Sanctuary: Delos Series, Book 9 Read online

  “Forewarned is forearmed,” he assured her. He saw how her shoulders sagged, heard the shock in her voice. Not many people were told, “Hey, you’re the target of a terrorist.” And it wasn’t just any terrorist. Sharan was one of the biggest supporters of al-Qaeda.

  Teren sat down and leaned back, arms folded against her chest, staring at Nolan as he pushed another paper across the desk in her direction. She stared down at it, not wanting to touch it, as if she would be further contaminated by what was happening around her. “What’s this?”

  “It’s military-grade information,” Nolan said. “I’ve spent all morning in Ayman’s office, going over the more tactical part of the intel with him.”

  “What does he think about this?” This had to upset him as well, because he took great pride in keeping Kitra and all its inhabitants secure and safe.

  Nolan snorted. “He doesn’t like it. No one does. Tomorrow morning all the heads of the departments here at Kitra are going to be asked to gather in Farida’s briefing room at nine a.m. Ayman and I will give all of you the briefing. I’m giving it to you today, ahead of time, because I don’t want you caught off guard with others around to see your reactions. This is personal, between you and me.”

  “Thank you,” Teren whispered, feeling a headache coming on.

  “I’ll keep you out of the line of fire as much as I can,” he told her quietly as she struggled not to cry. If only he could gather Teren into his arms, hold her, give her a sense of safety—but he couldn’t.

  “I know you will.”

  He nodded, not feeling any better. “Knowledge is power in our world, Teren. That document before you outlines the mission objectives of Sharan’s organization as far as we know at this time. Based on cell phone chatter, we know he’s going to hit other Delos charities too, but we don’t know which ones. The CIA continues to monitor all his conversations. What we know right now is that Kitra was mentioned and your name was brought up.”

  “How on earth did they get my name, Nolan? I rarely work outside of Kitra. I’m rarely in Khartoum. My life is here,” she said, and jabbed her index finger down at her desk.

  “Well, that’s part of the puzzle,” he admitted. “We honestly don’t know. Ayman thinks that someone who worked here but who has left Kitra might have given up your name to someone in the al-Qaeda organization.” He shrugged. “Ayman is asking Farida’s office for a list of employees who left Kitra in the last seven years. He’ll have it shortly, and we’ll all go over it together.”

  Her mouth turned down and she muttered a curse. “Don’t bother. I know who it was.”

  Cocking his head, he said, “You do?”

  “God, this is a mess,” Teren whispered, shaking her head.

  “Tell me.”

  “Two years ago, there was a young man who applied to Kitra to be a janitor. Ayman did a background check on him, and he came back clean. His name was Nazir. He came out of the slums of Khartoum. He was a hard worker, earnest, responsible, and promised to do a good job at Kitra. Our head janitor, Abit, needed help, so Nazir was hired.”

  Nolan wrote down his name. “What happened, then?”

  Grimacing, Teren whispered, “Nazir was always drawn to me. You know how friendly we are here, Nolan. I guess he took my friendliness for something more than it really was. He tried to come into my duplex one night.” She saw Nolan’s eyes narrow instantly as his sense of protectiveness wrapped around her. “He thought I liked him well enough to go to bed with him. Luckily, Ayman was walking nearby at the time. Nazir knocked, I looked through the peephole and saw him. I opened my door to see what he wanted. I knew who he was and I thought nothing of it. He said I was his woman and he was going to bed me. I panicked and I tried to shut the door and keep him out. Ayman was there in a flash, grabbing Nazir, and throwing him down on the porch. I was so scared. I-it brought back a lot of bad memories for me…”

  He heard the suppressed anguish in her voice. Nolan wasn’t going to remind her that keeping her door locked was a good idea, because in this case, Nazir had knocked and she’d opened it, thinking nothing of it because he was someone she knew. What Teren didn’t know was the man’s true intentions. He was a hyena in disguise. “That had to rattle you.”

  “Oh,” she said, her voice choked. “More than you could ever know.”

  “Nazir was fired?”

