Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

D errick's heart pounded like it wanted out.

He'd known Jasmine would argue when he told her his plan. But what choice had he had? Thank God she'd told him Basma's uncle was acquainted with her father. Now that Derrick knew, he couldn't allow her anywhere near the man.

But what if Jasmine had called his bluff? What if she'd tried to get out of the car, insisting she'd find her way to DC without him? Obviously, he couldn't have let her. Would the disagreement have caused a permanent rift in their relationship?

He hated confrontation. He could argue with a stranger. He could have a knock-your-block-off fight with an enemy—not that he did that on a regular basis, but he could .

Yet the slightest disagreement with someone he loved scared him to death.

He hated that about himself, and he had way bigger worries than his childish fears right now.

Following the car's navigation system, he wound the sedan along the narrow streets of Washington, DC.

"It is very pretty."

He hadn't been paying attention. He tried seeing the city through her eyes. The sky was overcast and gray. The trees planted along the road were leafless, but even so, they had a stark beauty. The buildings, mostly brick, were somehow both charming and imposing. Not that there weren't ugly parts of the nation's capital, but this area was well maintained. "Someday, I'll bring you back and show you the sights. The White House and Capitol Building, the monuments."

"I would like that."

"And the Smithsonian. The Air and Space Museum is my favorite."

"That does not surprise me." Her voice held a smile, but he kept his focus on a busy traffic circle. They reached the hotel, but he continued past it, searching for a place to turn around.

Jasmine craned her neck. "I think that was it."

"I want to be on the other side of the street, in case we're followed when we leave." He pulled into a parking lot across from the hotel and backed into a space. "Did Basma email back?"

Jasmine had checked her email periodically during the drive. She did again now. "Yes. She says they just returned from lunch. She's not comfortable going with you, but she'll do it."

Derrick was careful to keep the smug expression off his face, but seriously, it wasn't as if the woman had a whole lot of choices. Jasmine seemed comfortable with the plan. She'd even used a few contractions, something she only did when she was relaxed.

"She says there's a coffee shop that opens to the sidewalk." Jasmine peered across the street. "Do you think that's it?"

An awning-covered glass door was just down from the main entrance. "That'd be convenient. She's going to go there?"

"Yes. At three fifteen to get a drink. Or near that time."

He glanced at the dashboard clock, then his watch to be sure. It was almost three now .

"Basma believes the guards will come. She worries about their ability to get away."

"We'll figure it out." They were probably just going to have to run for it. "Can you tell her where the car is parked?"

"I will email, but I don't know if she will see. She said she might not be able to check her email again without causing suspicion."

He watched the traffic passing in front of them. This was a busy road, but only two lanes, and the cars weren't moving fast. He'd parked no more than a hundred feet from the coffee shop entrance. All he had to do was get Basma and her brother out the door, across the street, and into the car. He could park right in front of the entrance, but he worried about Jasmine's face being caught on camera. Plus, he wanted to be able to drive straight to Dupont Circle, which he wouldn't be able to do if the car were facing the opposite direction.

The large, busy traffic circle was only a couple of blocks down. The silver sedan Derrick had rented would easily blend into the city's afternoon traffic. From there, he'd hit a couple more roundabouts before getting back on the highway toward Dulles.

Once he was sure he'd lost anyone who might follow, he'd find a place to stop so he could remove the old license plates he'd put on the car when they'd stopped at the gas station earlier. When he was a kid, he used to collect all manner of weird things, including memorabilia from his parents' youth, things they tried to throw out. Even now, though he had no use for the boxes of old stuff, he couldn't seem to part with them. The plates had been his mother's from college.

If the guards watching Basma and Rabie happened to get a glimpse of Derrick's rental, surely they wouldn't be able to trace them, considering the number hadn't been registered to a car in nearly half a century. And since they were from New Hampshire, they wouldn't even lead to the right state.

He'd thought the motto printed on the plate apropos for the situation…

Live free or die.

He was in favor of the first part but, God willing, nobody would have to die to get Basma and Rabie to freedom.

To be safe, Derrick had used a green marker to change one of the numbers on the license plate, turning a three into an eight. It wouldn't stand up to a close inspection, but as long as he didn't get pulled over, it should work.

Derrick watched the coffee shop entrance for a few moments, then turned to Jasmine, who was studying her phone.

Her dark skin had taken on a yellowish undertone, reminding him of how sick she'd been when he first met her.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "Or are you just nervous?"

