Controlling Interest (38 page)

After losing contact with Matt's voice, Natalie dropped the receiver into its big black cradle and stared at Yasmine.

Yasmine twisted her hands. “What should we do now?”

“Well, we could sit here like helpless twits and wait for somebody to come rescue us.” Natalie set the phone on the desk. “Or we could figure out something ourselves.”

“Figure out what? We are locked in.”

“I think we should start by praying. You know, together.” Natalie held out her hands, palm up. “Want to?”

“Oh, I do.” Yasmine took a shy step toward Natalie. “But not out loud. I do not know how . . .”

“There's not any ‘how' to it. Talk to God like a friend.” Natalie smiled. “You're already a witness. Look how you helped Oksana.”

“I did, didn't I?” Yasmine lit up. “She is my sister now.”

“That's right. And so are we. Sisters, I mean.” Natalie reached for Yasmine's hands. “So when we pray together, God's right here with us.”

“Does he always give you what you want?” Yasmine looked curious. “I mean, when you pray with somebody else?”

Natalie considered her answer carefully. She had the feeling whatever she said to Yasmine would be taken to heart and believed no matter what. “I wouldn't say that, exactly. But he gives what he knows is best. And when we pray, he knows we're serious about doing his will. He gives us strength to do the right thing. He says if we need wisdom, all we have to do is ask.”

“How will we know what he says?”

“Gosh, Yasmine, you ask good questions, but I'm no expert.” Natalie shrugged. “All I know is that we pray and listen. Something will happen.”

Yasmine tipped her head. “Okay. I am confused, but I will pray with you. And I will listen.”

“Cool.” Natalie closed her eyes. “Dear Lord, I know you see Yasmine and me, and you know our problem. We sure do love you, but we're pretty scared. So please help us know what to do. Do we wait here for Matt and Zach to come get us? But what if we wait too long, and these thugs haul us off in Haq's plane?” She swallowed, dampening her panic. “Yasmine doesn't want to marry him. So we need you to keep that from happening.”

Natalie paused, but Yasmine didn't say anything, just squeezed her hands.

Natalie thought about Matt's prayer at the hotel in Vicksburg. She wished she had half his faith. It was good to know he was her brother in Christ, and he was coming to get her — even if he wasn't quite in love with her. “Thank you, Lord for providing that phone. Thank you for Matt and Zach. Please keep them safe. Amen.” She looked up at Yasmine, who was smiling as if they were eating watermelon at a Sunday school picnic instead of trying to figure out how to get out of a locked office.

Personally, she felt like throwing up. Maybe that would stop Haq from hauling her and Yasmine off. She could see the head-lines: “Victim barfs her way out of captivity.”

Um, no.

If only they had a weapon. All they had was a set of office furniture, a pair of flip-flops, and a twenty-pound telephone.

Natalie dredged through her memory for TV episodes involving escapes. Nothing came to mind. She picked up the phone receiver. Maybe she could try Matt again. But he was on his way. There was nothing else he could do for her, and he'd only tell her not to do something stupid.

She started to replace the phone, but something about its solid weight in her hand made her look at Yasmine. “I'm feeling really gross,” she said experimentally.

“You feel . . . large?” Yasmine wrinkled her nose. “This is a German word I know.”

“No, not that kind of gross.” Natalie grinned. “Gross as in ‘not well.' You know, ill.” She held her stomach, which truthfully enough was still queasy, even after the prayer. “I need to go to the restroom.”

Yasmine looked around helplessly. “I am so sorry.”

“We're going to have to make a bunch of noise and get somebody to check on us. Maybe Haq left someone out there.”

“Maybe.” Yasmine's brow furrowed. “Jarrar will be angry if we attract attention.”

“I don't care. I've got to — ” she put her hand to her mouth —“you know,” she mumbled.

“Okay. I try.” Yasmine took a deep breath and walked up to the solid oak door, whacking it with the flat of one tiny hand. “Jarrar!” she shouted. “Hello — is anybody out there?”

There was no immediate answer.