  “Ayman hauled him out of my doorway that was half closed, by the collar, with two of his soldiers assisting, and took him to a hafla. One of his men drove Nazir into Khartoum and dropped him off in the slums. He was fired on the spot.” She gave a shrug. “We never saw him again.”

  “He sounds like the right person to investigate,” Nolan agreed, seeing the pain in her eyes.

  “He could have given someone in the slums the info to get even at me for rejecting him.”

  “Entirely possible. The slums of Khartoum are nothing but gangs of men. They might own a half an acre of that sorry place, but it’s theirs, and they fight to maintain or expand it. Ayman is going to have to pull Nazir’s employment records. We might get a lead from that.”

  “But Ayman has strong ties within the Sudanese Army, right up to the top generals who run it today,” Teren said.

  “I’m sure he’ll do everything in his power to uncover more about Nazir as a person of interest. Until he does, we have to wait for intel.”

  Mouth tightening, Teren said, “Nazir could have spilled my name or worse, sold it to one of those gangs for money.”

  “Yeah. Bad news travels fast in the slums,” Nolan glumly agreed. “At least it’s a strong lead, Teren. If we can pin Nazir down, find out if he joined a gang and if that gang has an al-Qaeda affiliation, that intel can help us a lot. It will allow us to understand who and what we’re up against.”

  Her headache continued to mount. She rubbed her temple. “What do I do then while we wait?”

  “Stay within Kitra’s walls. Don’t leave them without me at your side. Or, if you have to go somewhere by vehicle and I’m not around for whatever reason, have one of Ayman’s soldiers go with you. At no time are you to be left alone, Teren. Not until we can get this fixed.”

  “Is it fixable, Nolan? Really?”

  He heard the derision in her voice and understood her sense of helplessness. “Ayman is on this. He’s already got three of his best men undercover in the slums, searching for Uzan.”

  “When did he send them in?” Teren sat up, hands resting on her thighs, digging into Nolan’s darkened gaze.

  “Wyatt called Ayman three weeks ago after Artemis figured out what possible strategies Sharan might employ against Kitra. They talked by satellite phone and it was encrypted, so no one could break in and listen to what they were talking about, Teren. Ayman had three of his soldiers volunteer for the mission to find Uzan, and right now, they’re actively hunting for him. They’re searching a huge area along the banks of the White Nile, looking for a needle in a haystack. They’ve got his face memorized from a photo Ayman had. They’re posing as Sudanese looking for work, moving among the gangs, trying to locate him.”

  “That’s so dangerous.”

  He held up his hand, hearing the anxiety in her tone. “They’re soldiers, Teren. Ayman trained them. They’re loyal to him, to you, and to Kitra. They want Uzan as bad as we do, believe me. They are outraged that anyone would try to destroy Kitra or harm you.”

  “Oh, no…” she whispered, pressing her hands to her eyes. “I saw them leave Kitra that morning in a truck. I didn’t realize what they were doing. I just thought…” She allowed her hands to fall to her lap, staring at Nolan. “I thought they were leaving on some special assignment that Ayman had given them.”

  “Well, you were right, Teren. You just didn’t know what it involved.” Nolan stood up and halted in front of her chair. “Look, these are good men. They were born in Khartoum, they know the lay of the land, and they were undercover operators working for the government for at least ten years before they came to work here at Kitra. They
’ve been in those slums before, and they know what they’re doing. Don’t worry so much about them, okay?” He put his hand on her slumped shoulder, seeing the suffering mount in her eyes. This was Teren’s family, and it was devastating to her. His fingers moved gently across her shoulder, and he felt the warmth of her flesh beneath the thin tee she wore.

  “Now that you’ve pinpointed Nazir,” he said, crouching down in front of her, his hands on the arms of her chair, holding her shaken gaze, “Ayman’s going to be able to get ahold of his soldiers and redirect their efforts in the slum. I need to go back to his office and give him this intel, Teren. Will you be all right here?”

  She felt a rolling quiver go through her gut. Whenever she got severely upset, she would throw up. And she felt close to that right now. “I’ll be okay,” she lied. “I need to go to the restroom.”

