Aziza stepped past Hamid to the sound of the other jailor grousing. He eyed her from top to bottom, as if he suspected her of something. He barked angry words to Hamid, then as if to make a point, rammed her in the back. Pain lanced through her spine and buckled her knees. She held on to the wall until the agony subsided. When she stood straight, she glared at her attacker. “Does it make you feel good to beat up a woman?”
He snarled and raised the rifle. When the butt connected with her face, pain splintered outward from her jaw, and she crumpled to the floor.
Chapter Six
Vikkas Maharaj, international lawyer and Shaz’s fellow director of The Castle, frowned at the police chief. “You still haven’t told us exactly what you have done about finding Miss Hampton, and we’ve been sitting here for a half-hour already.”
Someone rapped on the door and entered the room, when invited to do so. The man did not wear a uniform and from his aura, Ryan assumed he had some authority. He nodded toward the visitors, his gaze sweeping over them, then addressed the Assistant Commissioner in Arabic.
They exchanged several sentences, while the visitor stroked his mustache. In another minute, he withdrew from the office, carrying a file the portly officer handed to him.
Durabia’s top law officer was slender to the point of emaciation. Ryan guessed his sleek, black hair had been styled by a professional. The Commissioner shot a glance at his second-in-command, the physical opposite of himself. After clearing his throat, he said, “The case only came to our attention on Sunday.”
“And today is Wednesday.” Vikkas lifted the thin file he’d received and let it fall to the desk. “The size of this tells me nobody has done anything to find Miss Hampton.”
“Things are not the way they look.” The police deputy protested, raising thick hands with stubby fingers. His gaze slid to a thicker file on the marble desk. “There are other cases that demand our attention.”
Ryan pointed to the file at the deputy’s elbow. “Do they relate to the same thing?”
“Well, if you mean—”
“You still haven’t told us anything that can help us find the woman we’re seeking.” He looked sideways at Bashir, who accompanied them thanks to Sheikh Kamran’s generosity. “If you can’t help us, then maybe we have to take things from a different angle.”
The police chief frowned. “What do you mean?”
Ryan let his gaze rest on the expensive African Blackwood desk, the sleek furnishings that he’d never seen in any police station anywhere else, and finally, the heavy folder on the desktop that he suspected would help their investigation. “The fact is, you are stone-walling us.”
When the two officers frowned, he added. “You are messing us around, yanking our chain, putting up roadblocks, obfuscating.”
With each word, Ryan’s voice grew louder. “The longer you pussyfoot around, the less chance we have of finding Miss Hampton.” He stabbed the edge of the desk with one finger. “Now, we need your cooperation, and we need it fast.”
The Assistant Commissioner blustered, sitting taller in his seat. “It is not proper protocol for you to force our hand in an investigation—”
“On which you’ve done nothing.”
Vikkas gripped Ryan’s arm, which stalled his outburst. The man’s calm demeanor and silent message were clear. Let me handle this.
“What Mr. Bostwick is trying to say is that we will achieve what we came here for … one way or another.” Vikkas released Ryan’s arm. “It’s up to you how we carry out our mission.”
Ryan drew a calming breath. “Let me put it to you this way. Your Sheikh has been kind enough to help us, and you are blocking the process. I wonder what he’d have to say about that. I’m thinking he’ll want to know what interest you have in standing in the way of us finding this woman.”
Now, the two shared a concerned look and again, the stout man’s attention went to the thick folder on the desk.
“Does the information in that file include data on other women who have gone missing in Durabia?”
The two officials eyeballed each other again, but neither answered the question.
“These cases are of a different nature,” the chief supplied.
“How different?” Ryan asked.
“Sir, that is not information you need,” the Assistant Commission spat.
“If I may ask,” Vikkas said, “What percentage of women who go missing in Durabia are found?”
“Five percent,” Ryan supplied through his teeth.
His research netted him that information. He was sure his blood pressure would skyrocket if the fools in front of him didn’t stop wasting his time. While he was sitting in an air-conditioned office being fed a load of bull, his woman was somewhere in Durabia, being kept under God knew what conditions. At the thought of what she might be going through, Ryan wanted to grab the scrawny man across the desk and choke the air out of him.
Vikkas sighed, a reflection of Ryan’s impatience. With his fingers steepled under his chin, Vikkas said, “The fact is, if you do not provide us with the information we need, we can always get it in a way you will not like. Things can be clean and clear-cut … ”
“Or they can be uncomfortable and messy. You decide.” Ryan raised his brows, waiting for the officers’ response. “I think there’s a simple way to resolve this issue.”
Every man in the room focused on Ryan. A slow smile spread over his face as he said, “I’m very short on patience, especially when someone’s life is at risk. So here’s the deal. Since you’re refusing to give us what we need, we must find another way to uncover exactly what happened to the woman we’re trying to find. The international media is always looking to pick up news items, especially human interest stories.” He waited a moment before adding, “In places that have a reputation for condoning atrocities against women.”
The Commissioner’s eyes bulged as he flung a panicked look at his deputy.
Ryan lowered his voice, so they had
