Jidda had stopped Peter this time, but what would happen when Jidda felt better and no longer needed her?
She lay down once again, back to the wall, her body starting to shake in the aftermath of what had just happened, her heart still thrumming in her chest.
She drew deep slow breaths, pretended to sleep.
Then she heard Malik’s voice as if he were beside her.
It’s incredibly freeing to embrace your mortality. You surrender hope and gain clarity and peace. You learn to live and act in the moment.
Is that what she needed to do? Accept that they were going to rape and kill her? Surrender hope of a rescue?
The thought almost made her throw up.
She wasn’t Malik. She wasn’t a soldier. She was a nurse.
All she wanted was to go home.
In the darkness, scalpel still in her pocket, she counted the minutes till dawn.
* * *
Malik climbedinto the passenger seat of David’s black Mercedes-Benz G-Class. “Nice wheels, man.”
“What can I say? I like luxury.” David’s accent was rich and melodious.
Malik pointed to David’s time piece. “Is that a Rollie, man?”
“Rolex. Gucci. Prada. Mercedes. You hungry? Let’s get something to eat.”
Malik watched out the window as David drove them down to where the food trucks congregated at night. They both ordered chicken shawarma and beers and sat at a metal table near the curb to eat, people walking past, some wearing brightly colored traditional Nigerian clothes, some dressed as if this were LA or New York City.
David pulled something out of his jacket and slid it across the table to Malik.
The breath left Malik’s lungs.
Kristi.
It was a newspaper clipping about her abduction, complete with a photo.
He hadn’t seen her face since the day he’d left Amundsen-Scott Station. His gaze moved over the image—her beautiful eyes, those high cheekbones, her sweet lips. The knot of tension in his chest grew tighter.
“That answers my question.” David took a bite, chewed, then took a drink. “I wondered why you came alone and why Cobra isn’t behind this operation. You care about this woman.”
He cared for her more than she knew. “Yes.”
God, he’d been an idiot. He should have stayed in touch with her. He should have pushed her to change her contract.
“We will talk more later. Eat, man!”
“Right.” The food, which had smelled good, seemed tasteless to Malik now. But he needed fuel, so he ate, washing it all down with cold beer.
David kept up a cheerful monologue, giving him all the latest soccer news—which Nigerian footballers had left to play in the UK and Germany, details of the most recent match between the Nigerian Super Eagles and Algeria, why he thought they might win the World Cup this year.
Then he laughed. “But why am I telling you all this? You are tired from your journey. Let’s get home. Did you sleep on the plane?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t like traveling on Cobra’s private jet.”
David laughed. “Luxury, my friend. It is everything.”