Page 6 of Dalla’s Royal Guards (Second Chance #3)

Three

“Take a left at the next intersection,” Nasser instructed.

Colin eased into the turn. From the passenger seat, Nasser scanned the early afternoon crowds.

Despite the coup of the government, daily life continued.

Daylight made him uneasy, but there was no other choice.

—but it had to be done. Henri had stressed that using the crowded marketplace to their advantage was necessary since a curfew had been placed on the city.

Nasser was dressed as a local, covered from head to toe against the heat in a long white tunic and trousers. He scanned the vehicles and pedestrians as they passed along the narrow streets. He counted a half-dozen military vehicles.

He recognized the emblem on the trucks as belonging to the O’Toole group. Kramer O’Toole was a former British MI6 agent turned mercenary for hire. O’Toole and an American billionaire named Travis Hayes had started the group. O’Toole ran the on-the-ground troops while Hayes provided the financing.

Revulsion tightened Nasser’s jaw. O’Toole’s men were people from around the world with no ethics. None of them would think twice about killing an old woman and an innocent child. To them, Nanna and Cianna were not human. They were collateral damage.

“Let me off at the next intersection,” he ordered.

Colin nodded and pulled into a space along the road. Nasser exited the ten-year-old tan Range Rover, scanned the walkway in both directions, and then turned right and strode down the sidewalk.

He traveled two blocks before he reached the entrance to the market. The crowd was beginning to disperse. He overheard several conversations about the ongoing military coup—none of them good for the current regime.

The noise level increased as he entered the market. He wove his way through the mixture of daring tourists who hadn’t been frightened off by the recent upheaval, locals, merchants, and the occasional mercenary soldier patrolling the area.

He turned and pretended to be interested in some trinkets as two soldiers walked by him.

One soldier knocked against him. Nasser slipped his hand under the leather crossbody bag he was wearing, and his fingers tightened on the grip of the 9mm handgun sheathed in the cut along the leather.

He relaxed his grip only when the men disappeared in the crowd.

Ten minutes later, he paused outside the spice shop where Nanna and Cianna were supposed to be hiding.

A brightly painted sign, edged in gold and decorated with delicate images of different spice flowers, graced the entrance.

Two windows, one on each side of the doorway, displayed a variety of hanging herbs left to dry.

Nasser stepped inside the doorway. He paused, giving his vision a chance to acclimatize.

The fragrant scent of exotic spices filled his lungs.

Bins of colorful spices lined two of the four walls.

On the opposite side of the room were shelves filled with a variety of canned, bagged, and glass products.

A wooden counter at the end of the rectangular room was cluttered with additional products.

Woven baskets for sale hung from the exposed beams overhead.

“May I help you?” a cheerful voice asked.

“Yes. A friend said you may have a special spice not found anywhere else,” he murmured.

“I love referrals. Does your friend have a name?” the man inquired.

“Henri. He suggested your saffron,” he replied.

The smile held, but a new sharpness entered his eyes, and Nasser knew he had the man’s full attention.

As the man stepped around the counter, Nasser studied him.

Basheer Oman was a rotund man with a thick, salt-and-pepper beard that hung halfway down his chest. He wore the typical lightweight, breathable clothing commonly favored by the locals and a pair of leather sandals.

Around his waist, he wore an apron stained with the different spices that he sold.

Nasser waited as Basheer closed the door to the shop, locked it, and turned the Open sign in the window to Closed.

Basheer didn’t move in a hurry, and he peered through the window in the door for almost a full minute before he finally turned and studied Nasser.

Nasser held his silence until the man gave a small nod.

“I was not expecting Henri to send you , sire. This is a very dangerous time for you to be in Kashir,” Basheer cautioned, walking toward him.

“I am aware of that, but the issue at hand is very important,” Nasser replied.

“We agree. You should know that General Hellman has shut down the news and limited outside communication. The only news we’re getting is from a statewide propaganda newscast. It is said that President Mario and the First Lady were assassinated and that is why Prime Minister Crosse has taken over,” Basheer said.

“Both are false. My sister is very much alive and would like to hold her daughter again. Mario is with her. Once Cianna is safe, Mario can focus on Crosse and Hellman,” he replied, refraining from adding that his brother-in-law would not be alone in his fight.