  Nolan nodded and stood. “As soon as I get done speaking with Ayman, I’ll come back here and let you know what he found out, okay?” He saw how pale she’d become. He curved his fingers around her lower arm and squeezed her reassuringly, then released her. She hurried out of the office ahead of him and disappeared down another hall where the women’s restroom was located.

  Cursing softly, Nolan placed all the information into his calfskin briefcase, snapping it shut. It was time to see Ayman.

  *

  Miserably, Teren wiped her mouth with a paper towel as she hunkered over the toilet bowl. She slugged a mouthful of water and then spat it out into the toilet. Then she heaved again and again until her stomach ached. She wished she weren’t so affected by shock. Her mother had been very disapproving of her “sensitive” stomach. Even as a child on the farm, when she’d see her father chop off the head of a chicken, she’d throw up on the spot, horrified by the blood and the sight of the headless chicken as it raced in circles around his feet. She’d heaved three times that day, and her mother shamed her, and her brothers taunted her for being a sissy.

  Teren washed her mouth out again, pushing herself off her shaky knees and slowly emerging from the stall. Luckily, no one else was in the restroom, and for that, Teren was grateful. She didn’t want to look at herself in the mirror as she cupped water from the faucet, rinsing out her mouth one more time. Her flesh was pale and damp, her eyes like wounded holes staring back at her. Grimacing, she avoided looking at herself again and wiped her mouth dry with another paper towel. There was work to do. Things couldn’t wait on her just because she was upset.

  She longed for Nolan’s nearness, but she realized he had a job to do. She had no business asking any more of him, because she saw that he wanted to shield her as much as he could. But when he’d wrapped his hand around her lower arm, squeezing it gently, she could feel him feeding her something special, something so necessary to her heart and soul that she welcomed this kind, unexpected gesture. How badly she wanted to crawl into Nolan’s arms and be held.

  Right now, she felt like she had when she was eighteen, when Tony had stalked her, and he was much stronger than she would ever be. When Nazir had come knocking at her door that night, she’d opened it, thinking he needed help with something. Never could she have imagined that he would come to have sex with her, which was what he told her he wanted.

  She’d been drugged and raped once, and the shock of Nazir’s blunt request to her, his foot wedged inside the door so she couldn’t shut him out, had brought back all those sordid memories, the pain, her injuries, the loss—

  Teren made a rough sound, turning away from the sink, her hands in fists, eyes tightly shut. She would not go there! She just couldn’t! Tears ran down her cheeks, running off her chin. Angrily, she swiped at them, fighting them back, swallowing hard.

  She stood staring numbly at the pale green wall in front of her, wondering what the hell kind of bad karma seemed to be following her around. First Tony. Then Nazir. And now? A rich billionaire in Pakistan wanted her dead. He wanted to make a statement to Delos, and he was going to use her to try and do it.

  Rage mingled with her fear, driving away her numbness. Now anger trumped everything as it tunneled through her. Teren would be damned if she was going to be a “soft target,” as Nolan had referred to her during the briefing in her office. She would not go down without a fight. But she also worried that Kitra might be attacked if she remained there.

  Torn, she knew Ayman would do everything in his considerable military power to keep Kitra safe. She was relieved the man was here among them and that he loved Kitra like all of them did.

  Her headache was subsiding now, and Teren figured it was from all the vomiting, which had relieved the pressure in her head. Next time, she decided, aspirin would be a better way to relieve her headache.

  Pushing away from the white porcelain sink, she forced herself to go back to work. Maybe Ayman and Nolan could find out more about Nazir. She became focused on the new software she was writing for the online store. She wanted to get lost in it, because she didn’t want to think about the threat swirling around her. An hour later, her phone rang. Picking it up, she heard Ayman at the other end.

  “Teren, dear, could you come to my office now?”

  Her stomach clenched. “Sure, I’ll be right there, Uncle.”

  What now? Teren didn’t have a good feeling about this, hurrying down the long hall toward Ayman’s office. This wasn’t going to be good news and she knew it. Lifting her hand to his assistant, she opened the inner door. Nolan was sitting in front of the large desk. Ayman looked stern, and when he put on that kind of mask, Teren knew he was hiding his emotions. Nolan was wearing his unreadable game face, and the iciness of the atmosphere made her skin crawl.

