Page 75 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

CHAPTER

FIVE

I step into the small kitchen, open the fridge, then stand there for a long moment before pulling out a Perrier.

Mariam isn’t the only one who was shaken by what happened tonight, though my worry comes from knowing it’s possible that not only has my asset’s cover been blown, but mine could be as well.

Something that has to be avoided at all costs.

And like the job of a surgeon, there is no room for error.

With new or potential assets, there is a significant vetting process where we often spend large chunks of time asking questions.

Something we’d gone through with Oumar months ago.

He mentioned Mariam a number of times, but insisted he didn’t want her involved.

Which puts me at a disadvantage in a situation like this.

Just because Mariam knows Oumar doesn’t mean I can trust her.

I take a sip of my fizzy water, then glance down the hall at the closed bathroom door.

At the moment I have little if any information to be able to prove that the woman we brought here is who she said she is, but I do have an advantage in play.

My experience in vetting and interviewing people has strengthened my ability to spot red flags and potential lies.

I can question a person without them even knowing they’re being interrogated.

The truth is, I spend the majority of my time preparing for meetings, taking notes during the interviews, and then writing up detailed reports on those meetings.

And the notes aren’t simply the content of the conversation.

They include deeper layers of my assessment: body language, tone, and even my own personal impressions of not just what was said, but how it was communicated.

Working on establishing trust with potential and even current assets takes time, and there are never any guarantees that the resources put into a potential asset will pay off. But this is my job.

Oumar was one of the sources I spent months working with and, up until now, thanks to the intel he has been able to pass on to us, it has paid off.

He’s resourceful, and because of his background, motivated to help us.

He’s given me every reason to trust him, but I can never assume anything, because every bit of information he’s given us has come with a risk.

There’s always the risk of a leak or something crucial missed that could bring the house of cards tumbling down.

I can’t help but wonder if that’s what we’re dealing with now.

Five minutes later, Mariam walks into the dining room, looking calmer than when we first arrived.

“Sorry I took so long,” she says, sitting across from me at the small, round table.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“A little better, but honestly. . .I’m scared.”

“That’s understandable. Would you like something to eat or drink?” I ask.

“Just some water’s fine.”

I get up and grab another Perrier out of the fridge and set it on the table. “I realize how hard this is, but I do need to ask you some questions. The more I know, the better the odds are that we can find Oumar.”

She bites the edge of her lip. “Do you think it’s possible?”

“I do.”

“Then whatever you need to know. I just need you to find him. If anything happens to Oumar . .”

I sit back down across from her with a small notebook and pen so I can take notes of our conversation. “Why don’t we start by you telling me about what happened. How did you find out Oumar was missing?”

“I. . .I had gone out to do some shopping. Oumar’s birthday is coming up, and I wanted to get him something special. We were supposed to meet for lunch.”

She stares at her unopened water, her jaw tense and her lips pressed together.

“That’s a good start,” I say, trying to encourage her to continue. “What else?”

“I was actually running late but decided to still stop at this little patisserie to get some dessert—Oumar has an obsession with French pastries—when a message came in from his phone.” Mariam clenches her hands together on the table.

“I thought he was texting me to let me know he was going to have to miss lunch, but instead. . .”

Her voice breaks.

“It was the video,” I say.

She nods. “I don’t know how long I stood there, playing it over and over. Trying to convince myself it wasn’t real.”

“What did you do next?”

“First I tried calling Oumar, over and over. Every time, it went straight to voice mail. Then I noticed that he was no longer sharing his location. I figured his phone was off, which didn’t make sense either. I ended up leaving and going straight to my father’s offices.”

“Do you think it’s possible this actually has something to do with your father?” I ask, deciding to follow up on my theory.

Mariam’s brow rose. “What do you mean?”

“What if your father was the target? You said you were supposed to be with Oumar, but you were running late.”

“You mean it’s possible that someone was actually trying to take me?”

I nod, realizing the question upsets her. I might be grasping at straws, but to me this is still a valid possibility.

“It would make sense,” I say. “If Oumar doesn’t have access to that kind of money, but someone thinks your father does, they might have originally planned to kidnap you, or even both of you.”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of that possibility. I thought maybe it could have something to do with Oumar’s job. Some of the people he works with. . .well. . .let’s just say he deals with some questionable people.” She hesitates. “If that was true, why send the ransom video to me?”

“I don’t know.” While I want to ensure we are sticking to the facts and not going down a rabbit hole, I also need to cover every possibility. “What we do know is that they decided to go ahead with the plan.”

I take a few more quick notes before going on to my next question.

“Let’s continue with what happened that day,” I say, looking up again while tapping my pen against the table. “You told me you went to see your father, but he couldn’t come up with the money?”

“I did, but he told me I should go straight to the authorities. That it would take too much time to raise the money and that there was no way he could come up with that kind of cash in forty-eight hours. But I told him they’d threatened to kill Oumar if we didn’t follow their demands.”

“So that left you in an impossible situation,” I say.

Mariam nods.

“Did you communicate at all with the kidnappers?”

“I contacted them again this morning. Just before the first deadline hit. Told them I needed more time.”

“And their response?” I ask, taking a sip of my water.

