SEAL's Deception (Take No Prisoners Book 8) (10 page)

Ben entered the hookah shop, and Yasmin follow a couple steps behind, her head lowered in deference to her escort.

The male shop owner scowled at Yasmin and said something in rapid-fire Arabic.

With her rudimentary grasp of the language, Yasmin couldn’t make heads or tails of the man’s angry tirade.

“What’s he saying?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s telling me to get out and come back with my husband.”

Ben shot the man a quelling glance. He still wore the shirt and trousers of a westerner. “You’re with me.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her close to his side.

The shopkeeper’s glare deepened, but he stopped yelling at Yasmin.

She moved around the store, pretending to inspect the hookah pipes in the window, giving her the opportunity to look outside.

Ben stopped beside her. “And?”

“Two stores down, heading this way,” she whispered.

“There’s a phone store a few doors away. As soon as our escort gives up and goes back to the car, we can head over.”

The big Arab scowled as he neared the hookah shop.

Ben pulled Yasmin behind a shelf full of smoking and pipe paraphernalia. His hand on hers shot electric currents up her arm and throughout her body. Out of sight of the shopkeeper and the front door, Ben stared down into Yasmin’s eyes for a long moment. “How is it you make me hot when all I can see is your eyes?”

The shopkeeper yelled something.

“I think he wants us out of his shop,” Yasmin said, unable to pull her gaze from Ben’s clear blue eyes.

“I’ll see if we’ve lost our tail,” Ben said, without moving.

Again, the shopkeeper yelled.

Ben shook his head, breaking eye contact. He stepped around the shelf and wandered around the items in the store toward the window.

Her heart thumping hard against her ribs, Yasmin stood where she could see Ben. The man had her tied in knots and didn’t know it. Which probably was a good thing. They were nowhere near suited for each other. Well, maybe for a brief fling, but nothing more. Two people in highly dangerous professions, separated by distance and busy schedules could never make a relationship work. Not that she was thinking of a relationship with Ben. No. That would be foolish. Stupid. Insane.

She sighed. A dream that would never come true.

“He’s gone,” Ben said softly and moved toward the exit.

Yasmin hurried after him.

Ben glanced in both directions before he stepped out and crossed to the phone store.

Yasmin followed.

The shop owner was younger and more tolerant, allowing Yasmin to accompany Ben.

Inside, he selected a couple burner phones, tapped the headset in his ear and reported to Stingray and Irish. “Found phones.”

Yasmin listened unashamedly to the one-sided conversation.

“Good. Get two and we will, too,” Ben said. “We’ll swap numbers as soon as we get them up and running.” He ended the call, paid for the devices with cash and took the mobile phones out of their packages. They left the store and found a deserted alley. Within a few minutes, he had both on and passed the numbers to Stingray and Irish.

As soon as Yasmin had hers in hand, she entered the number for her supervisor and handler, Joe Spaneth, back in the States.

Joe answered in a groggy tone, “I thought you were going to stay off the grid. Do you know what time it is?”

“Need to know how to get in touch with your contact in Riyadh,” she said, her voice low and intense.

Joe yawned in her ear. “I’m not sure he
wants
to be contacted.”

“I don’t care. I need to know exactly what he knows. The sooner the better.”

“What’s going on?” Joe asked, his voice sounding more alert.

“It’s best if I don’t fill you in. If you’re questioned, you can honestly say you knew nothing.”

“Evans, it’s too early in the morning for doubletalk. Just a minute.” The line went quiet for a full minute before Joe came back on. “I checked. He said he’d take your call.” He gave them the number. “He sounded nervous. When you call, tell him Joe sent you. I take it you’re in Riyadh?”

“You don’t know anything,” Yasmin repeated.

“You’re right,” Joe sighed. “I don’t know anything.”

Yasmin ended the call, punched the numbers Joe had given her and waited.

Ben stood at the end of the alley, keeping watch.

A man answered in Arabic.

“Joe sent me,” she said.

“Where are you now?”

“In the old marketplace in Riyadh.”

Dead silence met her announcement.

“Find the carpet market. Look for the store with the brass gong hanging in front. Be there in ten minutes. You’d better hurry. If I get there before you, I won’t wait.”

“Understood,” Yasmin agreed.

The call ended abruptly.

