Page 206 of Secrets Beneath the Waves

“Drink slowly,” I tell her, helping her to hold the bottle. I find a thermal blanket and wrap it around her.

“My name is Samantha. I know Oumar. It’s okay. It’s over.”

She looks like Zahra. Enough so that I can see why they thought the plan to infiltrate and find Oumar was going to work.

Thankfully, it hadn’t.

“There’s no one else here,” Graham says, coming back to where we are.

“Where is Oumar?”

“He’s at a safe house.”

“And the woman who brought me here?” Mariam asks. “She threatened me. Told me that if I didn’t tell her everything, they were going to kill Oumar.”

I hesitate. “She’s dead. She can’t hurt you anymore.”

There’s just enough light to catch the fear still in her eyes. She’s unconvinced, I’m sure, that it’s over.

“Can I see Oumar?”

“We’re going to take you to the hospital. Make sure you’re okay, but yes. After that, you can see him.”

She touches a dark bruise on her face. “I’m fine. I just want to see him.”

Graham carries her back through the tunnels to the surface, where we take her to a doctor who won’t ask questions. Any explanations we give him are brief. If anyone asks him, he’ll say we’re simply good Samaritans who heard someone in distress and helped. No one will ever know more than that.

It doesn’t take long for us to put the rest of the pieces together. Zahra—like Ibrahim— was sent to look for Oumar. While Mariam didn’t know Oumar was working with the CIA, she did give Zahra my phone number and other pieces of information that Oumar had given her in case of an emergency.

While there are a few physical injuries she’ll have to deal with, worse is the emotional trauma from being kidnapped and held hostage. From believing that Oumar was dead. And from feeling guilty over giving up the information he’d given her.

I try to convince her that Oumar is okay, but she doesn’t believe me until we’re finally able to take her to him at the safe house. I watch as he pulls her against him and holds her.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she says, sobbing into his chest.

I’m grateful their story didn’t end the way mine did. Grateful they still have a chance of making things work.

Oumar turns, his arm still around her as Graham and I stand in the entrance of the small apartment with a guard hovering in the background.

“Thank you,” Oumar says. “For everything. I—we—owe you our lives.”

“It’s been a good day,” Graham says.

“I’m sorry for what you both went through,” I say, “but a lot of lives were saved today because of you.”

When we leave a few moments later, I realize how exhausted I am. I glance up at the dimly lit window of the safe house as we step out onto the street, heading back to Graham’s car. I’m not sure what will happen next other than they will disappear. New identities. A new life. They’re safe, and for the moment, that’s all that really matters.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

I can’t helpbut be relieved it’s over. That Oumar and Mariam are finally not only together, but somewhere safe. It’s the ending I always pray for. A conclusion that brings justice and maybe eventually, healing. What I try not to think about is the reality that every time the leader of a network is shut down, someone else will rise up. It’s what gives me job security, but I can’t focus on that negative aspect of my work. While we might not have stopped the next insurgency, we did stop this one.

I walk over to the large window of my apartment. Sunlight is streaming through the glass, and I put my hand against the window and feel the warmth. Cars drive by. People walk down the avenue below me. They have no idea that a week ago, I was involved in a coordinated attack involving Navy SEALs and today the world is safer.

And what seems even stranger is that they will never know.

After several intense days of writing reports and working through intel, Hawke told me to take some time off and get some rest. Get out of Paris for a few days if I want to. If I’m honest, all I really want to do is sleep. I might end up taking a long drive out of the city. For a long time I’ve wanted to go to Giverny, where Monet’s home is located. Or to Mont Saint Michel, whichis famous for its architecture and history. Somewhere different. Somewhere where I can see the French countryside and catch my breath.