He smiled. “I’m going to phone a friend.”

EIGHT

Kari paced across the tiny room. Hajjar’s home, she’d seen from the helicopter, was no mere house in the country. Perched on a crag in the Zagros mountains, it was a mixture of palace and fortress, accessible only by air or along a single winding road.

And like any self-respecting fortress, it had its own dungeons.

No dank medieval cells here, though. The building’s overwrought architecture told Kari that it had been constructed some three decades earlier, bankrolled by somebody with lots of money, no taste and a domineering ego. That suggested the former shah of Iran. Some kind of retreat, a fortified Camp David with high walls and ridiculously ostentatious design.

Whatever its original purpose, it was now Hajjar’s domain, and Kari got the feeling she and Yuri Volgan were far from the first occupants of the dungeons.

Volgan, in the next cell, was being little help. Hajjar’s betrayal had sent him into a state of shock, and the mere mention of Qobras caused him to panic.

She turned her mind to Hajjar. He was playing an extremely dangerous game by trying to ransom her, almost certainly unaware of just how dangerous. Her father would move heaven and earth to get her back safely… but there was no way he would let the matter end there once she had been returned.

And nor would she.

She wondered how long it would be before Hajjar summoned them. Presumably he was trying to contact Qobras and her father, to make his financial demands of them both.

She had to use that time to attempt an escape.

“Excuse me,” she said, walking to the cell door and addressing the guard sitting outside. “I need some help.”

The guard frowned. “What?”

“I need to… you know.” She wriggled her hips, hands still cuffed behind her back. “Go.”

“And?”

“And, I was hoping you could take me.” The guard walked to the door, running his gaze over her figure. Kari gave him a look of innocent pleading. “Please?”

The heavyset, bearded man smirked. “Let me guess. You’ll ask me to open your coat for you, and then help you with those tight leather trousers, and I’ll get all hot and excited because I’m a repressed Iranian man faced with a beautiful blond woman, and then you’ll ask me to take off your handcuffs, and I’ll do it because I’m thinking with my dick, and then you’ll do some fancy martial arts to knock me out and escape. Is that about right?”

Kari shot him a sour glare. “You could have just said no.”

The guard laughed and returned to his seat. “I don’t get paid all this money to be an idiot. Nice try, though.”

Annoyed, Kari turned her back on him. Now all she could think about was what to do when she needed to use the toilet for real.

With Chase and Castille carrying the wounded Hafez, his leg hurriedly bandaged, they made their escape from the train.

Nina had no idea where they were going, or what Chase planned to do when they got there. His phone conversation had been entirely in Arabic, and in his rush to get away from the train before Iranian forces arrived he hadn’t been forthcoming with additional information.

The terrain was less severe than the area where they had met Hajjar, but it was still slow going, especially with an injured man. Fortunately, there was also more vegetation, and by the time Nina heard the first buzz of an approaching helicopter, they were in the cover of a wood half a mile from the railway line.

“So where are we going?” she asked. “Who’s this friend that you called? And how’s he going to find us? We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

Despite his pain, Hafez managed a smile. “Eddie has many friends,” he said. “All over the world.”

Nina looked across at Chase. “Even in Iran, where you’ve supposedly never been before?”

“Hey, I’m a popular guy,” he said with a shrug.

“His reputation precedes him,” added Castille.

“I’m sure it does. But if I can butt into your mutual admiration society, how about letting me in on your plan?”

“Well,” said Chase, “first thing is to get a lift out of here. There’s a road about a mile to the south. Some one’s going to pick us up.”

Nina surveyed the unfamiliar landscape. “How’s your friend going to find us? You don’t even know where we are!”

“I just described the landmarks. Easy enough to find ’em on a map.”

“Really?”

“It’s not hard; basic stuff. Then… we go and get Ms. Frost.”

“You know where she is?” Castille asked.

“Hajjar’s got a little country cottage about thirty miles from here. We’ll drop in and say hello.”

“I’ve heard about it,” warned Hafez. “Not an easy place to get into.”

“We’ve gotten into worse,” Castille remarked cheerily. “Like that time in the Congo -”

“Hugo,” Chase said, waving a finger. Castille made an “oh, right” noise and stopped talking.

“Let me guess,” said Nina. “Another country where you’ve never officially been?”

Chase cocked a conspiratorial eyebrow. “Something like that.”

They continued through the woods. The trees eventually thinned out, revealing a dirt road ahead. “Is this it?” asked Nina.

Chase scanned the area. “Should be. We need to look out for a stream running down from…” He pointed up at a nearby hill. “Down from there. That’s where she said she’d meet us.”

“She, huh?” Nina asked.

“What’s the matter, Doc?” Chase replied. “Jealous?”

“Oh, totally,” she replied, clapping a theatrical hand to her heart. Castille and Hafez chuckled. Chase snorted and led them down the road.

After another few minutes, they saw a vehicle ahead, a battered old van. Chase directed everyone back into the cover of the trees. “Wait here,” he said.

Nina watched as he slipped through the woods, moving with a lightness and agility that was almost comically at odds with his stocky build. The closer he got to the van, the lower he crouched, to the point where she practically lost sight of him. He paused ten yards from his target, then rushed over, disappearing behind it.

She realized Castille had drawn his gun, and even Hafez had armed himself with one of the rifles they’d taken from the train. “Just in case,” the Belgian assured her.

No sign of movement. They waited anxiously as the seconds ticked by… then Chase reappeared and waved.

“It’s safe,” Castille said, putting away his gun.

“What if somebody’s got him at gunpoint?” asked Nina.

“He would have held his thumb against his hand.”

“You guys love your little tricks and codes, don’t you?” she said, amused.

“It keeps us alive.” He lifted Hafez, Nina helping to support him as they started towards the van.

When they reached it, Chase was talking to someone inside the cab. “Everyone,” he announced, “I’d like you to meet a very good friend of mine who’s going to help us get our arses out of here. This is Shala Yazid.”

A young woman of about twenty-five stepped down from the van. She was extremely attractive-and also extremely pregnant.

“Oh my,” said Castille, unable to hold in a smirk. “This, I was not expecting. Something you forgot to tell us about your last visit, Edward?”

“You probably remember Hugo Castille,” Chase said, annoyed. “He was that very stupid Belgian with no manners.”

Shala smiled. “Of course I remember him. Although you had a…” She tapped her upper lip. “A mustache?”

“Yeah, and we’re all glad that’s gone.”

“Bonjour,” said Castille, with a half-bow. “And congratulations! I take it you married since I saw you last?”

“To a wonderful man,” she answered, beaming.

To Nina, Chase seemed momentarily put out, before recovering and introducing the others. “This is Hafez,” he said, “who’s been in better nick-”