Controlling Interest (37 page)

Matt growled in frustration. “Let me at least try.” He unclipped his phone from his belt. After a couple of failed calls, he slapped the phone shut and put it away. “We'll have to wait. Maybe she'll call me and check in.”

Carothers took a tense turn up and down an aisle full of World War II memorabilia. “I'm worried about Yasmine.”

Matt watched him. “I know you're into classified stuff, man. But if I'm going to be any help, I think you'd better explain more about what we've gotten ourselves into. Who is this Haq guy?”

Carothers looked around. Besides the lady behind the cash register, who was busy counting credit card receipts, a large group of homeschoolers on a field trip cruised the aisles. “Come on outside.” Once they were out in the parking lot, Carothers stopped and folded his arms. “Alright. You know Haq is the son of the Pakistani Federal Minister for Commerce, right?”

Matt nodded.

“We've been watching him for some time, because of some shipments — supposedly oil transfers — that went to weird places. After he moved to the States, our guys collected Intel that suggested he's an arms broker. But whatever he bought apparently cost more than he could pay. He showed signs of needing cash. Hence the sudden arranged marriage to Yasmine.”

“You think her dad was going to settle
that
much money on her now?”

“By Muslim law, the dowry goes to the girl from the groom — for her maintenance. But when the bride's father is as rich as Abid Patel, it often goes the other way. And Abid's daughters mean everything to him.”

“Did you know this when you first met Yasmine?” Matt couldn't help the question.

Carothers thrust his hands behind his back and stood straight as a flag mast. He met Matt's gaze fiercely. “I knew. And believe me, I'm a cynical guy. I was prepared to hold her in contempt.” His expression lightened. “But you'd have to meet her. She's nobody's spoiled princess.”

Matt nodded. “I'm looking forward to it.” Curiosity pulled him back to the original topic. “So Haq's dealing in arms, and NCIS sent you all the way to Pakistan to chat up his fiancé?”

“That wasn't my only mission, and I can't go into details. But yeah, Yasmine was definitely a person of interest. See, the marriage would serve the double function of sealing the relationship between her father and Haq's — a merger of interests, if you will — as well as supplying funds for an Al-Qaeda stinger missile deal.” Carothers's expression was grim. “I arranged an accidental introduction to Yasmine, and we hit it off. She was interested in my faith because she'd had a Christian roommate in boarding school. I spent a lot of time talking to her about the Lord. Once she became a believer — ” he reddened — “it didn't take me long to fall in love with her.”

Matt looked down. “Kind of hits you over the head, doesn't it?”

“I take it you know the feeling.”

“Maybe.” Matt sighed. “I'm not used to feeling responsible for somebody else. It's making me nuts.” He shrugged. “But I'm discovering there are some things a whole lot more important than your own comfort and convenience.”

Natalie walked restlessly around the room, circling the desk, rattling the drawers of the file cabinets. They were all locked. There was a closet door, which was also locked. She looked at Yas-mine, sitting on the floor propped against the wall. “You remember when you had Oksana lock me and Matt in your cabin?”

“I did not tell her to do that.” Yasmine made a face. “Although I thought it was a good idea at the time.”

“Well, this is what it felt like.”

Yasmine hunched her shoulders. “I am sorry.” She looked up into Natalie's eyes. “I am sorry about many things. I wish I had trusted you when I first got off the plane.”

“You had no way of knowing I'd be on your side.” Natalie sighed. In Yasmine's place she might have done the same thing. “Did you suspect Haq was a criminal before you got engaged to him?”

Yasmine shook her head. “You have to understand — in the Middle East, many people think of men like Jarrar as heroes. They are protected. His father is a high-ranking official in my country. My parents were honored to be connected to the Haq family.”

“So you didn't know for sure, until he told you he had the — the gun?” Natalie still couldn't believe she was being held hostage by an international arms dealer. This was so not in her career plan.

“Remember, I did not know him except through our parents' introduction and email. I began to see hints of fanaticism as we corresponded. Couple that with Zach's questions . . . Once I suspected, I was afraid for my family.” She sighed. “But as you say, that is a river under the bridge.”

“You're right.” In spite of the queasiness of her stomach, Natalie had to smile. “Now we have to figure out how to get out of here. I wish I hadn't had to give up my cell phone.” She started opening desk drawers. Everything else had been locked, but one had to try. The lap drawer, to her surprise, slid out to reveal a couple of army-issue ballpoint pens that looked like they'd been there since the Korean War. A handful of paper clips rattled in a tray beside some rubber bands and a Band-Aid.

Nothing useful.

She jerked open the file drawer on the left, but found it empty, as well as the two small top drawers. Hesitating, she almost didn't open the remaining deep drawer on the right. She finally shrugged and yanked on the handle. Curiosity was a disease.

And might just be their salvation. Under a pile of yellowed file folders squatted an ugly black seventies-style phone. Its cord was neatly folded and tied with a bread tie.