She faced him, and the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. "Basma said that if something goes wrong, she wants you to take Rabie. To leave her. That getting him away from Dari is more important than anything else. She says she will be able to escape her aunt and uncle more easily without him."

"I'm not doing that. I'm not taking a kid away from his guardian. Guardians—plural, because you said the uncle is actually the guardian, right?"

"Yes, yes." Jasmine sighed, clearly relieved. "Of course you cannot do that." She slid her fingers around his arm, the light touch sending energy and strength surging through him. She'd never initiated a touch between them before.

He liked it. Enough that he had to work on focusing as she spoke.

"You will get them both." Her big, liquid eyes met his, filled with earnestness and trust. "I am confident you will bring them both back." Before he could respond—and what was he supposed to say to that?—Jasmine closed those eyes and prayed, asking God to protect him and help him rescue her friends.

Derrick agreed with her prayers but didn't add to them. His thoughts were too jumbled with nerves—and her hand on his arm—to think of anything coherent.

She finished with "God go with you."

"Thank you. Keep praying." He opened his car door, but before he got out, he turned to her once more. "No matter what happens—if police come or the hotel catches fire or blows up—do not get out of this car. If I get arrested or… If anything bad or even mildly unexpected happens, drive away and call Michael. Okay?" She nodded, but he wasn't satisfied with that. "Promise me?"

A moment passed, but finally, she said, "I promise."

"Good. Be right back."

It was five past three when Derrick stepped into the coffee shop, taking in the sounds of grinding beans, steaming machines, and chattering voices. He'd hoped the place would be busy, and he wasn't disappointed. Patrons were seated at the tables—mostly women in casual clothes who wore lanyards around their necks—from a conference, he assumed. The line at the counter reached almost to the wide exit on the far end of the room that led to the lobby.

Derrick leaned against a long bar near the door and opened the email app on his phone to make it seem like he was busy.

He had no idea how to do this. Could Basma and Rabie just…leave? Could Basma tell the guards they were going for a walk? If they did, would the guards try to stop them or just casually follow? Were they suspicious of her, or were they more co ncerned about protecting her and Rabie from the outside world?

If Derrick could indicate to Basma where the car was, assuming she hadn't gotten Jasmine's email, she and Rabie could run for it, and he could stop the guards from following. Might hurt, and it might get him in trouble, but if he played it right, he could feign innocence. Sorry, man. I tripped. Didn't mean to get in your way…

Might work. Worth a shot, anyway.

He texted Jasmine to warn her.

Slide into the driver's seat and get ready to leave. I might send them to you. When they get there, drive away, take a right, and go.

What about you?

Put the address of Dulles Airport in the navigation. You might need to make sure you aren't being followed. If you are, aim for roundabouts. They're all over the city—maybe Basma can help? Stop after you know you're safe and take the NH plates off the car—one in front, one in back. The real plates are underneath. There's a screwdriver in the trunk. Make sure you're out of sight—those plates aren't legal.

He should've explained what he was doing when he put them on. He added,

I'll get an Uber and meet you there.

She responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

Okay. Good. This could work .

If it didn't, Derrick would wing it. He was pretty good at that. No pun intended.

He kept his eye on the opening to the lobby. If he were the one waiting in the car, he'd want updates, so at a quarter past, he texted Jasmine.

No sign of them yet. Nothing to worry about.

Jasmine responded with a thank-you that made him smile. When he glanced up from his phone, he realized the coffee shop was emptying, women with bags slung over their shoulders hurrying toward the lobby. It seemed their break time was over.

Within two minutes, just a few patrons remained, sitting at tables here and there. Without a crowd, this would be much harder.

You're going to have to step in here, God.

He spotted a Middle Eastern woman holding hands with a curly-haired boy, walking toward the coffee shop. Had to be them.

Derrick moved toward the counter, pretending to study the menu on the wall behind it. He felt it when the two came close, but he didn't turn their way.

"Are you in line?"

He turned at the female voice and smiled.

Basma wore a long-sleeved tan-colored dress with a matching headscarf. Though her words had been casual, fear flicked in her eyes.

The little boy wore slacks and a sweater—dressy for a kid his age, but they'd gone to a lunch of some kind, so maybe that was why. Rabie carried a bright red backpack.

"Still deciding." Derrick stepped back. "You two go ahead."

The little boy tugged on her hand, clearly not happy she wouldn't let him walk away. He said something in Arabic .

She responded, her tone sharp, and moved in front of Derrick.

