fully plan on ensuring Hasan’s body is never found, and I won’t be killing him quickly, either.

  What I can fault her for: deciding now of all times that she can trust me. I’m triumphant to know I won her over – and devastated, because nothing is right about this situation.

  I’ve been fighting Alisha’s influence like I might attempt to prevent the flu, by treating the symptoms. Pushing her away emotionally, while trying to ignore the fact that fucking her senseless pulls me so much closer than before.

  It’s Tracy all over again, but worse, because Alisha is closer to Layla than Tracy. Innocent, sweet, with no idea how dark my world and I are. Tracy accepted that because she was already involved in it.

  Alisha is too good of a person to be stuck with someone like me, yet it’s finally clear I can’t keep away from her now anymore than I could when she first challenged me to a hacking game of cat and mouse.

  I check the time. Alisha is righter than she knows about the amount of evil one human like Hasan can inflict on another in a few short hours. I’ve been debating moving up my schedule but know it’s a pointless risk. I’d rather find Natalie alive and hurt tonight than for her to disappear completely and wash up on the beach tomorrow.

  Brilliant, beautiful and sweet. One night can never be enough with Alisha, and I’m frozen with rare paralysis about how to handle her. My fear tells me to break it off, no matter how messy, because we’ll both eventually be better off for it. My heart doesn’t want me walking away from her anymore than I would Layla or Elijah. Its argument is simple and emotional: they’re my family, and Alisha should be, too.

  It’s going to be a long day. I can’t return to my room right now, not while indecision has me in its clutches.

  I head to the office reserved for Malika’s security personnel. I have a personalized space there, where I’m charged with coordinating security for her movements and events. Ideally I wouldn’t be cooped up when I feel so close to the edge. After I check the arrangements for tonight, I can hit the pool or gym and spend as many hours as it takes there to get rid of the wired, emotional energy.

  Fucking Alisha would do the trick.

  Something tells me she won’t turn me down after how she responded to my kiss. I’m not ready for that, though, and make my way through the hallways to my office.

  Thank god Layla is safe. I’m not sure what I’d do if something had happened to her. Now to rescue Natalie. When she’s safe, and Elijah is in Nijala, I’ll figure out what to do about Alisha.

  Chapter Seven: Alisha

  One of George’s goons drives me to the port after the sunset prayers have ended. I’m pissed and anxious. I haven’t seen him all day. I don’t even know what the plan is.

  I, ahem, quietly borrowed the tablet one of his guards had hanging out of a pocket and modified it to suit my needs.

  I pull it out as we drive and watch the packet-sniffing program that’s sending streams of binary code across the screen. I turned the tablet into a wifi detecting monster capable of instantly accessing anything crossing the wifi networks within a kilometer of me. It’s called a pwn pad in hacker-lingo. I added a couple more flourishes to the program so it picks up radio frequencies and anything else around us that I could program it to detect. It took some doing without access to my normal software writing tools.

  Another of my programs is running in the background, putting together enough of each wifi stream for me to see what’s being sent over the network. It’s been programmed to dump or ignore anything but what I’m looking for: government-grade, ciphered communications and a handful of other potential red flags that’ll tell me if Hasan’s using unencrypted internet or communications.

  As we drive, I test it out. There are a ton of encrypted signals near the palace and again down Embassy Row, which indicates the programs are running smoothly. My goal is to identify what Hasan and his cronies are using in case something goes wrong tonight and we have to find them again.

  Whatever happens, I won’t lose him again, once I have a single electronic tag, no matter how small. It’s impossible to move in our modern world without leaving some electronic trace. Hasan may be good at his spy shit, but I’m a certified genius when it comes to this Matrix shit.

  “Omigod, is that a McDonald’s?” I ask, focus lost as we pass the familiar golden arches. “I haven’t had French fries in forever. I don’t suppose we can stop?”

  The goon doesn’t acknowledge me.

  I roll my eyes. I love Nijalan food, but sometimes, especially before a dangerous rescue operation, you really just want greasy, salty French fries.

  “And a cheeseburger,” I add under my breath. “Can’t take on bad guys without a cheeseburger.”

  The pwn pad is working. I put it away and fidget, unable to contain my agitation any longer. I know what we’re doing is dangerous and important and probably a one-shot deal.

  I wish George had taken the initiative to clue me in. After our emotional almost-fuck in the hallway, I have a feeling he’s avoiding me again, and I’m not sure what to think or do about it.

  We reach the warehouses around the port right after nightfall has swept the sky clear of light. I whip out my tablet and navigate to the map with two locations listed: George’s, and mine thanks to the GPS tag in his left shoe. The driver taking us to the general vicinity of the area I’ve identified as being where Natalie is hidden. George is stationed nearby, in the wharf area.