Natalie unplugged the phone receiver's cord at its base. As weapons went, this one was on the bizarre side. But it was all they had. Clutching it tightly, she edged toward the door. She flattened herself against the wall, ignoring Yasmine's wide-eyed confusion. “Try again,” Natalie whispered.

“But — ”

“I'm feeling
extremely
gross,” Natalie said grimly.

Yasmine shrugged and banged on the door again. Several times. Finally she took off her shoe and hammered enthusiastically. “Somebody please come. My friend is very ill!” Her look at Natalie implied the infirmity might be of the mental variety, but she continued to shout and pound on the door.

Just when Natalie was about to drop the heavy receiver in disgust, an irritated and thickly accented male voice growled through the door, “What is the matter? Stop that immediately.”

“You have to let us out,” demanded Yasmine. “My friend does not feel well. I am afraid she is going to — to — ”

“Vomit,” Natalie supplied with ghoulish glee.

“Yes, vomit,” Yasmine echoed. “She needs to go to the restroom.”

“Shut up,” said Mr. Cranky Pants. “Jarrar does not like noise.”

“Then he should tell you to open this door.” Yasmine's voice was as imperious as Queen Elizabeth in a press interview. “What is your name?”

The guard sounded startled. “Feroz.”

“Do you know that Miss Tubberville's father is a dignitary of great importance? She is not to be treated this way.”

Silence.

Natalie tensed. They might have made their situation worse. What if the angry guard decided to tie them up and gag them? He probably had a gun. What self-respecting terrorist henchman came on the job without a weapon of some sort?

Then the lock clicked. Natalie's heart took a pogo bounce into her throat. She lifted the phone receiver, holding it so tightly it should have melted in her hand. “Back up,” she mouthed to Yasmine.

Yasmine obeyed, eyes like saucers, cheeks pale as antique lace. Her lips moved in prayer.

The door thrust open. Natalie struck.

She'd had enough self-defense training to aim carefully. The back of the receiver chopped the tall, muscular guard at the base of his throat, where the gag reflex was the strongest. When he grabbed his throat, she clocked him in the temple.

He went down in a noiseless heap — Goliath felled by a couple of female Davids with a conversation piece.

Yasmine clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

Natalie was shaking. She made herself think. “Where's the key?”

“It is in his hand.” Yasmine recovered from her shock enough to bend down and gingerly remove the key from the guard's slack ham-sized fist. She looked down at him dubiously. “He is very . . . gross.” She grinned at Natalie.

“Yasmine! You made a joke.” Smiling, Natalie dropped the phone and peered outside the door. The hangar was empty, its broad doorway open to reveal a bright, sunny May afternoon. “I don't see your fiancé anywhere.”

Yasmine's grin disappeared. “Jarrar is no longer my fiancé.”

“Okay, sorry.” Natalie put her hands on her hips. “We're gonna have to drag him into the room and lock him in — quick, before he wakes up. You game?”

“This is not a game, Natalie. But I will help.”

Shaking her head, Natalie walked around to grab one of the guy's ankles. “You get the other leg. Here we go.”

By dint of huffing and puffing and pulling, they managed to tow their captor into the office without rousing him. Natalie took the phone — you couldn't be too careful — and turned the deadbolt. “We've got to hurry.” She pocketed the key. “Haq could come back any minute.”

The two women slipped quietly along the inside wall of the hangar, heading for the open doorway.

“Where are we going?” whispered Yasmine.

“To find anybody who can get us out of here — preferably a security officer.”

“What if we see Jarrar?”

“We'll cross that river under the bridge when we come to it.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

P
laying sidekick to a federal agent was pretty cool. If Natalie and Yasmine hadn't been in danger, Matt would have enjoyed busting into the control tower and demanding the location of Jarrar Haq's private jet, as well as a copy of his flight plan.

As it was, his stomach twisted as he and Carothers, armed with the requested information, sped through the industrial complex. They entered the airfield and arrived at Hangar 12C, where a small Learjet waited, already running, steps resting on the tarmac. With a screech of tires, Carothers stopped the SUV in front of the jet and got out, gun drawn. Matt followed, armed with a small 9mm Glock. He prayed he wouldn't have to use it.