He kept his voice very low, not wanting the kid to hear. "Don't look and don't react."

She didn't, which meant either she was paying close attention or she didn't hear him.

"Jasmine's across the street in a silver Honda Accord. Nod if you hear me."

Her head dipped the slightest bit.

Derrick scanned the restaurant, trying to act nonchalant.

Two men had followed her in. They wore dark suits and dress shoes and had short dark hair and beards. One stood near the lobby exit. He was about five-eight, maybe a hundred sixty pounds.

The other stood beside the door that led outside. He was bigger than his partner, just under six feet, probably one seventy. Not quite as tall as Derrick but probably about the same weight. Derrick assumed both guards were in fighting shape.

So much for plan A.

In front of him, Basma leaned down to talk to Rabie, though Derrick didn't understand a word.

When she straightened, he whispered, "I'll take care of the guard at the door. When I do, run. Don't look back, and don't wait for me. Just go."

Her shoulders stiffened, and her head dipped in a tiny nod. She stepped forward, placed their order, and paid for it.

How in the world was he going to do this? Sure, he'd had a million wrestling matches with his big brothers when he was a kid, but he wasn't exactly an MMA fighter.

Guidance, Lord?

He ordered a large Americano, a plan forming.

He'd accidentally spill the coffee on the guard by the door. Keep him busy, ostensibly trying to help. That should give Basma and Rabie time to run.

What could possibly go wrong?

The answers to that question popping into his head were not helping.

Basma and Rabie got their drinks and a couple of cookies and found a table near the door.

While Derrick waited at the counter, he texted Jasmine.

Be ready. They'll be out in a second.

Be careful.

The barista called, "Robert?"

Derrick had given his middle name because it seemed wise not to offer the guards any real information. It wasn't like there was a manual to follow, or a step-by-step plan.

He sure could've used one of those.

At the sugar-and-creamer station, he added a packet of sugar, not quite securing the lid when he was finished. He shoved a handful of napkins in his pocket, then headed for the door, giving Basma and Rabie a friendly smile on his way.

Rabie was intent on his cookie, but Basma's eyes met his for the briefest moment. She saw. She understood.

Derrick neared the exit, nodded to the guard. "How you doing?"

Then he tripped, stumbled forward, and spilled his coffee all over the guard's shirt.

The man jumped back—toward the door—letting out a string of Arabic that Derrick guessed, by the tone, were curses.

"Ah, dude. I'm sorry. Lemme help." He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward, hopefully giving Basma space to get by him .

The guy tried to shake him off, but Derrick's grip was solid. He shifted the guard so he faced away from Basma and Rabie, who were already up and headed toward them. "Here, I've got some napkins?—"

The other guard shouted something.

Still holding guard number one, Derrick backed up farther, pulling him with him. He ran into a chair and stumbled, pulling the guard off his feet.

The guy fell.

"Now look what I've done."

Was anybody believing this Three Stooges bit?

Basma reached the door and pushed outside, Rabie on her heels.

"Man, I'm such a klutz." Derrick reached down to the guy. "Here, let me help."

"Get your hand off me!" the guard shouted.

"No need to get testy." He gave the barista behind the counter a what are you going to do? look, trying to keep her from joining the melee or calling security.

At the door, Rabie yanked away from Basma and ran back inside, toward where they'd been sitting. A glance told Derrick he'd left his backpack.

They'd been so close!

The second guard was closing in, barking words at Basma that sounded like orders. He had a cell phone to his ear.

The first guard shook Derrick off, then shoved at the table and chairs that were hemming him in to give himself room to stand.

Wide-eyed, Basma called Rabie to come to her. She seemed afraid to return inside but was obviously unwilling to leave without him.

Backpack in hand, Rabie started for the door, then caught sight of the guards. One on the floor, the other crossing toward them, shouting in Arabic.

The boy froze, confused. Probably terrified.

Across the street, the door to the sedan opened. Jasmine stepped out.

No.

She'd promised.

Basma's expression morphed from fear to determination. Her focus shifted from Rabie to Derrick.

For one second, she held his eye contact, and he knew what she planned.

No time to stop her. He needed to get out of there before Jasmine put herself in danger. He absolutely would not allow that.

He lifted his foot and kicked guard number one in the back, knocking the guy's wind out and earning an "Oomph." Just in case, Derrick kicked him again.

Basma shouted, "Please!" And then she barreled into guard number two, taking him by surprise.

Derrick grabbed the boy around the waist, pushed out the glass door, and ran.