Yasmin glanced across at Ben. “We have exactly ten minutes to find the carpet market and get the stall with the brass gong before the contact does, or he leaves.”

Ben hit the redial button on his cell phone. “Be at the carpet market in ten minutes. I don’t know, but find it. And be there on time. The ten minutes is non-negotiable. Earlier, if you can make it.” He ended the call and pocketed his phone. “Ready?”

When she’d put in the call to speak with Joe’s contact, she hadn’t expected to meet with him so quickly, but she’d learned an agent had to take the opportunities when they presented themselves. If the guy had information that would help them find the vials of death, they had to find the time and place. “Let’s go.”

T
he burner phones
were bottom of the line and cheap, unable to give them precise directions from where they stood to the carpet market. They would have to get there the old-fashioned way.

By asking for directions.

Ben hurried out of the alley and asked the first vendor he came to where he could find the carpet market.

The vendor gave him a quizzical glance and waved at the carpets hanging in his store.

Shaking his head, Ben moved to the next vendor, wishing he had a good quality smartphone with a map application.

At the next vendor, Ben tried again. His Arabic wasn’t the best. He’d had some training in Arabic when he’d been sent on missions to Iraq years ago. He’d had a crash course in Pashto before he’d deployed to Afghanistan. Unfortunately, he hadn’t used Arabic in a couple years. He could barely say hello and where’s the bathroom.

The shop owner frowned and spoke in Arabic.

“Do you speak English?” Ben asked.

The man shook his head and pointed to the Persian carpets hanging on his walls.

“We don’t have time for this.” Yasmin backed out of the vendor’s shop.

Ben moved to the next, and the next, until they found a young man who spoke English, who gave them directions. The distance would make it difficult for them to reach the carpet market on time. Ben could jog there with time to spare, but that would draw attention and leaving Yasmin behind was not an option. They had to get there on foot, walking as fast as they could through the crowded market.

Ben took off, weaving sharply between people, vegetable stands and scarf salesmen. Several times he glanced back, worried Yasmin, dressed in the black
abaya
, wouldn’t be able to keep up.

But, she managed to stay practically on his heels. The woman was remarkable. By the time they reached the edge of the carpet market, nine and a half minutes had passed. “Now what?” Ben asked.

“The vendor with the brass gong,” Yasmin reminded him. “Find him.”

Ben led the way down the long aisle between carpet salesmen. Every vendor made a plea to buy his carpets. Shaking his head, Ben pushed through. Even if he had a need for a carpet, he didn’t have time to stop and view the hundreds of varieties of Persian rugs.

Almost to the end of the gauntlet of carpet salesmen, he spotted a gong the size of a trashcan lid hanging in front of one of the carpet stores.

A little old man sat cross-legged on the floor.

As Ben and Yasmin approached, he rocked and sang in Arabic.

“Excuse me, sir,” Ben tried to interrupt.

The old man rocked more violently and grew louder.

Afraid the wrong people would discover them, Ben backed away from the little man. “There’s not another gong, is there?”

Yasmin touched his arm. “Ben, over here.” He glanced over his shoulder. She had a tight hold on his sleeve and tugged him toward the carpet store on the opposite side of the narrow street.

A man peered out from between hanging rugs. He waved at Ben without speaking. Though he had dark hair and dark eyes, his skin was light and he didn’t have the typical features of an Arab.

Yasmin slipped between the rugs and disappeared.

A stab of fear pushed him forward. He shot a glance toward either end of the narrow street. Stingray and Irish had yet to arrive. They had his cell phone number. When they got closer, they’d either call or use their radio headsets. Ben pushed aside the rugs and entered a small office area.

A man stood in the office with Yasmin. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, and his hand shook as he pushed it through his hair.

“Ben, this is Omar. For the record, it’s not his real name, but it’s enough. Omar, Ben,” Yasmin said, by way of introduction.

Omar nodded without attempting to shake hands. “Why are you here?”

“We’ve come to follow up on your report about a certain delivery to the palace,” Yasmin said.

Omar dropped to sit on the end of a pile of rugs and buried his head in his hands. “Ever since I got word from my contact at the palace about the delivery of that box from the Ethiopian pharmacy, I’ve been followed. I didn’t notice at first. Then, while I was at work one day, someone broke into my apartment. They didn’t take anything, but things that had been on the counter had been moved. I haven’t been back to my apartment in days. I’m afraid to sleep for fear whoever is following me will catch up while my eyes are closed.”

