On the other hand, she was well aware of the desert’s ability to kill. It showed no mercy, especially to those who ventured into the void without the proper supplies: basics like water, sunscreen, and shoes. In her mind, they were all mandatory provisions to even consider such a journey, and yet after giving it some thought, the desert seemed to be a much better alternative than waiting for her abductors to return.
Who knew what they had in store for her?
Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t good.
To protect her feet on her desperate journey, she tore the sleeves from her shirt and fashioned them into crude moccasins. She knew her arms would fry under the intense rays of the sun, but at least her soles wouldn’t blister. She could keep walking with sunburned shoulders; she couldn’t stand on seared feet.
With her makeshift shoes, Jasmine was ready to head off into the unknown. She reasoned that the tire tracks led toward the nearest settlement, but she also knew that following that route would increase the risk of meeting her kidnappers. As such, she opted for the opposite direction, hoping it would lead her into the trading routes of desert travelers. It was a calculated risk, but one she was willing to take.
Jasmine walked for what seemed like days, but it was actually only a single afternoon. The relentless sun robbed her of hydration and energy, but she never lost hope. Even as each step grew more and more difficult, she continued to press on.
She told herself that if she wore through her sleeves-turned-shoes, she could rip strips from her shirt. When those were reduced to tatters, she would tear cloth from her pants. She would cross the desert in her underwear if she had to, but she would not give up.
She assured herself of that.
As she glanced at the sun, she noted that it would soon dip low enough to touch the horizon. She didn’t know how long she had been walking, only that she had been traveling north the entire time. The setting sun to her left had told her that some time ago. Back then, she had hoped she might be able to reach the thoroughfares that ran along the coast if she did not encounter someone on her walk, but now she feared she would find neither. At its current rate of descent, she would only have the sun for another hour or so. Darkness would bring relief from the heat, but it would also signal the coming of a long, hard night in the open desert.
Even if she survived until dawn, she wasn’t sure she could do this for another day.
Not without food, water, or divine intervention.
Her spirit waning, she took a moment to survey her surroundings in hopes of finding shelter for the night. Instead, she found something better. There in the distance, outlined against the setting sun, were three men on camelback. Mustering her last reserves of strength, Jasmine screamed at the top of her lungs. When the trio stopped, she waved her hands wildly above her head, hoping that the erratic pattern would draw their attention.
A moment later, she watched as the three travelers turned their camels and began racing toward her. Assuming they weren’t figments of her imagination, they would reach her in a matter of minutes. And if they were real, Jasmine would be saved.
She was exhausted, but she had made it.
She dropped to her knees and wept.
The first man to reach Jasmine leaped from his camel and landed beside her with a soft thud. Without saying a word, he lifted her chin and pressed his canteen against her cracked lips. The liquid was gritty and brackish, but she swallowed without complaint.
She knew the water would save her life.
Once her thirst had been quenched, her savior pulled back the canteen and smiled. For a brief moment, Jasmine was struck by his teeth — or rather, the lack thereof. His mouth was almost completely empty.
‘Is good?’ he asked, hoping that she understood his English.
She nodded and smiled back. ‘Very good. Thank you.’
He smiled even wider. Then, for the benefit of the other riders, he spoke to them in their native language.
Jasmine listened intently, trying to decipher the sounds. After a few sentences, she was almost certain that he was speaking in a Berber language common throughout North Africa. She wasn’t fluent in the dialect, but she could understand and speak enough to join in the conversation. She knew they were wondering if she could be moved.
‘I’m okay,’ she offered in their native tongue. ‘I can walk.’
The others froze in surprise as their faces fell slack. Their response made it clear that they had never met an outsider who could understand their words. To them, it was as if she had somehow read their minds.
‘I can speak a little,’ she explained. ‘My name is Jasmine.’
The man beamed and pointed to his chest. ‘I speak, too,’ he replied in the same broken English he had used before. ‘I am Izri.’ He stood, then helped Jasmine to her feet. ‘You are lost?’
Jasmine shook her head. ‘No. I was taken.’
She repeated the phrase in Berber to ensure that she had made herself clear. The concerned look on their faces told her that they understood. ‘There is a house in the middle of the desert. I was held there.’
‘Who?’ Izri asked. ‘Who take you?’
‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘I never saw them. But they took me in Alexandria and brought me here.’
Izri’s eyes narrowed in confusion. ‘Why they bring you here?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t even know where “here” is.’
‘You are in the desert.’
Jasmine smiled at the obvious insight and cut right to the point. ‘I hate to trouble you, but can you take me to a phone? I need to call my friends. They must be worried sick.’
Izri smiled and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said proudly. ‘We can take you tomorrow. But tonight, you must rest.’
45
It had been more than forty-eight hours since Jasmine’s abduction, and the uncertainty of her disappearance was beginning to take its toll on the team.
They needed to know who had taken her.
Or where. Or why.
So far, all they had to go on were the carvings of the pictograph and a single image of scarred flesh. At this rate, their investigation might stretch on for weeks, which was a guaranteed death sentence. Cobb knew they needed more, and they needed it now.
He turned toward Sarah. ‘It’s time to call Simon.’
She nodded in agreement. ‘Maybe he can tell us about the brand. If we’re lucky, it’s part of a gang initiation for a local crew.’
Cobb shook his head. ‘We’re not telling him about the brand. And we’re not telling him about the Semtex or the glow stick. That’s all need-to-know, and right now, he doesn’t qualify. Understood?’
‘If you say so,’ she replied tersely. ‘But if we’re not telling him about the things we’ve found, how are we going to use him?’
‘We’ll talk about it on the ride in.’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’
Garcia pulled out a satellite phone and handed it to Sarah. ‘Use this. It’s encrypted and untraceable.’
As Sarah left the room to make the call, Cobb gave McNutt his marching orders. ‘Reach out to your connections in North Africa. I mean everyone — civilian, military, and other. In fact, start with the others.’
McNutt knew that Cobb was referring to ex-soldiers and former members of the intelligence community who had come to embrace the shadier side of international relations. Contrary to what most people believed, not all conflicts could be boiled down to black and white. There’s always a gray area in between. For those with the right connections, this gray area can be a great place to make a lot of money.
‘I’ll hit up every friendly mercenary this side of the Ganges,’ McNutt replied. ‘What am I trying to find out?’