Wasn’t he afraid? Wasn’t he worried about what Kuti would do to him?
It didn’t take long to reach the airport. When the van stopped, they were dragged out and marched toward a large helicopter, its rotors already spinning.
Two of the men stayed behind—one with each vehicle—while Kristi and Malik were forced to board the helicopter and strapped into their seats. The others put on earphones, but left Kristi and Malik without.
“It’s going to be noisy,” Malik warned her.
The helicopter lifted off, the sound deafening as it nosed its way into the wind and away from the airport, Parakou disappearing behind them and, with it, the hope that had kept Kristi going. Every mile they’d traveled, the quicksand, the railway bridge—none of it meant anything now.
Malik caught her gaze, said something she couldn’t hear, but she read his lips. “It’s not over.”
Then she remembered the story he’d told her about the ambush in Afghanistan. They’d been attacked. They’d lost a helicopter. They’d even run out of ammunition. Then, when it had seemed that all was lost, help had come. They had survived.
Would help reach them in time?
The flight seemed to last forever, though in reality it was probably less than two hours. Her fingers had long since gone numb, the ropes on her wrists cutting off her circulation. She knew where they were when she saw the Lagos skyline and the Gulf of Guinea come into view, skyscrapers and then a vast expanse of blue.
The helicopter landed in an open field outside of town, and she and Malik were both dragged out of the helicopter and taken to a waiting van, Kristi’s hearing strangely muted from the noise of the chopper.
“We didn’t search her,” one of the men called to Kuti.
The other men laughed, the sound tinted with lust.
“I’d like to search her.”
Kuti glared at them. “I told you not to touch her. The Kings will decide her fate.”
Kristi was placed far from Malik this time, the door slamming shut.
Kuti once again took the front passenger seat. “Enjoy your last moments without pain, Mr. Jones.”
* * *
They drovethrough the streets of Lagos, Malik watching, waiting for any chance to break free and attack. He couldn’t risk it now, not in such close quarters, unarmed with his wrists bound. There was too great a chance he’d sustain an injury that would make it impossible to escape later—or that Kristi would be hurt or killed in the process.
No, he would watch. He would wait for the right moment.
And what if the right moment never comes?
It would come. It always did.
Kristi said she’d gotten a message off to Shields, but Malik wasn’t sure how close the team was to wrapping up operations there. Shields had said they were finishing early. That meant they should be getting ready to head home today.
Of course, they would have to file a flight plan and get permission from the Nigerian government. Add flight time to that, ground transportation, and planning the operation. That meant they’d be here, guns blazing, in twenty-four hours at best.
All you have to do is survive until they get here.
He couldn’t share this with Kristi, of course. She’d been through so much already, and he could see that she was terrified. He couldn’t do anything about that now. He couldn’t even make eye contact with her.
Hang in there, angel.
He’d been relieved to hear that fucker Kuti tell the others to keep their hands off her. But what had he meant that the Sky Kings would decide her fate?
As for his own fate, Malik knew these next hours would put him to the test. Kuti had threatened him with torture, and Malik had no doubt the son of a bitch meant it.
They turned off the road, driving through some kind of parking lot toward what looked like a large warehouse—the kind of place where people could scream without being heard.
Fear snaked through Malik’s belly.