A chill slid down Julian’s spine as memories assaulted him. “A faint smell, almost citrus-like?”
“How did you know that?” Reggie asked.
“The results will show the flowers had been sprayed with the chemical nerve agent, lazirprene,” Julian said.
“Lazirprene. Are you sure?” Reggie asked.
Julian wished he wasn’t, but the method of attack and the technique used to facilitate the kidnapping was beginning to fit the distinct style of an enemy he’d faced before.
“Lazirprene attacks the musculoskeletal system, temporarily rendering its victims numb or paralyzed for a period of minutes to hours, depending on the amount of exposure. If that’s the chemical on the flowers, then there’s no way anyone who came in contact with the peonies would be able to fight back or scream for help. The kidnappers would face no resistance extracting them from the building. That chemical is extremely rare … so how did it end up being used today? Who could be behind this?” Reggie asked.
Julian pinched the bridge of his nose, tension clawing at his muscles. The search for Mena had become extremely complicated. Bringing her and the other hostages home safely would be harder than any of them expected.
Taking a deep breath, Julian said, “I know exactly who’s behind this, and you’re not going to like it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
A high-pitched wail pierced the air as Mena’s eyes flew open. She leaned back against the concrete floor covered in dirt and debris. Her body shook involuntarily as electric shocks pricked her muscles. Leaning forward, she gripped her stomach, realizing the horrifying sound was coming from her own mouth. The pain was paralyzing as her body reawakened. She wiggled her toes, sending another jolt of pain coursing through her body. Despite the sharp discomfort, Mena breathed heavily through each successive convulsion, thankful that she was regaining the feeling in her body.
What had they given her? How had they reduced her body to numb, paralyzed state? She’d panicked when she lost her motor function in the middle of the Conservators Room, falling and banging the side of her skull against the hard floor. Gunmen had appeared at the entrance, storming into the room. She’d watched Wangari struggle to walk before collapsing on the ground. Isaac and Grace had been less effected, stumbling but still able to move, trying to get away, though their attempts had proved futile.
Mena looked around the darkened room. A bright light shone from the hallway, casting a bright rectangle on the grimy floor. The rough grit scratched against her palms as she shifted backward and leaned her body against the wall, hoping to gather enough strength to stand. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Across the room, Wangari was tied to a chair, her mouth gagged with a rag. Isaac lay on the floor, several feet away from her. He was face down in a pool of vomit, his hands tied behind his back and his feet bound with thick ropes. Mena glanced at her own legs, bound tightly together. She wouldn’t be standing any time soon.
“Last one is finally coming around,” a male voice said from outside the room. “Rahim, get in there and secure her now that she’s regaining her muscle function.”
Mena looked toward the door as a large figure filled the space, blocking the light. Her eyes followed the man closely as he entered the room. He was dressed in the same dark green trousers and matching button-down shirt she remembered the gunmen wearing from the attack on the Irungu Center. His scarf hung loosely around his neck as he closed the distance between them.
Avoiding eye contact with the rebel, Mena searched for a weapon, something she could use to fight him off. She swiped her hands against the floor. Another painful series of electric shocks racked her arm muscles, and she paused, sucking in a sharp breath.
The man squatted low, forcing her to meet his gaze. He stared back at her without blinking, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. Softly, his hands caressed her arms as he brought her hands together in front of her body. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strand of coarse, thin rope. Wrapping her wrists tightly, he secured the ends, then stood. Mena tried to move her hands but quickly abandoned that idea as the rope scratched and scraped her skin.
Standing, the man went to the corner of the room and lifted a small pitcher of water. Returning to her side, he looked over his shoulder toward the door for a long moment, then turned his attention back to her.
“Drink,” he whispered.
Aware of the harsh dryness of her throat, Mena gratefully accepted the warm liquid, sipping quickly to quench her thirst. He allowed her several seconds of gulping the water until he removed the pitcher and sat it back in the corner.
Mena kept her eyes on the man they called Rahim as he exited the room and disappeared from her view.
“Mena, are you okay?” Isaac managed to turn his head to face her, the dried excrement coating his cheek and chin.
“I think so. I can move, but it’s painful. Is Wangari okay? What did they do to her?”
“My guess is the same thing they did to you. She woke up a few hours ago and cried out in pain, but she wouldn’t stop screaming. It was horrible. They finally gagged her so they wouldn’t hear her, and she passed out about an hour ago,” Isaac explained.
“Did they say what they wanted?” Mena asked, wondering if a ransom request had been made while she was still knocked out.
Kidnapping had become an unfortunate risk of life for wealthy Africans. Terrorists had an endless supply of human capital to mine from and demand money to fund their activities. And there weren’t too many Kenyans wealthier than Wangari and her family. What she couldn’t understand was why the gunmen had taken her and Isaac?
“Not yet. They seem to be waiting for their leader to arrive and give them instructions, but I’m guessing they want a big payout from Wangari’s family. I think we were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Isaac lamented.
In the past year, Mena had had more than her fair share of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d walked into the middle of Ella Sapphire’s escape from the Genesis Gallery and been forced at gunpoint to drive the pregnant woman to an unknown location, only to end up delivering her baby on the side of the road. Stumbling upon the truth of Priscilla Dumay’s immoral enterprise had landed her in the trunk of Zak Webber’s car, kidnapped to stop her from going to the police about what she’d overheard. Then being trapped in the basement of Dumay’s mansion, desperate to escape before a bomb detonated. Each time, though, she’d had one glimmer of hope. A chance to get out of the situation, unscathed and unharmed … because of Julian.
Mena’s eyes focused on the charm bracelet Julian had given her.
Would she ever see him again?
