Page 180 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
SEVEN
[Ransom Countdown: 34 Hours, 31 Minutes remaining]
It’s wellafter midnight when I get back to my apartment, but despite Graham’s advice, I know I won’t be able to sleep anytime soon. I pull out my computer and click open Oumar’s file. I have pages and pages of documents from interviews, as well as intel he’d passed on to the agency. I can’t help but believe there’s something in his file that might help give me a clue about what happened to him. Something he said that might explain what he was afraid of and what might have triggered the cascading events that got us to where we are now.
My notes are both detailed and concise, factual and without emotion, like Oumar. But the more I got to know him, the more vulnerable he allowed himself to be. And the more I began to understand the motivation behind the risks he took.
When Oumar was ten, his parents moved to Bamako, the capital of Mali, a country in North Africa that sits on the crossroads of multiple trade routes. In the beginning, he told me, his family ran convoys across several bordering countries, primarily transporting textiles, salt, and livestock. They’d done well and had quickly diversified the goods they transported.They expanded their territory to Niger, Burkina Faso, and beyond, with the goal of enlarging their reach all the way to Europe.
I yawn, then move to the couch with my computer and notepad, trying to stay awake as I continue to read through my notes. Life was hard, but his father managed to build a modest house on the outskirts of the city, and eventually Oumar was sent to a boarding school in South Africa. It was essential, his father believed, for Oumar to receive an education so he could continue the family business. Expectations were for him to return as soon as he graduated.
And Oumar had done just that.
Things began to change, though, as the Sahel grew more and more unstable. Local insurgent groups rose up, followed by foreign mercenaries, all looking to make a profit. But they weren’t the only ones willing to take risks for financial gains. And so as smuggling routes expanded so did Oumar’s family business.
My father used to tell me to trade with everyone but trust no one.
Which was exactly what Oumar had done, and it had worked. They managed to build a large network in one of the most volatile regions in the world, never asking what was in a transport. They slowly expanded their routes into Europe, making enough money to buy a three-story house complete with maids, a chauffeur, and a ton of security.
Until everything changed.
The buzzer to my apartment goes off, and I jump, almost knocking my computer onto the floor. It takes a moment for me to realize that I’d fallen asleep. I yawn and check the camera. Graham is waiting at the front door with two coffees.
“Am I too early?” he asks through the intercom.
“No. Come on up.”
I spend the time it takes for him to get to my apartment to quickly pick up the mess in my living room and kitchen, just finishing when he knocks on my door.
“Morning,” he says once I let him in.
I try to shove away the blanket of fog covering my brain and force a smile. My mind is still wrapped up in a mixture of memories from going through Oumar’s paperwork and the disturbing dreams that followed.
“Morning,” I say.
He pauses inside the entryway before handing me one of the coffees he’s holding. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
I look down at my clothes and realize I never changed. “I ended up falling asleep on the couch. I stayed up and went through conversations I had with Oumar. Hoping to find a clue to who might have him.”
“Any luck?”
I take a sip of the coffee, hoping it will push back the fatigue. “Maybe.”
I nod at him to take a seat on the couch, then plop down across from him on a chair beneath the tall, living room window. Morning sunlight has just begun to stream into the room, making soft patterns on the top of the coffee table.
He sets a paper bag in front of me. “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got both croissants andpain au chocolat.”
I smile. “To save you trouble in the future, if it has chocolate, I’m happy.”
“Noted.”
I pull out one of the chocolate pastries and feel my stomach rumble, but my mind is still on Oumar. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“Tell me what stood out to you. Maybe it will help if we go over it together.”
I glance at the man sitting across from me. Tall, solidly built, with plenty of charm. I don’t want to like him, but I do. Not only is he good at what he does, but there doesn’t seem to be the layer of arrogance I’ve seen too often in our business.
I pick up the notebook where I’d written down my thoughts before I fell asleep. There were names circled, lines drawn to connect facts. . .almost like a murder board except on paper. Visual descriptions always helps me connect the dots.