“Has anyone actually attacked you?” Yasmin asked.

Omar shook his head. “Not me. But, the man who told me about the delivery had his throat slit in his sleep a week ago.”

Yasmin stepped closer. “What more can you tell us about the delivery?”

Omar stared down at his hands. “Not much. Just that my contact wasn’t allowed to touch it. He was told to leave the east delivery dock until the item was moved.”

Ben wasn’t sure they had any more information than before, and he was getting impatient to conclude the meeting and get back to searching the palace. “Who came to collect it?”

“My contact didn’t know, since they made him leave.”

“This isn’t helping,” Ben grumbled.

Yasmin’s eyes flashed. She dropped the veil from the lower half of her face. “Omar. We believe whatever is in that box could cause serious and irreparable harm to the people of the palace and every person in Riyadh, including you. Is there anyone living among the royal family who’d want to harm a lot of people?”

Omar’s gaze darted to the back of the small shop.

Out front, in the narrow street, the little old man with the gong started singing again. His voice sounded like a musical moan, getting louder.

“Someone’s out front,” Omar said.

“I’m expecting my men.” Ben crossed to the two hanging rugs and parted them barely enough to see out.

Instead of Stingray and Irish, a couple of men wearing white robes stood at the gong across the way, carrying AK47s. They poked at the old man.

He wailed louder.

“We need to leave,” Ben said. “Now.” He grabbed Yasmin’s hand and dragged her toward the back door.

Omar followed.

“Omar, anything you know might be key to our investigation,” Yasmin whispered as she passed in front of him. “Any family discord? Any cousins jostling for power? Disgruntled employees?”

“Not all of the royal family is happy with Prince Khalid’s direction and push to modernize the country,” Omar said. “I heard the king has picked Khalid as his successor, rather than the next eldest crown prince.”

“Who is dissatisfied?” Yasmin insisted, even as she slipped through the back door.

“Who is next eldest?” Ben asked.

“Prince Bandar, the defense minister, is particularly unhappy with the policies the king has adopted based on Prince Khalid’s recommendation. Prince Bandar is next eldest of the crown princes and should take over if something happens to the king.”

The old man across the street was practically screaming. Suddenly, he went silent.

Ben’s chest tightened.

“Do you think, they hurt the old man?” Yasmin clamped her lips tight and balled her hands into fists. “Bastards.” She started back through the door into the carpet shop.

Ben grabbed her arm and dragged her backward as the carpets parted and the two men brandishing AK47s peered through. “Time to go.” Ben yanked Yasmin through the door and slammed it shut. He figured they had less than two seconds to make it to the next alley before the goons with the guns burst through the door and started shooting.

Yasmin and Ben caught up with Omar just as the man tripped, landing on his hands and knees.

Ben shoved Yasmin. “Run!” He slowed to scoop a hand beneath Omar’s elbow and hefted the man to his feet.

The door behind them slammed open, and the two men with the AK47s jettisoned through.

Two feet. Two lousy feet to the corner. That’s all they needed to get out of weapon range. Ben pushed forward, lugging Omar.

The gunmen opened fire.

Crying out, Omar jerked and fell to the ground.

Ben dove for the corner, slipped around and stopped.

“What are you waiting for?” Yasmin tried to grab his arm and pull him away.

“We won’t make it to the next street,” Ben said. He bunched his fists and waited.

Footsteps sounded in the loose gravel as the attackers ran toward them.

When they rounded the corner, Ben was ready. He slammed his hands on their weapons.

One of the men fired off a round, hitting himself in the foot. He screamed, threw down his weapon and grabbed for his foot.

Before the other guy could lift his rifle, Ben swung his elbow, clipped the guy in the nose and sent him flying up against a wall. His head hit with a dull thud, and he slid down the wall, unconscious.

The guy who’d shot himself let go of his injured foot and lunged for Ben.

Yasmin appeared like a dark ghost, flying in beside him. She hiked up her
abaya
and landed a kick in the side of the attacker’s head, sending him down for the count.

“I’ll deal with these two,” Ben said. “Check on Omar.”