“They gave me another forty-eight hours but also said that there would be no extensions this time. If I don’t come up with the money, they’ll kill him.”

“How much time is left?” I ask.

She glanced at her watch. “We have about forty hours left.”

“And your father. . .where is he? Trying to raise the money?”

She’s crying now, with silent tears running down her face. “He flew to Algiers this morning to meet an old contact. Someone who might help with the money.”

“Okay. Back to who’s behind this. You told me that Oumar gave you my number in case of an emergency—if anything happened to him.

” I get up to grab her a tissue from a box on the kitchen counter, then hand it to her.

“Had he been acting worried or even afraid? Given any signs that he felt someone was targeting him? You said he was under a lot of pressure at work.”

“That’s the problem. I knew he was under a lot of pressure, but he rarely talked to me about his work.

And as for someone targeting him. . .I honestly don’t know.

At the time—when he gave me your number—he played down any concern he might have.

But he’s been. . . I guess distant is the right word.

Like something was bothering him. Now I wish I had pressed him for answers.

Been more attuned to what was going on.”

I listen carefully to her answers, comparing them to what I know about Oumar. He had told me he was working on something, but since I hadn’t heard from him for a couple of weeks, I assumed he didn’t have the information yet. Now I can’t help but wonder if I missed something.

“I know this is difficult,” I say as Mariam blows her nose. “Let’s change the subject for a few minutes. How did you first meet Oumar?”

A slight smile crosses her lips, as if she is thinking about a specific memory.

“We actually met when we were seven or eight. We came from the village of Yélimané back in Mali. We even went to the same school, though we didn’t know that until more recently.

” She pauses and lets out a sharp breath.

“It was a hard place to grow up. Everyone you know wants to get out, but where are you supposed to go? In many places there is no law, it is simply filled with criminals and terrorist networks with no one to stop it.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that was.”

“Do you know much about the Sahel?” she asks, looking up at me.

“Some,” I say.

She doesn’t need to know that I’ve traveled extensively through French-speaking Africa, including the Sahel.

“There have been conflicts there for decades,” she says. “It’s overpopulated, there isn’t enough irrigation, and there is constant drought as the Sahara slowly takes it over.”

I listen, nodding as she talks. Not only has the environment suffered, poverty has a chokehold on people.

Cities are filled with rural workers looking for jobs, and there is often not enough electricity or water or even food.

All of that was motivation for Oumar to work with us.

He was desperate to be a part of the solution.

“Somehow, we both managed to leave and make it to Europe,” she continues. “We reconnected again at a mutual friend’s house two years ago. It took us a little while to figure out the connection, but once we did, it was. . .it was as if we were meant to find each other.”

“You have a lot in common with both of your families now involved in the import/export business,” I say, pressing for more information. “Oumar told me you work with your father’s company.”

While he hadn’t given me many details, Oumar had shared with me his pride for Mariam’s work, collaborating with artisans from Mali. She’d even recently launched a product line of textiles made exclusively by women.

“I understand you have your personal line of products,” I prompt.

“It’s more of a passion project for me. For a long time, I felt disconnected from my African roots.

I was on a sourcing trip three years ago and met a small group of women who were talented but struggling to break into the international market.

They shared their products with me, and I knew what I had to do.

I could offer contracts, training in export logistics, and collaboration as to what would sell on an international level. ”

“Has it worked?” I ask.

“Absolutely. We’re looking to branch out into more products, but the initial sales have exceeded my expectations. We now have a line of handmade bogolan cloth we use to produce wall hangings, cushion covers, and other novelties that are reaching a global market.”

“Sounds amazing,” I say before making a few notes. Then I look back up at her. “He told me you went to Istanbul together not too long ago.”

Her smile was back. “Oumar can be quite romantic, and on top of that he’s extremely interested in art and architecture.”

“It’s a beautiful city.”

“It is. An interesting mixture of Europe and Asia.” She wads up the tissue in her hand. “We were planning to get married soon, but now I’m terrified I’ll never see him again.”

I don’t miss the dark shadows under her eyes. I glance at my watch, surprised at how late it is. “You look exhausted. I’d like you to stay here tonight while we do what we can to track Oumar down. It’s not fancy, but there’s a bed, and most importantly you’ll be safe.”

“I don’t know?—”

“Oumar would want us to keep you safe.”

“I know. Thank you.” Mariam shakes her head. “I just feel like I should be doing something. We don’t have much time left.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to find him, I promise, but we also need to keep you safe in the meantime. And you need to get some rest.”

“Okay.”

“Have you had anything to eat?” I ask, standing up.

“I’m not hungry. Just tired.”

“We should have all the basics you need for an overnight stay, and then we can start fresh in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you,” she says, hesitating before picking up her water bottle. “Just please. . .please find Oumar.”

I ask Lizzie to help Mariam get set up in the bedroom with whatever she needs. Then I step into the living room, trying to process my thoughts over the interview.

“How did it go?” Graham asks, standing up from the desk and stretching.

I drop my notebook onto the couch, praying I’m not over thinking things, but I can’t shake my initial impression.

“Besides the fact that I’m convinced my asset’s life is in danger and his cover probably blown?” I let out a puff of air, then catch his gaze. “I don’t think she’s who she says she is.”