Natalie was in that building, locked in an office, probably scared out of her mind. The urge to protect her was feral, violent. The job had always been just an entertaining way to spend his time and make a buck. Now . . .

Now he wanted to destroy the man who threatened her.

He let Carothers take the lead, staying behind the protection of the vehicle until it was clear they weren't going to be fired on. In fact, there seemed not to be a soul around, either in the hangar or near the jet. Matt watched Carothers's expression evolve from quiet aggression through stillness to a sort of deflated confusion.

The agent stood up, frowning, holding his firearm in position. “You think they sent us to the wrong hangar?”

Matt shook his head. “I don't know, man. Not likely the control tower would get that wrong.” He got to his feet. “Let's take a look around to be sure.”

“Alright. I'll check the jet first. Cover me.” Carothers held his gun steady and proceeded cautiously toward the plane. After a glance at Matt, he ascended the steps.

Raising his gun, Matt watched the open doorway. Carothers reached the top, paused, then stepped into the plane. Ten seconds passed, thirty, then a whole minute. Matt waited, hardly aware of holding his breath.

Carothers appeared again, gun lowered to his side. “Nobody home,” he called.

“You're joking.” Matt moved away from the car, lowering his own gun. “Where are they?”

“The flight plan has them taking off at 1:40. It's five minutes past that.” Carothers shrugged, then clattered down to the tarmac. “Let's look in the hangar. Maybe there's been some kind of delay.”

Tension hooked Matt's shoulders again as he and Carothers stalked toward the wide-open hangar. He would have expected, at the least, an attendant running around somewhere.

As they ducked close to the building, just outside the opening, Matt began to hear faint sounds of conversation. Heart hammering, he peered into the empty hangar. On the right was a closed metal door marked “Office.”

“What the heck?” muttered Carothers. Gesturing for Matt to follow, he entered the hangar. He approached the office. “Federal agent!” he shouted, raising his gun. “Open this door.”

The noise inside the office halted. After a moment, the door burst open. “Matt!” Natalie's bright face appeared. “I was just about to call you!” She suddenly took in Carothers's gun aimed at her chest. She frowned. “Maybe you'd better put that thing down before somebody gets hurt.”

All Matt's tension drained out of his toes, leaving him lightheaded with relief. “What's going on around here?” he shouted. “Are you crazy? Where's Yasmine? Where's Haq? I thought you were being held hostage!”

“I was. Yasmine's right here. Homeland Security took Haq and Feroz into custody. We have to go straighten everything out and get debriefed and all that stuff, as soon as — ” She looked over her shoulder and stepped aside. “He's right here, Yasmine. Come on.”

A small, dark-haired young woman catapulted out of the office and launched herself at Carothers, who caught her in his arms, staggering but laughing. “Whoa, lady. Let me get rid of this weapon.” He awkwardly holstered the gun in his underarm clip, then proceeded to kiss Yasmine with blind concentration. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

Matt stared at them for a bemused moment, then looked at Natalie. She was smiling like a proud mama.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Are you going to tell me what's going on?”

Natalie shrugged. “We decided we didn't want to wait to be rescued. So we conned the guard into opening the door, bonked him over the head with the telephone receiver, and went to find some help.” She paused. “It really wasn't such a big deal.”

She didn't need to be rescued. Translation: she didn't need him after all. He was surprised at how strongly that twisted his gut.

“
We
?” He stalked toward her. “This was your idea, wasn't it? You
never
do what you're told, Natalie Tubberville. Do you have any idea what a dangerous situation you were in? You could've been killed. Or worse.”

She looked confused. “What's worse than being killed? We were afraid Haq would haul us off before you could get here. The least you could say is ‘Good job, Natalie.' ” She took a step backward. “What's the matter with you?”

Matt glanced at Carothers and Yasmine, billing and cooing in a corner. No intervention there. Frustrated, he looked back at Natalie.

“You win,” he said. He tore his gaze away, looking down at the gun as he released the firing mechanism, unloaded it, and stuffed it in his pants pocket. “You found her first.”