  My excitement rises, and I move to the window, my eyes going back and forth between the tablet and my surroundings.

  “Ma’am, I’m taking you by the specified area.”

  “Let’s do this!” I exclaim.

  He offers a small smile. The driver is an Arab built like a tree trunk with a Southern accent. I know George is too much of a control freak not to choose his men carefully. I feel safe with him, and too eager to find Natalie to care if we don’t wait for George.

  I lower the tablet the moment the map indicates we’re at the start of the nine square block area. Examining the buildings for the clue Natalie gave me, I resist the urge to tell the driver to slow down. There are cameras on every warehouse’s corner, so I know we have to identify the target without appearing suspicious. Names and logos of the c
ompanies that own the warehouses are scrawled across the sides of the otherwise plain buildings in Arabic and English. I don’t bother reading them, more interested in the company logos and occasional graffiti.

  “Not here,” I say as we reach the end of the first street.

  He drives towards the port. Massive cruise ships dock beside behemoth barges, yachts and the boats of local fishermen. There are ships I can’t make out deeper in the bay, too, whose sizes are hinted at by the lights on their decks. The port is huge on the map and even bigger in person, the center of Nijalan commerce, including its precious gas and oil exports that made the kingdom wealthy.

  I keep my mouth shut when he takes a long, winding way around before circling back towards the area we’re interested in. The main sidewalks are flooded with tourists moving between the cruise ships and the city center. I’d fit right in – and it’d probably be faster than sitting in the damn car.

  Hasan knows who I am. I don’t like the reminder of why I shouldn’t just dive out of the car and join the throngs of tourists.

  “Oh, god!” I mutter impatiently as a crowd of people blocks the car in front of us. It’s not even a crosswalk. Nijalans are no better at crossing in designated areas than they are obeying traffic lights.

  Fuck it. I grab a piece of paper and pen from my bag. Scribbling a few numbers and a password, I thrust it at the driver. “Tell George this is how he can track me.” I give it to him, tug my scarf over my head, and get out of the car.

  “Ma’am, you can’t –”

  I slam the door on his objection and move around the car between the crowd and us. I join them seamlessly. Layla was right about the smell; the entire area reeks like a fish market. The air is heavy and still tonight. It’s clear out and muggy. After our first drive through the area, I know there are tourists aplenty throughout the area between the port and city.

  Taking out my tablet, I’m not surprised to see the alert pop up almost immediately indicating I’m being pinged by an unknown source. George knows where I am, which doesn’t give me much time before he tracks me down and throws me in someone’s trunk. I weave in and out of the tourists, taking in the buildings around me as I evaluate the second street. My pwn pad vibrates with an alert close to the end of the three blocks I’m concerned with, and I slow, pulling it out.

  Encrypted internet and cell signal. I join a throng of tourists returning towards their cruise ship from the city and look up at the building hugging the sidewalk on my right. The symbol in the center of the logo is blurry and small and resembles the graffiti on the wall where we used to meet up when we skipped school early our senior year.

  “Boston Tea Party,” I whisper and start to smile. I don’t even remember how it got the nickname, because there’s absolutely nothing related to the Boston Tea Party incident, city or tea. It was simply our code for one of the three special places to meet up. They were our special places, each marked with graffiti.

  My eyes mist over. Two weeks of torture are about to end with Natalie’s return.

  It’s stupid to stand here staring up at the silly symbol of a mermaid hugging the letter S and drinking a beer. It’s close enough to the drunken mermaid tag where we used to meet, down to the S, which was how the graffiti artist back home signed his work. Not a whisper of doubt enters my mind about this being the place.

  Somehow, Natalie saw the logo of the warehouse. She’s probably stuffed in between some of their cargo. Layla had seen Hasan and Natalie, which makes me think that they were able to see their surroundings at one point.

  With what little discretion I possess, I snap a quick pic with my tablet. I have George’s old email memorized and send it to him. I don’t know if he closed it down or not.

  Feeling more confident, I break off from the tourists and join some of the local fishermen walking in the direction of the industrial part of the port. I’m starting to think this spy shit is a piece of cake when a large man in a sports coat steps out onto the sidewalk from between two buildings.

  Please don’t be looking for me.

  He scans the street with the type of nonchalance that’ll never pass as inconspicuous before his gaze finds me, lingers and then moves on.

  Okay, so he is looking for me. I have a feeling George is going to give me the world’s biggest I-told-you-so before he outright dumps my ass in the middle of Tony’s territory and leaves me to fend for myself. That is, if I survive Nijala first, of course.

