“Very well—but no firearms.” The officer gathered up her digital recorder and notepad and spoke into her mic to let the officers downstairs know that she was finished and would be coming down. “Mr. Jones is coming with us.”
It was settled.
* * *
Kristi satin the back of a police SUV with Malik, another vehicle ahead of them and one following behind, lights flashing. She spoke to Malik in a whisper. “Why do they get credit for rescuing me? It was you and David, not the NPF.”
He leaned close, whispered in her ear, the minty scent of his toothpaste and the spice of his shaving cream tickling her nose. “It’s a deal David cut with them last night when you were sleeping. I wasn’t operating legally in the country. My firearms permits were forged. This way, they get the PR boost, and David and I don’t go to prison.”
Her heart melted. “Oh, Malik! You broke the law to come after me?”
His lips quirked in a lopsided grin. “You make that sound like a big deal.”
For her, itwasa big deal. If not for him, she would be trapped in a living hell.
She took his hand, held it tight. “Thank you.”
They approached a building that was surrounded by a low concrete wall painted sulfur yellow, dark blue, and green and displaying a sign that readNigeria Police Force. The parking lot was full—television vans with satellite dishes on top, SUVs, reporters, photographers.
The sight of it put butterflies in her stomach. She wasn’t used to being in front of cameras. But if this kept the Nigerian authorities from arresting Malik and David, she’d do whatever they asked of her.
Malik looked around them, a worried frown on his face. “Is there a rear entrance, a way to get inside where she won’t have to face reporters?”
“Yes, Mr. Jones. That is where we are going.”
They drove to a gated entrance in back and straight up to the covered rear door, where several uniformed officers awaited them.
From there, it was a whirlwind. An officer opened her door and escorted her and Malik inside and down a hallway, where she was introduced to the police commissioner for Kaduna. A serious man with a razor-thin mustache, he wore a black beret and a blue uniform with several medals pinned to his chest.
“Ms. Chang, I am Commissioner Ahmed Busari. I’m glad to see you safe and unhurt. From what I hear, you are an incredibly brave and clever young woman.”
“Thank you.” She held out her hand, and they shook. “And thanks for all the Nigeria Police Force has done for me. I’m very grateful.”
Malik held out his hand. “Malik Jones, sir.”
The commissioner shook Malik’s hand, his expression going hard. “I know who you are. Next time you take up arms against Nigerians, you might not be so lucky.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then a white man in a black business suit and blue tie walked up to them, an American flag on his lapel. “Ms. Chang, I’m Richard Hartley, the US consul general. I am so relieved to see you safe and sound. Your safety has been the top priority of my office for several days now.”
Kristi forced herself to smile. She’d love to tell him exactly what she thought of his priorities. They hadn’t done a thing to help her. “Thank you for your concern.”
He was somewhat less cordial to Malik but shook his hand. “I think the State Department wants to have a chat with your boss, Mr. Jones.”
“I resigned from Cobra before I left the US. Cobra wasn’t involved.”
Hartley stared at him. “You came alone? You’ve got balls of steel.”
Malik threw Hartley’s language back in his face. “She trulywasmy top priority.”
“Yes, well, I think we’re about to start.” Hartley ushered Kristi away from Malik to a large conference room with a long table and podium at one end. “You can sit here beside me.”
Cameras clicked and whirred, at least a hundred reporters filling the seats, cameras and microphones at the ready. CNN. BBC. Al Jazeera.
Had her abduction made international news?
Kristi took her seat, looked out at the sea of faces and lenses.