Page 57 of Queen of Barrakesch
The man’s grip on her upper arm tightened as she straightened. She swung her eyes from left to right. She was out here all alone, surrounded and without any assistance. Where were they taking her? What were they going to do with her? She had to get away.
Quickly, instinctively, she swung her fist at the man holding her arm. The blow landed to the side of his face, and he howled in surprise and pain and quickly stepped back. Someone else came up behind her and she elbowed him and swung her fist into his nose. He hollered and stumbled back.
“Let me go!” she yelled.
She clenched her fingers and muscle memory shifted her body into a fighting stance with both fists held at chin level. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
Quickly sizing up the men, she deduced they couldn’t be mercenaries or fighters. Their bodies were too relaxed because they assumed their size and number would be enough to intimidate her. They’d miscalculated.
She was scared but not intimidated. She was a fighter, a skill learned long ago thanks to the help of six brothers and Mbutu warrior blood running through her veins.
Yet even as she considered landing more blows, she noticed their hesitation. The way they looked from one to the other. They’d surrounded her but were afraid to hurt her. Not one of the punches she landed had received a retaliatory blow. They weren’t going to fight back.
“I’m pregnant,” she said, thinking that might help and they’d rethink this plan.
An awkward pause filled the air as they glanced quickly at each other and then turned their attention to the farmer, clearly the leader. None of them had expected this new development. They not only had the queen, they had her unborn child, too. The potential heir to the throne.
Too late, she saw movement at the corner of her eye, and something stung the back of her neck.
Then…lights out.
26
Wasim would never forget where he was when he learned that Imani’s caravan had been ambushed. He was seated on the sofa in his office, reviewing the specs for the metro rail line, the next major project to be completed now that the budget had been approved.
A forceful, rapid knock on his office door caused him to stare at it in shock that anyone would dare pound so hard.
“Yes?”
His head of security, Mohammed, rushed in. A giant of a man who was at least six inches taller than Wasim, he came in holding a phone. Then he told Wasim they had lost contact with Imani’s team, and there was a man on the line who said that he had Imani and a demand.
Wasim could feel the blood drain from his face. He jumped up from the sofa and snatched away the phone. He hit the Mute button. “Who is this?” he demanded.
A mechanically distorted voice came on the line. “Never mind who I am. We have Her Royal Highness Queen Imani with us.”
“You must be insane,” Wasim said. To kidnap a member of the royal family was unheard of. The act was a crime punishable by death. Only a crazy person would commit such an offense.
The mechanical voice laughed. “I assure you, I am quite sane.”
“How is she? Is my wife safe?” He gripped the phone as fear surged within him.
“Yes.”
“Before you tell me what you want, I need to know that she’s safe. Nothing moves forward until you confirm that.”
“You don’t make the rules!”
“And you get nothing until I know my wife is safe.” He would not budge. He’d quickly read the situation and suspected that standing up to this reckless fool—whoever he was—would be the best way to handle this interaction.
There was a long pause. Wasim tensed, his gaze meeting Mohammed’s.
Finally, a response. “As you wish, Your Excellency.” The mechanical voice dripped with sarcasm and Wasim gritted this teeth. He couldn’t wait to put his hands around this man’s throat.
A few seconds later, a video came through on the phone while Wasim and Mohammed watched. Imani wore the same clothes she’d left in this morning. She lay on a filthy-looking cot, her hair wrapped in a black-and-cream scarf and wearing a cream pants suit. Her eyes were closed, but she was clearly breathing. His eyes zeroed in on the rope that bound her wrists together and his stomach lurched sickeningly.
“What do you want?” Fear filled him—fear for Imani and how this could affect their unborn child.
“Twenty-five million dollars in large bills to be delivered to a place and at a time you will learn about tomorrow. Not before. We will contact you at noon with the details.”
