Desert Secrets. Lisa Harris
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Lexi Shannon winced at the sharp sting of her captor’s hand across the side of her face. She blinked back the tears, then reached up to wipe away the metallic taste of blood that had pooled in the corner of her mouth.
“I’m going to ask you one last time,” the man repeated. “Where is your brother?”
She looked up at his weathered face and forced herself to catch his gaze. “I don’t know.”
He stood over her in his khaki fatigues, anger flashing in his eyes at her response. “Then we have a problem, because my boss isn’t going to like your answer. We know he was in Timbuktu with you.”
She pressed her nails into the palms of her hands, determined not to cry. “He was with me, but like I’ve already told you, he left yesterday morning, and I have no idea where he is now.”
He squatted down in front of her, his dark eyes boring through her. “Then tell me again. Everything you know about your brother’s visit.”
Lexi glanced across the makeshift compound where they’d kept her the last few hours. Past the rustic tents made of animal skins toward the endless ripples of the orange Sahara shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. There was nothing but the sand in every direction and the raging sun above them.
“Five days ago, Trent came to visit me in Timbuktu,” she said, repeating what she’d already told them. “He told me he’d decided he wanted to see some of the world and I was his first stop. He never mentioned you, or your boss, or owing money to anyone. Never mentioned he was in any kind of trouble.”
“And the last time you saw him?” he asked.
A small lizard burrowed through the sand in front of her. Lexi drew in a lungful of air, wishing she could disappear as easily as it could.
“When I woke up yesterday morning he was gone,” she said. “He left me a note. Said he was sorry, but he’d received an urgent email from someone in the middle of the night—some work-related emergency—and needed to take an early flight out of the country. He said he hadn’t wanted to wake me.”
“And you didn’t find that...odd?”
“Not for Trent.”
Which was true. She’d never completely believed most of Trent’s stories. Her stepbrother had always been a challenge, tending to hang out with the wrong crowd and make bad decisions. But in spite of his shortcomings, he was still family, and no matter what he’d done now, she didn’t want anything terrible to happen to him.
“Amar?” Another man called from the entrance of one of the tents where he stood holding an automatic weapon.
Amar nodded at the other man before turning back to Lexi. “Just know we’re not done yet.”
He left her sitting in the partial shade, grateful to be alone again. From the moment they’d grabbed her from the site where she’d been overseeing the installation of a water well, she’d tried to pay close attention to her surroundings, looking for any means to get out of this situation. But as far as she could tell, there was no escape from this place. Beyond the four armed guards—and one other prisoner she’d only seen from a distance—all she could see was the unending desert sands surrounding them.
A wave of fatigue washed over Lexi as the reality of her situation began to sink in. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to slow her rapid heart rate, and trying to figure out her odds of getting out of here alive. Amar had threatened her repeatedly, trying to force her to tell him what he wanted to know, but how was she supposed to give him information she didn’t have?
I’m out of options here, God.
“Thirsty?”
Lexi opened her eyes and looked up, surprised when she saw the other prisoner standing in front of her, holding out a water bottle. “It tastes pretty bad, but at least it’s wet.”
She studied him for a brief moment. Faded Atlanta Braves T-shirt, cargo shorts and a ball cap shading his bearded face from the sun. She glanced back at her captives, but no one seemed to notice or care that they were talking. And why would they? It wasn’t as if they were going anywhere.
“Thanks,” Lexi said, taking the plastic water bottle. She took a long drink. He was right. The water was lukewarm and bitter, but she didn’t care. “You’re an American?”
“I’ve lived in the States for twenty years, but still hold a German passport. I’m Bret Fischer.”
“Lexi Shannon,” she said, taking another sip. “How long have you been here?”
“Fifty-seven days.”
Her jaw clenched. From where she sat, fifty-seven days seemed like an eternity.
I’m not sure if I can do this, God. Day after day of not knowing if the next moment will be my last...
“My wife didn’t want me to come. Kept reminding me that the instability in the region has made kidnapping and hostage taking more frequent.” He let out a low chuckle. “I guess she was right.”
“Does the terror ever diminish?”
“I wish I could say yes, but so far...no.”
“So what keeps you going?” she asked, handing back the water bottle.
He took the bottle, then sat down beside her. “My faith. And knowing my family will keep trying to get me out of here until they find a way.”
Her attention shifted momentarily to the nearby tent. Two of the men were arguing about something, making her wish she could understand their language. And making her want to believe that her faith and hope was all she would need to get her through this.
But what if she wasn’t strong enough for whatever lay ahead?
“I heard Amar interrogating you,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “Why do they keep asking you about your brother?”
“They say he owes their boss money. A lot of money, apparently, and he thinks I know where they might find him. He said they’ll kill me if I don’t help them.”
“You’re worth more alive than dead.”
“Am I? I’ve heard that the United States won’t pay ransoms, and I certainly can’t pay back what my brother owes.”
“I understand how you feel. Because I have a German passport, they think the country will pay, but if that’s true, no one on either side seems to be in a hurry.”
She didn’t say anything, because there was nothing really to say. Instead, she wiped the sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. She’d never again complain about the heat back in Timbuktu—if she were ever able to return. It had to be at least twenty degrees hotter out here.
“What was your brother doing in Mali?” Bret asked, breaking the silence between them.
“He told me he just wanted to come for a visit, though now I’m not so sure.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees, hating feeling so vulnerable and defenseless. “What about you? You mentioned your wife.”
“Becca and I’ve been married twenty-one years, and have a seventeen-year-old son, Noah.” He twisted the gold ring on his left hand. “I was hoping to return with my son next year, but now...”
“Why here?” she asked, realizing what a welcome distraction the conversation was.
“My brother-in-law’s a pilot with West African Mission Aviation. They provide medical care and disaster relief. He’s the one who connected me to the group I ended up joining.”
“I met one of their pilots once.” Lexi fiddled with the hem of her pale blue T-shirt while watching