Chapter Thirty-Seven

Nomad

Standing under a tree outside the ticket kiosk in the Secret Garden, Nomad awaited Red's signal.

Besides watching passing faces for someone on their watch list, he had time to think.

And what he thought about was Red.

Nomad knew that their love-making wouldn't stay between the two of them. Red had called this in. It was CIA protocol. His taking her into his arms last night was now part of a CIA report.

That felt all kinds of wrong to him. It hadn't just been sex. It had been … sacred was the word that came to mind.

Nomad thought that over his years of experience, he'd become pretty good at reading women in bed. He needed to keep up the reputation of special forces as being especially good. And in that, he made sure to put in the effort. And while sex sometimes became formulaic, it was still fun, if not somewhat ego-driven.

Those elements were missing from last night with Red in his arms: effort, ego, and formula.

He'd been thoughtless throughout.

It wasn't that he didn't care about Red's experience. It was just that it seemed so natural.

There was an ease there that he'd never had before.

After they'd orgasmed and Red had draped her sweaty body over him, he could feel her heart galloping. She'd lifted herself momentarily, then flopped back across him. It wasn't graceful; she was a rag doll, and he had been proud.

No, wrong word. Fulfilled.

Her satiety fulfilled something in him. When this mission wrapped up, and he finally had to say goodbye to her, that would be a hard day.

Something in his chest growled, Mine!

But she wasn't.

And wouldn't be.

Their lives didn't line up like that. She'd move back into her shadow life, and he'd head out on his next mission.

That thought was a hard kick in the gut.

Red's voice in his ear bud refocused him. He had his ticket in his pocket and could maneuver as needed.

"She's out of the hammam. As anticipated, Elena's changed into traditional clothes. She's in black, head to foot. Simone is walking a few steps behind in grey robes and a rose head scarf."

"Copy."

"Something—" The sounds of the Medina filled Nomad's earbud. He knew to wait. He didn't want to step on her information or concentration. "Something's wrong."

She was steps away, in the shop across the pathway. Nomad rounded to a place where he could see the entrance to the hammam and—with a brief window where the tourists shifted—Nomad caught a glance of Red's back, heading into the Medina's labyrinth rather than toward the garden.

"Okay. This is bad." And he could hear the squeeze of her ribs that prevented breath. This was a combat call. This was how soldiers sounded when a tango was in play.

Ice dumped through his system.

"She's running," Red called out. "Okay. Okay. I didn't plan for this." She was heavy breathing into the phone. "I recognize this man. Elena is turning. Okay. Moving."

"What guy, Cassie?"

Red switched to Turkish. "There was a robbery in Germany. Do you know that?"

"Negative." That word in Turkish was enough to let Red know he was conversant in that language. He knew she'd switched so those around her would have less of a shot of understanding.

"Five men killed?"

"Negative."

"Treasure hunters found Kamal's ring, and Elena stole it from them?"

Why wasn't he brought up to speed? "Negative. I know that Elena has the ring."

"I'll give you details later. I believe the men at the ball who took Elena from the kitchen were part of a team. Five members of that team were sniped in Munich. At that scene, Elena stole the ring. That's how she came to be in possession of it. The men in the van—you saved us from them—are probably treasure hunters trying to get the ring back before Elena can collect the prize. And we can't let them do that. My orders are to make sure Elena succeeds at getting the money."

Okay, retribution and robbery were on the table. "You see one of them?"

"Affirma—two. One with a broken arm, right arm, in a cast. One with—Sharing my screen." Red was breathing hard.

Nomad whipped his phone from his pocket, swiped open the app, and watched the movement of the flag representing the ring dance across the map, sliding up and down and around the pathways.

If Elena could hide, she'd hide. That was the easiest survival move. If the men were on her heels, she wouldn't have the time or space to make the feint.

She certainly wouldn't head for the gardens.

As he watched, Nomad thought something about Elena's movements was off.

And that was when he realized, "Cassie. There are more than two. They're herding her."

"To where? Can you get ahead of them?"

"Moving."

If it were him running from his captors, Nomad would conclude that his best shot of escape would be to dive into the back of a random taxi. While taxis were everywhere on the street outside the Medina's ancient walls, flagging one down would make Elena slow and conspicuous. The closest taxi stand was in front of the Palais Royale, where a line of military men—a representative of each branch—stood guard.

If Elena could get anywhere near the Palais, she'd be safe.

Two kilometers.

If the men were good enough to find Elena here in Marrakech, they were good enough to think that through. They would want Elena to devise the plan and work herself in that direction. They would push her toward that decision strategically because there were undercover police interspersed with the crowds, ensuring the tourists' safety.