Natalie barely restrained a whoop of victory. They had to stay quiet. Haq might have left a guard outside the door. “Yasmine!” she whispered. “Help me look for a phone jack.” She hefted the old phone. Solid plastic and stainless steel, it weighed about five pounds. “Good grief,” she muttered, “how did people survive the seventies?”

“I've seen those in the villages outside Karachi.” Yasmine obediently got to her feet and started searching the walls.

“When I was little my grandmother had one in the attic that my cousins and I used to play with.” Natalie put the clunky receiver experimentally to her ear. “This one probably got left here in case of hurricane emergencies.”

“Hurricanes?” Yasmine looked around nervously, as if expecting a typhoon any moment.

Natalie smiled. “The season doesn't start until late summer. Oh, look, here's an outlet behind the desk. Help me move it out a little.”

The two of them managed to shove the desk — which, also being standard military issue, weighed roughly the equivalent of a cement truck — away from the wall, enough to allow Natalie to squeeze her hand into the space. She jimmied the cord into the phone jack with a soft click and hopped onto the desk with the phone in her lap. “Here we go. Pray, girlfriend.” She held the receiver to her ear again — and got a dial tone. She gave Yasmine a thumbs-up. “Hallelujah. We're cookin' with gas.”

“I do not understand. You make dinner with the telephone?”

Natalie stifled her laughter by stuffing her fist against her mouth. “It's a figure of speech. It means we're in business.” She shook her head at Yasmine's confused look. “Never mind. Let's try Matt.” She laboriously dialed his cell phone number. “Whoever owns this office is going to love their next phone bill. Matt's cell is long distance.”

“But he and Zach are in Mobile, yes?”

“I didn't mean
they're
long distance. Just the phone.” Natalie listened. The phone rang twice, three times. If she had to leave a voice mail, she was going to —

“Matt Hogan here.”

Natalie nearly fell off the desk in her relief. She held her voice down with an effort. “Matt! It's Natalie.”

“I didn't recognize the number, almost didn't answer it. Where
are
you?” He sounded irritated.

“Honestly, I have no idea. Jarrar Haq has Yasmine and me locked in some little office in a warehouse complex. It's near an airfield, I think close to downtown. It didn't take us long to get here.”

“What? How'd that happen? What's he doing here in Mobile?”

“Apparently he's been following us all the way.” Her composure, which she'd been holding onto by a fine thread, suddenly shredded. “Matt, Yasmine said he's got a g-gun, and we're really scared, so you've got to come get us out of here before he takes us who-knows-where — ”

“Okay, calm down, sweetheart,” he said, his voice every bit as tense as hers. “Of course we'll come get you. You must be at Brookley. Does he have a plane already?”

“I don't think so. He said his private jet would arrive soon. He told us to wait here, locked the door, and left. He took our cell phones, but we found this old rotary phone in a desk drawer.”

“Thank God for that.” Matt's voice directed away from the receiver. “You hear that, Carothers? How fast can we get to Brookley?”

Natalie heard a muffled conversation between Matt and a man with a deep, calm voice. An authoritative voice. She looked at Yasmine, whose eyes had gone wide.

The Pakistani girl jumped to her feet. “That is Zach! Oh, may I talk to him?”

But Matt came back on the line. “We'll be there in about ten minutes, fifteen tops. Don't hang up until you have to. We'll want as many details about the warehouse location as you can give us.”

Natalie clutched the heavy black receiver. “Okay.” Her throat closed. “Matt, hurry. I don't want to go anywhere with this guy. Yasmine thinks he's h-hooked up with Al-Qaeda somehow.”

“I'm coming for you, Nat. Remember, don't hang up unless you hear Haq coming back.”

Natalie hung on and listened to Matt breathe. It was the most reassuring sound she'd ever heard.

Matt left the rental car in the battleship parking lot and rode with Carothers in his SUV. He kept Natalie on the phone as long as he could. She managed to keep her voice cheerful, though she had to be scared silly. Abruptly, however, as they reached the tunnel, the call failed. As they exited the tunnel and turned south on Broad Street with little regard for speed limit, Matt waited, hoping she'd call back. He couldn't ring her and risk alerting Haq with the sound of the phone.

Nothing. It was as if she'd been swallowed whole.

Frustrated, he squeezed the phone in his palm. “I lost Natalie, Carothers. Now how are we going to find them?”

“Shouldn't be a problem.” Carothers swung the vehicle confidently through the maze of warehouses toward the air traffic control tower. “I took a few flying lessons from a private company here at Brookley before I joined the navy, so I'm familiar with the layout. The tower will have the location of Haq's jet, and they'll have his flight plan.”

“Okay. That'll work.” Matt tried to relax. The thought of Natalie in the hands of a man who had no qualms about selling missiles to terrorists — and might even be one himself — froze him to the marrow. His life had never felt so completely out of control, even in the middle of the George Field debacle.

It occurred to him that a truly spiritual man would be praying. But he hardly knew what to say except
God, help
.

Maybe that would be enough.