Ajaya tugged at the hem of his overlarge T-shirt. “I know things, more things. I know about that.”
He pointed to Stella.
Jose stopped cold, his hand sliding around her waist.
Mr. Smith didn’t even blink.
Ajaya waved his hand toward Stella again. “The cloth, the one stolen from the compound. The writing in the border. It tells their plans.”
Mr. Smith blinked.
Foreboding iced up Jose’s spine, years of survival instincts shouting this was about to get bad. Really bad. He resisted the urge to thrust himself between Stella and whatever the kid was about to say.
Stella inched forward, her hands twisting in the wrap. “What plans, Ajaya?”
“To kill people when your vice president’s wife visits.” The teenage boy reached toward Stella, his fingers almost brushing the rippling fringe. “The details are written in a code in the fabric.”
Chapter 6
Stella unwound the cloth from around her waist, handling the fabric as carefully as crystal. Cradling the material draped over her hands, she took in the pattern scripted along the edges. The stark halogen lights high in the hangar glinted on flecks of silver thread.
Messages were commonly woven into the patterns or borders of these cloths, so that in and of itself wasn’t unusual. There was no reason to beat herself up over not considering it before now. All the same, she wished somehow she’d considered the possibility that a cloth was more than a “cloth.”
Could the boy be lying about a more insidious meaning? Or was he telling the truth? Either way, they had to move forward on the assumption that he was telling the truth.
A translator would have to decipher which variation of the local language was used. Even if the words seemed benign, a decoder—like her—would have to discern if a hidden meaning had been inserted.
Unless the boy was lying to buy time.
She looked up at the teenager. His dark eyes were wild with desperation. She believed he would do anything to stay safe. Was he wily enough to make up a really good lie?
A tug pulled her out of her thoughts as Mr. Smith eased the wrap from her hands. “Where did this come from?”
“Uhm…” She blinked fast to clear her blurry eyes and dulled senses. “Sutton and I both took items from their store of stolen goods for survival purposes. This was from Sutton’s backpack.”
Mr. Smith folded the fabric carefully. “Then I think we need to make sure Mr. Harper passes over his backpack before he leaves here today. Sergeant, could you please escort Stella to her quarters? She needs rest and medical care after her ordeal. We’ve asked enough of her.”
She had a million questions she wanted to ask Ajaya and the enigmatic Mr. Smith, the same Mr. Smith she’d been working with since she arrived in Africa six months ago. But he couldn’t relay that. Obviously. Because as far as the teenager and all the hostages knew, she was just a student getting debriefed, fed, and evaluated like all the rest of them. And even as a full-fledged operative, she didn’t always get clearance on everything.
But God, she ached to be in on this.
Her gaze flicked to Jose, then back to Mr. Smith. The CIA agent was right. She needed to rest up while he finished the interrogation. Once they had a handle on what was in the border of the cloth, if there was a code to crack, she would need a much sharper mind. Right now, she felt like she was walking through peanut butter.
Jose’s arm went around her waist, and she didn’t bother protesting. She leaned into him and let him guide her out of the hangar.
The blinding midday rays stung her eyes as she took in her first comprehensive look at the American base here. Rows of plain tan buildings sprawled ahead, baked and cracked by the harsh African sun.
Step for step, she walked alongside Jose. The heated concrete steamed warmth through the soles of her gym shoes. “Where exactly are we going?”
His hand felt warm and right against her waist. “You’re no good to yourself or anyone until you eat some real food, shower, and sleep.”
“I know I need to clear my head, but walking away from work is easier said than done.” A trio of jet planes split the clouds overhead, leaving contrail to fade in their wakes.
“No offense, Stella, but have you looked in the mirror today?”
His leg brushed against hers, his lean strength as familiar to her as her own skin. How strange to feel stirred in the middle of utter exhaustion. Especially when he’d just told her she looked like crap.
Ouch. “I’ve avoided mirrors.” She stopped at a corner, waiting for a line of camouflage trucks to roll past. “It’s been a rough few days.”