One scared influencer posting about their survival story could aim those tourist budgets to safer places.

Tourists were the lifeblood of the Medina economy.

Two kilometers. "Heading toward the Grand Palais."

"I thought so, too," Red panted. She had been hospitalized days before; Red was probably wringing the last ounces of energy from her system.

Scaffolding hugged the buildings all along the route from the Secret Garden to the Grand Palais. Placed there after the earthquakes to keep the ancient facades from tumbling, building materials were stacked above and below as the restoration took place.

The tourists had to decide how to move down the road, either under the scaffolding or in the center of the pathway.

Nomad chose to be under and close to the wall, wanting to avoid notice as he strode forward, using the length of his legs to his advantage.

On the app, Nomad saw the pin representing Elena advancing toward his position. He'd been right.

Red was a heavy breath in his ear.

Turning at the corner, Nomad told her, "I'm at the taxis. I can see the length of the path. I'll see her coming." As he leaned his shoulder into the wall, the drivers called out, offering rides. Nomad waved them off. He switched his screen to locate Red, and she moved up fast. Soon, she'd catch up to Elena.

He wondered what the plan was.

"Nomad!" Red yelled. It was a call to action. She'd forgotten to use his code name, Nicholi. "Nomad! Your three o'clock!"

Nomad whipped his head toward the line of soldiers near the door. People were milling about. He didn't see any concerning movement. He spun back to look down the path. From his height, Nomad saw Elena, followed by Simone and Red. Behind Red was a man with a broken arm.

Elena looked over her shoulder and sprinted forward.

As she did, at Nomad's three o'clock, a man tapped his phone and ducked behind the soldiers' station at the Palais.

The scaffolding above Elena shifted and collapsed. The area filled with screams. A dense cloud of dust rose, blocking the view of the scene.

"Cassie? Shit!" Nomad yelled into his phone.

He heard coughing, then the miracle of Red's voice. "Down, not hurt."

Elena was the only one of the three women under the section of collapsed scaffolding. But many others happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The man who had caused the collapse was pulling bags of cement off the victims. The three other men from the kidnapping joined in. Nomad knew they were trying to get to the ring.

From here, he didn't know how this should play out. The idea was the ring would lead to a payday for the terrorists not the treasure hunters, and that payday would lead them to lifesaving information.

But what if Elena was dead?

Then what?

Nomad decided his play was to observe and then act.

Nomad watched as Red got herself to her feet and moved purposefully forward. As the bystanders and soldiers scrambled to help, they quickly formed a chain, lifting the building materials and passing them hand to hand. Out of the way, Nomad watched as Red used her body to block helpers, facilitating Simone's grapple to get to Elena first. Nomad knew Simone had succeeded when she straightened and stumbled toward the taxis because the ring pin on his phone moved with her.

Brushing her dress to clean herself, Simone climbed into a cab.

As Red followed, she avoided Nomad's gaze. But once in the cab, she asked, "Can you still hear me?"

"Copy." He had to work to keep his communications simple and professional. Everything about this scene was counterintuitive.

"It's not likely Elena's alive."

"I'll stay with that," Nomad said.

"I'm following Simone. She got hold of both Elena's phone and the ring."

"I can verify both," Nomad was watching his screen. "Both pins are moving."

"I'll follow at a distance to see what she's up to. I don't think Simone was involved with the collapse. She didn't flinch before it came down, and she was cut. Her face is bleeding. Can you figure out how that scaffolding came down? And find out if Elena survived?"

"Wilco. Out."

With all the hands at work clearing the scene, it quickly became apparent that the people under the scaffold had died. The task went from frenzied ant-like effort to solemnity as the bodies were moved to the sidewalk and laid side by side.

As the man with the broken arm blocked people, three men from the Austrian van—two with ugly jaw bruises the size of Nomad's fist—lifted Elena's body and carried her to the sidewalk where the other victims lay. Their acted-out grief allowed them to remove the rings from each of Elena's fingers and pat her over for her phone.

Kamal's treasure hunt had now killed six people that Nomad had heard about. He had to assume there were more bodies along the way. Kamal did like his deadly games.

The three men stepped back as the ambulances arrived and then walked away.

After taking a look at how the treasure hunters had collapsed the scaffolding, Nomad circled toward a different entrance to the Medina, feeling the weight of the tragedy.

So many had died right there, not twenty feet away, as he watched.

Red had survived the bombing of the courthouse by needing a bathroom break.

She survived the scaffolding collapse because she and Simone were four steps behind.

Four steps from death.

Four steps.

His heart slammed against his chest.