  I cross the street and pick up the pace. Another man joins him, and this time, there’s no attempt to be discreet as they face my direction.

  It’s not my day. First George flips out on me and now Hasan’s men are ready to hunt me down. I turn the corner and break into a run, headed back towards the crowded tourist area in the hope they won’t try anything in a public place.

  I reach it safely, thank god, and don’t get far before I spot the driver-bodyguard leaning against his parked car. Glad to see him, I trot to the car. “Hey!”

  He gives me a knowing look and opens the door to the backseat.

  I climb in and lock the door, relieved to be somewhat safe once more. The two guys following me are searching the tourists for me, and I slide down in the backseat, not about to be seen.

  “It’s that building there,” I say when the driver gets in. “That’s where she is.”

  He looks in the direction I point and speaks quietly into the communications piece on his collar.

  “What do we do now?” I ask anxiously. “Go in and get her?”

  “You do nothing,” he snaps. “The boss is not happy right now. We’ve been reassigned to pick up a package.”

  “Grocery shopping. Great. Does it bother you that we don’t get to be in the middle of the action?”

  He says nothing, and I assume he’s done speaking to me for the night. We drive away from the area where I want to be and find a spot in the parking lot near the touristy side of the port. There’s a nightclub pumping music a short distance away, and at least three yachts are lit up like Christmas trees, their decks crowded with people drinking. The wharf area may be an industrial port by day, but it’s party central by night.

  His cell rings shortly after he parks, and he answers. A second later, he hands it to me.

  I take it curiously. “Hello?”

  “No more deviating from the plan, if you please,” George tells me with politeness he saves for when he’s super pissed.

  “I’m done,” I assure him. “And I found it!”

  “I saw the email. While openly alerting them to our presence, did you happen to see any entrances or exits?”

  The subtle reminder that I may have put Natalie in danger makes me slump. “Did I do that bad?” I ask.

  “No, love.” His tone softens. “They would’ve been alerted soon anyway. It’s too hard to hide this kind of operation, though the goal is always to remain discreet until it’s no longer possible.”

  I’m grateful for the gentler words. He could’ve been a dick about it. “There was an entrance on the side opposite the street and one on each end. No entrance on the street side, though.”

  “Good. Anything to share from the device you borrowed from one of my guys?””

  Hiding a smile, I pull the tablet from my bag and scan through the information. “I have the frequencies he’s using for radio communications, an internet protocol address and … he’s got a sat phone. All are encrypted. My software is still working on deciphering the encryption. And …” I frown at what I’m seeing.

  “What is it?”

  “The exact location is fuzzy for everything. I can’t get a lock. It displays the same general location as Natalie’s, but it doesn’t seem likely that she’s tucked in the same room as his computers and cell phones. It keeps moving, too. The location isn’t accurate.”

  “They may have a central transmitter that’s relaying everything.”

  “Yeah. Makes sense. They might be using some sort of geo-scrambler, too. You want me to keep digging?”

>   “No need. Send me what you have. We’re going in hot the moment you’re out of the port area.”

  “We’re not really moving right now,” I remind him with a glance at the cars parked around us.

  “You will be soon.”

  There’s a pause. I feel like this is the time where I should wish him luck and hang up. But I don’t want it to end here. The day without talking to him seemed almost unbearable after last night. “I’m helping, right?”

  “More than you should be.”

  I’m not sure how to interpret that. He’s speaking softly to me but also with a flicker of detachment, as if his attention is divided. “Does going in hot mean it’s dangerous?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re not going in yourself, right?”

  “I am. I’m leading the charge.”

  My heart flips over in my chest. The idea of him being injured or dying, even if we really aren’t anywhere near a couple, hurts me physically. “You’ll be back in time for our uh … date tonight?” Or fuck-a-thon. Whatever.

  “I think we need to talk.”

  Fuck. The minute we meet again, he’ll crush me.

  “As long as you make it back to talk,” I whisper. I subside into depressed silence for all of two seconds before my impulsiveness seizes me. “George, whether or not you want to hear this and whether or not I should say it … I care about you. I know you’re getting ready to tear out my heart and then run it through the blender a few times, assuming we all survive the night, but I just need you to know that I uh, … I kinda like you. Really. I mean … a lot. I like you a lot.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I’m kicking myself mentally. Not because it’s not true, but because it sounds so incredibly dorky, like I’m twelve again.

  The driver clears his throat and shifts, uncomfortable listening in on a conversation that’s gotten personal.

  George is quiet.

  I’m afraid to break the silence in case maybe, he feels the same. Or maybe, he’ll promise to come home safely. They’re such foolish thoughts, but I can’t help wanting both to be true.