Basheer clasped his hands together and nodded with a relieved smile before his expression suddenly changed.

Nasser turned. Through the colorfully painted window, they watched a group of soldiers converge.

Three men entered the store across from them while two others searched the merchant carts outside.

“You must get them to safety,” Basheer said, pressing a key into his hand.

“Where are they?”

“Upstairs. There is a door on the left that will take you out to the back alley. The key is in the lock,” Basheer replied.

Nasser nodded and strode around the counter.

At the end of the narrow hallway, there was a wooden staircase that led upstairs.

He took the stairs two at a time, then unlocked the door and silently entered.

The door opened into a small living room.

Off to the right, there was a kitchenette. A glance showed it was empty.

To his left, there was another closed door. He strode over to it and pushed it open. It was a bedroom. A swift glance showed it was empty as well. He entered and walked over to another door that was partially open. Pushing it, he saw it was a bathroom barely large enough to turn around in.

He was about to retrace his steps when he noticed the shower curtain was closed. He reached out and pulled the curtain aside.

Nanna sat huddled in the tub, cradling Cianna protectively in her lap. The little girl peeked up at him before releasing a joyful cry.

“Nassie!”

Nasser reached out and pulled Cianna into his arms, hugging his tiny four-year-old niece. Cianna wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him with all the strength her tiny frame could muster. He reached down a hand to help Nanna up.

“Bless the Goddess of the Sands that you are here,” Nanna murmured in an unsteady voice.

“We have to go. There are soldiers searching the building across the street,” he cautioned.

Nanna nodded. Nasser steadied the older woman as she stepped out of the tub and then stepped back into the bedroom. Nanna reached under the bed and pulled out a child-sized pink backpack with ponies on it.

“I fear this is all I could bring for Cianna,” Nanna said.

“That is enough. We need to go. Be quiet and stay behind me,” he instructed.

Nanna nodded. He pressed his finger against Cianna’s lips. She nodded in understanding. He exited the bedroom and crossed to the door of the apartment. Opening the door, he peered out onto the landing before he motioned for Nanna to follow him.

Across from him was another door. There was a key in the deadbolt. He crossed to the door and was unbolting it when the sound of a banging knock on the front door carried to them and Basheer’s loud voice echoed from downstairs.

“I am closed, but if you need a special spice for your dinner, give me a minute,” Basheer hollered.

“Let me take her,” Nanna said in a hushed voice.

“Come in, come in. What can I do for you?” Basheer asked in a boisterous tone.

Nasser handed Cianna to Nanna, pulled open the door, and peered out before opening it far enough for Nanna to slip through. Pulling the key out of the deadbolt, he stepped through the door, closed it behind him, and then re-inserted the key, locked the deadbolt, and broke the key in the lock.

He descended the stairs behind Nanna, gripping his gun as he scanned the alley. Nanna tugged a shawl from the pink backpack and wrapped it around Cianna’s head. She handed Cianna a dog plushie and murmured to the little girl. Cianna nodded and held the toy up to cover her face.

“We’re in the alley behind the spice shop,” Nasser murmured.

In less than a minute, a black Range Rover appeared. Nanna looked at him with a panicked expression.

“It’s for us,” he assured her.

The moment the SUV halted, he yanked the back door open.

Nanna, carrying Cianna, climbed in and scooted across the seat.

Nasser followed a second later. Colin was pulling away before Nasser had fully closed the car door.

The sound of gunfire followed them. He looked through the back window and saw two mercenaries emerge from the building.

Gunfire cracked behind them, bullets peppering the Range Rover and shattering the rear window.

Nasser covered Nanna, who had thrown herself over Cianna as she tried to buckle the little girl between them. Colin gunned the engine and took a sharp right turn at the end of the alley. They were on the opposite block from the market, heading for the historic downtown district.

“Musad, we are going to need backup,” Nasser warned.

“I’m tracking you,” Musad replied in a terse tone over the radio.

“Shit,” Colin muttered when he saw an armored Hummer heading toward them.

Colin twisted the wheel. The Range Rover fishtailed. Pressing the accelerator, Colin wove through the traffic in grim silence. Nasser took out the M4/M4A1 Carbine-Brigade from the duffle bag on the floor that Colin had assembled for him.