The waiter returned, placing a steaming plate in front of Sunny. She thanked him, then grabbed the empty plate in front of Julian, pushing half the food onto it and then sat it back in front of him. “And what do you want, Montgomery?”
Lifting a fork, Julian took a bite of the food, but couldn’t enjoy the intense flavors.
“You can’t deny it, can you? Being on the rooftop doing the things you were trained to do felt right. You miss it and you want to do more of it. It’s what you love to do and that’s nothing wrong with that. Why do you think I created TIDES in the first place?” Sunny asked. “I needed that rush, that intensity of helping others without the restrictions of government protocol. That’s what you have working with my team.”
“You didn’t see the look in her eyes. The fundraising event was supposed to be low key, babysitting a bunch of rich people as they fawned over the President of Kenya. Nothing was supposed to happen Friday night. Enzo and I should have collected a big ass check for very little work. But instead—”
“A hundred guests’ lives were saved because you were in the right place at the right time,” Sunny said.
“Mena’s going to wonder and stress and worry every time I go out on another assignment if it’s more dangerous than what it seems. If I’ll be in a life or death situation again. If she’ll get a phone call telling her I’m dead because I risked my life to save some stranger. I can’t put her through that,” Julian said. He needed to walk away from TIDES for Mena, but he didn’t want to. He needed Mena to understand that being a special operative was all he ever wanted. He missed the thrill and the danger and the excitement.
“If you quit, how are you going to stop yourself from resenting her?” Sunny asked
“What are you talking about?” Julian dropped his fork onto the table. “I’d never resent her for wanting me to be safe.”
“You don’t think so? What are you going to do with yourself? Go back to being Mena’s house boyfriend, taking care of her honey-do list, and being the eye candy on her arm as you escort her to different dinners. How long is that going to keep you happy? A month? Maybe two? It’s too late for you Montgomery. The itch is back and you can’t help but scratch it,” Sunny said.
Julian clenched his jaw, hating how her words resonated within him. Could he walk away from the opportunity to work with the TIDES team? Did he want to throw away a chance to protect the world from terrorists and criminals?
“I’m sure Timothy Irungu won’t cancel his contract with you if I’m not leading the team. He’ll allow you to swap me out with one of your other team members,” Julian said, pushing the words out of his mouth before he said something different. Something he would regret.
“So, that’s it?” Sunny asked, looking disappointed. “You’re going to walk away.”
“I am,” Julian said. He was going to put Mena first, show her that she was more important to him than anything else in his life.
“I hope she’s worth it,” Sunny said, taking a sip of her water.
A wail erupted from a woman at the bar to the left of their table. Julian turned to look at her, an anguished expression etched on her face as she stared at the television screen.
“Turn up the television,” a man shouted as patrons of the restaurant stood from their tables and clustered around the bar where a series of flat-screen televisions displayed a gruesome scene.
Julian felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as his brain struggled to process what was happening.
The newscaster’s voice filled the air. “There has been another attack on the Tribal Museum near downtown. Witnesses say bombs exploded at the museum building and gunmen stormed inside, shooting indiscriminately at patrons. There are reports that more than two dozen tourists and workers in the area have sustained severe wounds from shattered glass that rained down to the street below. We have reporters headed to the scene to bring you more details on this tragedy.”
Julian jumped up from the table and rushed out of the restaurant.
Chapter Eighteen
Strategically placed bombs planted around the perimeter of the Tribal Museum detonated on cue as Tubeec, and his men exited the truck parked in the alley at the Irungu Center loading dock. Yasir, Liban, and Zahi sprinted around to the front entrance of the museum. The sound of scattered pops from assault rifles marred the air as they shot indiscriminately at tourists and museum patrons. Tubeec hoped they remembered to minimize damage to the artwork inside. He didn’t want to senselessly destroy cultural and artistic treasures of African history if it could be avoided.
He watched his extraction team sprint inside the Irungu Center, then turn into an inner stairwell. Their feet pounded the metal steps as they ascended to the top floor. The security cameras had been hacked to show a loop of the same time from the day before. Anyone monitoring the video feed would be oblivious to their entrance. Tubeec stepped over two dead men, unarmed security attendants.
Tubeec followed his men, taking the stairs two at a time. Pushing through the oversized door, he watched as the men cornered the four hostages, capturing them easily. Crying and wailing, the targets lost their motor function, collapsing in terror into the arms of his men, unable to resist being taken.
Glancing at his watch, Tubeec was pleased that they were ahead of schedule. He nodded to the men as they forced the hostages out of the Conservators Room and headed back down the stairwell.
He glanced into the now empty space, eyes drawn to an overturned trash can with crushed and torn coral flowers scattered across the floor. His curiosity piqued, he wondered if he should have gotten more details on the flower delivery. He hadn’t asked who the flowers were being delivered to or who had sent them. The intel on deliveries from the flower shop to the Irungu Center had saved him the trouble of placing a fake order. The flowers had apparently found the intended recipient and were not a welcomed gift.
He suspected the flowers had been for Mena Nix. She showed the most signs of exposure, her muscles limp and barely responsive as Rahim had carried her down the stairs. Wangari had been sluggish, indicating a minor level of exposure, while Grace and Isaac had walked mostly under their own power with rifles pointed at their heads.
Drawn toward the flowers, Tubeec walked slowly into the room until his foot rested against the crushed petals. He reached down, careful not to touch any and picked up the card from the floor. The logo of Wangari’s famous flower shop was emblazoned in the corner.
Clenching his jaw, he stared at the date scrawled on the card. Was this a hidden message for him? Had someone learned of his plan? Was this some kind of warning?
A beep emitted from his watch.
Tubeec slipped the envelope and the card into his pocket and exited the Conservators Room. He raced down the six flights of stairs until he reached the loading dock. A shaft of light illuminated the masked men, dressed in dark green from head-to-toe, toting rifles and maneuvering the hostages toward the back of the truck. The stench of exhaust wafted from the sleek black vehicle, painted with the recognizable logo of the most prominent flower growers in Kenya, the East African Flower Company. The trucks were common sights, not just on the streets of Nairobi but all across Kenya. No one would take a second glance at them as the trucks exited the alleyway behind the Irungu Center.