  “Have a seat, my child,” Ayman urged, gesturing to the second chair in front of his desk, next to where Nolan sat.

  “Thank you, Uncle.” She sat down, closing her cold, clammy hands in her lap.

  “I wish we had better news,” Ayman began heavily, giving her a concerned look. “Nazir came from the slums of Khartoum. On his application form”—Ayman slid it in her direction—“he says he is originally from western Sudan, the Darfur region.”

  Teren picked up the paper. Nazir barely knew how to write, the inky letters wobbly and nearly unreadable. Luckily for her, she read Arabic. Scanning it, she said, “He’s put down a man named Bachir as a reference.”

  “Yes,” Ayman said. “When I originally had my men do a background check on Nazir, they noted the name. Two years ago, we could not find such a man in Darfur because of the civil war. I think Nazir put the name down because he knew the man when he lived in Darfur. And in my notes about him, that’s what I wrote down. With Darfur and western Sudan in continued crisis, there was no way we could track this Bachir down any further than we did.”

  “At that time,” Teren said, feeling hollow inside. She cut a glance toward Nolan, who was watching her, his eyes alive with concern for her. It helped steady her. He wasn’t touching her, but she could feel the warm blanket of his caring wrap around her.

  “Yes,” Ayman muttered. “I just got off the phone with a military contact high up in our government. Bachir is a known entity now.” His mouth puckered and he added, “This is a man who ran a rebel gang in Darfur known as Aziim Nimir.”

  Instantly, Teren’s brows raised. She read the Khartoum newspaper daily. It was all in Arabic and it helped her learn the language. There was always a lot about Darfur and the ongoing atrocities and murders there. “I’ve heard that name,” she said.

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Ayman agreed, shaking his head. “Bachir was a murdering thug in Darfur. He had a hundred-man gang of child soldiers who learned the art of killing from him. Bachir moved up to Khartoum about a month after I’d tried to track him down as one of Nazir’s referrals. He’s carved out a chunk of real estate in the slums and now calls himself ‘the caliph of Aziim Nimir.’ Today, he’s like a king who owns a tiny patch of the White Nile riverbank.”

  Nolan reached over and touched her arm in a calming motion. “Bachir is now a loose al-Qaeda affil
iate operating in this country, Teren. We figure that’s how Sharan got a hold of your name. We both think Nazir is one of Bachir’s soldiers.”

  “And he may well have been a child soldier before he left the gang in western Sudan to come here,” Ayman said thickly. “I think he left the gang, came east, and wanted a clean start to his life. He had some education and he was intelligent. So he came here to Kitra to apply for a job as a janitor.”

  Nolan’s hand grew more firm around her arm. Teren felt as if her stomach had dropped out of her body. She stared numbly at Ayman, at a loss for words. Only Nolan’s hand on her arm kept her in that chair. Right now, she wanted to run—though she didn’t know to where—just as she had so long ago, after she’d graduated from college. The people in her life at the time were suffocating her, judging her, making her feel as if life was trickling out of her.

  So she had run to Delos. There, the Culvers had breathed new, purposeful life into her. They’d taken her in with open arms, never judging her, only supporting her so she could become healthy.

  She was pulled back to the present by Nolan’s low voice. “Ayman has been in touch with his men on the ground in the slum,” he said quietly. “They’re going in to locate the area where Bachir is operating. Chances are they’ll find Nazir there too. If they do, that explains how Sharan got hold of your name.”

  “I-I see,” she choked out.

  “It’s very possible that Uzan or his employer, Sharan, found out you were the only white American woman here at Kitra,” Ayman said gently to her. “And because Sharan wants to strike out at Delos, and it’s an American-, Turkish-, and Greek-owned charity, he would be looking to hit American employees at Kitra. Men like Sharan hate Americans more than any other people. Turkey is a Muslim country, so I don’t believe they will attack that part of the Delos family. Perhaps they will hit the Greek part of the family, but Americans top their list. You’re the only American here,” he said. “The rest are Sudanese.”