Ben used his belt to secure one of the attacker’s wrists behind his back. He used the other man’s headscarf to bind him. While tying the man’s wrists, Ben found a .45 caliber handgun tucked beneath his
thobe
. He shoved the gun into his waistband and covered it with his shirt, leaving the tail hanging out of his pants. Then he turned to Yasmin as she leaned over Omar.

The man stared up at her, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth, a stain spreading across his white robe.

“Omar, hang in there. We’ll get an ambulance to take you to the hospital,” Yasmin said.

The man on the ground grabbed her hand and held on. “Rumor,” he said, his voice raspy, bubbling with the blood.

“What rumor?” Yasmin asked.

“Someone in royal family…funding…ISIS.”

Ben had to lean closer to hear the last words spoken by the brave informant. When he heard the name of the band of murdering terrorists, he stilled, his heart sinking into the pit of his belly.

They were all doomed if the biological weapons made it into the hands of ISIS.

Y
asmin felt for a pulse
.

Omar had taken a bullet through the back, into his chest. The chances he would survive were minimal, but she couldn’t leave him to die alone. She pressed her fingers to the base of his throat and held her breath. Shifting her hand, she tried again.

Ben brushed aside her hand and felt for himself. “He’s dead.”

Yasmin knew but didn’t want it to be true. Omar had risked his life to meet with them, and he’d died for it. Guilt rose to clog her throat, and angry tears stung her eyes.

Ben hooked Yasmin’s arm and urged her to her feet. “We have to get out of here. The gunfire will bring police and others. The sooner we’re away, the better.”

Yasmin nodded and moved away from the dead man and the attackers, securing the veil over her nose and mouth.

“My knot-tying won’t keep those goons down long.” Ben headed toward the narrow street through the busy carpet market.

Knowing she couldn’t help Omar, Yasmin followed.

As Yasmin emerged near the carpet stall with the gong, she saw the old man, lying in a bloody heap among his carpets. Her chest squeezed tightly. She straightened her shoulders and pushed on. She didn’t have time to let herself feel any more deeply. They had to get out of there before the two men who’d attacked them were found and released.

Stingray and Irish appeared, running toward them.

“We heard gunfire,” Irish said, slowing to stop in front of them.

“You heard right,” Ben said. “We need to leave. Now.” He turned left and hurried down the long line of carpet sellers.

Yasmin matched Ben, stride for stride. Stingray and Irish brought up the rear. Ben retraced their mad rush through the old part of the city, back to where they’d left the car and driver.

Their escort stood beside the car, an angry frown pushing his jet-black brows together. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear. When he spotted them, he said something and ended the call.

The four of them climbed into the rear of the SUV, their escort sat in the front passenger seat and the driver took them back to the palace.

Leaning close to Ben, she whispered, “I might have a better chance of sneaking that pistol in beneath my
abaya
.”

Ben nodded and slipped the gun into her hand.

Yasmin slid it up her sleeve, pulled her arms up inside the garment and settled the weapon into the waistband of the jeans she wore beneath. The challenge would be to hide it somewhere no one in the women’s quarters would find it. Though she had a key to her guest apartment, she didn’t know who else might have a duplicate. Then she thought of the hidden compartment in her suitcase, where she stored the
thobe
and headdress. The gun would have to fit in there.

The trip back to the palace was uneventful, and soon they were driving through the gates. Yasmin couldn’t help thinking it a shame that such a beautiful place could feel so much like a prison. Returning to the palace also meant she’d have to leave Ben.

The driver pulled into the circular front driveway and stopped.

Everyone got out and climbed the steps to the entry.

Yasmin’s escort veered toward the women’s entrance. When Yasmin didn’t follow immediately, he stopped and waited.

“Clearly, he wants me to follow.” Yasmin started that direction.

Ben fell in step.

She halted and bent her head, speaking in a low whisper only he could hear. “I don’t need you to escort me. I can make it back to my rooms with the palace escort provided.”

“You don’t want me to go with you?”

“Of course, I do. But your time would be better spent continuing your search. I’m limited in range during the day.”

“Fair enough.” He straightened and started to turn away.

“And, Ben?” she said so softly she thought he hadn’t heard her.

But, he did. Ben turned back to face her.

“You and the others…” She paused. “Be careful.” She wanted to say so much more and to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him, but that couldn’t happen. Yasmin walked away, knowing the situation was dire and personal feelings couldn’t slow them from accomplishing their mission.